#AND THE BALL PIT IS A REQUIREMENT THAT HAS TO HAPPEN!!!

[hellsite-hall-of-fame]

y’all if someone doesn’t reach out to me with a huge, well thought-out, and amazingly extensive plan for a Dashcon 2.0 by the time this poll ends i’m going to be so sad lol

just for hypothetical research purposes….

[bg-brainrot]

Failed Every Insight Check and Fell all the Harder (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Companion piece to: Failed a Dex Save and Fell for You

Summary: After a few months of traveling together, Astarion has begun to experience some new feelings around you. After one fateful day in Moonrise Towers, he finally figures out what those feelings are.

Tags: Astarion POV, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Awkward Fluff, tw: mentions of astarion's past and all that comes with it, tw: mentions of araj scene, Feelings Realization, Jealousy

A/N: here comes the awkward, fluffy Astarion figuring out his feelings Valentine’s special. He’s a hot mess, of course. (happy Early Valentine’s because I will be busy on Valentine’s) And thanks to everyone who voted for this one!

Word count: ~4.8k

Ever since your group entered the Shadowlands, something has been bothering Astarion. He hadn't noticed at first– or rather, had tried his best to ignore it. But, as time goes on, he’s finding it more and more difficult to brush aside.

It had started out small. An odd pain in the pit of his stomach.

What was that? he'd thought, holding a hand to his abdomen in concern. Perhaps he was just hungry, but it certainly didn’t feel like the ever-present hunger in his belly. No, that was a dull, continuous ache. This? This felt like something was weighing him down. Maybe I’m ill. I shouldn’t mention it to anyone, lest Lae’zel slit my throat in my sleep.

Besides, the pain didn’t happen often. He noticed it a distinct few times.

Once, when you first entered the Shadowlands. He’d just watched you bend down, hands plucking at something off the side of the cursed lands’ road. He thought momentarily that he ought to stop you, that none of you knew what could be lurking in its magical darkness. But that tinge of worry was promptly replaced by that same gods awful pit in his stomach. 

Because there you were, presenting your party’s cleric with your spoils. You were gifting Shadowheart a night orchid– had remembered that she mentioned loving them. You bore the woman’s wretched joke with a smile. Disgusting, Astarion thought. No wonder my stomach feels uncomfortable, what a pathetic little exchange.

Like everything that had bothered him in the last couple of months since finding himself free of Cazador, he decided to forget the feeling. Life is his to take full advantage now, why let something like that affect him?

Or so he thought until the next time the feeling made its return.

You had just arrived at the Last Light Inn as a group, found shelter through the Harpers’ well-established safe haven. Astarion was quite happy to be rid of the shadows, content to cozy up in an inn. He figured, if he played his cards right, you may even let him partake in your blood or ask for a bit of fun.

Then your party found Dammon. Equipped with Infernal Iron and one blazing hot barbarian, Dammon made magic happen in a matter of moments. 

Astarion was glad. As much as the group was a bit much at times, he understood Karlach’s struggle with her body all too well. She deserved this small victory in reclaiming her body. 

His feelings of genuine sympathy were short-lived though because a moment later you were wrapping your arms around the tiefling’s body. It was a test, of course, to see if Dammon’s fusing had worked. But there it was again, the feeling in his stomach. This time it felt twice as heavy, a lead ball in his guts. Maybe I should let someone know, he thought. This can’t be good.

But the sensation was soon forgotten as your group settled into the Last Light Inn. Old allies were in some miserable new states– requiring even more help, gods– and new acquaintances were made. It was all rather dull for Astarion.

The one time Astarion perked up was when you went head-to-head with the head Harper. He chuckled under his breath when you outsmarted the old crone, Jaheira. That’s right, Harper. Don’t mess with my protector.

Your first night at the inn was capped off with a bit of revelry: a game of Truth or Dare. 

Astarion could sense your reluctance to play. You’d been acting odd all day, stiff and awkward around him. He saw this as the perfect opportunity to tease you to the high celestial plane– in fact, he already knew what he wanted to ask you. “You are going to regret this so much," he'd said to you from across the table.

Then the game began, and the deep, uncomfortable feeling never left his core.

Each and every companion received your attention throughout the game, in one way or another. Even that damned smith, Dammon, was given a dare from you. And Astarion just sat there, not even earning a glance, his mood growing more and more sour.

When, at last, he was able to taunt you with his question, you were far too in your cups to give a proper response. He sat on your lap, placed there from one of Shadowheart’s dares, staring into your surprised, open eyes, wishing that he'd thought of an easier question for an inebriated version of you.

The group had shooed you both out of the game upon seeing your state, though Astarion didn't mind. He'd much rather leave the lot of them and tease you by himself.

Once you were alone, you answered his question. That he, Astarion, was your favorite and for all manner of incredulous, unbelievable reasons. He’d expected you to say him. He’d asked to hear your praise, confirm your attachment in the name of his plan to seduce you. All the same he was left uncomfortable, juggling the sudden and unabashed flattery. Being praised for his looks was one thing but for being… himself?

The feeling in his stomach grew. Suddenly his lungs felt it, his undead heart felt it. What in the sweet hells is the matter with me? he thought, as he helped lay your drunken, passed out form to bed later that night. He hadn’t felt a sensation like this before– he hated it. 

Then you reached out to him in your sleep, and he froze. Something about the touch quietened the pain under his ribs, and so he extended his fingers, gently touching your brow as you fell asleep. See? I’m fine, he assured himself. I truly am just ravenous.

__

He continued this way for several days in the Shadowcursed lands.

One moment, he was perfectly fine, hacking and slashing at a Shambling Mound with abandon. The next, he would look over at you, see you laughing at something Karlach said, and it felt like an iron ingot had made its way into his insides.

Damned tiefling woman. I’m far funnier than her, you know, he thinks, resheathing his knives with a little too much gusto. The sound of your laughter rang in his head for the rest of the evening, as if he were being driven to insanity by it.

The next day, you had fought a horde of Meazels. At first, Astarion thought the fight was delightful fun– the tiefling woman and the cleric kept getting teleported against their will and after his recent annoyance with both of them, he found it quite amusing. That is, until you found yourself garrotted, teleported as far away from him as possible.

He was on you in mere moments, ripping the creature off of you with his blades. It was almost as if he’d reacted instinctively and, as someone whose instincts typically led him away from danger, he found the sensation quite off-putting. Nevertheless, he'd freed you, asking, “Are you alright, darling?”

Astarion couldn’t remember what you’d even said because once he saw the marks the creatures left on you, the pit in his stomach dropped. Where there had been a heavy pressure before, there was now a sharp feeling. His eyes carefully trailed over your injuries, trying his best to focus on you and not the phantom pain building inside him.

You had been fine, nothing that a quick heal from Shadowheart couldn’t fix, but that feeling stayed in his stomach the rest of the day. It’s simply the Shadowlands, he'd thought. They not only play tricks on the mind, clearly they’re playing tricks on my body.

It was a few days later, as you helped the Harper’s deal with their lantern problem that the sensation shifted again.

Astarion watched, eyes glued to your form, as you dispatched the hideous drider, your twin blades piercing the creature in its most vulnerable spots. He’d seen you kill many monsters before, hundreds likely at this point. But something about the way your body moved in the Moonlantern’s glow, the way your face lit up as the creature’s body crumpled to the floor, caused the vampire to stop and watch.

This time, he’d felt the heavy sensation move up, somewhere just below his throat. He tried against all odds to gulp it away, but nothing seemed to work. We need to finish our business here and get out as soon as possible, he thought now, convinced it was the shadows warping his senses…

But as your travel continues, the feelings never go away. 

It’s a different pressure, it builds, it ebbs, it flows between his heart, his stomach, his torso– and each time he brushes it off. Stewing in these uncomfortable feelings, Astarion spends the week in a hazy mire, not unlike the shadows that surround you all.

Then your group finally infiltrates Moonrise.

__

Moonrise Towers, the seat of the Absolute and a once grand fortress. 

Now, Astarion can’t help but think it seems rather underutilized. Your group is walking along the empty parapets outside, which are woefully missing any sense of grandeur or ornamentation. “Darling,” he says, leaning into you slightly. “Don’t you think we ought to just kill everyone now and take the place for ourselves. Might be quite fun.”

You bark out a laugh, which he feels proud to have produced, and reply, “Maybe later. This is an infiltration mission only. Besides, once we defeat the Absolute, I’m sure there will be a vacancy.”

Astarion laughs back at you. Gods, he enjoys this. The way that he can say something that others would balk at and you will miraculously not only appreciate it, but also play along with it. Having fun with them is so easy, he thinks. And look, I’m still wearing all of my clothes! What a novel idea.

The thought is cut short when your group walks through an outside doorway into a room that can only be described as grotesque. Whoever works here clearly has some knowledge of arcana, if the ingredients and alchemical tools are anything to go by, but it smells utterly foul to Astarion.

It’s when you spot the drow woman hunched over a table in the corner that he realizes where the stench is coming from. Hells below, that woman reeks of something truly awful, he thinks, recoiling. He’d grown used to following behind you closely, but as you step forward to speak to the woman, he finds himself taking a step back instead.

The woman introduces herself as Araj Oblodra, a trader of blood– a rather poor trader, by the smell of it. She takes note of Astarion, who shuffles back instinctively, before you and her go about some kind of business with your blood. Astarion contemplates speaking up, shooing you away from her, but decides to stay back, as far away as he can remain without arousing suspicion. They can handle themselves.

Then, after the woman looks back toward him one too many times, he hears you snap, “And why are you so interested in my pale friend?” 

“Ah, yes. Perhaps there’s one more thing we could discuss,” she begins, her voice a dangerous drawl. “He’s a vampire, no? Or one of their spawn at least.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Astarion says, all-too-ready to fill his role. “We’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.”

“Oh, I’d prefer if you did,” she’s quick to respond. Her eagerness picks at Astarion’s nerves, and he raises an eyebrow at her. Araj doesn’t deign to give him another moment’s look though, as she turns back to you. “I assume he belongs to you?”

“Excuse me?” Your voice sounds offended– on his behalf, Astarion wonders? “He’s his own person.” Your words cause the feeling in Astarion’s stomach to flip, and, as much as he wants to come to his own defense, he finds himself quite content to hear you do it for him.

“I’m sure he really believes that. How utterly adorable,” she says with a snide chuckle. 

Adorable? he thinks, but he’s unable to interject before the woman continues to barrel forward.

The blood trader turns back to Astarion, face wrinkled with distaste as her tone changes to something a bit more confrontational, “Do you have a name, spawn?”

Her sudden shift in attitude, the proud tilt to her head, it all throws the vampire off balance as he goes to answer, “Astarion, b-but hold on!” Astarion holds up a hand to try to slow this woman’s tirade, all to no avail.

“Good. Now, Astarion, I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl,” Araj begins, laying out the scene for her request.

Too bad that the scene sounds quite ridiculous to Astarion. Surely he heard her incorrectly? “I’m sorry, you want to be bitten?”

The woman goes on a new insane diatribe– something about dancing with death– but Astarion can hardly be bothered. All he needs to know is that she’s offering some measly potion for being bitten and, gods, does he not want to bite this woman’s disgusting neck. Or wrist. Or really any part of her. “I will have to decline,” he says, with a gracious little bow. Your group is still infiltrating the towers, it wouldn’t do to tell Araj exactly how horrid she smells.

It’s entirely more grace than she deserved, that much is clear because she presses him again. Again, he refuses. “I gave you my answer.”

The drow scoffs, turning back to you once more, “Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?”

You, for your part, look confused. There’s a line of concern in your forehead as you look between the woman and Astarion, wondering what it is that you’re missing. “I’m surprised, Astarion. I thought you’d enjoy an opportunity like this.”

What?! he thinks, a sudden, sharp spike of anger shooting through him. He tempers his immediate rage and speaks to Araj with that same, false pleasantry she doesn’t deserve, “I’m sorry, but could you excuse us a moment?”

Astarion, not waiting for her response, pulls you aside, away from the drow’s nosy eyes and ears. Once you’re alone, he turns to you, his voice a hiss, “Are you actually asking me to do this? Trading me for some-some-some potion?”

“What’s the matter? Why would she be different from any other enemy?” you ask, leaning toward him.

Your voice is full of genuine worry, and some of his anger abates as he meets your eyes. Of course, they don’t know what they’re asking. How could they know? “Because there’s something wrong with her blood. I can smell it from here. Ugh, it’s rank.”

Now your brows furrow, and a sharp edge enters your eyes as you ask your next question, “What do you mean? What’s wrong with her blood?”

“I can’t say. It just smells… wrong. Unnatural.” His words sound pathetic to his own ears. 

Of course that’s not an excuse, Astarion laments. What am I even thinking? The potion is clearly useful. They are going to make me do this, and I may as well prepare myself. I’ve put up with worse after all.

So, he stands straight once more, ready to put on the performance of a lifetime. His tone takes on a resigned tone as he continues, “Drinking it wouldn’t kill me, but it would not be pleasant.”

You both hear a sigh from behind you. “I don’t have all day, True Soul,” Araj calls, impatiently.

Your eyes remain focused entirely on him, ignoring the woman’s irritated sigh, her entitled words. “Astarion,” you begin, and he takes a breath in preparation for your other foot to drop. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. And if she refuses to take no for an answer again, we’ll simply have to start our assault on the towers a bit early.”

The breath leaves him.

"Alright. Uh, thank you,” he says, feeling the tension drop from his shoulders. He’d been prepared to acquiesce, to do exactly what you’d asked of him. But this? This is something he hadn’t been prepared for. 

In a daze, Astarion makes his way back to Araj, putting on as polite of a facade as he’s still capable of making, “It's still a ‘no’, I’m afraid.”

“How very disappointing,” the blood trader says, shooting you both a disgusted look. She turns away in a huff, leaving your group alone to recover from the exchange. And leaving Astarion floundering in another new sensation.

Because once more, the feeling in the pit of his stomach has reared its ugly head– only this time it shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He's not sure what it is, but it's stunned him into slipping off his carefully crafted mask. He turns to you once more, voice soft around its usual edges, "Thank you. I… appreciated that.”

"You have no need to thank me. It was always your choice, Astarion."

Huh.

The feeling sinks into him, settling deeper and deeper as you continue through Moonrise.

__

That night, you go to bed in your own bedroll, leaving Astarion to his meditations with a smile and a wave. It has been a long day for all of you, and it's clear from the way you take a glance back that you're worried about him.

Gods, he's worried about him.

After dealing with that vile drow woman, you'd all continued about the tower, ingratiating yourselves with even the most repugnant of creatures to appear faithful to the Absolute. But Astarion paid attention to almost none of it.

He'd stabbed when you told him it was time to stab, he'd joined your side when you called him to you, but his mind had been wholly preoccupied.

They didn't make me do it, he'd thought, as he unlocked some chest.

Well, isn't this exactly what I wanted? he'd thought, following you down some stairs.

Clearly they just fell for my charms, my masterful seduction, he'd thought, flanking a prison guard for you.

So why do I feel like this? he'd thought, staring at your back as you led the way before him.

Now, he lays here in his tent, staring at the fold of its ceiling in a rapt fascination he doesn't feel. The feeling in his stomach has stayed all day, tethering him to his thoughts with its continuous pressure.

When did I get to the point where I would follow them anywhere? Is their lack of self-preservation contagious? he asks himself, eyes narrowing in frustration. I shouldn't have gone into that horrendous tower in the first place. Then I wouldn't feel like this.

But he had.

And you'd not forced him to do so.

You'd not forced him to do anything.

They're a fool, an utter fool. I could have bitten that drow, as easy as breathing, he thinks, rolling his eyes at the thought. Close your eyes and push through, that's what I always say.

But did you want to? something in the back of his mind asks. 

Of course not, but when has what I wanted ever mattered– 

It may not have mattered under Cazador's grip, but it has always mattered to you. You're nothing like that evil man. You'd always been there for him, had managed to find trust in your heart for him, and had been genuinely kind to him.

The now-familiar feeling in his stomach seems to spread to the rest of his body, a warmth that doesn't quite feel warm. It bleeds all the way to his face and his lips curl up into an involuntary smile at the thought of you.

You– you, who had only ever been meant to play a bit role in the tragedy that is Astarion’s life. You, who had transcended your part, leaving Astarion contemplating every aspect of you in the stark solitude of his tent. 

Your beauty when you're covered in blood after a battle, the mischievous glint in your eye when you're teaching a child a sleight of hand trick– even when anger pulls your brows together and you're yelling at him for saying something particularly naughty. Each and every one makes his smile grow wider.

You, his chosen protector, are so much more than just that.

They are incredible. The thought comes to him unprompted, truly as easy as breathing.

His eyes widen in alarm, staring blankly at the tent above him.

The feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t an illness. Nor was it hunger. No. It was guilt. It was jealousy. It was…

Oh fuck, Astarion curses to himself. Am I in love?

Now that he has a word to the sensation, that the feeling is in his grasp, he knows he's right. He doesn't have a lot of experience with love, if any– he'd never had the luxury under Cazador's cruel gaze and he can't recall much from before that– but he knows he's right.

And hells does he wish he could crush the feeling in his hands right here and now.

Gods, you complete and utter imbecile, he thinks, hitting his head against the floor. You have things to do, goals to accomplish. They were only supposed to be a means to those goals, not a – a–

Astarion’s mind blanks as he thinks of you again, your charm, your wit, your damnable caring.

Not a companion. Not a friend. Not a lover. When did those late night trysts turn from an obligation, a part of his simple, perfect plan, into something more?

Even now, as he thinks of those nights, he brings a hand to his lips, recalling a night where you had simply stayed in his bedroll. You had kept all of your clothes on, as had he, and simply held each other as you fell asleep. Their kiss that night was delectable, he recalls, tracing the line of his lips, as if he could still feel the ghost of yours on them.

Fuck, he thinks again, dropping his hand in frustration. How could I have been so blind? How did I not nip this in the bud before it got to this disgusting pining?

But he hasn’t nipped it in the bud. The feeling has grown, unfettered, quick as a druidic plant growth, all unbeknownst to him. It has been nurtured by your attention. It has been watered by your kindness. It has become unruly in the safety of your arms.

Now what? he thinks to himself bitterly, wiping a hand across his face with a sigh. What use are these feelings when everything they were built upon is a lie? You are, after all, still playing the role he set out for you.

He considers overlooking the feelings, just as he has inadvertently done in his ignorance. It wouldn’t be of any use to tell you, of course. You could hardly feel the same way about him as he does you, and he’d rather not add another nuisance in the fight against the Absolute.

Besides, if he told you, he would have to fess up, explain his entire plan to you. What would even be left of the two of you after that?

But, he thinks to himself. Let’s say I did tell them. What could they possibly say…

“I was pretending all along too.” – gods, that would break him. That much is all too apparent from the way his undead heart aches at the thought, with a pain he couldn’t possibly feel.

“I like you, but not like that.” – maybe this was worse. Actually, it was definitely worse. He may never recover. His ego would certainly never recover.

“I have someone else that I love.” – honestly, reasonable. What did he have to offer you after all? A bloodthirsty master and the occasional snarky comment? He wouldn’t be surprised to find you in Karlach’s tent at this very moment…

“I hate you.” – he might be able to take this the best. You should hate him. He’d done nothing but lie and manipulate his way into your bedroll. Hate, well, that he understood.

“I love you, but…” – every single 'but' cut like a different, jagged blade. But we’re in danger every day? An excuse, surely. But you come with too much baggage? True, but not something he would be able to resolve. But I don’t want to be with a monster? Again, reasonable, but out of his control.

Astarion runs through scenario after scenario, each one playing with his own emotions in a new and horrendous way. In the end, he all but slaps himself out of it.

No, I cannot tell them. I absolutely must take this to my second grave, he determines, shaking the thoughts away with a few hard blinks.

But the feeling in his chest is more persistent than ever. As if giving it a name and meaning has given it a new, annoying life. He laments to himself aloud, "I may never feel like myself again.”

If this is what love does to a person, he wants no part of it.

__

The vampire didn't have a restful night's reverie, that much is apparent. His mood is foul, his body tense, and his eyes are trying their damnedest to avoid yours. 

No way, he thinks as you all set off for the day. I spun myself into a frenzy last night. Clearly. I feel absolutely nothing–

Then you turn back to him, concern lining your eyes as you address him. What had you just said? He had found himself somehow lost in your eyes, your lips, the turn of your nose… 

Shit, he thinks to himself. No, get back in control. You have only just reclaimed yourself, you can't lose yourself to something as cruel as love.

But, try as he might, his eyes can’t avoid you. 

All morning, he continues to sneak glances your way. Despite his roguish nature, he finds hiding his stares to be impossible. After all, you are the group’s leader. You are at the front, you are at his side, gods, you are everywhere. This feels like some kind of divine punishment…

You catch him looking, of course. And each time, he curses himself, gods, you idiot. You may as well broadcast your feelings to the world. And hells, how long have you felt this way?

Astarion tries futilely to act normal. This is just another day with the group in the Shadowlands. He’s not thinking about holding your hand in his. He’s not thinking about the way you look when you sleep. And, above all else, he is not thinking of your lips or the way that they move when you say his name.

Despite his inner turmoil, the world moves on. You lead the group through the Mason’s Guild, and you all manage to clear the place out easily enough.

The vampire thinks he’s finally reaching some sort of peace. Yes, this routine work he can do. No problem at all.

Then, you say something kind to Karlach, that infernally charming woman, who continues to support you at your side. Who, for all intents and purposes, should be the person who warms your bedroll at night, now that you can touch her. Not him, the man who can only make your bedroll colder. Who, even now, is avoiding your every glance.

Oh hells, he thinks, face dropping. The realization that he’s right is too much for him to bear.

Astarion stalks off, annoyed at himself and his thoughts, needing a moment to recollect himself. I can do this, he thinks. I can do this. I can–

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath once he knows he’s alone. “You’re supposed to get over this, you stupid fool. Shit. Gods dammit.”

He hears your familiar footfalls approaching and freezes, his shoulders tense with anticipation.

You find him in a pool of shadows away from the others, and he can’t help but feel like a beast that’s been cornered. He’s certain his face reflects that, reflects every bit of emotion he’s feeling as plain as could be, but your patience with him has apparently worn thin for the day. Your voice is less kind than usual when you say, “Do you need to talk?”

Seeing the anger in your face, the way that your hands are placed on your hips in annoyance, he knows he can’t keep his feelings to himself. He’ll only continue to push you away, into the strong, red arms of another.

No, he thinks, in a panic. I should– I need to–

He needs to do something about his feelings, unwanted or not. Really, he needs to tell you, regardless of what your response may be. If not, he may regret it for the rest of his undying life.

Now that he is in control of his own choices, he supposes that means all of them, for better or worse. That means even the most difficult ones. This is one of those difficult ones, isn’t it?

So Astarion swallows his pride, his anxieties, his insecurities, and settles his fate.

“Later,” he says, barely getting the words out. He blinks, and tries again, pleading with you with his eyes, “Please, just come by my tent later.”

Later, I will tell them. Everything.

[tobiasdrake]

Haven't had a chance to talk much about the Ginyus yet, so here we go. Talking about the Ginyu Tokusentai/Ginyu Force/Dairy Special Forces requires putting them into context with the greater Dragon Ball universe around them.

Something that has always been incredibly limiting for Dragon Ball's worldbuilding is that, despite much of the brand being about presenting Goku with new ladders to climb, Goku doesn't climb ladders. He leaps from ladder-top to ladder-top.

What this means is, Toriyama had a tendency to be hyperbolic with the challenges Goku was presented. Toriyama doesn't pit Goku against powerful foes. He pits Goku against the most powerful foe, then has to sit back and figure out another arena for Goku to go fight the champion of.

This creates issues of perspective. We don't get to see a lot of development of the worlds Toriyama creates because Goku only shows up to fight the Very Most Powerful Guy and then leaves. And this also means we don't get to see what being the Very Most Powerful Guy means relative to people who are not.

If you followed Dragon Ball Super, you might have noticed that issue with the Tournament of Power. The way the story leaps straight from "Multiple universes exist" to "Goku vs. The Strongest in Universe 6" and then to "Goku vs. The Strongest Guy in the MULTIVERSE!" without even stopping to breathe.

What is that universe even about? Who knows? But this guy sure is their STRONGEST GUY. And that's something that's been with Dragon Ball... honestly, since all the way back at the 21st Tenkaichi Budokai when his second arc adversary was the Earth's legendary ultimate martial arts master.

The whole concept of aliens enters the Dragon Ball universe by way of Raditz introducing the Strongest Alien Race in the Universe.

Shortly after that, Goku is fighting the Strongest Saiyan, who is technically referred to as Strongest in the Universe... right up until a retcon introduces the Planet Trade Organization and Goku fights Frieza, the Actual Strongest in the Universe For Realsies.

So. Yeah. It's hard to get a sense of perspective for how powerful our guys are when they leave Earth because they only ever brush elbows with outlier titans.

But to give some idea, we already know that Earthlings are considered to be a pretty weak species.

Raditz's arrival retroactively explains Goku's destructive Oozaru transformations. This thing?

This is the Doom of the Earth. The planet-killer meant to exterminate every last human being on this planet. Boy, sure would be fun to be in the ring with that, huh?

It's also clearly touching down outside of the ring so I don't know why this wasn't a ringout. Since when is the waiting room's rooftop considered part of the stage? But I digress.

When Goku was three years old, his Oozaru was measured to be sufficient to slaughter this world. That is how weak Earth is on the scale. By contrast, Namek is considered to be one of the more powerful worlds. Vegeta describes Namekian fighters as "extraordinary".

That's something we get to see for ourselves, when Extraordinary Namekian Fighters happen to Frieza Force soldiers like a typhoon.

This is what's considered extraordinary on a standard galactic scale. These are three warriors from one of the stronger races in the universe tearing apart soldiers whose job is to exterminate races. Once they start fighting, Dodoria reads their battle powers as 3,000.

For comparison, Raditz was said to be equivalent to a Saibaman at 1,200. We never got a read on Nappa but he found the idea of Kakarot being at 5,000 unbelievable enough to go into denial, and he shit himself over 8,000.

So, with that in mind, we can understand that these nameless Namekian nobodies are pretty fucking tough, well within the realm of Saiyan ability. They're also familiar with advanced martial arts concepts like ki suppression that the Planet Trade doesn't understand.

There's probably a reason why, despite Namek apparently being well known to the Planet Trade, nobody's seen fit to gentrify this one yet. This is a fight Frieza's more elite forces can win, to be sure. But also, there are easier pickings to be had.

And then we have the Saiyans, said to be the most powerful race in the universe. Raditz, a loser scrub who doesn't know a thing about martial arts, is able to thoroughly humiliate Goku and Piccolo in terms of sheer stats, even after Goku's been trained by Popo.

This guy is the Saiyan equivalent of Appule. Goku's been personally trained by God's right-hand attendant, and Piccolo is the reincarnation of God's evil counterpart; These are not humans of this planet, but two guys who demonstrated five years ago that they're in a realm beyond the humans.

And this loser is still doing this to them. This is what a low-rate Saiyan looks like.

And this is what a Saiyan elite looks like:

Like I said, we're never given an official reading on Nappa but he found 5,000 BP to be ridiculous for Goku to have and 8,000 to be unthinkably terrifying. The Daizenshuu pegs him at 4,000, but they also peg Piccolo at 3,500 which would mean Piccolo and Nappa are closely matched.

I don't know about you but I don't see it. But that may just be me.

In any case, this gives us a general understanding of how powerful the races of the universe are. Earthlings weak. Namekians strong. Saiyans strongest. And then there's outliers.

Throughout the universe, there are... mutants. On rare occasions, an individual is born to a race who have vastly, unbelievably, ridiculously, stupidly tremendous ki.

The Planet Trade employs these mutants for their upper staff. Zarbon and Dodoria are mutants, as are the Ginyus and even Frieza himself. Especially Frieza. The reason we've never gotten elaboration on Frieza's race is because Toriyama didn't want Frieza's traits to be taken as indicative of a whole people.

According to interview, Cold was born with abnormally high power and cruelty for his race, and these traits were passed down to his son Frieza. Whatever species they came from, it is nothing like them.

They're not the only ones. The Planet Trade collects and employs these uniquely ultra-powerful mutants for its elite forces. The Saiyans are the strongest race in the universe, but these mutants are the strongest individuals in the universe.

To grasp how powerful these guys are relative to the rest of the universe, we need to talk Saiyans again for a moment. Raditz? Raditz was the yardstick for what the bottom-tier of Saiyans was. He made Earthlings look like trash, but he would have been eaten alive by those unnamed Namekian warriors.

However, a Saiyan's true strength lies in the Oozaru. Goku as an Oozaru was meant to be able to reduce the standing population of the Earth to 0. Raditz, as an Oozaru? Would still have gotten his teeth kicked in by Vegeta, the Saiyan super-elite. He is so ridiculous, he could win a straight fight with the planet-killing Oozaru.

...I mean, not after being beaten within an inch of his life and taking a Genki-Dama to the face, he can't. But if Vegeta were still at the top of his game, this would be a very different fight.

Meanwhile, the Ginyu Force.

So. Yeah. By the time we get to them, we are far beyond the ordinary limits of the universe. Saiyans are the strongest race, and Vegeta's pressing up against the limit of Saiyan ability. He's one Zenkai away from breaking through the Saiyan ceiling. Goku already has.

And these mutants they're up against are the most powerful freak aberrations of unexplained super-ki ever to have occurred anywhere in space.

IIRC it's never directly stated but for reference, Broly would probably be considered a mutant. Whether he is or isn't, he makes as a pretty solid equivalence. These guys are to their respective races what Broly is to Saiyans. What Uub is to humans.

This is all vital context for understanding the way the Ginyu Force fights.

Because.

Like.

You need to understand.

These guys suck.

On purpose.

From a technical standpoint, they're not good fighters. They're sloppy. Poorly trained around big showy moves that are meant to look cool. Style over substance.

This is because they can get away with it. They are the most powerful beings in the universe; Powerful on a scale that is an order of magnitude beyond everybody else that exists. Even the Saiyans look like shit next to these mutants.

Saiyan super-elite hits Recoome with everything he's got right in the face at point-blank range.

And the mutant takes it like a fucking champ. Vegeta's about to be killed by a man who keeps pausing to do this.

The Ginyu Force is badly trained on purpose. Which isn't to say that they're trained to lose fights, but rather that they aren't trained to compete with an equivalent rival. They can afford a martial style focused entirely on showmanship because there is no competition for them. They're too powerful to ever lose fights. Nobody else in the known universe even compares to their mutant might.

Which, as previously noted, is something Frieza is also afflicted by, in different ways. There is no reason for the Ginyus to hone their skills the way the Earthlings do because. Like. Who's going to challenge them? They're naturally born into being top of the field by a wide margin. They're going to auto-win every fight they ever involve themselves in, so their idea of self-improvement is centered instead on looking as cool as possible while they do it.

This is precisely what the Muten-Roshi worked so hard to prevent Goku from becoming.

Something else I mentioned before is that Trunks demonstrates his serious goal-oriented nature by never naming any of his techniques. He has some distinct and identifiable moves, but none of them have a formal name that he shouts out when firing them. He's here to get the job done, not to show off.

The Ginyus are in the opposite boat. They know they can't lose fights, so they are absolutely, 100% here to show off. They name the shit out of their techniques.

Flying knee? Nah, bro. That is a Recoome Kick.

Running in and throwing a punch? Nuh-uh. Recoome Mach Attack.

Lobbing a ki blast at the opponent? Crusher Ball.

These basic attacks are given huge, flashy names. And, I need to specify, they're English names. Moves like the Kamehameha or Taiyoken or Sokidan or Makankosappo also have names but they tend to be Japanese names with descriptive meanings.

Turtle Destruction Wave, signature move of the Turtle School of martial arts.

Fist of the Sun, an intense blinding art.

Winding Ki Bullet, a remote-operated bullet of ki that Yamcha can manipulate how he likes.

Demon Piercing and Killing Light Gun, a Mazoku technique that pierces and kills.

This is not the same thing. These guys are screaming exotic English words to look cool while throwing hands. "RECOOME KICK!!!" Recoome screams in English as he throws a kick.

There is only one other character in Dragon Ball who fights like this.

That's right. Recoome Kick is the same kind of thing as Satan Miracle Special Ultra Super Megaton Punch. All shouted in English as well. The Ginyu Force is what Mr. Satan would be if he was as formidable as the world believes he is.

They're showmen, even moreso than the Earthling martial artists who were born for a tournament stage. Hell, some of Recoome's moves are inspired by pro wrestling.

They are the ultimate demonstration, both of the unquestionable might of the Planet Trade's human resources, and of the absolute waste that is the Planet Trade's capitalist philosophy towards martial arts. The PTO doesn't train warriors; They scout the strongest guys their money can buy and give them marching orders of "Get 'em." Their super-elites are no exception.

Except the Captain.

Much like Vegeta was with Nappa, Ginyu is the only one who gets it. He sees Goku's reading and immediately assesses that Goku's suppressing his ki. Ginyu knows his shit. He's just never drilled this kind of information into his soldiers, opting instead for cool-looking battle poses.

It makes sense that he understands ki suppression. He's Frieza's highest-ranking officer, and Frieza is the universe's unparalleled master at ki suppression. The lengths Frieza has gone to for the sake of suppressing ki....

But he hasn't taught it to his men. They're learning flashy modeling poses instead of martial arts.

I guess I can see the logic. Powerful as they are, why would it matter? Those three extraordinary warriors earlier were also suppressing their ki, but a range of 1k to haha actually 3k doesn't mean shit to the Ginyu Force. If nobody's true strength can match them then why waste time on tactical study?

But unlike his soldiers, Ginyu himself has the spirit of a martial artist. He doesn't waste time on battle poses or scream "GINYU FLYING PUNCH" in English when he throws a punch or do elaborate two-minute windups for his signature moves.

He's even pretty good at reading people. Ginyu lowballs Goku at 60k before the fight, but reassesses after he's traded blows with Goku a few times and estimates 85k instead.

Goku's official non-suppressed Battle Power at this point in time is 90k. So 85k is a pretty fucking good estimate for a guy who can't sense ki. Ginyu knows his shit. He's as reliant on tech as the rest of the PTO but he's experienced enough to have a strong understanding of what various levels fight like.

This is especially impressive when you remember that he's never fought someone at 90k before. Remember, further up, when he first judged Goku as 60k? He was getting excited about his lowball 60k estimate and saying he's never had a chance like this before.

If he's never fought 60k, he's certainly never fought 85k. He just. Knows enough about how lower levels fight that he can apply that knowledge and extrapolate to higher levels. It's an impressive estimation that demonstrates his experience. Ginyu isn't just the second-most powerful guy in the Planet Trade. He's the best martial artist in the Planet Trade, bar none.

He's also got a... theoretically cool ultimate technique that utterly sucks in practice: Body Change.

He may be the best martial artist in the Planet Trade but he's got nothing on martial arts master and analytical counter-fighter Son Goku. It takes Goku no time at all to realize that Ginyu's technique sucks. He doesn't know how to fight with Goku's ki.

Ginyu-Goku thinks this body will give him 180k BP because that's what he read on the Scouter when Goku used the Kaio-ken. But not only does Ginyu not know how to perform Kaio-ken, he doesn't even know how to use Goku's ki at all. It's not his. It doesn't work the same way. In Goku's body, Ginyu's reduced to a distressing 23k BP when Jeice reads him.

He's not just failing to put out Kaio-ken power. He's getting his teeth kicked in by Krillin. It's embarrassing.

I've heard the theory go around that Ginyu started out weak and worked his way up via Body Changing anyone that was ever stronger than him, but I'm not convinced that's the case. Because this right here? This seems like a critical flaw. It's hard to believe he'd be entirely ignorant of this drawback if he's ever seriously used this technique before.

Ginyu being incompatible with a Body Changed host's ki doesn't seem like something an experienced Body Changer would need Goku to explain to him. In practice, the hypothetically awesome technique is bad for reasons Ginyu wasn't able to foresee, not unlike when Tenshinhan brought Shishin no Ken/Multiform to the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai. Or Goku's first time attempting Super Saiyan 3 in a living body. Cool in theory but a massive fucking oversight costs him the entire fight.

This seems more likely to be something Ginyu, the only real martial artist in his crew, developed in his own time and showed off to his men. Something he's never actually stress tested, that he's been sitting on and waiting for an opportunity to use in the field.

Whatever the case, it pins an unexpected and interesting capstone on the Ginyu Force. They're a group of clowns who can get away with clownishness because they were born into unparalleled privilege. And they're led by a shockingly well-educated and capable martial artist who's never worked the kinks out of his ultimate technique for lack of adequate competition in a universe that could rarely hope to ever challenge even his weakest man.

[deathworlders-of-e24]

Danny, Security Chief

Part 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

<Open File>

<{Possible Security Threats}>

• Theta Raider attack; 23% likely

• Grite of the Sed

• Elizabeth Collins^

~Addendum: Liz Collins and 3 possibly hostile infant alien lifeforms she’s keeping as pets~

<{(expand file?)}>

Security Chief Danny Ducane had started keeping a list of possible risks to the Noah after the disastrous mission to MX13, off the main servers of course. He kept it on his private computer in his quarters, away from prying eyes and probes, something like a journal more than an official log.

He clicked the expansion and began to dictate:

“While the Sed man Grite has been relegated to inactive duty aboard the ship, the situation is becoming increasingly complicated. Several times I have seen the other Sed crewmen in compromising places, though it seems inauspicious to the rest of the security team. After I caught Communications Officer Soane observing me leaving the Bridge, I’ve also seen Kor and Taren, both engineers, in odd locations around the ship where there has been no request for repairs or upgrades. I’ve kept my findings to myself out of fear of accused paranoia, and my own self policing. I’m positive they’re watching me. But whether or not they have ulterior motives or are just pissed I fired their buddy, I’m still not sure. Further investigating is required.

On another note, my information request was confirmed by Admiral Townes. Despite the fact that the Noah was human made, with GAIL assistance, and that the experiment was posed by the Quintins in the first place, the Sed representative on the GAIL council apparently made a big stink about the Sed not having any command positions on board. Townes said they wanted the Captain position, Security Chief, and communications lead all filled with their own species, but the requirements weren’t met by anyone they’d selected for the mission. Therefore they just ended up as grunts under these ‘lesser’ species. Sounds like a bunch of political posturing, they got what they got and threw a fit anyway. Townes said they don’t take kindly to orders from races they deem… incompatible. So there’s that too, I guess, bigots in space. I’m just hoping we can hit the halfway mark and get relief personnel before this thing we got brewing goes nuclear. Signing off.”

Danny clicked the computer off and stretched his arms above his head, his back popping twice. Between alien encounters and solar flares, the ship was getting more… noisy. Active. Danny didn’t like it. Boring was best. Boring meant nobody was dying. He’d had had a feeling in the pit of his stomach for the last dozen cycles or so, something was coming.

And it was probably gonna piss him off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny made the bridge at 0900 hours the next morning, slapping his ball cap on his head and a cup of coffee in his hands. He nodded to the bridge crew before turning to the captain, who looked at him with his ant like head cocked to one side.

“Chief Ducane, I believe it’s your day off duty, is it not?”

“It is, yeah, but it’s not like I can leave the ship unattended. Anything could happen,” Danny said, raising his cup to gesture.

“Speaking of, anything new boss?” he asked.

“Actually yes,” Skitch said, his multifaceted eyes catching the light and glowing like an oil slick. “We got an alert about an hour ago, something breached our forward perimeter for a minute before jumping away. We think it was a ship of sorts, but the scanners couldn’t tell anything definitive before it ran away.”

Danny thought for a moment, taking a sip of coffee.

“Could be pirates,” he said finally, “but if it was an hour ago and they haven’t come back, they probably aren’t a sizable force if a ship this small scared them off. Still, I recommend putting everyone on tactical alert for the time being, just to be safe.”

Skitch nodded, antenna bobbing.

“Good idea. Now please, go rest. The medical staff told me you humans have to sleep for at least 10 hours a cycle or you don’t function correctly, and you barely get 6 with the amount of work you do.”

“Don’t worry about me Captain,” Danny said, laughing, “I’m perfectly capable of functioning on just 6 hours, even less with enough coffee.”

“Regardless, this is your assigned rest period. You’re supposed to relax today, so I don’t want to see you until the next cycle,” Skitch ordered. “You’re no good to the ship if-”

One of the consoles started beeping, cutting the Captain off. It was coming from the long range scanners, the communications officer cycling through the information as fast as she could.

“Sir, we’re picking up a distress call from the other side of the system, a merchant vessel is under attack!”

“Who is it?”

“Signal corresponds to a Muruzian ship the GAIL has on file, they’re taking fire.”

“Helmsman, set a course, best possible speed!” Skitch ordered. “Chief Ducane, your off day is canceled.”

“Way ahead of you captain,” Danny said, downing his coffee and turning his cap around. “Let’s go to work.”

Danny turn on his heel and booked off the bridge and back towards the lift. As he moved, he unclipped the comm-link from his hip and made the call:

“Attention Alpha Team, we have a situation. Body armor and weapons, meet in the hangar bay in 5 minutes. Bravo Team are on call for support and possible rescue. We are heading to aid friendlies and fuck up enemies, move your asses.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny hit the hangar bay in 4 minutes flat, even after making a stop at his quarters to grab his personal kit. Homet, Coola, Ritz, and Hayte were all there, strapping on their gear with solemn looks on their faces. Danny knew Homet had seen a firefight before, but the others had only fought in simulated battles. Danny trusted them to do their jobs, but worried what the job would do to them in turn. In any event, he could always step in to cover them.

Get your head on soldier, Danny thought, you lead them into it and out. Burn bridges after you crossed them.

“Ready in 60 seconds people, the bridge said the distress signal cut out so the enemy probably took over the controls. We have friendlies under attack so we’re gonna lend a hand. Now remember, the Muruzians aren’t exactly a sturdy race, and they look avian in nature,” Danny explained, showing an image on his data pad of the species. They looked like bipedal birds, with long legs and necks, plumage around the head and base of their extremities. Short wings extended from their backs, with a span over 3 meters across at their full length.

“These are civilians, not soldiers, so it’s up to us to save them. Readings on the aggressor’s ship indicate it’s probably pirates, so shoot to stun anything that shoots at you first. Seriously. Just stun. We don’t have a full crew manifest for the Muruzian ship so no spray and pray, got it? Don’t want anybody the Muruzians are friends with to get shot just ‘cause they don’t have wings.”

“About half of that didn’t make sense sir, but set everything to stun and let loose right?” Hayte said, smirking.

“Just stun anything that isn’t a tall turkey, got it?” Danny said, stepping into the shuttle. “Fall in, we’re going for a ride!”

The security force piled into the shuttle and the hatch closed behind them, pressurizing the cabin. The pilot got the all clear from hangar control, and the bay doors opened up in front of them. Danny heard Hayte behind him quietly ask Homet what a turkey was, and then they were off, into the void, hurtling towards a firefight.

“Alright guys, here’s the plan,” Danny began, “scans show their shuttle bay is wide open, so we’re going in there and securing a beach head. From there, we sweep floor by floor with scanners looking for life signs while going up to the bridge, taking out any hostiles we find or rescuing any of the Muruzians we encounter. We find anyone, one of us escorts them back to the shuttle bay for safety. Bravo Team is gonna be right behind us for recoveries, so once the friendlies are safe we regroup. Got it?”

“Got it sir,” Coola answered, though there was a slight stutter in her voice. The others didn’t respond, just nodded. Homet cocked his rifle, the weapon whirring as it powered up.

“Good to go, Chief,” he said.

“Okay, let’s do this right people,” Danny said, sending the same orders to Bravo Team through his comm-link. The shuttle was almost to the bay, and Danny could see the Muruzian ship in the distance, blocky and oblong at the same time, almost kind of egg shaped. Its thrusters were dead and dark. Just beside it was another ship, maybe a fourth the size, but clearly built for speed and maneuverability, almost like an arrow head in shape, though still smaller than the Noah.

Their shuttle came to a stop inside the Muruzian ship’s bay, just inside the air field generator. The pilot gave the signal, releasing the hatch. Danny was first out the door, sweeping from side to side with his rifle, head on a swivel. There was already another shuttle in the hangar, arrow shaped like the enemy ship. This was how they got in it seemed. They hadn’t seen any lifeforms on the scans of this area, but you never know what technology could miss. What you didn’t know could so easily kill you. The rest of them poured out of the shuttle and began securing the bay.

“Clear!” Homet called out, followed by the Quintin siblings, then Hayte.

“All clear!” Danny called, clicking on the radio in his ear piece. “Bravo Team, the beach head is secure, make your entry and prepare to receive injured friendlies and restrained enemies. We’re moving out.”

Alpha Team formed up at the exit, Homet on point with Danny right behind him. Hayte was in the rear, calling out possible life signs with the scanner, and the twins on lookout, just like they trained for.

“Got three signals on the next floor chief,” Hayte said as they made their way through the hangar floor. “But I don’t know how we’re going to get there, the ship doesn’t have stairs or any lifts.”

“Yeah, the Muruzians are an avian species,” Homet said, “they just fly and glide between floors.”

“Well they have to have maintenance shafts somewhere,” Danny said. “Somewhere they can stand and move between levels. Broaden the scan parameters, find any space that can fit us that can get to other floors.”

Hayte clicked some buttons and held the scanner up high above his head. Behind them, the Bravo Team shuttle landed in the hangar.

“Got something Chief, 20 meters ahead and to the left, service shaft. Looks like an air duct, but we can even get Homet in there if he crouches.”

“Good. Let’s move people,” Danny ordered. The team booked, staying in formation. They made their way down the hall toward the shaft, then pried open the doors. The duct went upwards at a 45 degree angle. Danny and Homet turned and gave a look to the other three, the lizards and the monkey.

“When we get back to the ship,” Danny began, “we’re gonna have a talk about the abilities of different species, okay?”

Going up was slow going. Danny’s legs were aching before they were halfway up, and Homet’s fur was making friction a problem. The Twins and Hayte had to brace themselves behind him and push while the Doun used the exposed skin on his hands to try and get traction. It took significantly longer than Danny wanted, but they had no choice.

Finally, they made it out the top end, Danny and Homet tumbling out onto the floor.

“Well that sucked,” Danny said, forcefully bending his spine back into shape. The more limber species on the team simply stepped out into the hall, trying to keep from laughing at their two more burly teammates.

“Get back in formation,” Danny ordered. “Bunch of kids, I swear.”

They made their way through the ship, Hayte directing them with the scanner. Finally they came up on a door and the Indoprime stopped them. He pointed to the door and held up 3 fingers on his furred hand.

“One Muruzian bio sign,” he said reading the device. “Two others that read as Tulane.”

“Crap,” Danny said. The Tulane were pretty well known for their techno-dependencies. They augmented themselves with whatever they could salvage from raid runs in other systems, so they didn’t have any real average appearance to attribute their species to anymore. Just lots of metal and weapons wrapped in flesh. A race of cyborgs.

“On three,” Danny said quietly, hand on the door. Homet got into position, the others behind him.

1…

2…

3!

Danny threw open the door and ducked aside as the big burly Doun charged in, his thermal suit making him a tank with tusks. The Tulane didn’t even have a chance to fire, Homet and Danny stunned them the second they were in line of sight. The team poured into the room, clearing corners and spreading out to cover any possible angle of attack.

They the coast was clear. Danny lowered his rifle and walked calmly over to the friendly alien bird. They appeared to be female, with light gray plumage and darker accents. Their beak was shaking, but despite that, Danny realized that if they stood up they’d be as tall as he was.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“SQUAWWK!” Said the Muruzian, and Danny waited a moment for the translator to kick in.

[Who are you? Are you here to help us? Please save us!]

“Don’t worry, we’re GAIL officers from the ship Noah, we’re here to help,” Danny said, trying to calm them down.

“Bawk? Squawk.”

[What? I can’t understand you, they destroyed my translator]

“Shit,” Danny said. “Ritz, give her your translator, Coola can interpret for you.”

The Quintin man gave the alien bird lady his device, then made a hissing sound. The Muruzian synced it to her ear.

“Better?” Danny asked.

“Much,” she said. “My name is Lith, thank you for coming. The Tulane came out of nowhere, we were boarded before we knew what was going on.”

“How’d they get on board?” Homet asked.

“They fired a directed EMP burst, completely fried our ship. We got back-up power going for life support, but that could go out any minute.”

“Okay Lith, we’re gonna get you to safety, but first you gotta tell us how many crew you still have on the ship so we can save them too,” Danny said.

“There’s only 50 of us in the flock, but some of them were in the hangar when they boarded. They… didn’t make it.” Lith gave a very sad sounding chirp. “The others were locked on the cargo decks. The only reason they didn’t get me too was because I was hiding. They left them in cargo and brought a few back up to the bridge.”

“Okay Lith, these two” Danny pointed to the twins, “are gonna get you to the hangar bay where our friends are gonna keep you safe, okay? All you gotta do is take a quick slide down that air duct over there, alright?”

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Lith said, squawking. Danny sent a quick message on the comm-link, ‘one incoming friendly, more in the cargo bay with hostiles, go get them’, and they were off. The twins taking Lith down and Danny, Homet, and Hayte continuing forward, securing the floor.

After a few minutes, Ritz and Coola were back, and the three of them had swept the floor for any surprises. Finding none, they moved on.

Another duct led up to the next floor, and Danny wasn’t having it after that. His legs and back ached, and watching the younger teammates effortlessly climb up was annoying. He was almost thankful when they encountered the band of Tulane pirates. At least it’d be longer now between climbs.

The group they encountered could not be said to all be the same species at first glance. For one, one of them was half the size of the other nine, and had a blaster for a hand. For two, the tallest of the group was see through, as in it looked like his torso had been replaced with bionics without any casing. Danny could see the wiring hanging down where organs should be as well as the wall behind it. Danny could see the thing’s ribs and spine, dripping what looked like motor oil.

Wow, fuck that noise, Danny thought.

“Light ‘em up!” Danny said, taking the opening shot. The first cyborg took the stun directly to the face, dropping like a sack of rocks. Homet took the next two, the energized bolt frying their circuits as they went down. Then it was all out war. Both sides fired wildly, but the Alpha Team had the element of surprise. The whole skirmish lasted less than 30 seconds. The last three took multiple stuns, twitching on the ground. Their cybernetics sparked and whirred, which would have been concerning if they weren’t pirate scumbags.

“Bravo Team, I got a present for you. 9 stunned hostiles, second floor from the hangar. Send medical and mechanical assistance. These guys are gonna stand trial for this, so make sure they don’t die.”

Danny turned back to his team, but something caught his eye.

The Tulane had jump packs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh I’m keeping this!” Homet exclaimed as they made the leap to the next floor, a whopping 20 meters up from the floor they’d left the unconscious pirates. Danny said nothing, but grinned at his friend. This was significantly easier on his back.

Plus it made him feel cool as fuck.

They made it to the next floor in record time, and cleared it just as fast. It seemed the center of the ship was hallow, a long empty shaft spanning the length of the ship, allowing the Muruzians easy access to the whole of the ship by flying or gliding to any floor they chose. Alpha Team was making use of it as well now, the jump packs strapped to each of them. Danny almost lost his cap at first, but by the sixth floor he was a natural at it. It was just like parachuting through the air, only in reverse.

They encountered a few more small groups of Tulane, but Danny took them out almost effortlessly, and with extreme efficiency. The rest of the team hardly had to do anything, Danny was systematically taking out every hostile they came across. If things kept up like this, he could keep everyone safe.

All in all, things were going well.

That was, until they reached the bridge.

The doors to the bridge looked as if they’d been blown open. They hung there, half retracted into the wall, wrenched into the room from what looked like concussive force. Danny could hear yelling in an alien language even from out in the hall, but they were too far away for his translator to make any sense of the words. He held his hand up and made a fist, signaling everyone to hold. They formed up on the entrance on the left side of the ruined door. Danny ducked his head and peeked in.

The Muruzian crew were huddled together in the corner, the Tulane looming over them with blades and blasters. One of the birds was kneeling in the center of the room before what appeared to Danny as just a hulking mass of metal on legs. Then he realized…

Aw fuck me

…it was a battle suit. Hydraulic muscles encased in oversized metal plating. Like a tank with an attitude. Danny had only seen one once before, during Academy training. He’d watched, uncomfortably scared, as a soldier in such a suit had punched a Humvee through a concrete wall.

The Muruzians never had a chance.

Neither did they, in all likelihood.

“Is that what I think it is?” Homet asked.

“Yeah,” Danny said, swallowing.

“What would a human say right now?”

“Fuck works.”

“Fuck then.”

“Stuns won’t get through that plating. And the birds aren’t gonna last a second if they decide to just wipe them out. Any plans?” Hayte asked.

The rest of the team just looked at him blankly.

“Fuck,” Coola said, unhelpfully shrugging.

Danny looked back into the bridge room, desperate for anything that might spark an idea, even a bad one would work.

4 hostiles.

1 in a tank.

Lots of friendlies.

Danny looked up above the battle suit. The roof had taken damage, the remains of a light source hanging from the ceiling. Wires sparked and embers fluttered down.

Maybe that could work?

“Okay, here’s the play. Twins and Hayte, take out the 3 by the hostages. Keep to stuns in case you miss. Homet, watch their backs. I’m gonna swap to scattershot and shoot the ceiling right above the suit, try to dislodge those wires and zap the bastard. That’ll distract him or drop something heavy on him, either works. Okay? On 3.”

Coola and Ritz looked like they wanted to protest, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore.

Danny counted.

1 prayer.

2 prayers.

Fuck it.

3!

Danny burst into the room first, screaming and shooting, which was fair since he’d probably get ripped to shreds first. The rest of the team came in a beat later, ducking to the side and firing at the pirates. It took one extra shot to knock out the guards, as Danny fired boiling plasma buckshot into the ceiling. There was a quick BOOMF!! as a an electrical explosion fried the wiring in the roof. Sparks and melted carbon rained down on the battle suit, and Danny could hear muffled screaming coming from the inside as the super heated shrapnel made its way into the seams. The battle suit flailed its arms and spun around to face them, weapon raised. Homet dove left, firing into its side, doing barely anything. Danny went wide to the right, trying to confuse it. Everything was moving in slow motion to him, himself included. The battle suit, his teammates, the scared Muruzians. Everything except his brain. That was firing on all cylinders, adrenaline coursing through his body, his mind desperate to come up with a way to get everyone else out alive.

His back felt heavy.

And then he realized, there was a better way.

Danny charged the battle suit as it turned to face him, firing as he ran. When he was right on top of it, he dropped and slid between its legs. It bent over to look for him, but Danny was already climbing up its back, strapping his jump pack to its side and wedging his rifle under some wires on the other. He brought his fist down on the pack, and the Tulane shot to the side, throwing Danny to the floor.

If Danny couldn’t take out the suit, all he had to do was scramble the guy inside.

“EVERYONE GET DOWN!” He ordered, quick as he could before the suit slammed into the side of the wall, crushing the plasma rifle and detonating the small core that powered it.

The sound was deafening, even with the battle suit taking the brunt of the explosion. It sounded like a train had rammed into the side of their heads going at full speed. Danny got thrown into the opposite wall from the force, as well as several of the Muruzians and Homet. The rest were scattered across the room, battered, bruised, and some a little burnt. But everyone was alive, including the three Tulane they’d stunned, which was a small miracle in and of itself.

“Chief, what’s a human word that’d work for right now?” Ritz asked, lying on his back in the corner with a giant bird man on top of him.

“Fuck still works,” Danny said.

“Fuuuuuuck then,” Ritz groaned. “I think my tail is broken.”

“What the hell were you doing Ducane?” Homet asked angrily. “No real plan, and then that?”

“Yeah, not pushing back on that one,” Danny admitted. “That sucked, and I’m sorry. But how else do you take down a battle suit?”

Danny walked over to the wrecked suit crumpled in the wall, pulling his pistol just to be safe. The thing sparked and a motor somewhere creaked, but he couldn’t see any signs of life coming from it. He banged on the head with the butt of his gun. It clanged dully.

Then the arm shot out and clamped around Danny’s waist. He could feel his bones grinding together under the strength of the metal claw wrapped around him. Hot metal seared his skin where his armor and clothes got burned away.

Danny shouted in alarm before the suit pulled him in, putting him face to face with the Tulane. The helmet visor flipped up and Danny was looking into the eyes of the raider inside.

Damn was he ugly.

Half melted orange flesh poured over the cybernetics in their face, their eyes bloodshot and twitching in all directions. Pipes and wiring were sticking out of their deformed neck. They tried to croak out words but the translator didn’t register it as a language.

Danny panicked and unloaded the whole clip into the Tulane’s face. At that close a range with no barrier, the ballistic force of Danny’s Terran firearm splattered the alien’s brains across the wall and much on Danny himself.

“FUCK!” Danny screamed. “God damnit, I didn’t… he caught be by surprise, I didn’t mean to fire lethals.”

“You killed a pirate Ducane, nobody is gonna be too upset about that,” Homet said. “What we are mad about is that you ran in half cocked without working out a plan with us.”

“Chief, you charged right at a battle suit with no way to survive it,” Coola said. Ritz and Hayte were tending to the Muruzians. “You completely disregarded any help we could’ve given you. Fuck!”

“Okay I think we’re over using that word now,” Danny said, prying himself out of the suit’s grip. He wiped his face, trying to get the blood smears out of his hair. “Truthfully, I didn’t think of that until the fight had started, but… yeah, okay, you guys are right. I should’ve got back-up first.”

“You do all this work for us Chief, training us like Terran soldiers, but then you don’t let us be part of the team when it counts. Why not?” Coola crossed her arms and looked him in the eye, her tail whipping back and forth angrily.

“I don’t know…” Danny started, but Homet cut him off.

“Chief, this is the first real combat situation we’ve all experienced together, and I have to say, we failed as a team. You did almost all the work, which isn’t to say you did a bad thing, but we don’t need Ducane the Destroyer right now, we need Chief Ducane to lead us, to make the plan and to trust us. Better, we need the Chief Ducane who trusts himself, who knows he did a good job training us.”

Danny wiped his hands stained with purple blood on his pants and looked at the team, his team, and realized they were right. He trained them, he knows their strengths and weaknesses, and knew he’d done a great job at turning them into marines.

So why had he taken on so much himself today?

“You humans don’t need to save us every time, you know?” Ritz said, walking over.

“You’re right,” Danny conceded. “I got it in my head that it was my job alone to keep everybody on the ship safe, including you all. I can see I need to work on that.” Danny nodded towards the Muruzians in the corner. “Let’s get them down to the shuttles and get back to the ship, yeah?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Noah was ordered to stay in the vicinity until a relief ship could come and take care of the Muruzians, their ship, and take the Tulane into custody. The bird peoples were given guest quarters on board the Noah until then, taking several hours for them all to get processed and translators. Danny was back in his office, going through the metric ton of data they’d taken from the Tulane ship when Homet walked in.

“Sir… Danny, I think we need to talk.”

Danny looked up at him and sighed.

“Look, I heard you guys loud and clear, no more solo acts, promise.”

“No, I don’t think you’re really hearing us. You took on everything by yourself today. I might’ve been on point, but you were still somehow first in the door. Our job is to keep the ship safe. Our job is to walk into the fire. Your job is to get us out the other side. And you can’t do that every time with this wanton disregard for your own well being.” Homet took a breath.

“I talked to the Captain,” he said.

“Homet, what did you-”

“Tomorrow it is mandatory you stay out of your office and take a real day off.” Homet grinned at him. “Captain’s orders.”

Danny just sat there looking at him for a minute before busting out laughing.

“Jackass, you had me worried for a minute there. Alright, fine, less coffee, more beer, yeah? You come get a drink with me after your shift. You’re in charge of the kids then.”

“Aye aye, Chief,” Homet said, joining him in laughter. “You humans might be the weirdest species I’ve ever met, but even you guys have to rest every once in a while.”

“Only when you make us, apparently.”

[puppy-phum]

Pit Babe Characters x Cartomancy ➣ Part 4: Kenta & Kim

Jack of Diamonds: Focuses on fulfilling his duty. Hard to change; in both mind and heart. Seven of Clubs: Standing up for what is right. Going against the current and making a difference.

for @pitbabeanniversary week 4 prompts: kenta & kim

(more thoughts under the cut!)

disclaimer: i am not an expert in either cartomancy or tarot reading. i did a lot of research on these two sites to come up with these cards for the characters. some of the meanings associated with the cards are still only my own interpretation, so they might not be completely accurate.

i'm quite amused by the fact that kenta and kim ended up with cards that are opposites of each other: other one is bound to oneself while the other connects more to people around (or above) them. yet in their differences, they're also quite similar – two sides of the same coin, i might say.

kenta: jack of diamonds is an ironic choice for kenta, i have to admit that. in general, diamonds are connected – amongst other things – to wealth, possessions, and independence. ironically, kenta lacks all of these things. he isn't rich on anything, doesn't own anything. not even his own self belongs to him bc he gave up his mind and body a long time ago (and his heart? i think it died throughout his childhood as he became the weapon tony needed him to be. tho others might say it's only buried deep and is still beating despite, or in spite, of it all).

but the jack of diamonds as one of the diamond cards isn't really about money or property. it's about loyalty and devotion, about striving for perfection and fulfilling your duty. a jack of diamonds is a hard worker, dedicated to a fault, stubborn as a mule, and so very hard to change bc of that. making them come around and change their mind is frustrating bc they don't want to admit they're wrong. and well, kenta might be aware of the fact that what he's doing is wrong, but. what other purpose does he have? he owes this much to his "father" (read: owner). the abuse disguised as love might be painful to take at times but does he really deserve anything more? ("yes," answer pete and kim, vehemently, above everyone else. "no," whispers kenta's own mind, black with tony's poison.)

kim: where kenta avoids change and doesn't believe he's capable of making things better for others bc he's simply not that strong, kim is the opposite. he has clear principles and he's unwilling to give those up for anything. he cannot stand watching what tony is doing after learning about his crimes. he stands up for justice, for the mistreated children under tony's care, for his career and talent, and most of all, for himself. he will not bend into anyone's will – hell, he'd rather die than let that happen as he proves by comforting tony in his own home about his misdeeds which really requires some huge balls from this guy. (sorry kim, i might love you but what were you even thinking???)

seven of clubs is a card that is about taking a stance and going against something you find wrong. it is about resistance bc you're so convinced that what you think or do is the right thing. it is about change – about forcing change to happen bc things cannot continue the way they are. and this is all truly what kim represents: conviction, sense of justice, and believing in your own capability and skills. some might see him a bit arrogant, too, but i think it's one of his best qualities that he's confident and knows exactly where he stands, what he wants, and what he deserves.

as a couple, i've already said it: kenta and kim are two sides of the same coin. that's what makes them clash but also work together. kim questions why kenta is doing what he is doing while also showing how strong he can be when he believes in himself and his principles. that affects kenta enough to make him break out of his cage – slowly, one broken rule at a time, but still. eventually, he picks up that knife and kills the final beast. he is free or left adrift, i don't really know. but at least, he's found another duty and has accepted change as the necessary evil. no more hurting innocents. something can be stronger than tony (other ppl's devotion to each other, perhaps? kenta isn't sure but i hope he figures it out.)

(an additional note of this edit: i think it's fitting that kenta's pic is more on the dark side, while kim's is brighter/has brighter yellow tones. kenta is the shadow while kim is the light etc. etc. you know what i mean)

[these-posts-arent-real]

Table of contents link!!

We're backkkkkk!!!! Aaaugh. Been going through some shit... hahhhh.... but I have returned --- ping list! @bright-honey and if ya want to be added, dm me or comment.

#jesus fuck #life has been insane #ughgh #but im back on my regularly scheduled bullshit now #more or less

48 notes

🔁 ✨️ likethesunontheriver reblogged

🦁 lionsight-x3 Follow

^ >w<`)ᐠ - ˕ -マ <- two cats cuddling

🦁 lionsight-x3 Follow

Also they're gay. Btw.

🌰 pit-vipers-number-1 Follow

@likethesunontheriver us <3

#AWWWWWWWW #I love you so much Chestnut... #ch.tag #shimmering reblog

🥬 rxttencatmint

Just some TtDV thoughts. It has some links to the real past (something bad happening to the land the cats were living on, causing them to move, like the history of how we ended up at the lake) but the setting is more futuristic (the items they use are more advanced than ours, like coconut bowls instead of moss, prey-skin pouches for carrying water in long-term desert travel, etc.), and the connection to spirits and the afterlife is completely unlinked to healing, since healer and seer are two separate roles in the oasis hierarchy. Being a seer requires a lack of sight, which is definitely... something.

#cont later #rot's ttdv rambles

5 notes

🐜 secretly20ants Follow

Enough "toms are all pieces of shit" shut the fuck up. No one likes you and you are stupid.

🐜 secretly20ants Follow

To anyone who said "you're right, it's just cishet toms" I am biting you with my teeth shut UP. No. Shut up NOW. My mentor is a cishet tom and he is one of the kindest cats I know. Stop being unkind to cats over their gender and sexuality just because you assume that's what they're gonna do to you.

#lgbtqia+ #20 ants in a cat suit can meow convincingly #textpost #social issues #don't try to tell me my brother and mentor are pieces of shit #i will HARM you

🐝 beeth--or--something Follow

Just wanted to remind all of you to drink lots of water! It's been getting hot lately, so for your own safety please remember to stay hydrated.

If you need to, you can carry moss balls full around with you.

#reminder #drink water!

🔆 the-post-maker

Hope you enjoy <3 I've started making the posts shorter for my own convenience and it's actually pretty nice

[flowercrowngods]

ronance yearning hours

Mornings like this are becoming Nancy’s favourite thing, with the rising sun painting the room in golden light that always, always lands on Robin, who usually sleeps long past sunrise when she can. Nancy lets her; there’s nowhere for her to go anyway on this slow Saturday morning in Steve’s house, and the boys will only wake in an hour or so.

Nancy has taken to using that time to watch the picture of absolute serenity that is a sleeping Robin, with her cheek smushed into the pillow and her hair falling over her face in a way that never fails to make Nancy smile.

It also never fails to make her fingers twitch, itching to reach out and brush that hair behind her ear and see if her cheek is as smooth to the touch as it looks.

It gets stronger, this urge, with every slow Saturday morning that she wakes in the same bed as her. The journalist inside her wants to find a better word for it, a stronger one, to avoid repetition and ensure clarity. But all the words are big and carry implications for which Nancy is not yet ready.

She refuses to call it longing, this need inside her to touch and linger. She refuses to call it yearning, the way she looks forward to Friday nights at Steve’s with Robin and Eddie, or the way it fills her chest with excitement and giddiness just to think about sharing a bed and waking next to her and watching as all the things that overwhelm Robin on a daily basis are held off for at least another hour yet.

What’s in a word? she’ll scoff when it comes to interviews and articles and hours of agonising over sentence structure and synonyms.

But it’s on mornings like this that she realises that some words require bravery and tenderness rather than simple contemplation and calculation. Some words take time.

Beside her, Robin sighs quietly in her sleep, and Nancy shuffles closer. Because if she can’t be brave with words yet, not even with herself, she can at least be closer.

Using the momentum of a moment unguarded, her right hand comes up before she can stop it, finding a home on Robin’s cheek as she slowly, reverently brushes the hair out of her face and behind her ear. Her touch is light, fingertips ghosting over soft, warm skin — and feeling that softness upon her touch, she wonders if falling in love with Robin would be just as soft, just as gentle; just as warm.

Not a second later, Nancy pulls her hand away as if burned, her heart racing in her chest as if it were signalling her to run, you should be running, i’m racing like you’re running for your life before you’re caught and found out. Nancy balls her hand into a fist and scoots further back on the bed, feeling a heaviness inside her chest that has only been there for a few of these mornings. A fear. A panic.

Because terrible things happen when Nancy Wheeler wonders about love and touch and tenderness. And worse things still, because it’s not supposed to be like this. Not with Robin.

So she stays on her side of the bed, watching the sun dance along Robin’s skin, her hand still warm, the ghost touch of Robin’s soft cheek still present. And she watches, hand cradled to her chest to stop herself from reaching out again. She watches and wonders if maybe she should start using bigger words, because the pit in her chest is growing larger with every passing second and she needs something to fill it.

~*~

It happens again the next week. And the week after that. It seems like the first time broke something in Nancy, or maybe it came alive, but either way she can’t really stop reaching for Robin now. And her repertoire of words is growing with each Saturday morning, too. Longing, aching, yearning — they are classics. But there’s basking, too. Hoping, wishing, and imagining. God, does she imagine.

She imagines Robin’s lips turning up into a smile with Nancy’s hand on her cheek, she imagines her hand coming up to capture Nancy’s and just holding it. Or an image that makes her heart race again: kisses brushed to her knuckles. Or her lips.

She imagines, and she wishes, and she longs. But there’s also belonging. In fact, there’s a whole novel Nancy feels she could write in those early morning hours. A thousand pages dedicated to all the words that exist around Robin Buckley. Words that live inside Nancy; that part is important.

Four weeks have passed and the feelings have only grown stronger, developed more words that will forever remain between her and the morning sun. And Nancy can’t stop herself from trailing the back of her finger along smooth, warm skin, the touch too light to disturb the sleeping beauty.

Sleeping Beauty, who stills and stiffens minutely, but Nancy is too mesmerised to notice until it’s too late.

“You’ve gotta stop this,” Robin whispers, her voice hoarse from sleep, and Nancy’s heart leaps out of her chest in panic and embarrassment.

“Sorry,” she whispers, pulling her hand back toward her chest. She’ll explain. Robin had something on her face that Nancy brushed away, that’s all. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—

“Or I’ll fall madly in love with you if you don’t.”

Oh. Oh?

Oh.

Nancy swallows as her thesaurus dissolves and all words escape her. She blinks. Robin’s eyes are still closed but there’s a shadow of a smile on her lips, dimpling the skin that Nancy caressed just seconds ago.

There is the chance to just ignore that this ever happened, with Robin not looking at her, not making this moment real yet, on the brink of sleep and wakefulness. All she’ll have to do is wait. It’s the best chance she’s ever going to get, to forget about all this and get over it. Over her. Over whatever she has been building inside herself under the light of the rising sun over the past weeks.

All she’d have to do is remain still and silent and wait for Robin to fall back asleep.

But there was something about big words and bravery, and even though her thesaurus has left her and the thousand pages of things to feel, to say, to do, to think around Robin have torn themselves up because they were bleak and bland and not enough, Nancy feels brave on this particular morning.

Because the world hasn’t ended yet in all those weeks that she’s been thinking about Robin. In fact, the world has stopped ending since she started seeing Robin for who she is. And in a world where bravery is not about surviving, it is always about love.

And maybe that’s what she feels, maybe that’s what she wants, what she allows herself to want when she lays her hand on Robin’s cheek to caress the softest skin and gently comb back the strands of hair that are threatening to fall back over her face again. Her beautiful face that’s pulling up into a smile now — and Nancy is not imagining it. In fact, she’s smiling, too. She’s smiling so wide that a tiny little laugh bubbles past her lips.

Robin scoots closer, eyes squinting open now, as if to make sure this is real. As if she’s feeling the same. As if she meant it, what she said just now.

Nancy swallows thickly when Robin tucks her head under her chin, her body curling into Nancy’s, finding one of her hands to hold it. She still feels too raw, too vulnerable, and she wants to ask. Wants to be sure. Wants it to be real.

“Five more minutes,” Robin says, already on her way back to a deep sleep. “And then we’ll talk about this. I’ll tell you all about this girl I like. Think she might like me back. And she’s so warm.” She buries a little deeper into her side to chase that warmth that is now filling her whole body.

And Nancy gasps out a laugh this time, a tiny one, gentle and tender and all those words that are slowly coming back to her now that Robin is curled into her side and holding her hand. Her free hand comes up to comb through Robin’s hair in steady motions to lull her back into a slumber.

“Sleep,“ she breathes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Robin hums, cuddling impossibly closer, and Nancy feels herself drifting off again, too. With a smile on her face. For the first time in years.

[gayofthefae]

Thinking about pacing and how it's why I became a Byler.

If Mike and El were endgame, the pacing of season 4 would be....weird.

Normally conflict and confrontation is climactic, ESPECIALLY simultaneous conflict that "all crashes down on you". That's built up separately as A and B plots that intersect, this point of intersection being Mike.

Which is why I was so surprised when Will and Mike fought and had to pause it and go, "wait, what's happening?" Before that point I was worried that the season conflict was veering towards pitting Will and El against each other over Mike based on the tension at the rink - I naturally assumed that it was setting up the season arc with the current events that would continue until a 3rd act payoff, but it wasn't.

Will calls Mike out immediately and El calls him out the next day. Leaving the rest of the season empty. It's why Mike's final speech doesn't work. The plot was not maintained. It was a setup and payoff much like the painting, which I forgot about by the time he pulled it out might I add. We do not follow either Mike nor El's point of views on this plot, with only one even ACKNOWLEDGING it.

It doesn't. Make. Sense. At least not for my original prediction. Which is why I paused it, and thought:

If Will is calling Mike out now that means he won't ignore him for the rest of the season. Then what will the central conflict be? Will has said what he needs to say. Mike clearly has not, though, so this is more of a setup for him, but a setup for what? Will has nowhere to go from here because he has already reached the peak of this arc, demonstrating the vulnerability self-assuredness required for this honestly AND there is nothing for him as a person to follow this up with. The ball is in Mike's court to apologize. So the ball is in Mike's court for this plotline, this scene is an inciting incident for Mike, but for what? In this scene, he contrasts Will's honesty by being closed off and defensive, so his arc is to truth, but what truth? What secret would be threatened by Will's accusations of- OHHHHHHHHHHH

Will got too close, Mike got defensive, and his season arc is gaining the courage and vulnerability to explain himself. Got it. (We're not done)

2 episodes later: he apologizes and explains with vulnerability - WHAT? Okay, but he still hasn't told him how he feels so they're just pacing it differently, we mentally adjust. He is building up to telling him no longer with the stakes of his relationship to Will but rather the urgency of owing El an explanation/decision by the time he sees her again, one which he would likely tell Will first. The stakes are the commitment and pain he causes the longer he stalls. He needs to confess by the time he sees her again. Yes. He seems to be slowly working it out, coming back to the "why" repeatedly, and Will is giving him coded words - not enough to be a confession from Will and he has already demonstrated his honesty (the van scene is really just an inciting incident for the Jonathan coming out scene as far as Will's plot goes) - that he's reacting to and are perfect to be the tipping point for his motivation. And he's looking between El and Will with a strange expression. And he's......(I kinda just sat confused for a while until I got to the end and realized it was supposed to be a cliffhanger for the first time and also that there was a season 5, at which point I sat further before understanding that this was a multi-season arc because season 4 had themes of subverted happy endings into tragedy)

I had to adjust it with little tweaks throughout but only ever in pacing, never in event. But if I got it 2 hours into a 13 hour season, I'm sure they'll catch up in the next 8.

[boxboxblog]

In Depth: Pit Stops and Tire Strats

This a response to an ask about the most commonly used tire/pit stop strategies on the race, and why certain strategies are chosen. I hope this answers your questions!

Tires

So, jumping first into tires, most teams choose the same options during race weekend. They have several compounds to choose from (Slicks: C0-5, Wets: full wets and intermediates) and most often go with the C1-C3 compounds. C1 is hards, C2 is mediums, and C3 is softs. When the conditions are dry they pretty much always go with these. When it is wet, it's a bit different. Teams are actually required to prepare wets for a race that has any amount of rain (for safety) and so their tire strat can be pretty limited there. They simply have to watch the radar and figure out if the rain will lessen or increase. If it lessens, and the track starts to dry, inters are chosen. If it will get worse, better to stay on full-wets. If it dried fully they usually have some slicks prepared, often the mediums. Dry days are a completely other ball game, though. The biggest thing on dry days is if the race is a one-stop or two-stop.

One-Stop: Most teams will start the race on mediums during a one-stop race. The versatility of the medium tire allows them to keep speed during the first half, but also lets them stay out for a longer stint than if they were on softs. If a team plans on doing a one-stop strategy at a circuit that usually degrades tires fast (a risky strategy) they might start the driver on hards just so they can stay out for as long as possible and not lose any grip. Rarely do we see a team start on softs for a one-stop, and it only happens when drivers are desperate to gain position early in the race. During one-stops the second set of tires all depend on what they chose to do with the first and how long the first stint was. A long stint with medium tires switches to softs. A short stint with medium tires goes for hards. A long stint with hard tires will switch to softs. If they have an unfortunate race and start on hards but have a short stint, they switch to mediums. A short stint with softs will switch to hards (and maybe mediums if the driver is good at tire management). A very lucky long stint with softs will go to mediums.

Two-Stop: At a two-stop, the strategy is a bit different. Teams almost always start them on softs, switch to mediums or hards, and then end on softs. The goal is to get speed in the beginning and push the tires, switch to a higher compound and hold position during the middle part, and then switch to fast tires at the end and see if they can get more speed. They sometimes switch to mediums for the third stint too though, often if the soft tires degraded really fast in the first stint. Teams very rarely start on anything but softs for two stops, but if they do it might be because they are hoping to extend the first stint, and make either the second or third stint short. Sometimes this is done if they are leading the race with a wide margin, just to make sure that they have fresh tires by the end and cannot get caught by a driver with better ones. This is rare, however.

Pit Stops

When to pit is a massive part of race strategy. There have been drivers who won races solely because they pit at the perfect time, and drivers who have lost because the chosen time was bad. Decisions are made based off expected rival pit times, tire deg, track conditions, and other such factors. Sometimes teams prefer to pit early. Other times they go for the more balances, mid race stop. The real gamblers will do a late pit. But why do they choose whichever they choose?

Early Pit (10-15 Laps): The early pit is often chosen on a two stop race. The softs that are usually chosen for a one-stop will be pretty degraded by that point and so must be replaced. Teams might also hope undercut their rival, especially if said rival stayed out. This way, the early pitter will get out there and start gaining time before their rival pits. Hopefully by the time their rival comes out they will have gained so much time with the early pit, they will pass them. Teams also choose this pit time to avoid midfield traffic, as it can cause even the fastest cars a slow down. They usually decide this on tracks where overtaking is difficult. The risk of the early pit is that the tires may degrade too fast after, and it leaves them with slower tires than rivals by the end.

Mid Pit (15-25 Laps): The mid-race pit is usually a safe bet. It seeks to balance tire wear, track position, and overall race pace. This strategy is usually chosen when the team is happy with grid position and has no fear of being overtaken. It is often ideal for tire management, and best for a one-stop race. The risks of this pit choice are not massive, but it can mean that the driver does not have time for any bold moves.

Late Pit (30-40 laps): It can be a massive gamble for teams to pit late. This strategy is chosen usually for one-stops, and allows teams to overcut. This means that they hope to gain a ton of time up on their rivals in the beginning (and when the rival pits), so when they come back on track from the late pit they are still ahead. Often chosen by race leaders with a huge gap, it can lead them to lose time before they pit due to having old tires. Most teams do not do this unless they feel sure of their gap to the nearest car behind. But teams can also do this when they want to end the race on the fastest tires on track, hopefully letting them overtake near the end of the race or even grab fastest lap for a point. The danger of this is their tires being badly degraded before pitting, or being undercut by a rival.

Different Drivers, Same Team

One big questions surrounds why teams have drivers on different strategies sometimes. This is often down to a variety of factors, like driver pace and style, championship placement, qualifying position, etc. They also might like both strategy choices and want to use both to see which works best for future races. For example, if there is a team and one driver is known for pushing tires hard but the other is known for being more gentle, they might start the pusher on mediums and the more gentle one on softs. Another example, if one driver is race leader and the other is P15, they might put the driver in P15 on a more risky strat, like a one-stop at a degrade heavy track, just because they have nothing to lose.

This is also seen with pit stop time choices too. Teams cannot pit at the same time, so they make their choice based on the same factors as above. If you have a driver in P2 they might want to give them the chance to undercut the race leader (or hold their position) , and will pull them in early/middle. If their teammate is in the midfield, they will probably have them wait until at least after the other because the P2 driver takes priority. Or on the flipside, they might pull the midfield placed driver in early for a riskier strategy because they have less to loose. It flip-flops back an forth based on many different factors and how they work together.

It would be really difficult to sit here and outline every pit stop/tire choice and tell you exactly why it happens because there are a billion factors that go into each decision. Truly, only the pit wall and strategists knows the exact reasons why they choose what they do, but it always comes down to which decisions will get the best results for the team. Almost never do we see teams make decisions to give a driver a better strategy if it won't benefit the team as a whole. So remember next time you watch a race that every decision is deeply calculated and complex. It may seem simple to us, but every choice has been analyzed for hours and they have to balance everything all together, all in the hopes of winning.

I hope this was what you were looking for, if not please let me know and I can clarify a few things.

Cheers!

-B

[home-of-renn]

Can you imagine if the Addams family were the first people Danny's ever met to truly view death as something beautiful and serene??

Sam doesn't count - she's goth and collects skull-shaped buttons and is intrigued by the spooky and the occult. But her fascination is superficial in that she's still alive and will never understand the true meaning of death until she herself makes that final journey. Like most people Danny knows (including himself), she was raised in a society in which death is viewed as a dreadful finality.

Danny avoids the topic of his death/resurrection - so does everyone around him. He didn't want to die, it just happened. He died but he's still here and now he's a mistake that can't be undone.

Sam, along with everyone else who knows, shares a sense of guilt that weighs them down and leaves unspoken words festering between them. It's heartbreaking, but there isn't anything that can be done about it. So sometimes they'll crack a joke and have a laugh and Danny will make an inappropriate number of puns for the given situation, but for the most part they all avoid the elephant in the room.

The Addamses are a whole different ball park.

They speak openly about his liminality and take every aspect of half dead existence in stride. Jazz has made a number of unsuccessful attempts at getting Danny to open up. She's patient and Danny loves her - but the Addamses don't approach it like there's anything wrong with him.

They understand that Death is the greatest equalizer and that without it life has no meaning. Truth be told, the Addamses are a family filled with joy. They respect death and in doing so are able to live their lives to the fullest. There is no fear of the unknown, just an understanding that not all things require an immediate answer and that not all things need to be known just yet.

They speak about Death and the deceased with reverence - without grief or mourning. They see the joy even in death and it's completely different to anything Danny has ever encountered. In Amity, death is a constant reminder. Restless spirits are looming threats that haunt every corner and darkened alleyway. In Amity Park, ghosts are nothing but harsh reminders of what's to come.

But the Addamses speak of death as if it were any other milestone and not the final stretch of a home run. Like moving out for the first time or starting a new job - some things can be scary, but dying is nothing but a change of scenery and becoming a ghost is but a pit stop along the way.

Of course, ghosts don't form from people who lived fulfilling, happy lives. They’re formed from pain and suffering so deep it becomes ingrained into your soul, leaving it tethered and unable to move on.

But what is an Obsession if not a chance for peace? A final opportunity for all those who never had the chance in life.

They don't prefer Phantom over Fenton, but they don't shy away from his ghostly side.

Doorways spirits aren't meant to be - but Danny is and will ever be the only one. He's a paradox that not even Clockwork can undo, too knotted and tangled to ever come loose.

The Addamses don't pretend to understand him - if anything they have as many questions as he does. They lend him books from their library and let him star gaze on their roof.

They treat him like something that was meant to be, and Danny had no idea how much he needed it.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Blind starscream au, everyone forgets that he's blind until he points that out, cue the awkwardness

More blind Starscream, heck yeah. I love this mech so much, especially when he just does not give a frag.

Forgetfulness

Megatron

The first time it happened on earth, Megatron was issuing orders as usual and was looking over a map of the battlefield not recalling that Starscream was literally unable to see it.

Megatron: *pointing to the map* We will strike here! Starscream will lead the assault!

Starscream: *sarcastically* Ah yes, I can definitely see where exactly I am to attack, obviously.

Megatron: *silently sending starscream a set of coordinates over comm link instead* You have your orders, get going!

They didn't talk for a week after that incident. Megatron was too embarrassed at his blunder to even try to make amends and so just avoided the seeker.

Soundwave

As a general rule, Soundwave and Starscream don't interact. But the singular time Soundwave seemed to forget that the seeker couldn't see was something that stuck in both their memories. They had run into each other in the halls and Soundwave had suddenly stopped Starscream from continuing, gesturing to a sign that specifically pointed toward the area being off limits.

Soundwave: *gesturing with a nod and his cables toward the sign that says "keep out"*

Starscream: *irritated* Use words Soundwave. I am no psychic.

Soundwave: ...

Soundwave silently sent Starscream the warning over a comm link before walking away without a word. He would never admit his blunder to anyone.

Knockout

The Decepticon medic was in the middle of working on a Vehicon while he was gossiping with Starscream when he asked for the seeker to pass him a tool. Starscream of course gave him a look that quickly make Knockout realize his error.

Knockout: That sounds dreadful! Could you be a dear and pass me that scalpel?

Starscream: Ah yes, I will certainly pass you the small item that I can most definably see.

Knockout: ... My apologies.

They continued chatting as it nothing happened but Knockout screamed internally afterwards.

Breakdown

Normally Breakdown is very aware of Starscream's blindness and takes extra care to not mention it while still accommodating it. However on one occasion where Starscream's sensors were out of commission, he straight up forgot about the seeker's disablement.

Breakdown: *throwing a lob ball at starscream* Catch!

Starscream: *proceeds to get hit and fall flat on his face*

Breakdown: *softly* Scrap.

Breakdown went to Knockout with several scratches and a blaster burn later that day and he never forgot that moment, often having it come back to haunt him late at night.

Shockwave

Shockwave never actually forgot that Starscream was blind, he just didn't care and wanted to watch the seeker seethe while he tried to figure out how to find the thing he was asked to get.

Shockwave: Starscream, I require the third smallest beaker.

Starscream: Ah yes one moment, I will get it once I get my sight back.

Shockwave: Starscream, I require it immediately.

Starscream: *pointing to his lightless optics* How am I supposed to find it you slagger?!

Shockwave: You are resourceful, I am sure you will succeed without aid.

Starscream spent forty minutes trying to find the beaker. He never found it and resents Shockwave to this day.

Optimus Prime

It wasn't really that Optimus forgot, more like he simply used the wrong phraseology.

Optimus: Can't you see all the harm you are doing?! Starscream: No actually.

Optimus: *staring blankly for a moment* ... Allow me to rephrase. Do you not feel anything for the harm you are doing?

It was slightly awkward and Starscream has occasionally mocked Optimus for it since.

Ratchet

While doing a repair for Starscream, Ratchet temporarily forgot that Starscream literally could not see how bad his injuries were.

Ratchet: How in the pits did you do this? A gash of this size...

Starscream: It's that bad?

Ratchet: Yes! Can you not see-! Oh...

Starscream and Ratchet both coughed awkwardly after the fact and neither have spoken a word on the subject. Although on the odd occasion where Ratchet is feeling a little evil, he will exclaim something about Starscream having a bomb stuck to him during battle, temporarily causing the seeker to flail.

Arcee

Her situation was less awkward and more angering than anything else. She was in the middle of confronting Starscream for the death of Cliffjumper when she made a slight blunder.

Arcee: You killed him! Did the sight of his spark puttering out not cause you to feel any remorse!

Starscream: I didn't see it, so no.

Arcee: Why you little-!

Starscream was only barely saved from having the life beaten out of him by the team and he has since been careful around Arcee for fear of angering her further.

Bulkhead

He was in the middle of battle and trying to find a way to disorient Starscream when he messed up a bit.

Bulkhead: *tossing dirt at starscream to try and blind him* Take that!

Starscream: *unphased but a little irritated* How cute.

Bulkhead: *remembering* Oh fra-!

Simply put, he returned to base far more singed than he would have otherwise liked.

Bumblebee

While Starscream was a prisoner of the Autobots, the seeker's wings, and therefore his sight was put out of commission. And forgetting this, Bumblebee led the seeker straight into banging his helm against a doorway.

Bumblebee: *in binary* This way.

Starscream: *walks straight into the top of the doorway, hitting it with a nasty thunk* FRAG!

Bumblebee: *internally screaming at himself*

Bumblebee never forgot that particular blunder and he has since taken care with other prisoners to ensure the same thing doesn't happen twice.

[loganthrives]

RimWorld: Anomaly Part 4

I think I may be getting bored of this colony and want to start over, but I wanted to tell one more story about it first.

Under cut as usual to protect from spoilers:

So at the end of the last one I shared a message that said the ground was cracking apart. If you know anything about this DLC while reading that, you might be thinking of this:

Or of its smaller cousin, which just poops out a handful of flesh beasts before you plug it.

The message I posted last part wasn't for that, though. It was for this.

Randy was gracious enough to place it a good distance away from my base, but it spreads quickly. By this point I've already raided two overrun villages that have had this happen to them and seen the aftermath when one of these pops off. So I knew I had to act quickly.

We grabbed half of our best fighters and approached the fleshmass. Unfortunately we had some visitors to the region passing through at the same time, and they encountered the fleshbeasts first.

Most of them survived, I think. I don't remember exactly, its legitimately been a while since this happened/since I've played.

Cleaning up the fleshmass is a chore and a half, because as I said, it spreads QUICKLY. I learned quickly that if I could take out connecting tissue between chunks of it, it would stop spreading out from those chunks. Anything connected to the centre mass will still spread, though.

And there are consequences for being so diligent.

My colonists had been at this for a day and a half with no sleep or food. A couple had mental breaks. I had to let them go rest, eat, and recover their wounds.

I didn't leave it alone for too long, though, and started harvesting samples so I could learn how to kill it.

In this taller screenshot you can see the fleshmass on its day off from being shot at, how far it spread and the areas it had spread to previously by the fleshy ground left behind.

At this point not only did my colonists need a break but it hadn't actually spawned any blisters for me to destroy for more samples. I had to let it grow.

Eventually we got our breakthrough.

Several colonists stood guard while he delivered the fatal shock required to end it.

Cool guys don't look at explosions.

And it left behind a little present.

Naturally, I took it back to my base to contain and study it, and it has been providing the twisted flesh for my animals' kibble ever since. I worry for the day when it might try and reform itself in the middle of my base, but in the mean time, dear gods I really need to get those transport pods researched.

As for this hole in the ground?

Sure, it spawns enemies every so often that throw themselves impotently at my turrets, bears, and clawer dryads...

... But it also serves as a convenient year-round mushroom farm for some extra nutrition. So I haven't closed it up yet.

In the meantime, we sent the angry ball out to fight a Diabolus-level threat so we could try and increase our mechtech, but I think it accidentally destroyed the signal chip we needed for our research in its onslaught, because I can't find it anywhere.

Oh well.

Next time, I dunno. I might try and tell some colonist stories, but I've actually gotten a little bored of this colony. There have been a couple patches to the DLC since to allow people to advance to the end of the Anomaly storyline without discovering absolutely every anomaly, so I actually have the option to end it available to me now. There's also the opportunity to play a pure horror experience as of last patch, where anomaly events can happen but you don't advance the monolith storyline.

Personally, I'd prefer a middle option - where a monument exists, but on another tile on the map instead of your main base, and anomaly events can happen regardless. But you have to travel to and set up a colony at the monolith to open up that ending option. But maybe that's just me?

Anyways, I'm hesitant to pull the trigger on the ending because I still haven't resolved the giant pit in the ground/our mushroom farm, and I haven't discovered this vaunted golden cube yet, either. There's also at least one anomaly critter I haven't seen yet that isn't the thing that waits for me in the hole. I see it in screenshots on containment platforms all the time, but I don't know what it is. No spoilers, please.

If you liked this there are three other parts preceeding this that you can check out (if you want):

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Thanks for reading 💗

[nancypullen]

Creeping Toward September

Shhhh. The last three days we've woken up to temperatures hovering between 58-60 and I don't want to scare it away. I know it's still August, summer is still spreading her fiery breath around, and we're a solid month away from really pleasant weather, but this sneak peek is wonderful. Our daytime highs still soar to the 80's, but I'll take that cool morning kiss and dream about fall. I haven't posted in a week! We had the sweet grandgirl for three days and had a ball. We returned her Monday afternoon and then I took Tuesday off. I didn't lift a finger. Since then I've been cranking out earrings like my life depends on it. I still need to make cards and if I have time, do some of my altered art watches. I'm working on earrings first because they require more time. First I condition and blend the clay and decide what sort of pattern or look I want, then I roll and cut, and into the oven they go. Once they're baked I do a little sanding to smooth the edges, then they get an acrylic glaze and go into my little UV machine. When they're all pretty and glossy, I drill holes and put them together with jump rings and posts. None of it is hard, but it is a bit time consuming. I am building an inventory though, and that's the goal. My plan for Artisans on the Choptank is to have one display of autumn and Halloween earrings, one display of the local high school colors, and one display of just really FUN earrings - all colors and designs. I've made several pairs in the high school colors, and right now I'm in the thick of the autumn batch.

I'm really digging the gray, gold, and white. I was actually just using up scraps when I made those, but I may make more.

I won't be charging much because I know how imperfect these are. I'm not using high end findings, I'm still a bit clumsy with the whole process, and I'm simply not a perfectionist. If anything has to be exact, I'm not your gal. But for a few bucks, surely the ladies of Caroline County would like some fun earrings. I guess I'll find out. I'm planning to post this sign at my booth.

I may also have a little sign with a "days until Christmas" countdown. It's closer than you think.

So, that's what's keeping me busy. I'm happiest when I'm creating, so it's been a good week. I can't wait to complete the earring plan and get started on the cards. I've roughed out a couple of ideas.

Come on over to my booth and buy a gift for the fancy gal in your life and a card to go with it. One stop shopping! I have the Square thing for my phone so I can swipe a card, I have appropriate displays for my wares, and I'll have this banner on the front of my table.

That's me! I think that since my first foray into the craft fair world is in September, I'll use an orange table cloth and maybe some mini pumpkins with that banner. Keep it simple, but noticeable.

I'm trying not to over invest because this may be a flop. Or I might decide that I hate sitting at a booth all day. That banner was $7, my time is free (seriously, what else am I going to do?), and my supplies are mostly inexpensive. Clay is cheap. I don't want this to become a money pit of a hobby. Hopefully I can sell enough to pay for my spot at the event. Booth space for the day is $50 and it's only four hours! I think that's steep. Maybe I'm naïve.

Aright, enough about that. You've probably fallen asleep while I yammered on about clay earrings. B-O-R-I-N-G. Sorry. Honestly, I can't share a zillion photos of the grandgirl (which is what I want to do) and there's not much else happening around here. The mister is still running far and wide doing his photo stuff. The last two evenings he was at Summerfest. That's Denton's BIG send-off to summer, celebrating harvest as well as sending the kids back to school. They don't start school until after Labor Day here (throwback to my childhood!). Anyway, at Summerfest there's a lot of good music, dancing, food, fireworks, a play area for kids with giant sides and bouncy houses, and so on. I probably should have gone, but I end up attending those sorts of things alone. That's no fun. I figured I'd stay home and use those hours to produce inventory (I was trying to avoid saying earrings again). Last year I tried to enjoy it, but I had horrible sciatica pain and I was still feeling puny from a double bout of covid. I did enjoy the music though!

Heyyyyy, speaking of pain...guess who is living practically pain-free these days? Ol' Grancy has found the perfect recipe for feeling whole again! First, movement. Walking for just 30 minutes every morning and being diligent about my stretches and some core work has made a huge difference. I'd like to get a treadmill and increase my waking time. I used to do 3.5 miles every morning and it set the tone for the rest of my day. That was before my ankle surgery. After the ankle surgery I tried so hard to maintain activity, water aerobics, Jazzercise,etc. I even had a routine before Jazzercise - ibuprofen one hour before class, after class I'd drive home with an ice wrap on my ankle and then elevate it. Stupid, huh? THEN WE MOVED. That move was when I hurt my back and the sciatica stuff started. If you want to know how much true sciatica issues hurt, brawny boxer Mike Tyson uses a wheel chair when his flairs up. So PT, stretches, and walking had reduced my pain by about half. I'm not bragging when I say that I endure pain well. That's just how I'm made. An ER nurse once called me "stoic". But that doesn't mean it's not exhausting. It takes a toll, it robs you of joy. It's no bueno. That's when someone I love and trust told me all about gummies. Let me start by saying I've never smoked pot in my life. I've never had a negative view of it, it just wasn't my thing. I've never been a drinker either, I don't care what anyone else drinks or smokes, it just wasn't for me. Do you, enjoy your life, none of my business. Maryland recently legalized marijuana, like so many other states, and people are becoming more educated about the plant, the products, and the benefits. What I knew could have fit in a teacup. I learned that medical marijuana is often used for chronic pain with great success and no side effects. I cringe at the thought of using prescription meds with a long list of possible and horrifying side effects. I was already living on a steady diet of Tylenol (not good) that only half worked. So when that dear person explained to me what she uses and how, I was intrigued. Fast forward to visiting a dispensary and telling the very helpful person at the counter, "I don't want to get high, but I'm old and I hurt." She said, "Gotcha." Because I am a lightweight with everything from alcohol to cold medicine, I tried one quarter of a gummie to start. One fourth of a CBD/THC gummie and I am a perfectly normal, not high, PAIN-FREE person! I am astounded. I knew that THC is used for people who are suffering with conditions from cancer to Lyme Disease, but I assumed that those patients were trading lucidity for relief. Maybe at higher doses they are, I don't know. Still, better than so many of the alternatives. So this plant, possibly put on Earth just for this purpose, criminalized and stigmatized (with the help of big pharma who wants your money), is the simplest solution of all. Of course, just like alcohol, there are people who abuse it. Alcohol, oxycontin, all sorts of legal things are abused. People are people. I'm just saying that 1/4 of a little gummie candy allows me to move through my day without pain and feel like myself again. No expensive, addictive drug with scary side effects - just a plant. Hallelujah. I may regret sharing that, because plenty of people will judge without researching. I'm okay with it. I know what I know. I'm not a drinker, a smoker, a pill taker, or a whiner. I'll just say that if your state has been smart enough to legalize it, and you have any sort of chronic pain, I'm happy to answer any of your questions about my experience. I'm still learning, but I can tell you that it's been a miracle for me. I'm dancing again! No foggy brain, just relief.

If anyone had told young me that old me would be chewing up pot candy, I'd have called you a damn liar. Old me is wiser, thank goodness. Alright, it's past time for me to get some chores done. I've already cleaned the bathrooms but I definitely need to water a few things outside. A couple of days ago I tidied up the gardens and hacked down about half of the spent sunflowers (because I'm pain free!). I stuck the heads into a staked planter so the yellow finches can keep enjoying them.

Once I finish outside I can get busy painting eyes on these ghosties and giving them some glitter.

Can you tell I don't use my good baking sheets for making earrings? Some eyes, some glitter, and some posts and they'll be ready to go! I'm not going to do very many cutesy earrings - just these ghosts and some pumpkins. I don't want to get too stuck on holidays, I'd rather do seasons. Anywho, wishing you a wonderful Sunday. I hope that yours is as busy or as quiet as you like. Do something that delights you, whether that's a lazy afternoon in a hammock with a book or a deep clean of your space. Take care of yourself, body and soul. It's important. Sending out loads of love. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

[the-hem]

"The Kalpams." From the Brihad Jabala Upanishad, "the Exploration of the Mysteries of the Copious Desire for Harmony and Rhythm."

Third Brahmana

Next we discuss how to identify and rid ourselves of the vasanas, the root drivers of the personality that do not contribute to the livelihood of a saint. The process of intellection that is explained below involves the fruits of the actions of a cow. Cows graze, drink water and milk, are herded and then milked. Their fruits are shit, pee, milk, and yogurt or cheese.

They do not have identities, they do not understand life or the concept of lifetimes. The Upanishad suggests we think like cows, as shit and piss machines without greater ambitions and see what happens in the mind as it undergoes what are called kalpams or rituals designed to separate it from any additional tendencies at all:

Now the four fold method of preparing Bhasma (holy ash) is being narrated. First is Anukalpam (the order), second Upakalpam (supporting evidence of the hypothesis), third upopakalpam(the experiment, the procurement ) and fourth is Akalpam (the missing evidence if found).

Anukalpam is made by use of Viraja homa manthras "the removal of dust from the mind) in Agnihothra (collecting ash from the pit of fire sacrifice). Collecting dried cow dung lying in the forest and preparing it as per the method suggested in Kalpam is upakalpam.

Collecting the dried cow dung, powdering it, making it in to balls after mixing it in cow’s urine and preparing it as per method suggested in kalpam is upopakalpam. What one gets in temples of Shiva is akalpam.

This is equivalent to one hundred kalpams (products of rituals). All Bhasma prepared by any of these four methods leads one to salvation, said Bhagawan Kalagni Rudra (the death of sorrows).

If we desire nothing, we must still eat, sleep, drink, exercise, evacuate, and bathe. What happens when we see someone in distress? Would we withhold action because we fear the birth of a noble fruit? Certainly not. If some ace main squeeze came along and said he had to have you, would you say no? Probably not.

So the processes of Kalpams, religious rituals apply until the spontaneous nature of the creation cannot be denied. So the essence of the Kalagni Rudra leads to the death of sorrows because only the necessary and required actions are performed. We can analyze the rest to death, but those that are performed after the cow-self has been burnt to ash are the ones blessed by the Upanishad.

[joyless-somebody]

Day 3 - The Fall

The angel, soon to be named Crowley, was surveying their work as they set the last fledgling star in its place. Their universe was expansive and beautiful and they couldn’t be prouder. Shame it wasn’t going to last, really.

They turned and found themself stopped by a small ball of light, almost making them squint from how bright it was. They thought it was a misplaced star before it spoke, “I am the Voice of God. How has star production been coming along?”

“Lovely, I’ve heard whispers that all this,” they gestured vaguely at the entire universe around them, “is really only intended to sit here and look pretty for the, uh, what are they called?”

“Humans. On Earth.”

“Yes, those. I’m not quite sure why we decided to make it, then. And, really, if it’s only going to be around for a couple thousand years, I might as well have not made it to begin with!” They laughed humourlessly, “Why does the Almighty need such a big universe if none of it is going to be used?”

The ‘voice of God’ suddenly sounded quite aggressive, “Perhaps you shouldn’t have made it, no. But it is what the Almighty planned and who are we to question Him? That being said, your services are no longer required in star production and this… new attitude isn’t becoming of an angel.”

“No- please, can I just talk to the Almighty? I’m sure She will understand-”

“To talk to me is to talk to the Almighty. And He does not appreciate your attitude, either.”

They knew where this conversation was going. They’d seen it time and time again with angels who put even a hair out of line, “Please… I just want to understand!”

“The Great Plan is not to be understood. You, of all of us, should know that.” The Voice of God gently poked them in the chest, “The Almighty has had Her eye on you, in particular, and She has decided your questioning is unacceptable.”

“What?”

It felt as though the floor dropped from underneath them. They screamed, desperately trying to grasp at something as they plummeted further than they ever thought existed. Into the pits of the universe. To where the damned belonged.

They hit the ground. The burning started immediately. They writhed in pain and screamed out for help, hoping, praying, that someone would be around to snap them out of this nightmare. “No… no, no, no!” They sobbed, plucking feather after feather in the hopes that they’d be able to preserve the perfect white. They held them in clasped hands and lifted them to the sky, “Please! No, please!”

They could barely see them through the tears and the pain but, eventually, each feather blackened and fell apart, leaving their clasped hands empty. “What’s… happening to me? Please, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

A grimy, dishevelled looking demon peered over them, “Welcome to Hell. You get used to it after a while.”

[guidetocasano]

A BEGINNER GUIDE TO CASANO

The local casino is a great way to pass a few fun hours in a brand new town. Enjoy the atmosphere of the casino and its amenities as you play a few different games. This beginner's casino guide will give you an advantage and increase your chances of coming home with a win.

1. Budgeting for Your Home

Be sure to know the amount of money you have available and how much you're willing to give if your luck doesn't work out. You should know the table minimum so that your money will last for as long as there is time to play.

2. Slot Machines: Start Playing Now

If you've not played before, 심바 먹튀폴리스 slot machines can be a great place to learn. As games of chance they require no skills and allow you the opportunity to test out your reactions to winning and loss. These games aren't going to keep you busy for very long but they can be a great way to begin.

3. Roulette: Let's move on!

Roulette is an excellent way to start playing at the tables where you can use your skills to determine the amount of money that you will take home. This game does not require any expertise. The little white ball will dance around the wheel, until it finds its final resting spot. You can increase your chances of success by placing bets on categories that are more general, such as color or even/odd.

4. You should learn the game first before you play.

As you progress to more complex games, ensure you are familiar with the rules. Watch other players or play in the free lessons. Before you go to the casino, read up online about the game. To get started, choose a table where there are fewer people and a particular game that suits you.

5. Join Rewards Card Program

If you intend to return to the casino more than once, make sure to check their reward cards. Join and earn points that can be used to get free hotel stays, meals or other rewards. You can earn money by playing even if you do not have a winning poker hand. You should let all the pit bosses at the tables that you possess one of these cards know.

6. Slot Machines on the Loose

You've seen it in movies: the person who puts a coin in the slot machine gets a lot of money. In real life this does not happen very often, but you'll find some machines that pay out more than others. These are loose slot machines. Often, they are located at the rear of the room while the brighter and more visible ones are in the front.

7. Know Casino Etiquette

Although being polite to the staff and players is a basic courtesy that everyone should practice, there are some special rules for certain games you will want to adhere too. Some games may require you to only use one hand to pick up cards. Be sure to watch a few games and take note of what players are doing. Never pick up your winnings before the dealer has pushed them in front of you.

Even if you are a first-timer, these tips will help you have an enjoyable afternoon or evening at the casino. You may even leave with some money.