#Drain Lining Technology

[gillbrother]

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[whimsicallywiddershins]

When I was young and I first read Briar's Book, it wasn't my favorite. It had slow parts, and it wasn't too exciting, not like wildfires and pirates.

But now, reading it again as an adult, after living through the covid pandemic, it's amazing.

I am amazed at the research Tamora Pierce must have put in for the book! The events of the books are nearly identical to the covid pandemic.

It's amazing she even chose plague as a topic for her fantasy children's story. It's not exactly a normal plot line for such books. And she didn't go the easy way out of *hurr durr medieval society uses leeches and doesn't understand how germs work* option that so many fantasy writers use. Instead, she came up with a believable system that supplemented magic with technology.

The healers using magic to check the body to see what the pox did, the magic sample boxes, the magic diagnosis tools, the use of herbs and magic gems to find the "keys" to the cure... even the use of magic to distill the essence of the disease in order to study it. All combined with the good leadership of Duke Vedris, who followed the epidemic procedures written by the Living Temple to try to halt the pox. He enforced quarantine on the guards that handled the sick, cleared out warehouses to make hospitals, forced everyone to wear gloves and masks, paid people to collect the dead and burn them, ect.

The way Tamora Pierce perfectly captured to fear of the pandemic. The fear of getting sick, the dread of the knowledge of new cases and deaths, the exhaustion of the medical workers and support staff, the way the healers drained themselves dry and got sick.

It all combined into a realistic magic plauge that made an incredible book far before it's time.

[zvaigzdelasas]

A painful reality check shows the 600-mile-long Ukrainian-Russian front in a figurative and literal freeze, draining Ukrainian resources and lives without much prospect for change in the foreseeable future. The much-anticipated Ukrainian counteroffensive of the past six months exacted a huge cost in casualties and matériel, but barely nudged the front lines. Ukraine’s top military commander has said the fight is at a “stalemate” — a notion deemed taboo not long ago — and only an unlikely technological breakthrough by one side or the other could break it. [...]

The way things are going, “Ukraine will for the foreseeable future harbor Europe’s most dangerous geopolitical fault line,” [...] an endless conflict that deepens Russia’s alienation from the West, enshrines Putinism and delays Ukraine’s integration into Europe. That, at least, is the bleak prognosis if victory in the war continues to be defined in territorial terms, specifically the goal of driving Russia out of all the Ukrainian lands it occupied in 2014 and over the past 22 months, including Crimea and a thick wedge of southeastern Ukraine, altogether about a fifth of Ukraine’s sovereign territory. But regaining territory is the wrong way to imagine the best outcome. True victory for Ukraine is to rise from the hell of the war as a strong, independent, prosperous and secure state, firmly planted in the West.[...]

the only way to find out if Mr. Putin is serious about a cease-fire, and whether one can be worked out, is to give it a try. Halting Russia well short of its goals and turning to the reconstruction and modernization of Ukraine would be lasting tributes to the Ukrainians who have made the ultimate sacrifice to preserve the existence of their nation. And no temporary armistice would forever preclude Ukraine from recovering all of its land.

With U.S. and European aid to Ukraine now in serious jeopardy, the Biden administration and European officials are quietly shifting their focus from supporting Ukraine’s goal of total victory over Russia to improving its position in an eventual negotiation to end the war, according to a Biden administration official and a European diplomat based in Washington. Such a negotiation would likely mean giving up parts of Ukraine to Russia. The White House and Pentagon publicly insist there is no official change in administration policy — that they still support Ukraine’s aim of forcing Russia’s military completely out of the country. [...]

The administration official told POLITICO Magazine this week that much of this strategic shift to defense is aimed at shoring up Ukraine’s position in any future negotiation. “That’s been our theory of the case throughout — the only way this war ends ultimately is through negotiation,” said the official, a White House spokesperson who was given anonymity because they are not authorized to speak on the record.[...]

“Those discussions [about peace talks] are starting, but [the administration] can’t back down publicly because of the political risk” to Biden, said a congressional official who is familiar with the administration’s thinking and who was granted anonymity to speak freely.[...]

The European diplomat based in Washington said that the European Union is also raising the threat of expediting Ukraine’s membership in NATO to “put the Ukrainians in the best situation possible to negotiate” with Moscow. That is a flashpoint for Putin, who is believed to be mainly interested in a strategic deal with Washington under which Ukraine will not enter NATO. [...]

For most of the conflict GOP critics have accused Biden of moving too slowly to arm the Ukrainians with the most sophisticated weaponry, such as M1A1 Abrams battle tanks, long-range precision artillery and F-16 fighter jets. In an interview in July Zelenskyy himself said the delays “provided Russia with time to mine all our lands and build several lines of defense.” [...]

The Ukrainians themselves are engaged in what is becoming a very public debate about how long they can hold out against Putin. With Ukraine running low on troops as well as weapons, Zelenskyy’s refusal to consider any fresh negotiations with Moscow is looking more and more politically untenable at home. The Ukrainian president, seeking to draft another half million troops, is facing rising domestic opposition from his military commander in chief, Gen. Valeriy Zaluzhnyi, and the mayor of Kyiv, Vitali Klitschko.

So what was all that for then [27 Dec 23]

[racefortheironthrone]

TLT World Building: The Nine Houses and the Logistics of Space Empires

Building off my earlier post about stele-and-obelisk travel and the River, I wanted to talk about something that's been rattling around my mind for a while, which is subluminary travel and the logistics of the Nine Houses. One of the things that has been brought up as a criticism of Muir's world-building as far back as Gideon the Ninth is that the Empire seems to have very, very fast non-FTL travel, such that Gideon and Harrow travel the 3.3 billion miles from Pluto to Earth in an hour, without using a stele. How, it was asked, does an Empire whose military relies on swords and whose medical knowledge is incredibly uneven at best, accomplish a technological feat of that magnitude?

I think we got an answer for that in Nona the Ninth:

“That ship’s not big enough for a stele. Don’t know if it’s big enough for subluminary travel, even. How did it get here?” Crown leant back in her chair, staring at the projector screen, head balanced in the crook of one golden arm. Nona noticed that her biceps showed even through her shirt, and that there were rubber bandages wrapped around one palm. She said, “Oh, that’s big enough for subluminary travel, Millie. See the double struts, and the massive exhaust? That’s a Ziz-class.” ...Crown continued, “The Ziz isn’t Cohort standard. And it’s not as big on the inside as you think. Look at the windows—see how there’re none on the back end? It’s mostly engine. Not plated either. It’ll get to sublume without many problems … but it definitely doesn’t have room for a stele. Camilla is right. It can’t travel by obelisk anchor.” Pyrrha said suddenly, “Crown. How’s the fuel consumption on a Ziz-class ship?” “Thirsty,” said Crown, brightening up at being asked. “Its cell would be totally drained after a day in subluminary. It only takes the powerful stuff too—thalergy-enriched, not just hydrogen blend. Hydrogen blend stuffs up the engine.”

The answer is necromancy. (Because of course it is.) The Empire infuses shuttle fuel with thalergy - and we know that the necromantic specialty of the Second House is to "drain thalergy from any living source and use it," so the Empire can treat thalergy as a fungible resource that they can extract, store, and then use somewhere else. Moreover, we know that the necromantic specialty of the Fourth House is "exciting thanergy into a state of fission" in order to produce explosions.

Since necromancy can easily convert thalergy into thanergy, I think that the Empire's higher-end shuttles are powered by necromantic pulse propulsion, such that shuttle fuel is burned to produce thrust, but then at the same time the thanergy is turned into a massive fission explosion behind the shuttle, producing even more thrust.

I think this also explains why the Second and Fourth are so disproportionately represented in the Cohort, because in addition to producing soldiers for the front lines, they're heavily involved with making the Cohort Fleets move. (I'm going to further speculate that the Fourth make up a lot of the Fleets' pilots, since that would fit their necromantic specialties, the nature of their planet, and their image as gung-ho "go fast" types.) This leads me to a few conclusions:

it explains why the Empire is so focused on short-term extraction; it's essentially stripping the thalergy for fuel to power subluminary transportation in the Dominicus system and beyond, in the same way that we're burning fossil fuels to power our economies today. There is a profound irony in that Mr. Environmentalist John Gaius has so precisely recreated the dynamics of the carbon economy through necromancy.

it explains how logistics in the Nine Houses work. If you can use necromantic fission drives to get from the outer edge of the Dominicus system to the core that quickly, than most of the logistical complexities of running a multiplanetary economy fall away. All you have to do is get your transport shuttle full of goods from the colonies to a stele at the edge of the Dominicus system, and then necromantic fission solves the "last mile problem" of getting your Necro-Amazon "just-in-time" deliveries to the hungry markets of the Third or the Fifth. You don't need to worry about the fact that you can't produce a lot of organic resources on thanergetic planets (especially ones that are space stations and the like rather than fully terraformed), because you just have everything delivered.

it similarly explains how logistics out in the colonies work. Even if you're at the edge of the stele network, necromantic fission shuttles can transport goods between planets in the same solar system with relative ease. It only becomes an issue when you're a ways out from the edge of the network, because that involves burning more thalergy-enriched fuel. Hence why Corona talks about "the Cohort movements didn’t make sense to her...shepherd planets got more costly the further the Houses extended themselves."

This makes me think of necromancy in a different way than I had before. Rather than just being about magic and warfare, necromancy is essentially the technology of the Nine Houses (aside from some legacy technologies that they have left over from pre-Resurrection), the tool that they use to solve all of their problems and make their society and economy and government function.

[merakiui]

while in captivity, floyd encounters a human and unintentionally pair-bonds with you during a moment of biological vulnerability.

(cw: gender neutral reader, nsfw, omegaverse/abo, heats, captivity)

The marine lab has recently acquired a unique specimen—unique in that he is half-human and half-fish, hailing from deep, dark, indescribable depths. An eel merman, to be exact. You’ve only ever glimpsed merfolk in outdated textbooks and fairytales, the latter of which depicted them as whimsical beings capable of feats beyond scientific understanding. Magic. Although in the realm of biology, such folly is never entertained and so what the world calls ‘magic’ other fields built upon the foundations of research refer to it as a ‘miracle’. In your eyes those words are interchangeable, but then the idea of a miracle is far easier to digest than the concept of magic.

Merfolk have always been elusive, covert creatures, hence why there is hardly any conclusive data on them. In fact, they’re so secretive that they were believed to be mostly extinct—a figment of dreams and hallucinations. Most of what humans know stems from the tattered notes of long-gone sailors, their presences nearly lost to time itself, and for a while all anyone ever knew were four key details:

They are spread throughout the sea, living out their lives in frigid fathoms. 

They are hypnotic and deceptive. 

They are predatory. 

They rarely interact with humankind unless absolutely necessary (e.g. to hunt or observe).

But with plenty of promising technological advances, some of the theories and myths surrounding merfolk have been bolstered or disproved, respectively. Merfolk are just as diverse as the rest of the animal kingdom. Some live in solitude. Others thrive in groups. Some make their home out of caves and grottos. Some dwell within the labyrinths of volcanic rock formations. It is every marine biologist’s dream to come face to face with one of these mysterious creatures, if only for just a few minutes to glean more information.

That dream is made reality today.

The eel mer was discovered off the coast of a tiny island, entangled in fishing lines and plastic litter. His large, winding body, snake-like in its sleek build, was littered with scars and scrapes. There was a hook lodged up in the folds of his gills. Despite his thrashing, his tail swishing wildly in the sand and nearly knocking down three researchers like they were bowling pins, he was wheezing and gasping, drained of energy and air. When the first bucket of seawater came down upon his dry gills, he settled briefly, wide, crazed, mismatched eyes flicking from face to face. Likely assessing the situation or counting the amount of bodies, the report claimed.

He fell still after that, and it took two teams of ten people to load him onto the lift so he could be flown to the lab.

After he spent a week in recovery, where he healed surprisingly fast, he was transferred to a much larger and wider tank, its depths far deeper than the average swimming pool. He doesn’t swim to the surface much, and he only ever pokes his head out at night, scanning his surroundings with intelligent, keen eyes. And then he turns and disappears below. It’s a pattern he’s stuck to for weeks now. No one really understands it, and they haven’t had the opportunity to try. He’s uncooperative and unpredictable. It’s much too dangerous to send a diver down there.

So they transfer you to his enclosure, assuming you might have more luck. You’re not sure and you can’t make any promises of potential success, as you’ve only ever interacted with marine mammals. A merman is…different. Not only because he’s half-man and, by that same logic, likely possesses a human brain that is capable of a higher level of thought, albeit one that is wired to suit his mer biology, but because he’s bigger. A lot bigger.

He could kill you.

You saw the documentation. The serrated teeth, the powerful claws, the dangerous jaw, the bulky, muscular build that cuts through water like a bullet. He is a predator in every sense of the word, and you’re supposed to look after him. Coax him to the surface. Get him to trust humans. Interact with him just inches from the edge of his tank and hope that he doesn’t get hungry or violent.

He might kill you.

But there are safety measures put in place for these things. Ethics to be followed and whatnot. It’s a slippery slope because he’s part human and therefore could possibly have the same level of intelligence humans have, in which case it would be wrong to trap him here. There may be ways to skirt around it with other animals, but he’s not like other animals.

For now, he’s kept here under the pretense of recovery and scientific study. The lab treats him like the big fish he is, going so far as to buy a shark suit in your size and instruct you to wear it even though you’re not going to get in the water. “It should prevent him from biting through,” they had said, “but it won’t lessen the force of his bite.”

“What good will that do? I can’t fight him off.” Though you knew it had nothing to do with anything, you added, “I’m an omega. Merfolk might not have the same sub-genders as we do up on the surface—or maybe they do; I don’t know—but if he were human he’d definitely classify as an alpha. Put that into perspective. I can’t. Fight. Him. Off. It’s biologically impossible.”

“So you poke his eyes. Dig your fingers into his gills. He should let go of you then.”

“That’ll hurt him,” you protested, clutching the suit to your chest.

“Not as much as he’ll hurt you.”

You suppose it’s a clinical priority. Survival of the fittest, but it’s the human who has to live. The lab could afford to lose you, but they don't want to. And if they did, they might put the mer down. Shoot him up with enough tranquilizers to keep him comatose. Maybe it only bothered you because, yet again, he’s half-human and no one on the team knows the extent to which he thinks and functions.

To simplify it, they consider him a shark. But like any creature, sharks learn and adapt as they go. Death is instinct.

He will kill you.

But you don’t want to think like that, which is why you put on your best smile and trudge into the enclosure he’s being kept in. The tank looms before you, seawater clear and beamed through with streaks of light from the harsh, glaring LEDs above. The deeper the water gets, the darker the shadows. You press your palm against the glass, observing the murky darkness with a frown. Somewhere in this tank, at a depth you can’t even imagine, is an eel merman. A big, strong, powerful, scary eel merman.

You swallow a steadying breath, curl your fingers into fists, and climb the spiral staircase to get to the attached platform. Your reflection follows you with each step, countenance set in grim confliction. Once you reach the top, you peer out at the surface of the pool, listening to the droning hum of water filters and other hidden machinery. There’s a very shallow part of the tank, a dip in the design that allows for the mer to lounge if he so pleases. You’re reminded of the dolphins in live shows, who slide up onto their stomachs to face an awestruck audience. You doubt that’s what he’ll use this ledge for. If anything, it could allow a researcher to kneel in the shallows while they interact with him at an intimate propinquity.

You don’t plan on being that researcher.

Instead, you pace a healthy distance away from the edge, holding a bucket of his breakfast in one hand and a notebook in the other.

“Um!” You cringe at your voice as it reverberates around you in a nervous echo. Cautiously, you inch towards the water. “I have your food!”

You wait three seconds, expecting him to come bursting up from the darkness like the shark everyone wants to delude themselves into thinking he is. The water remains still and unbroken. You wonder if your voice can even reach such a depth. If not the sound, the vibrations might. Or maybe he’s resting. It’s still relatively early in the morning. Perhaps his sleep schedule is thrown off. Yours would be if you were taken from your home and dumped in a manufactured version of your habitat.

You lurch forwards with the bucket and watch as a collection of shrimp, crab, and small fish soar through the air in a sloppy arc before landing and sinking into the waiting depths below. Nothing happens. The tension in your body ebbs away, and when it becomes clear that he isn’t coming up to greet you and feast on your offering you relax completely, collapsing against the wall with a great sigh.

If they really want to study him, they should just watch him on the security feed, you think, peering up at the camera in one corner of the room, its red eye fixated on you and the surrounding enclosure. He’s not going to come up during the day. Not when there are humans walking around.

Still, you wait your shift out, scribbling nonsense in your notebook and occasionally glancing up to gauge the state of the water.

The mer doesn’t show, so you resolve to try again.

Try you do, and try you have. 

It’s been one week of perfunctory routine, arriving and feeding him at the same time in hopes that he might understand what you’re doing and come up to investigate. Or, at the very least, recognize you’re a recurring figure in his chapter of captivity. You don’t intend on befriending him. You only wish to fulfill your duties as a researcher, however skewed they may have become. Even though you know you ought to be grateful the mer hasn’t caused any problems, you want something to happen. Anything! At this rate, you’d sooner tire yourself out playing with rowdy sea lions than sit around in silence while waiting for an appearance from him.

It’s a quiet Tuesday afternoon when the first beat of unrest hits.

The mer’s enclosure is kept at a comfortable temperature for humans; it’s the water that’s freezing below the surface. So when you step up onto the platform and peer into the chum-infested deep, the empty bucket now set aside, you feel warmer than usual. Odd, considering the room is normally so chilly. Not extremely so, but chilly enough to give way to a pleasant cold.

Tugging at the collar of your shark suit, you cover the distance to stand under a large fan situated just near the dip in the pool. Cool air kisses your heated skin, providing you with much-needed relief, and you peer up at the propellers that spin in endless circles. Around and around and around. Your eyes follow the motions until you dizzy yourself, and you step back on wobbly legs. Your foot misses the metal platform and instead slips into the ledge built in the tank. With a startled yelp you fall backwards, landing in the shallows on your rear.

“Of course,” you mumble, bitter with embarrassment. “Leave it to me to fall right into the predator’s tank.”

You scoot further up onto the ledge, staring at the water below. It’s quite calm here, where the shallows lap languidly at your waist. If you were delusional, you might think this was a jacuzzi pool that you could dip your toes in. It’s not. Of course it isn’t. Not when there’s a beast lurking just below. But while you’re here, you run your hands through the saltwater while your own body temperature rises as if it’s a hungry flame in a stone hearth.

You place your hands on either side of the ledge, intending to push yourself up and onto the platform, when something tightens inside of you. Your heart stumbles in your chest and you lose the strength in your arms at once. With a noisy splash, you flop back into the shallows, your compromised body rigid and shaky with a tingling, all-encompassing warmth. Horrified, you raise two fingers to your pulse to feel it stutter wildly beneath your skin.

Swallowing thickly, you lower your head onto your arms and wait for the feeling to pass. The seconds slip by and in that short amount of time your state seems to worsen. Your temperature is volcanic, your every sense restless, and you’re sweating through the shark suit as if you’ve just run a marathon and more.

“Not now,” you hiss, slapping your hands upon your face. “Please not now. Anything but now…”

You intend to haul yourself up and out for good this time, desperate to get as far from the pool before your brain is completely overrun by your encroaching heat and robust omega instincts, when fingers brush against your leg. Something chitters behind you, a low, slow sort of sound that is shot through with curiosity. You turn as if you’re frozen in ice, your heart in your throat and senses on high alert.

The eel mer is right there, clutching your ankle in a firm grip. Not to hurt you, but to keep you there. And you’re not at all in a hurry to leave. Not when those claws are so close to your calf, capable of shredding through to your very bones. Even with the shark suit, you worry. He stares at you with narrowed eyes, his head angled in a cute, childish way. He appears confused and rightfully so, considering you’re a creature he’s likely never interacted with so closely before. You mirror his befuddlement, your brows furrowed, lips creased in a thin line.

For a long while, the two of you watch each other. If you look past his predatory design, he’s quite pretty with his smoky teal coloration and dark stripes. Your gaze pans over to the water, where a long, powerful tail disappears below. The paranoid side of you says he’s going to drown you, but then he doesn’t seem outwardly malicious in his intentions.

“Um…”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, his head snapping up to your throat and then your lips. Your attempt to pull your captive leg back is thwarted when he lurches, rising out of the water to grab hold of your foot. You gasp and shake your head at him, your senses sharp and dull all at once. Your heat-addled mind just barely parses the threat of danger, looming and ever-present.

“Please,” you beg, your tone sticky and breathless. “Don’t…”

The mer tilts his head the other way. The fins where his ears might be if he were human shiver, as if listening to the desperation in your syllables. He chirrups, lips widening in a sharp-toothed smile, and then he’s dragging you towards him. Panic seizes your nerves and you dig your palms into the smooth basin in an effort to get away. His expression falls when he notices your struggle and he lifts himself onto the ledge with you, draping himself over your legs like an oversized rug.

“Wait… H-Hold on; get off!” You grunt and weakly prod at his chest. He doesn’t budge. “You… You’re heavy!”

His webbed hand closes around your waist, steadying you in the shallows, while his other arm cages you beneath him. Instinctively, you arch into his touch, your breath coming in tiny, frenzied huffs. He clicks at you, and words that you can only assume are meant to be gentle and soothing are produced in a sweet melody. It relaxes you more than you’d like to admit, a lyrical balm to your terror.

You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself for the worst. For the searing pain and the stinging agony. For the blood that will color the water a dark, foreboding red. For the sight of him merrily tearing into your jugular, his maw spattered with crimson. But none of that ever comes. He cradles your face next, his thumb running along your cheekbone, and slowly you peel your eyes open. His face is inches from yours, looking on with an intensity that’s almost primal.

Warily, you lift your arm out of the water and touch his hand. It’s much bigger in contrast to yours, but he’s handling you with such immaculate tenderness.

“You’re not going to hurt me…” you mutter, amazed. “You’re just curious.”

As if responding, he chitters. You nod even though you have no idea what he said. He doesn’t smell like an alpha or an omega or a beta. You’re not even sure if he’s capable of releasing pheromones, but if he were you’re certain it would have driven you much crazier than you already feel.

You hold his stare and reach up to pat his cheek, and he leans into your careful touch. Your hand soon trails down to trace his lateral lines, which earns you a pleased hum. You watch in awe as the gills on either side of his body flutter.

Led on by your own wonder, you follow the pattern to his waist and press your thumbs into his hip bones beneath smooth, slippery skin. “How fascinating… I wonder if it’s possible to take an X-ray. Would you allow—oh!”

Clumsily, he lifts you into his arms to embrace you, rolling his hips against the chainmail shark suit. Your breath hitches, and you fumble to grasp his broad shoulders.

“Ah, w-wait. I’m not… You can’t…”

He clicks thrice and lowers you into the shallows, his face scrunched in annoyance. You think he might’ve understood you, but then he’s palming between your legs and it occurs to you that he wants the suit off. Carnal delight shivers through you at the prospect of being wanted to such a degree, and though you know it’s the heat muddling your sensibility you can’t help indulging him just a little. You undo the zip at the back and slide it from your body, revealing your shoulders and bare arms for his wandering, mismatched hues. He leans in to nose at your scent glands, chattering happily as he inhales. You can’t understand a word, but he sounds pleased—even more so when he runs his hands along your arms, squeezing and petting in equal measure.

His tongue laves across your neck, and what fragile restraint you have left snaps. You cling to him like he’s your anchor, meeting his searching hips halfway with every awkward thrust that doesn’t quite connect as it should. You chew your lip, tamping down a torrent of filthy moans. Your mind is clouded with lust and instinct, and you dig your fingers into his hair, holding him against your neck while he continues to lick and nip.

It feels right up until the haze parts momentarily, allowing temporary sobriety when you spy the tip of something poking free of its encasing. Dazed and inquisitive, you reach between your bodies to prod at his slit, hoping to coax more of his prehensile cock from out of its folds. But then the door below opens and the mer lifts himself from off of you, his head turning in the direction of the sound at an alarming speed. You blink up at him, lazily following his line of sight. His lip curls up in a silent snarl, the beginnings of razored teeth peeking out, and then he slithers back into the water, his hands lingering on your ankles.

Despite the dizziness you sit up, your arm outstretched. “Wait, don’t go!”

I didn’t get to cum yet. You didn’t even claim me either…

He peers at you, neutral for all of a minute before swimming over to you. He presses his face into your palm, chittering softly. There are footsteps on the stairs, and he grits his teeth, withdrawing completely before turning and diving under in a spray of seawater.

You fall back into the shallows, panting like a starved, feral monster. A researcher comes to your aid, her expression equal parts shocked and disturbed. You don’t catch her questions, each one tacked onto what feels like a ceaseless rant, while she helps you to your feet. Something about danger. About heats. About omega biology. About how the researchers watched the both of you on the cameras, swelling with queries of their own.

“I’m not sure,” you mumble as you’re helped down the stairs, stumbling in a heat-drunken stupor. Thankfully, your fellow researcher is an omega like you and that relaxes the hypersensitive part of you—the part that fears being taken advantage of when you’re vulnerable like this. But the needier, greedier part of you wants the mer—wants his hands and mouth all over you, ripping you free from your suit and indulging in the bare skin beneath. “I think he...wanted to help…”

No one can explain his behavior. But it seems promising.

While you’re led from the room, the eel mer stalks you from the gloomy confines of his tank.

In the days following your heat, you return to the marine lab with your head on your shoulders and are immediately barraged with requests. Amongst all of them, one common demand stands out: You have to get him up to the surface again. Part of you doesn’t want to face the mer again. When you truly mulled over that day, tossed the memory of it around in your mind like it was a tennis ball, you were hit with shame.

It’s not…normal. Researchers do not tangle themselves in sexual situations with their subjects, especially when said subject was an eel mer from the Coral Sea. It’s unheard of. Luckily, the team of researchers you work with swears to secrecy. You were out of it and your judgment wasn’t in the best state. That’s the excuse they’re using. It works enough to push the humiliation from your thoughts.

You wonder if you should feel disgusted by the events. Rather, you didn’t mind it. For all of his rough, scarred, monstrous edges, he was gentle.

You press your fingers to your scent glands, recalling the feel of his tongue.

Today you’ve donned your usual work attire, foregoing the shark suit and any other protective gear the lab expects you to wear. Something tells you you won’t need it anymore. Not after everything that happened the day you went into heat.

Feeling rejuvenated and refreshed after your mini break, you trudge up the staircase with a food bucket, determined to finally fill your notebook with data. You’ve only made it up four steps when color flashes in your peripheral. You turn and find the mer is at your eye level, following you up the spiral staircase adjacent to his tank.

You pause and wave experimentally. He watches your hand move to and fro and then he mirrors your actions. He swims the rest of the distance to the surface, breaching it just as you make it onto the platform.

“Good morning, Mister,” you greet, bending down to empty the contents of the bucket into the water.

Disinterested, he watches bits of shrimp sink deeper. And then he looks back to you, his mouth opening and shutting. “Fu… Fu…” he forces out, his face scrunched in concentration.

“Fu…? Food?” 

He nods and then shakes his head, hissing at himself in what you think might be admonishment. 

“Fu…ro…”

“Furo?” You set the bucket aside and scoot closer to the edge. “What’s that?”

He tries once more before the syllables fizzle out on his tongue and, with a few frustrated clicks, he swipes a fish from the surface and stuffs it in his mouth. You giggle, and the sound has him tilting his head. Without a shred of apprehension, he meets you at the ledge. You watch him munch on the fish between his lips, content to observe in silence. He polishes it off rather quickly before procuring a handful, which he dumps onto the ground beside you. You shake your head at him, smiling weakly.

“Thanks, but no. It’s all yours.”

The mer shrugs and indulges without you.

“I should thank you for not hurting me back then,” you add. He pays close attention to your lips; you think he might be attempting to read them while listening. “Um… But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not sure if merfolk are like humans, but we have this system… Or not a system… It’s more like…groupings? Secondary classifications?” You frown. How can you explain the complexities of sub-genders to a mer who doesn’t even speak your language? “Basically, I was in trouble and you helped me out. Kind of. In any case, thank you.”

He stares at you for a while, chewing and swallowing. You think he might swim back under once he’s finished, but instead he places his hands on the ledge and hoists himself up on his arms. He’s in your face next, all eager smiles and chitters.

“Fu… Furo. Furo…ido. Furoido,” he sounds out.

You read his lips in the best way you can before it finally clicks. “Ah! Floyd, right? Is that…your name?”

Floyd points to himself, makes a few upbeat clicks, and then nods. He’s pointing at you next.

“And me? Oh, my name is (Name).” You take your time sounding it out for him, and he repeats it with an awkward tongue. You smile and nod encouragingly. “That’s it. That’s me.”

He flops back into the water with a celebratory trill, a wild smile tugging at his lips. You watch him swim laps from you to the opposite end of the pool and back. Ditching the shark suit was the right call. You’re no longer uncertain. This time, you know for a fact that you’re going to be getting along very well with him.

And you look forward to fostering this flowering friendship.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think Azul and the Tweels have a longer/shorter lifespan than others since they’re seafolk?

While it's not totally clear how aging works for a half human-half fae like Sebek, I'm pretty certain that all full-blooded non-fae have the same general lifespan as a human. I think the expectation that merpeople in particular (but not beastmen or humans) have extended lifespans comes more from lore outside of Twisted Wonderland rather than pointing to any actual in-universe logic that would imply it. It's an idea I often see in fan works of the angst variety--but I in no way think it's canon. Remember, just because it's the fact in one interpretation of mythos doesn't mean it's true of another interpretation of mythos!

There's two big pieces of evidence that merpeople in TWST age the same as humans. For one, all the flashbacks we get pertaining to the Octatrio's childhood (which theoretically should have been "a long time ago", not a handful of years ago) doesn't imply that a large period of time has passed. There are no major attitude or cultural shifts in the world around them. They also all seemingly matured at roughly the same rate, which is not the case for fae. Malleus, for example, is still considered "a baby", but we've never heard the merfolk characters be referred to or treated in this sense of "still being babies" since they're all 17. The Octatrio also does not act in ways which would show us they’re “out of touch” with time, unlike Malleus (who struggles with technology and being punctual), or Lilia (who expresses surprise at how much countries have changed and has worldly wisdom from his long life).

The other piece of evidence is book 6, part 82. Following the events at Styx HQ, the students all have a tearful reunion at NRC. Malleus also restores an aged Vil (his life force had been drained by Tartarus) to his previous youth. After this, Malleus expresses confusion at how "humans" like Vil can wither and fade in less than a century. 100 years seems like the blink of an eye to a long-lived creature like him. Lilia then informs his prince, "It's true. Human lives are as ethereal as silk thread on a spinning wheel—and just as easily cut short. But their fragility can be a boon. Interweaving and layering those threads creates the strong, resilient tapestry of their history. Such is the creature called man—neighbor to we creatures of the night." What's important here are the characters that fade in and out on the screen as Lilia speaks these lines:

That's right, even though Lilia's dialogue uses terms like "humans" and "creature called man" while referring to them having short lives, beastmen, whatever the heck Grim is, AND merpeople characters are included in the visuals of the scene. To me, this means that all nonfae have roughly the same life expectancy and that fae are the only major exception to this. There's other circumstantial evidence that supports this as well; Sebek calls all nonfae "humans", Malleus refers to groups of nonfae as "children of man", etc. I think it would also just feel weirdly dissonant if like half the races we know of (merfolk, fae) have long lifespans and not just the one (fae). It works better narratively to single out the fae as being abnormal. Not only would that make sense historically (because it partly explains why others feared fae specifically and why fae get othered), but it would also heighten the drama for book 7, which features Malleus wanting to stop the flow of time. What is added here if merpeople also have extended life spans? Nothing is; I'd actually say it might distract from fae having the spotlight this book.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Would you like an AU in this trying time?

Honestly, I can't remember if I sent you this one before because it is an older one from my brain, but I woke up with it on the mind. Rotating in my brain.

Anyway, another Dark Vampire AU for you.

Humans are, in a word, extinct. Not that they aren't around, but they don't exist outside captivity anymore.

When technology advanced and cloning became easy and cheap, Vampires no longer saw any reason to hunt and capture their food. Instead, they captured and controlled the whole world, putting humans in their rightful place as domestic food or tamed pets.

Cloning added in a new fun activity for vampires: Design Lines. Human beings genetically designed to taste delicious and to have easy to manage temperaments. A cross between Designer Dogs and GMO foods. Genetic control for the benefit of Vampire Kind.

There is a whole industry for design lines. The high end lines are seen as a way to flaunt one's wealth. Covens brag over what kind of humans they have in their possession like a rich person would talk about rare vintages of wine. Design Lines are ABSOLUTELY a status symbol.

Not all lines are Design Lines. Not all Vampires are rich or powerful, but they still need to eat. There are fodder lines that just get sold for cheap, just so Vampires can eat. Usually, these fodder lines are just Design Lines that were considered failures. Something went wrong in the genetics that made them imperfect. Imperfections are noticed when the human is pretty young, so they immediately go on discount and are bought by less affluent vamps.

However, it's a pretty big rule that Vampires don't bite human kids. It's not a law, but it's considered pretty taboo and Vamps would look down their nose at that. Kids don't have much blood. A vampire could ruin them before they grow. It would be a WASTE.

So, nobody realized how DELICIOUS the Blade line was until they grew much older.

The Blade line was a “failed” designer line. They came out with Pink hair, which was strange but could be waved off. The bigger issue was the temperament.

The Blade line was downright aggressive!

Why were the human kids so angry at being contained? Why didn't they act all docile and sweet? It's soooo weird. No one would want to purchase such an unruly human. So, the Blade line was sold off for pennies while they were still kids, the research for the line was scrapped, and the company responsible for creating them moved on to different projects.

Only for years later to find out that the Blade line had THE MOST DELICIOUS blood.

It becomes a collectors nightmare as suddenly all of these big name covens want to get their hands on one of the Blade line. It was a test line of only about 100 humans. Quite a few are already dead, drained by stupid or starving vampires. Some were killed just because they really are stubborn as hell and Vampires don't always have patience for that in their food. Many covens don't want to part with their sudden status symbols. Others are more than happy to win favor and trade one of the kids to a more powerful coven. It becomes a bit of a craze to try and get a Blade line. The company that created them tries to recreate them, but it never seems to work well.

It's a bit of a mess. A new item went viral and now no one can purchase it sort of mess.

Technoblade was purchased by a mid-grade Vampire coven when he was a kid. The Vampires in the coven aren't starving but they certainly aren't anyone powerful. They tended to buy fodder lines for food, but that was out of practicality and frugality, not desperation. They didn't needlessly throw away food, either. Only when it got too old to be of use anymore.

Technoblade had never been bitten. He was approaching the age that it would be acceptable and he saw the looks that the Vampires gave him, but he was also given a wary look. He HAD broken one of the Coven's nose when he swung a iron pipe at its face during an escape attempt.

He had been punished for that.

Anyways, the coven's wariness means that he is never bitten before the coven finds out what a TREASURE he is. How much he is worth. The coven argues on what to do with him. Keep him for themselves? Sell him for more wealth? It's debated hotly with the coven.

In the end, the decision is made for them when one of them accidentally offends the Antarctic Coven.

The Antarctic Coven demands recompense and the coven that owns Techno is frantic. So they do the only thing they can think of.

They offer their Blade Line human to repay.

That MIGHT have been completely planned by the Antarctic, but who could say?

So, this coven drags Technoblade along with his AKC paperwork to the Antarctic Coven, who act so very surprised to get a Blade Line human. Such a shock. But of COURSE they could forgive random coven, they have given them such a great gift.

Technoblade is less than enthused. Sure, the rooms are nicer and the clothes are fancier, but Techno is still not happy to be stuck in the home of leeches.

Anytime they try to so much as touch him, he tenses and tries to punch (or bite) them. Very feral kitten coded. Technoblade reacts with anger whenever Phil or Wilbur or Tommy coo over him. Over his hair. Over his eyes. It pisses him off even more when they seem to enjoy his scathing insults or glares.

Those ARE all trademarks of what he is, after all.

They DO have to confirm if he is ACTUALLY a Blade. Papers can be falsified, after all. And he COULD be from one of the failed recreations.

Of course, the easiest test for that is blood. To compare his blood to the records or the Blade line. Technoblade is VIOLENTLY opposed to getting blood drawn, even if it isn't through a bite. He's held down by Tommy and Phil while an expert carefully draws blood to be tested. Not only tested for legitimacy, but also for health, individual genetic anomalies, but they also rank it's flavor against the others in the Blade line. Just because you might as well be competitive about that.

Techno ranks in the top five on that. Wilbur laughs that his temper must be why.

Technoblade throws a vase at his face.

But he…doesn't get punished for that.

Some Vampire covens break the spirit out of their food/pets/humans. The Antarctic Coven doesn't care for that mindset. It's boring. It's weak to have to beat a human into submission.

They prefer a softer route.

It's so easy to make a human feel safe. It's so easy to give them softness and be rewarded with gratitude. They are well practiced in gently guiding a human to accept the collar they weld around their throats. The Antarctic Coven has done it time and time again.

They don’t bite a human until they are allowed. Until the human agrees. And, usually, that's pretty easy to do.

Except Technoblade is SO. Fucking. Stubborn.

He WON'T agree!

So they keep trying, using the ante. Upping the gifts and the seeming kindness. Giving him a soft room(only one door to leave), a beautiful window view (iron bars to prevent him leaving) and anything he could ask for(within reason). So why isn't he baring his neck for them????

And in that confusion, they have to ACTUALLY see Technoblade as a person. It's been CENTURIES since they have seen humans as people. Like, sure, they were human once, but they don't remember it. But they start treating Techno as a person and not a pet and things…shift.

They bond. They genuinely see Techno and they love what they've found.

Technoblade starts to enjoy them, as well. Their requests to drink become an inside joke between them, Techno giving colorful refusals.

Of course, eventually there would be a moment where Techno feels like they were just manipulating his emotions. Maybe he overhears another Vampire complimenting them on their methods, throwing them all back to square one.

Technoblade is angry and hurt and glares at them with hatred. He wants nothing from them. They can just take his blood and leave him alone. Stop with the games. Just bite him and take away the illusion that they actually care.

The Antarctic Coven looks between each other and agrees. They decide to bite Techno. Technoblade is in emotional agony and doesn't really notice how much the initial bites hurt. Especially with how euphoric it becomes as the venom numbs. Technoblade's head swims. And swims. Until he falls unconscious.

The Antarctic Coven decided that Technoblade wouldn't be food. He would become one of them. Changed. The only time they bit him as a human was to make him into one of them.

Technoblade sleeps for a decade, the change very very slow. And there are quite a few people who think that the Antarctic Coven have lost their minds. They gave up a priceless treasure. But The Antarctic Coven sees that Vampirekind lost something when they ruined Humanity. Like, they had truly destroyed Humanity. The concept of Humanity. And the vain and bored Vampires couldn't even see it.

Technoblade is going to be angry when he wakes, but that value that about him, not as a pet but as himself.

Lenn, words can't express how obsessed I've been with this one lately, I've been on a vampire AUs and bloodbag AUs kick lately the concept is so good and can be done in so many ways ranging from hurt/comfort to dark to fluffy and this one is just -ferally tears up the couch cushions-

[anderstrevelyan]

I’m interested in your theory of what Gortash was a counsellor of? Or what department of high ranking official of the city he was working for?

Oooh thank you for the opportunity to talk about Baldurian politics 🙏 (somehow this developed footnotes) (and got really long, whoops)

I don't think I'm settled on who initially hired him—it could be one of the five officers of the city* who typically hire bureaucrats, or a duke (since it seems Florrick works primarily with Ravengard and the Fist).

I think most likely would be Earl Namorran (the Harbormaster circa 1482) or Thalamra Vanthampur** (either while she was Master of Drains and Underways or after becoming a duke), though I do picture some leeway in who the counsellors advise once they're in place, more about where their advice is needed than necessarily being tied to a particular area.

(I was trying to source back where I got that impression, and I think it's Wyll describing Gortash as trying to be an advisor to "the peers" in general:)

(He's thinking back to 1485 and before, when he still lived in the Gate—the "bit player" part became less true the closer you get to 1492, I imagine, especially with the narrator line that attributes the title counsellor to Gortash describing him as having considerable influence on industry and politics)

Some areas I could see Gortash being a fit to advise on would be a) weaponry (but we know the Watch marshal is skeptical of his ideas in 1492, and Ulder Ravengard certainly doesn't like his advice, so I can't picture him spending much time advising the Watch or the Fist despite any overtures), b) the flow of goods in and out of the city, and c) technology.

(Technology is why I'm imagining Vanthampur as a possible entrypoint: the drains and underways porfolio is prestigious because it's so technically demanding in a way that's beyond most patriars.)

And speaking of technology, personally I see him working a lot with the Gondians and the ways they interface with the city!

After Duke Torlin Silvershield's death, the high artificer of Gond becomes Andar Beech, who oversaw the temple's day-to-day under Silvershield and was critical of his involvement in politics—so I think that leaves an opening for someone outside of Gond's church to step in and do some of that liaising. Because the city really, really cares about the Gondians—they maintain those giant cranes that move all the goods at the docks and keep trade flowing, relevant to Namorran's work, and they repair plumbing in patriars' homes, relevant to Vanthampur's—and I could see him advising parliament and the dukes on how they might best get more use out of the Gondians and their inventions. (While at the same time using them as jumping-off points for his own.)

We know the Gondians likely had a lot of secret projects going on (I don't have a link, but the rumour's from Descent into Avernus!), and Gortash eventually takes their Foundry through fraud and blackmail, so I can picture him using his role as counsellor to twist his way in to learn more for leverage and to start to legitimize a partnership between him and the Gondians in the public's eye: setting himself up to take direct, forceful control like we see him having in 1492.

-----

*those five officer positions being: Harbormaster, High Constable and Master of Walls, Master of Drains and Underways, Master of Cobbles, and the Purse Master, per Murder in Baldur's Gate

**Follower-of-Zariel and owner-of-a-bathhouse-that-by-1492-has-a-bane-bhaal-and-mrykul-temple-under-it Thalamra Vanthampur!

[nenelonomh]

oral hygiene

perhaps since i am a bit younger than most of the people on this app, or since my nana had owned a kindergarten, i am so aware of the importance of hygiene and health practices. i feel that everyone has put simple things like this on the back burner, since covid, since the internet's takeover.

i remember, when i was younger (2015/16ish) (note: i clearly wasn't in kindergarden at the time, but this is when the memories are from), the halls of my nanas kindergarten were lined with posters that encouraged parents to look after their child's health. current kindergartens, and parents--perhaps due to technology and widespread knowledge-- prioritize other things. it's about time we took responsibility of our own health again.

oral hygiene is the practice of keeping your mouth clean and disease-free. it involves brushing and flossing your teeth as well as visiting your dentist regularly for dental x-rays, exams and cleanings.

brushing your teeth: ✩ use fluoride toothpaste to protect your teeth from decay (cavities). fluoride strengthens the tooth's hard outer surface (enamel). ✩ angle the bristles toward the gumline to clean between the gums and teeth. ✩ brush gently using small, circular motions. avoid scrubbing back and forth too hard. ✩ brush all sides of each tooth, including your tongue. ✩ replace your toothbrush when the bristles become worn.

HOT TIP: if you get bored with, or struggle to remember brushing your teeth, consider swapping to a minter (or other pleasantly flavoured) toothpaste. this will encourage you to continue the habit, since it is more enjoyable.

flossing your teeth: ✩ plaque can build up between teeth, leading to gum irritation and gingivitis. ✩ floss daily to remove plaque from these areas. ✩ if plaque hardens into tartar, only a dentist or dental hygienist can remove it.

replacing your toothbrush: ✩ as you use your toothbrush, the bristles gradually wear down. bent or frayed bristles lose their stiffness and effectiveness in cleaning your teeth. ✩ over time, your toothbrush accumulates bacteria from your mouth. bacterial growth on an old toothbrush can contribute to oral infections and bad breath. ✩ you should replace your toothbrush when you notice that the bristles have become worn, or every 3-4 months to prevent the buildup of harmful bacteria.

storing your toothbrush: ✩ before and after brushing, thoroughly rinse the bristles of your toothbrush under hot tap water. this helps remove toothpaste residue, debris, and any airborne bacteria or dust particles. ✩ after rinsing, tap the handle of your toothbrush against the edge of the sink to shake off excess water. this promotes faster air drying and prevents bacterial growth. ✩ store your toothbrush in a cup or holder. keep the bristles up and the handle down. this allows excess water to drain away from the bristles, preventing bacteria buildup. ✩ place the cup or holder in a well-ventilated area, such as a counter or shelf. avoid storing it in a dark, enclosed space like a drawer or cabinet. allowing your toothbrush to air dry completely helps prevent bacterial growth. ✩ avoid cross-contamination by keeping your toothbrush separate from your housemates, or family members.

electric toothbrushes: ✩ some may choose to use electric toothbrushes, where you only replace the head of the toothbrush. electric toothbrushes use oscillating, rotating, or sonic movements to clean teeth and gums more thoroughly. many models have built-in timers to ensure you brush for the recommended 2 minutes. most electric toothbrushes are rechargeable, reducing waste from disposable batteries. ✩ personally, i prefer to use a regular toothbrush, since i feel it does a better job cleaning my mouth. often electric toothbrushes require you to take longer to brush your teeth.

eating choices: eating choices play a significant role in maintaining good oral health. first and foremost, consuming sugary foods and drinks can lead to increased acid production in the mouth. this acid can erode tooth enamel, making your teeth more susceptible to decay. it's essential to limit your intake of sugary snacks and beverages to protect your oral health.

frequent snacking, especially on sugary and acidic drinks throughout the day can harm your teeth. aim for regular meals rather than constant snacking to give your teeth time to recover between eating episodes.

staying hydration is crucial for overall health, including oral health. dry mouth (which is called xerostomia) can increase the risk of cavities and gum disease. salvia helps neutralize acids and wash away food particles, so drink plenty of water to keep your mouth moist.

remember to maintain a balanced diet, rich in vitamins and minerals. it is essential for healthy teeth and gums. nutrients like calcium, vitamin D, vitamin C, and phosphorus contribute to strong teeth and support gum health. include dairy products, leafy greens, fruits, and lean proteins in your diet.

to conclude: remember that good oral health allows you to enjoy life by speaking clearly, tasting, chewing, and showing your feelings through facial expressions like smiling!

further reading: ✩ What’s the Most Sanitary Way to Store Your Toothbrush? • Brilliant Oral Care✩The Best Way to Store Your Toothbrush & the Mistakes You May be Making | Gentle Dental (interdent.com)✩Whatever You Do, Don't Store Your Toothbrush Here - CNET✩Why Should You Replace Your Toothbrush? And When? – Mouth Watchers✩How Often Should You Change Your Toothbrush? Healthy Etiquette (healthline.com)✩When To Change Your Toothbrush | Colgate®✩Oral Hygiene | National Institute of Dental and Craniofacial Research (nih.gov)✩Oral Hygiene: Best Practices & Instructions for Good Routine (clevelandclinic.org)

i hope this post was helpful!

❤️ nene

[chiyoso]

HERRSCHER OF DEATH x HSRVerse PART TWO

▶SYPNOSIS. after successfully finding welt yang, as well as dealing with other encounters, you sought out to explore further, hoping to learn and differentiate this universe between being a new reality, or something constructed artificially by the imaginary tree. the xianzhou luofu for example, being one of many stops that you took interest on.

▶CONTENT. crossover, headcannons + combined oneshot, hsr x hi3rd, hi3rd elements, heavy descriptions of fighting, female reader, serious themes, no usage of y/n, flirting, reader's just a tease, heavy topics, dead dove: do not eat.

“You're beautiful.”

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 is perturbed, taken aback by your straightforward, words for him.

You were discovered floating, at least stomach level at one of the balconies where the Jade Gate resided grandiosely behind you, floating and laid comfortably, suggestively against your elegant, divine key—your lance, the very lance which caused attention to artisans within the Luofu.

It was twice the size of you, it was darker than midnight, flowers that patterned on its surfaces were replaced in glittered lines of gold, a more elegant, eerie version of the normal Abyss Flower than that one Schicksal Valkyrie had.

And with that, you held death—it was beneath you, leisurely, awaiting your commands.

You remained motionless on air, gravitating lazily, up and down idle, nonchalant towards the leading looking figure, and the people stood before you under his command.

A ruler? He did look the part, ravishingly at that.

Not caring too much, you just wanted to explore, traversing this bubble universe, all without too much usage of your limbs really.

Since a specific someone, frilly, pink and uplifting, somehow had managed to tire and drain your mentality through rigorous, unrelenting questions about you, your nature, and the relationship you had with the previous Herrscher of Reason—no, he had previously told you to stop addressing him by that title.

The mission in search for the missing Sovereign of Anti-Entropy had reached its peak, the task was completed, you were done.

What was not, was the overwhelming curiousity you harbored towards such a complex, and sturdily built universe. This world—this... bubble universe. Behaving so accordingly, properly. The stability of everything, it was almost anxiety inducing, frighteningly perfect, you were uneasy from how detailed, sentient and alive everything and everyone was.

Perfection is non-existent wherever sentience prevailed, but this... this is truly next, next level.

You're certain that this world wouldn't fall victim to the Sea of Quanta's abyss, not after being birthed with a vast, new whole new star system, ecological ruptures scattered in highs and lows, numerous amounts of advanced technology existing in all kinds of ways and forms, each world having their own ways of tech akin to their aesthetics and traditionalism.

And if the imaginary tree can create such complex systems, visuals—just how powerful, potent and complex is it to create godlike beings similar to you that could eradicate any existing molecule if they so wished? All the more reason to explore and gather valuable data for those awaiting you in your original world.

That's speaking if you do manage to find your way back, given the knowledge from Welt Yang that he hasn't found a way yet. Safely at least.

Speaking of perfection.

Golden irises met yours, he studied your intricately and interesting designed eyes, they were different, abnormal, but he was accustomed to concepts such as yours, at least, that's what he'd like to believe.

Northern star shaped pupils, a hollow, gradient iris as its bastion, one of many things he noticed about how ethereal you really were.

To give you a compliment with those words would be an insult, it was an understatement.

You were more than mesmerizing, extraordinary, otherworldly, but one thing was most clear to the General; you were also a threat, a large scale one.

He was no diviner like Fu Xuan, but the premonition of unease settled in, engraved so deeply within his gut.

“Your kind words are received, however,” sharp sounds of armory clinked and shifted, winds being cut forward as the horizontal row of spearsmen that positioned themselves behind the general, weaponry raised—all defensively towards you,

What a predicament you've gotten yourself into.

“What are you, and what do you stand to achieve at this hour of day, my lady?” His unidentifiable gaze remained to your direction, occasionally, subtly glancing down towards the weapon you had displayed under you, and back up to meet your hypnotic eyes.

The commotion from the civilians only grew, be it humans, Foxians, or the Vidyhadras.

Some had caused an uproar from your overly grand appearance, some were whispers, quickly plaguing gossips of you being a high Emanator from the deceased Aeon of Beauty Idrila, and the majority—perceived you to be a threat.

All assumptions based on how their mighty, Arbiter General had his Cloud Knights stationed protectively for them, and with apparent offense towards you.

Even if you were, Jing Yuan remained that positive demeanor, he had to, for the lives that resided in Central Starskiff Haven.

“Your... negative, internal inputs of me are so loud and misplaced, handsome,” you had to deeply inhale back a visible reaction, the way he stiffened when you gave him a nickname was nothing but so utterly, endearing.

“But, to avoid rousing concerns and disputes that you are so desperately trying to avoid,” you exaggerate, musing him with a chesire-like smile.

“I'll lower myself down to your standards, all for you,” your mouth slightly parts into a small grin, taking in that miniscule amount of surprise that showed on his face from the upgrade of handsome to that.

Lovely, just lovely. That twitch in between his brows, the slight pursing of his top lip, kissing it to the bottom, the way he'd raise his head to stand tall, masking whatever emotions that stirred cruelly inside him.

Subtle his reactions may be, his embarassment was present to your keen observations.

Your lance beneath your body dissipates into a golden light, leaving behind particles of particles, your form now straightened again, taking footing on the railing of the balcony, your hands raised to the sides of your head.

To diffuse the intensity of the situation of course, even if you did have to make yourself look weak by a small amount, aware that last time's show of strength towards the Astral Faction did a number of them—mentally anyways.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 would push unnecessary thoughts to the back of his head. Unorthodox thoughts related to attraction, ranging from the way your fingers effortlessly be positioned in a way similar to dancers that visit the Luofu, enthralling, captivating, the way your eyes—those eyes, the way those stars would glide, seize him, his knights, and the overall dauntiny situation.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 wasn't one to fear, but you were just haunting, overflowing with elegance, and you were dangerously coy, something that would, at theory, weaken and enable that primal instinct you see in charmed men.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 would slightly lower his guard down, signaling his men to lower their weapons, his own right hand moving towards the side of his head, mirroring half of your surrendered gesture.

But alluring your appearances may be.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 will not waver, nor will he allow his self-mastery of calm resolution to be wavered by your antics. To protect the Luofu, he'd add, defensively, even if the very concept of radiance stood confidently, and defiantly before him.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 would see you, see past your entity-like behavior, observing how you behave once his golden eyes travel enough, just enough to know you were a work of art underneath the silk you wore.

You were otherworldly, but you were still human.

”My lady...” He took a step to you, eyes never leaving your more visible physiq—your eyes.

He took a few moments to claw at any given thing that would reclaim his previous state of calm again, the silence, accompanied with a light buzzing and bustling commotion, filling his ears, uncertainty dulling his senses for a moment.

Be strong, General. He reaffirms himself, steeling his mind and heart, a noticable shift in his demeanor while you both locked your gazes to one another.

“You... are not a citizen of the Xianzhou Luofu, that much is obvious. Vast, the Astral Express may be, I have not heard word of you having an alliance with the travelers accustomed in traversing within the stars,” Oh, them?

“I have also noticed that you don't bear the crest of the Interastral Peace Corporation,”

Ah, so that's what it means. Previously hearing one, or a hundred continuously yell abbreviations during their chase for you.

For an alliance that wore the word 'peace' proudly in their name, their tactics were sure far from it.

“And the way you appear and hold yourself in such high, confident regards, even in my presence...” Mm?

So there is something special about hi—

“You, are not human, and of this world, are you? At the very least, one of which where the Luofu presides,” the air shifted, Cloud Knights once at ease, now filled with confusion, mixed with an alarm as they hear their General speak out with stern, a tone that can't be differentiated between being a question, or a threat.

Ha.

...

Even that Schicksal maid couldn't discern large, and small scale details that quickly upon just meeting a stranger such a few minutes of close contact.

“...You'd be more than correct.” You attempted to hold yourself and your facial muscles motionless, keeping your hands up to both sides of your head for him. You wouldn't hear the end of it from the trailblazers if you displayed such a disrespectful, unwelcomed, excitement. It was unbefitting of this situation, that much was obvious.

Mmh, but you would digress, for this man was so very, truly fascinating, one that interested you the most. Apart from the blue haired man that craved death in earlier events.

You would assume his abilities, almost purposely rousing him to invoke terrifying reactions you know he's capable of underneath all that reservation and mental fortitude.

His observational skills, overwhelming, giving you a surge that you are being preyed upon on, cat like eyes and reflexes, dilating towards everything subtle you do. That hollow, yet welcoming enough smile that doesn't reach to his pretty eyes, staged for the civilians in confusion, protecting them from feelings of panic and terror.

The highlight in his eyes that would shine brightly as if he just solved every problem there is, the problem being you perhaps, solving you without hints and solutions, guiding him to this battle of composure. A trained body language and demeanor so used to being in regal command.

And a mouth so well versed in literature and strategic prowess, knowing what words to use in all times. you could just...—

“An Emanator, then?”

...

Huh. What did he just call you?

His voice sounded lower than before, almost threatening, the delivery of tone in which you only picked up on since that expression still retained on that pretty face of his.

It may be a pleasant, questionare he'd staged carefully to not alarm his knights and the people present, but to you—you were aware it was only masked hiding the fact that it was an interrogation.

Maybe, a deserved one at that from your sudden appearance within their faction, but since it was a public confrontation, he'd trust your judgements that you wouldn't act so rashly, especially with innocent lives around the luofu were present.

What a bold, bold man.

Already trusting you to the stars with just a few moments of talking, since establishing main key points with you in entirety, of this conversation.

Wait. No, wait a moment.

The young March 7th did ramble to you something about an adventure of theirs not too long ago—containing a word with Emanator, or Lord Ravager within the storyline of hers. Ah.

An emanator. A defeated one. Phantylia, was it?

“Tch,” You didn't like that comparison, assumption it may be, it irked you, especially since encountering a being far greater than her, at least, almost, just barely almost the same level as you being a Herrscher.

You were only nothing but...

“Greater,” you lowered your hands to your sides, standing tall, chin raised with your eyes, fierce and lowered to them—towards him.

“...Greater.” Jing Yuan would repeat, slowly, as if he was relishing the intensity of the meaning behind your answer, the both of you staring each other down, neither side's auras waning down, exceeding amounts of hostility by the second, even if his was misdirected towards you.

He could only assume negatively then, but you were only reciprocating their behavior, after all.

You move both limbs up to your sides once more, a gradiose pose, unphased to the endless sky that accompanied this enormous grand hexafleet that reminded you of the Hyperion of Schicksal.

A step back from the railing would be a mortal man's doom to, perhaps, between, a fate of an endless free fall, suffering from loneliness, with death not being able to cradle and bring you to salvation—or, you would be accompanied with a fear and thoughts of inevitable doom as you fall to something ranging from abominations of the so-called Aeon of Abundance, or.

A simple, boring splat, meeting the ground with a gruesome, inelegant end.

His eyes narrowed with your gesture, finding himself—or the hand behind him subconsciously ready to summon his glaive, a defensive stance so buried deeply into his body that the simple word 'reflex' can't do it justice.

“By 'greater', my lady, you mean you are...—”

Ancient. Everlasting. A covenant.

“Immeasurable, inconceivable, a vessel to humanity's fatal destruction that reached over fifty thousand years ago, a concept humanity has yet to grasp in those countless eras of waste and fruition,”

“An ornament, a paradoxical lament to something greater, far, far greater than destruction itself,”

“I am greater, than those who were labeled the greatest.” It wasn't as if you were trying to appear narcissistic, nor overly confident in your abilities.

But that was only the bigger, and bitter truth.

And it is how Raiden Mei (Herrscher of Origin) would potentially word things given her serious, primordial nature—and your claims of such power, being supported due to the sudden glowing of your eyes.

The sound of cracking, and shattering glass that only you and the General can only hear since he was the closest, sourced from the skin behind your exposed back, a dark mist seeping out of it little by little, along with your Honkai energy levels that were growing simultaneously in an alarming pace.

What's worse—you were unaware of the phenomenon you were displaying right now for it was subconscious, as you revel in the truth of your words with a grin. A misplaced, mistrusting grin you weren't quite aware of you were showing for the General.

Not a Welt Yang within the area right now.

Not a Sovereign, nor a retired Herrscher in your sights to control the situation with knowledge he only held about your kind—your existence.

Not a creature that matched your power and strength, living or not, to stop you in your glory.

The weight of your words manifested into something heavy, full of density, full of dread, it felt awful, sickening, suffocating, his Cloud Knights and those who were near to hear your frightening words of calamity tensed, sweat starting to surface underneath the fabric that hides their terror, their feet glued to the cement as a helplessness guided them to their internal panic, his Cloud Knights in desparate waiting for any sort of order, movement, any syllable from the man before them.

The Jade Gate behind you blocked the brilliant light for the singular, attentive individual that remained tall, a pillar that he had to be for the ones cowering in the heaviness of your words—the Arbitrator Charioteer stands tall, immovable to your claims of calamitous power.

A Lord Ravager, then. The thought internalized inside his mind based on the grevious words, words of grief worthy testaments, laid bare for the citizens to find themselves in a state of fear that doesn't have the need to use any vocal chords.

“A threat,” he voiced, low and firm. His weaponry materializing from the back, the long length of the spear-like weapon, an oriental, traditional looking glaive, finding its solace within his grasp, making him appear complete his weapon apparent.

“You say you are the home to an enemy of humanity, do you acknowledge this, my lady.”

The glaive's tip finds its way towards your direction, the seriousness of the situation finally weighing down as you, your pupils landing on the weaponry pointed at you.

You look to your surroundings beyond the man, arms lowered as your gaze dissects the crowds near you.

Fear, and only fear.

Something you are so accustomed to since bearing the Will of the last Herrscher of Death, and only those who were equally—if not stronger can only ever truly look at you in the eyes, like how this man before you is currently doing.

“You raise a weapon to me.”

“A weapon with intentions to protect those who stand behind me,” his hold tightens around his weapon, his expression mirroring the seriousness of yours, excluding the disbelief you had, mixed with... something else he couldn't discern, at least not yet.

A long, deep inhale. To the point where you exhaust your lungs of air, then exhaling through your teeth, the few last seconds of it being shaky with lips parting slightly, forming into a small, horizontal oval.

They are only fearful. A kind voice reassured in the center of your mind, though it was faint, it was impactful.

That fear being you, you mean. A familiar, malicious one intruded, causing you to bring a hand to your head again, grasping the side as you clicked your tongue.

Even talking about a truth relating to your power, urges the Houkai?

No—illogical, it attacks your mental capacity.

To weaken it. Your emotions, your willpower. You'd long forgotten since then, for it had been quite long ago that anyone, had manage to waver your mental strength.

But you can't help it, you hate being looked at with such genuine fear. You hate it, you really do.

It was unfair, it really was. You only do good.

You've been only good. Only nothing but good.

You breathe unsteadily, giving yourself to the silence to calm yourself for a few, long moments, selective hearing at play.

Something was amiss, the General would observe in his guarded silence, lowering his weapon to his side, vertical, the end of his glaive grounded to the cement. He was to take a step, treading in eggshells, making his way with intentions of closing the gap between you and him.

But a hand, yours, a palm towards him had stopped him dead at his tracks, halting his attempt of a succor—towards you.

You're not one to seek help.

But, stubborn as you are, it would be devastating to put this hyperion like faction to a ruin that you've gotten used to seeing everywhere.

Ah. You, again. Me, again.

And so? You are unwelco—

Being a Herrscher, a catastrophic one, at that.

What is a Herrscher like you blending in with human civilizations, through time and time again?

...Ha. You are weak, I have conquered you, stabilized you—and myself long, long ago.

Yes. Yes, that would be the case right now, wouldn't it, partner of Death.

But recall, where a Herrscher presides—is where my existence remains intact.

For my will... is neverending.

Just like death, infinity and everlasting.

Tch. To choose the unpredictable willingly, that was your forte, to use the unknown in retaliation against the calculative will inside you, to descontruct the threatening finality of your stupor.

It is a new era. This one especially, the world of Pegana, the world that habors no virus that nestle inside you—at least, that's what you believe and have observed in your short time in this 'bubble universe.'

They don't struggle against the Houkai that resided inside you, and that was good, relieving.

Not until traumatic imagery, thoughts of you bringing a fate worse than whatever hell already existed for them, visible, cruel, and horrible.

The fragment of that possibility fine tuning muscles on your face to something sour, having that expression noticed immediately by the General that stood brightly before you.

“You,” you let out a call towards him, similarly to a snarl in your mental discomfort, gaining his attention. You sought out in voice, seeking out warmth, pacing yourself internally, resuming to reassure your will with familiar words that led to alleviate your worries.

“I don't desire to cause harm, and—”

“—And yet, you speak in alarming malice, my lady, such brutal, unfathomable words, coming from that mou-.. from- from the way you speak.”

...What was that pause?

“Listen,” a slight jolt from him, “and listen well,”

You appeared just before him in one step. His fingers twitch, his reflexes, motor skill, practicing heavy, heavy restraint to just have a swing at you.

Time had stood still for him, seeing you closer, you were no taller than him, but you remained intimidating, if anything, the differences made you appear more alluring, accompanied with lucent eyes he only started to focus on once captured by your gaze, an eager eye contact that matched his vigor, that subconscious curiousity and excitement, growing ever so finely, but then.

He remembered those under his command.

“YIELD—yield your weapons,” his free hand simultaneously moves up, open, signaling his Cloud Knights just in time, the muted rustling of equipment now heard, winds that were sliced from their cloud piercers towards you now halted abruptly, and of course, you hadn't wavered one bit. “Wise,” you add, tilting your head up to him.

A vicious, musing smirk, one which of which he couldn't decide to detest it, or to be smitten by it.

At least for right now.

“...If you think and speak of me in such ways, why haven't I brought said ruination into this beautiful, well constructed flagship we currently reside in?”

“Mm,” A great point. He'd look over his shoulder, towards the Cloud Knights coupled defensively, a sum of Xianzhou locals, astral tourists, stilled by fear and unease.

One last deep breath—you straighten your form, the hand from your head moving downwards to your chest, this time inhaling through your teeth. Simultaneously, the glow from your eyes would dull, along with the rejuvenation of your cracked skin, closing up a rift-like wound that was sourced at your spine.

The General sighs, the free hand moving towards his head, now letting frustration that had been tugging at him since this encounter with you.

It was unhealthy to someone imbued with mara.

There were only a few lasting seconds to take a stand, an initative, a singular choice that wouldn't provoke, you—nor worsen what the crowd that flocked together was feeling.

It was truly a taxing, and difficult situation.

Only for him anyways.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 will move with purpose, in every action in his next courses of actions. You would think in his 800 years of loyalty and commitment to the Xianzhou Luofu would easily override his curiousity for you—not at all. Eight centuries of repetitiveness, without the need to indulge in the other mysteries of the universe, and that will also be eight centuries of boredom, perhaps something the discover of your existence can begin to alleviate.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 is a man, an immortal one, the mara that presides within gnaws at his mind, but death isn't able to welcome him just yet, he is unmoving to that concept, but finding himself hesitant, yet feeling that want to play this game of cunning and intelligence against you.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 found eerieness, and a not so welcomed serenity the moment you introduced yourself formally, grand and opening, having you in the center of the divining area within the Divination Commission, wrists, ankles binded separately, ones that held you together, rendering you immobile were something of astral configuration, projection, but some sort of space manipulation, enchantment you can't fanthom, and most importantly—can't get out of.

And 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 would himself revel in that little smidge of discomfort you had, the little creasing between your eyebrows despite the polite and forced smile you had, amused at the way your hands would move, wriggle against the starry chains, and finding himself more impressed once you manage to hold your expression tightly, along with managing to hold back a sound with that pretty, pretty mouth of yours.

Because every time you would try to free yourself, your entire being feels this electrifying, unpleasant burning, it is invasive, mind and emotional means, it runs through your very soul, it tugs at it, warning you, and it behaves similarly like the Houkai within you, and it is sickening.

Sickening to feel something foreign creep up to you again, to try and destroy you from the inside out, what's worse—it had no traces of Houkai Energy, so you weren't able to identify and manipulate it at all, and everytime you would use your own abilities, you would be met with something sharp, a weapon immediately pressed against your nape.

Curiousity had once killed a cat, but what feline is there to be seen, for they have grasped only but a predator.

“You were the one who asked to be binded,”

“To cease any worries, of course,” a half truth. You feign another smile, one that he would mirror with slight amusement. Just where is this confidence he was getting from? You'd think, wincing as soon as your body naturally tries to free itself again, biting your bottom lip to stifle any noise.

“These... binds, they allow you to sense any malicious activity, yes?” The General would let out a musing hum, walking towards you, eyeing you.

“As much as I would love to partake in offering you knowledge,” he looks towards a direction, and you follow his gaze. “Unfortunately, you'll have to relay your questions to the Diviner over there,” A pink colored hair, a hue you wouldn't associate with Ms. March, her demeanor held respectable prowess, something you can admire.

“I see,” you reply, short and neat, sighing.

“Is this necessary, you question.” he narrates for you, taking the words that were already subconsciously forming in the back of your head.

You found it endearing, cocking your head to the side, a genuine smile this time, one that shifted immediately into a smirk. “You'd have to stare at me in long amounts to know what thoughts I currently harbor,” his head returns to your direction, finding those golden eyes gleam along with yours, his lips almost curling upwards.

Almost, but he won't allow it. Not just yet.

“Mm, you would be correct,” So, so dangerous.

“But almost anyone would think that once they know Lady Fu will be invading one of humanities vulnerabilities—the mind, being one of them.”

“Hmp, so much resistance for what...” you mumble softly, complaining about the way he would deflect your advances—he had been since encountering you, especially when you were on the way to the place where you currently are.

“I don't know what you mean,” you were heard. His answer made you look away from him, towards the calm ether, an atmosphere showered with golden leaves, most likely sourcing from the beautifully large scale tree you saw on the way to here, and those golden leaves, caught and nestled within the fabric of your outfit, only enhanced the state you were in—you being flushed, or almost from his comment.

And he'd think and believe, that this current expression suited you far more than the hierarchy fitting description one you masked yourself with.

You sigh, walking a few steps towards him. “As if I would act on malice,” you correct, fatigued, just arriving beside him, knowing he has you in his peripheral. “No, but you are still actively trying to escape, are you not?”

“If there's one thing that would unsettle me, it would be not able to move freely,”

“...Yet, you haven't, not once, have complained during your willing capture, especially when I was proving you immobile.” What are you doing, General. He berates himself internally just after saying that.

“...Your hands did feel better than these things after all,” silence. He answers with silence and three deep breaths, arms closed defensively, your words clearly, clearly affecting him, troubling him.

“Say,” he breaks the silence, and your amused humming. “Are you really fifty-thousand years old? Or did you mean it, harboring something of that age,”

“The latter,” you're quick to answer, now turning heel, moving towards the edge of the platform, eyes squinted nonchalantly. “Are these skies endless as they seem, or is there something that would await you down there?”

“I wouldn't know.” “Why n—”

“Because I haven't indulged myself in a free fall,”

You turn, looking over your shoulder, meeting his golden eyes, unable to choose between annoyance or attraction from his sudden sarcasm.

“General Jing Yuan,” a voice interrupts your reply, your head both turning to the source.

Mm. Jing Yuan, huh.

“Ah, Lady Fu,” he'd acknowledge the pink haired's presence, placing her attention quickly to you, and it only amused you, given how she had this look of disapproval, a twinge of curiousity.

But of course, emotions are more stronger when facing the unknown.

“The Matrix of Prescience is functioning at its finest, any unsealing, rudimentary or advanced would be completely left unscathed, and any type of escape will not be possible for the acting God as per dire request, at least, in 824 possibilities I've calculated f—”

“How accomodating,” you interrupt, shooting the Diviner, and the General an unamused look, a wry smile to hide a slight bitterness that you won't deny within you.

“Only for the best,” He'd add, low, teasing, grasping your attention effortlessly, noticing that slight tensing of your body language, quite liking the effect he had on you currently.

“Only for me, then?” You're quick to retaliate, now striding towards him, smirking and you'd purposely exaggerate your movements, alluring and elegant as you move, catching that miniscule, quick shift in his eyes.

“For the ones unwilling to share their truth,” he looks down as you arrive, indifferent you'd think, but he looked stiff, too professional, unnatural.

“As if your questions wouldn't be answered if you asked in the first place,” you're correct and you know it. “I digress, Lady Herrscher,” the pink is quick to interrupt. “There would be far more possibilities to assess if we were to take that free, unpremeditated route considering your claims of absolute destruction, whether it'd be the escape of your existence, endangering the Luofu, or—”

“That gate, it is acting as a fine line between the stars, and your faction, yes?” you interrupt, liking the slight crease of annoyance between her eyebrows.

“...You would be correct.” Fu Xuan answers, jolting shortly after once your head lowers to her, eyes dark with suspicious amusement.

“Be aware, had your shortly assessed claims prove multiple chances of being true, I would have already done so the moment I stepped foot into what you call the Jade Gate,” you answer with a wry, cold smile, your voice carrying a serious tone this time, along with your expression just like earlier tall, menacing, and haunting.

But still beautiful, the thought nestles comfortably in Jing Yuan's mind, eliciting a heavy exhale through his nose, and you can't identify if it was exhaustion, or frustration, but what you have determined is that he was calm, too calm for someone who is in the presence of a Herrscher.

...Or do the concept of Herrschers not exist in this universe?

“Hm,” the Diviner's eyes narrow, considering, thinking deeply, ignoring the threatening indications in your tone.

“That would... erase 7,254 possibilities of you wreaking havoc, causing no harm and chaos towards the Xianzhou Alliance, as well as having the idealogy, the possibility of you being a Lord Ravager, as well as the part where your loyalties lie for the Aeon of Destructio—”

“Thank you?” “It isn't a co—” the General interrupts by movement, and the action of coughing dryly onto his fist, stepping in between both you, and the Diviner.

“My lady, would you be so kind to indulge and alleviate our worries? It would be of much great help to the Xianzhou's mental fortitude, as well as mine,” he brings out his hand, trained, calloused yet well taken care of, towards the direction of the large, and no doubt advanced technology that was currently up and running, ready for you.

But, if you were to round up the little information you were given based on this sole interaction alone, this astral looking device would, in theory, be able to read, or pry into either your mind.

And that wasn't good for you, neither it is for the Houkai Energy that takes home in your body.

“I have a favor to ask both of you, and the Luofu,” they'd both perk, the word unexpected showing in their expressions to your sudden request.

“Whatever it is that is ongoing, cease everything once you witness something, anything, fluctuate, do everything to render me immobile, unable, or useless,” you'd look to the General for the last part of your sentence, a serious yet silent pleading on those lovely eyes, recognized by him.

He wouldn't need an explanation, he had already witnessed it, the sudden rouses of personality that didn't fit you, the physical and mental discomfort you displayed, grasping your head in earlier events and the radiant glow of your eyes.

“Do you understand, my mighty General?”

But even then, you'd still be able to surprise him, attract him despite being steeled by your vague warning, and that itself was dangerous already.

“I'm starting to destest this... lack of respect, and self preservation in your words and demeano—”

“Let's... start, Lady Fu, let's not keep our guest, waiting,” such strong words, but you'd know that you've only greatly affected him, considering his guarded expression, stoic and stern, but his eyes continue to glue to yours, unidentifiable, but determined, you just don't know if it's something related a positive one or not.

'My' General, you say. He'd pause, attempting to keep composed, giving a subtle, brief squint to you while he played your those lines over and over in his head. "I could wait all the time for you,” you muse with a teasing chuckle, letting him guide you towards the platform of spheres.

Astrological symbols and starry projections, it was pleasing to the eye, but its mechanism were unbefitting of the aesthetics, knowing this enclosure is one that is enable to invade your mind, your memories and your being.

It's funny, you are to stand within something so similar to how you are, it was beautiful, primordial like, and it was also something that people didn't want to associate themselves with. Just like you.

Jing Yuan would hum, mirroring your amused expression, he could only assume what thoughts had presented themselves to you as you gaze towards the Matrix of Prescience.

Fu Xuan's emotions dive into the categories of reminiscence, nostalgia and a twinge of guarded anticipation, you being inside it bringing memories flickering, familiar imagery of cunning, allure and authority flashing your figure.

Kafka. She'd sigh heavily, now attaining suitable form, ready to dive into mysteries that settled surfaced, or deep in your mind.

“Whenever you're ready,”

Whenever they're ready. A crude internal voice slips out, causing you a slight discomfort.

Behave, I believe they have the technology to get rid of you, and they're just unaware of it.

And considering the possibility that without me, you are nothing.

What makes you, yourself—is me.

I don't mind losing you.

You let your face muscles contract into a wicked grin on your face while your head remained low, your breathing intervallic with purpode to concentrate.

I've already found another that has the means and capacity to replace your greatness, if not greater. You look up, now taking witness to the light illuminating the entirety of you, all before placing your gaze at the General that stood with anticipation next to the initiator of this conduct.

You'd give up your divine principles for a nothing but a miniscule speck of human companionship?

Why not? You bore me.

...That is only the result of you not using me to immeasurable extents, destroying a continent, for example.

There are other ways to destroy things. Your chuckle is seen, confusing the Diviner and the Arbiter General, especially one that sounded out with endearment, especially once you bit your lip to the General.

You are all the same. Mm, yes.

I never did claim to abandon my humanity in the first place, no? That's n—

“Oh Miss lovely Diviner,” you call out, shunning the other internal voice out, closing your eyes, bliss and free, despite your restraints.

“You will be dealing with three consciousness,” you open your eyes, biting your bottom lip to stifle laughter from the priceless reactions of disbelief and confusion in both their faces.

“What.” Her eyes leave whatever she was working onto the astral projection, constellations floating adrift within her hands, just like you at the current.

“What do you mean by... three consciousness?”

“Steady, you are unfocused,” you chuckle thereafter, your words only snapping her out of seconds worth of shock, denying to process her emotions of disbelief.

“It is as literal as I can get, three, individual consciousness.” You bite your bottom lip harder, cheeks puffing and just stifling to let a sound of laughter out, your circumstances amusing the General as he crossed his arms, closing his eyes while you mused her with your teasing antics.

“Me, the last successor of the power I hold currently, and the culprit of ruination that I, have mentioned prior my captivity—the lovely General would know what I'm referring to,” you glance briefly at the General, dead in the eyes, admiring him before returning your eyes to the Diviner.

“So tread with utmost care, for once you stray off from mine, you will be dealing with fifty-thousand worth of memories, all filled with inconceivable amounts of terror... and otherworldly struggles.”

The familiar silence again, not including the sounds of stars and shapes moving around you, runes, magic circles appearing and diminishing in tempos. “...Do not take me lightly,” the Diviner refocuses, her attention and concentration towards the particles of light and spacial matter before her sights, and her fingertips.

“Hmhm,” “You need not tease her,” your full attention returns to the General, giving him that coy smile that unsettles and pleases him all in one.

“You'd prefer if I do it to you instead, then?”

“...I said no such thing,” “I don't hear resistance.”

There, that color. It suits him, and he wears the hue so, so well. He'd look away, down to the ground to avoid your smug gaze, arms crossed, as if that defense would stop you from continuing your attacks. “You hold so much beauty, General.”

Says you who continues to be frustratingly magnificent and irresistible. “Focus on the ta—”

“Mm, are you talking to me, or to yourself?” The General takes a deep breath, refusing to meet your gaze, his golden irises tearing away from yours and out towards the other platforms of the Divination Commission.

How long had it been since having himself indulge in interactions such as this? Too long.

You'd expect from the Mighty Arbiter General of the Luofu to not indulge himself in things that will hinder is work, distract him from protecting the Luofu, but you'd be surprise for how long 800 years can really be.

Eons that were accompanied by friends that named themselves longing, loneliness and emptiness, and even faced with emotions he wasn't acquainted with, the emotions being satisfaction, and this warming anticipation...—

He wouldn't, he wouldn't. He would not allow himself, or rather, the Mara wouldn't allow him.

He wouldn't let the one who will enter, capture and steal his heart witness his inevitable fate, one that involved the blossoming of ginkgo leaves, painted with the scarlet red that reeks of a cruel, unhappy death, he would rather just—let no one suffer, he will protect those who need protecting.

But of five people, four had only paid the price.

And right now, the sight of you, all tied, almost vulnerable, mixing in with the memories of pleasant interactions you and him had since the encounter.

To seek out this vixen of a woman, play her games as she did with his, testing him, observing him in the same manner he would to her.

He would gladly be the last.

How could he resist? His charms, wit, intelligence, it was all mirrored by someone so cunningly attractive, not only in physical but the way you hold yourself, his reflected charms being reciprocated if not better?

It all made him feel good.

So good, and maybe, just maybe, he can finally... at least once more in his immortality, can he finally prioritize something else other than the Luofu, other than—“General! General Jing Yuan!”

Yanqing? Familiar voices snap him out of his deep trance, eyes widened, confused, alarmed at the sight that came to be. Two floating blades of ice, both horizontal to block a large scale whip, it was dark, serpent like, exuding black mists—and it retracts again, golden dust particles trailing off from the direction it had attempted to attack him.

The serpent like whip slithered, back, back and forwards again, moving—“ABOVE!” It attacks again, its speed and velocity unmatched for the ice swords the little commander, the density and strength once it clashes with four, five blades, overruling it, shattering each sword with ease.

“Watc—Tch,” The General immediately acts, lunging and taking hold of the blonde boy to move out of the way, him being caught off guard making Jing Yuan barely dodge out of the way.

“At ease, Yanqing,” Rubbles, dusts, the aftermath of the shock scathed his skin in small cuts and dust, ornamental clothes dirtied.

“S-Sorry General... I was—” The platform gives out an unpleasant noise, one that threatened its unsteadiness as it rumbles.

His balance becomes unaffected once he steels himself, strong legs now bastioned against the floor, an arm wrapped around the blonde boy's torso. “Converge, and awaken!” Strategems of constellations manifest into the reality, its canvas a circular gradient of condensed energy, illustrated as magic circle of spatial patterns.

“Lady Fu—” “In short,” her summonings had fade, rejuvenating the two and those around within the vicinity within the Matrix of Prescience of fatigue and light injuries. The Master Diviner drifts down in glittering elegance, using her omniscial abilities to avoid rubble, footing now obtained, assuming a defensive stance to the omnidirectional moving whip, eyes attentive to any and every movement.

“A memory, one of most grief, it provoked something, triggered something. One moment she was well, infuriating, and what followed af—”

Grief? “Is—Is she... safe?”

“Physically, that would be a given, but in psychological means...” She followed his automatic gaze, up towards where you were continued to reside in. You were still restrained, but there were new details no one would miss, the first of few being your struggle that showed on your face, eyes closed, teeth grinding against each other, beads of sweat trickling along your skin.

Your skin would have these cracks, dark mists with golden particles as rifts this time would be plastered vertically on one half of your face, like train tracks, down and down to your neck, to the fabric of where your chest was located. It was beaming, pulsing, bright, despite the dark mist that shrouded you whole.

A source? Plausible. He'd reaffirm his suspicions, setting down the blonde that continuously squirmed in his arms. “G-General what—”

“Retreat, all of you.” Thank you for your consent.

He referred to your warning of earlier events, to stop you in your tracks, to harm you, to end you.

“B-But—!” “If you will, Lady Fu.” She looks over her shoulder, glaring at him, mumbling 'fool' before encasing herself, Yanqing and those who were valiant in the field, all into her spherical realm of stars, disappearing from the premises of danger. “Now then,” the General resummons his glaive, light manifesting in accordance to his hand movements.

“An attempt of harm towards the Master Diviner, my Cloud Knights, Commander Yanqing, and the Arbiter General,” he bends his knees, hands gripping the length of his weapon.

“Causing public disruption, disturbance and damage within the Divination Commission,” wind pressure forms, circular and forceful around him.

And including... particular indecencies. He adds internally, sighing, blushing, the General lifts his gaze to you, to the troubled you, radiant with no peace, veiled in darkness.

“By order of one of the Seven Arbiter Generals, you are to face judgement through the Ten-Lords Commission,” he lunges, strong and with intense speed, up and above with a grunt escaping him.

“A punishable degree, possible of long time imprisonment within Shackling Pris—” he jolts, offensive form faltering the moment he sees your eyes open slowly. “Welt... Welt Yang,” you mutter, rasp and low, struggling to maintain hold in your consciousness. What? He retracts, stopping the subconscious swing he was about to do, maintaining to float as lightning crackled all over him, keeping him leveled to you.

“Th-The Sovereign...—” You're quite accommodating, keeping this man at bay for me.

The moment your eyes widened in realization to your surroundings, the sight before already had taken a drastic turn, he had barely parried the serpent-like whip with his glaive, his strength barely able to hold against the weight and thickness of the entity like weapon.

Tch. You squirm, struggling, remembering the binds that hold you in place. “General!” You hold out both arms out towards his direction, desparate, giving your wrists out to him.

He sees you from the corners of his eyes, glancing for a second before forcing his focus to the assailant that threatens his life with ease.

Without hesitation, the General uses the weight of the whip, lowering his usage of strength and himself, now using the overwhelming momentum to force it downwards, barely dodging the vertical strike by tilting his side, a sharp air following, grazing his skin.

“Quite contradicting, are you?” His admirable strength and words that followed up bring you a sense of relief, amusement afterwards, as after images of parallel strikes, vertical, horizontal, diagonal free you from your binds.

“You like it,” you don't miss the chance to tease, grinning, moving your wrists to the opposite of each other, now moving with after-image like speed. “Do I distract you that much, General?”

“You-...” Instinct, instinct, instinct. His irises dilate, now sensing, feeling a throbbing dread that put him in a stunloc—“Focus,” you say, clicking your tongue, appearing just right infront of him again.

Your reflexes act, hands moving in elegant patterns, your own abilities manifesting that familiar golden dust-like summons as each particle hardens, coming into contact with multi-shooting, razor sharp attacks, parrying them in unsettling precision.

I truly don't understand the need to protect such selfish, greedy, imperfect anthropoids.

Cease your pet, I don't like how it uses my body to fuels itself.

Hmhm, you carry me most of your life, what's the difference of another presence?

It invades and drains me continuously, in a disgusting, putrid way most possible. Unlike you.

Flattering, somewhat, but no. Sounds of cracking could be heard, but you wouldn't hesitate to reinforce, the space all around you and the General filled with aerial destruction and explosions with each attack and defense.

You multitask, sighing, a hand moving lazily, snapping your fingers to the air beneath the two of you, setting up a barrier to protect those that remain on the Divination platform, and the whole floating structure itself.

You didn't have to protect, but you did. The natural reaction—no, reflex, for you being another surprise to the General, his eyes lowered to the see through glass-like barrier, protected from debris and the individual entity that caused the mayhem in the first place.

Then again, it did still stem from you, no?

The General glances back up to you, now standing idle, strucked with disorientation, his thoughts clashing with one another, like what you were currently doing right now.

No, you were performing, this was just another day for you, another day of familiarity. Just how much did you lose, endure in order to reach this state of almost Aeon-like advancements?

How... exhausted were you despite the strength you held? Those eyes, not once have they glimmered like in earlier events as you fend off the stray that came from you, or wherever else it came from. The radiance in your eyes, dulling, bored as it dilates to every precise attack it brings you, pinpointing its contact points with precision.

Not even Phantylia reached one-tenth of your speed and summoning.

“Sorry,” you mutter under your breath, only once had the sounds of explosions cease briefly, your unexpected apology heard and snapping Jing Yuan out of his thoughts. “I'm horrible,” you add, weak and nonchalant, but that undertone of bitterness was clear. To him only anyways.

He straightens, glancing between you, and what you had graced the ether with. A blazing, field of gold, mixed with a flashing images of the thick, dark colored serpentine that continued its relentless attacks, and you were still protecting not only him, but the whole Divination Commission space.

You were one to erase stars, your history of destruction painting over the world with your own light. Only to realize, in that self-made darkness, you were left alone time after time, surrounded by the Houkai you left behind. Huh? What?

...Don't mix your cognitive fragments with mine.

As if I could help it? You click your tongue in annoyance, deciding this situation was far too unnecessary, prolonged. You raise your hand, two fingers targeting the fast moving serpent, an orb that simulated a black hole, materializing, pulsing at the tip of your middle finger, the difference to it would be the color and how it works—it being made something of purity, transparency, visible-esqué sound waves, the closest you could describe it with, silly it may sound.

Hmph, you were experimenting with me.

A warning, actually. It surges, the orb sending off towards what your other conscience had manifested in speed even you can't quite grasp.

A low buzz it emanated, it was invisible to the naked eye, but not the sharp splitting of the clouds, Jing Yuan unable to process the severity of your strength as the clouds separate in a visible, razor sharp line. It was booming once it claimed impact, and you were unphased at the sound of a high frequency sounding explosion, once the serpentine expands in a gruesome way, withered and dissolving in its next sequences of death. It was just another day for you, but you can't say the same for the General.

Even in his 800 year long longevity.

He sighs, heavy. It's over. “...And you call you self horrible, after such a commendable, otherwordly feat?” The small frown that didn't suit your face goes unnoticed, right as you safely lower yourself and the General, drifting towards safety and back to the land. Minimal damage, in your eyes, but it was still damage, one that you had caused inevitably.

“What's commendable about all this, General?”

Rubble, cracks. Disorder, panic and peril. All in deafening, hollow silence. You'd see some people in the other platforms, safe, distanced yet disoriented, and their slowly increasing panic will become so much more once they will come to a realization that someone foreign to the Luofu had caused something so terrible.

Since visitation, of this grand hexafleet, whether it was brief or not, you would notice a troubling aura in the air, and beautiful—the skies, covered in raining gold, each leaf that welcomed themselves everywhere felt malicious, and the thought of causing destruction, hidden in beauty, hidden in aesthetics, it had set something so primal within you, it sickened you, disgusted you.

Given the chance, you would want to shrivel up in agony, processing the fact that these people's higher entities, hide their indefinite strength of terror behind something, masked in something.

They hide behind their emanators, commanding them, upholding their bidding, bestow them with a piece of their strength, and give those who choose and preside their path an even smaller fragment—all for what, exactly?

Lazy, prideful, lawless and with no purpose. They make factions based on their powers, limit those who follow their path with one or a few goals, dedicated to benefitting their Aeons wishes.

A few words out of many that you would describe how Aeons are really are. Then there's you, a Herrscher, one from a world that wasn't theirs, a concept they cannot understand, but it is human nature that they will try to do so—and it was human nature to take control of what threatens their species. Unknown specimens like you.

“...The IPC, as well as the Intelligencia Guild will certainly take interest in you, Miss Herrscher,” he breaks the silence, snapping you out from your heavy thoughts. He stood beside, staring with you onto the unpleasant sight. “They already have,” you add, moving your head to his direction, meeting his eyes, eyes that held softness.

“Just like me then,” you squint, processing his words. “You look at me as if I didn't just almost destroy a bit of architecture within the faction you lead, General.” You both fight back grinning, stifling the sly corners of your lips.

“And you certainly berate yourself like you just didn't protect the Divination Commission,” you clench your fist. This was protection? You tear away from his gaze again, letting the guilt overtake your amusement instantly, viewing the destructive sight you created. “You attempted to minimize the damage with the barrier, you kept your defenses purposeful, accurate, precise,”

He turns fully towards you, taking your attention with no effort, his words casually welcoming that swelling, warm feeling inside you again.

“You haven't attacked, not once during when my soldie—when I, encountered you,” what. The said heat only creeps up, up and up, grounded all over your face, spread to your ears. He was knelt on one knee, a hand placed over his chest, and all you could do was stare and still, trying to gain control over your facial muscles.

“Only until the last second, where you claimed victor against what threatened the Luofu, attacking only once, and it wasn't against our faction,” he looks up, assuming that charming smile, shifting even more into amusement once he took witness to your cute, confused expression, painted in flustered red.

“I didn't do—” “You did more than what I could,”

It really wasn't much. You purse your lips, not expecting him to interrupt and retaliate immediately. “I don't know how many more favors the Xianzhou Alliance will continue to owe, but with defending a part of our faction,” he lowers his head, bowing down.

“The Arbiter General will personally see to it that what you have caused within the Divination Commission would be sentenced to something more... forgiving.” Oh. That was funny. The audible exhale catches his attention, now rising his head to see you smiling widely, fighting back to laugh. “I was going to say... it would be very unsettling if I were somehow left unpunished,”

He'd mirror your expression, now pushing on his knee to stand, your gaze following his height as he stood tall, ravishing, and amused to your antics. “Mm, perhaps it would also be a chance to lengthen your stay, at least for a bit longer,”

“Missing me at the thought of my departure already, General Jing Yuan?” You'd see him freeze, his breathing paused, but his eyes would not dare to leave yours. If only you knew how deeply affected he was by you addressing him with his name the first time since the entirety of this.

“...You're dangerous,” he tilts his chin up, golden irises darkening with a certain glint.

“I did warn you,” you reply in the same tone, taking a step, closing the two-hand inch gap by one, your womanly instincts having a chance to let loose as your eyes mirrors his glint, seducing, alluring, and the cherry on top being that chesire-like grin, captivating him further.

And you knew he referred not with your strength, but the way you kept him provoked, challenged, on his toes, teasing and testing this generous, fine line between professionalism and another.

Your eyes shift instantly, a reflex as you see movement from him, his hands near reaching for your wais—“THERE YOU ARE!” A high pitched voice, all so familiar, jolts the both of you in place.

“Ah, it's Mar-... Wh—”This pink fool. Your foot rotates to her direction with dark prism-like barriers, quickly materializeling and sequenced like dominos towards her direction as she takes her rough landing with an 'oomph'.

“HAhua! See Mr. Yang? I told you she'd be fast enough to catch me!” Yang? Ah. You cock your head to the side, seeing past march to see a few others following her direction, towards you.

“That—that was still reckless March,” The Vidyhadra groans disapprovingly, only to have March laughing wryly while she rubbed the back of her head. “I'll... have to agree with Dan Heng, even I couldn't have done anything if something were to go wrong.” Welt adds, moving along with Dan Heng, two twins following along behind, only for one to shove past between her twin and the Vidyhadra, running—no, sprinting with emergency towards March, tackling her.

“Mm,” the whole spectacle leaves you dumbfounded, yet nostalgic in silence, all while familiar individuals gather and move towards you and the General. You assume they were called for assistance, but Welt would already assess that everything was already over, despite the disorder.

“...Whatever it is waiting for me,” you take the chance to break off the confusion, having a limited amount of privacy with the General left.

“I wouldn't mind being imprisoned again if it means keeping myself under your gaze, my General,” you return your sly, confident gaze to him, only for that to crumble, not having enough time to react and process as he leaned towards you swiftly.

“Then,” you let him lower your guard, letting him make you feel vulnerable, small yet womanly, letting that hand of his, opposite from the nearing group, slither from your hips, up towards your waist, seducing and with purpose, gripping your curve firmly as your cheeks brush against each other.

“Shall I bring further judgement to increase your punishment, Miss Herrscher?”

reblogs boost my audience reach, thank you.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Poor people pay higher time tax

Doubtless you’ve heard that “we all get the same 24 hours in the day.” Of course it’s not true: rich people and poor people experience very different demands on their time. The richer you are, the more your time is your own — not only are many systems arranged with your convenience in mind, but you also command the social power to do something about systems that abuse your time.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/10/my-time/#like-water-down-the-drain

For example: if you live in most American cities, public transit is slow, infrequent and overcrowded. Without a car, you lose hours every day to a commute spent standing on a lurching bus. And while a private car can substantially shorted that commute, people who can afford taxis or Ubers get even more time every day.

There’s a thick anthropological literature on the ways that cash-poverty translates into #TimePoverty. In David Graeber’s must-read essay “The Utopia of Rules,” he nails the way that capitalist societies generate Soviet-style bureaucracies, especially for poor people. Means-testing for benefits means that poor people spend endless hours filling in forms, waiting on hold, and lining up to see caseworkers to prove that they are among the “deserving poor” — not “mooches” who are defrauding the system:

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/02/02/david-graebers-the-utopia-of-rules-on-technology-stupidity-and-the-secret-joys-of-bureaucracy/

The social privilege gradient is also a time gradient: if you can afford a plane ticket, you can travel quickly across the country rather than losing days to the Greyhound or a road-trip. But if you’re even richer, you can pay for TSA Precheck and cut your airport security time from an hour to minutes. Go further up the privilege gradient and you’ll acquire airline status, shaving another hour off the check-in process.

This qualitative account of time poverty is well-developed, but it’s lacked a good, detailed quantitative counterpart, and our society often discounts qualitative work as mere anecdote and insists on having every story converted to numbers before it is taken seriously.

In “Examining inequality in the time cost of waiting,” published this month in Nature Human Behavior, public affairs researchers Steve Holt (SUNY) and Katie Vinopal (Ohio State) analyze data from the American Time Use Survey (AUTS) to produce a detailed, vibrant quantitative backstop to the qualitative narrative about time poverty:

https://www.nature.com/articles/s41562-023-01524-w

(The paper is paywalled, but the authors made a mostly final preprint available)

https://osf.io/preprints/socarxiv/jbk3x/download

The AUTS “collects retrospective time diary data from a nationally representative subsample drawn from respondents to the Census Bureau’s Community Population Survey (CPS) each year.” These time-diary entries are sliced up in 15-minute chunks.

Here’s what they found: first, there are categories of basic services where high-income people avoid waiting altogether, and where low-income people experience substantial waits. A person from a low-income household “an hour more waiting for the same set of services than people from high-income household.” That’s 73 hours/year.

Some of that gap (5%) is attributable to proximity. Richer people don’t have to go as far to access the same services as poorer people. Travel itself accounts for 2% more — poorer people wait longer for buses and have otherwise worse travel options.

A larger determinant of the gap (25%) is working flexibility. Poor people work jobs where they have less freedom to take time off to receive services, so they are forced to take appointments during peak hours.

Specific categories show more stark difference. If a poor person and a wealthy person go to the doctor’s on the same day, the poor person waits 46.28m to receive care, while the wealthy person waits 28.75m. The underlying dynamic here isn’t hard to understand. Medical practices that serve rich people have more staff.

The same dynamic plays out in grocery stores: poor people wait an average of 24m waiting every time they go shopping. For rich people, it’s 15m. Poor people don’t just wait in longer lines — they also have to wait for understaffed stores to unlock the cases that basic necessities are locked behind (poor people also travel longer to get to the grocery store — and they travel by slower means).

A member of a poor household with a chronic condition that requires two clinic visits per month loses an additional five hours/year to waiting rooms when compared to a wealthy person. As the authors point out, this also translates to delayed care, missed appointments, and exacerbated health conditions. Time poverty leads to health poverty.

All of this is worse for people of color: “Low-income White and Black Americans are both more likely to wait when seeking services than their wealthier same-race peer” but “wealthier White people face an average wait time of 28 minutes while wealthier Black people face a 54 minute average wait time…wealthier Black people do not receive the same time-saving attention from service providers that wealthier non-Black people receive” (there’s a smaller gap for Latino people, and no observed gap for Asian Americans.)

The gender gap is more complicated: “Low-income women are 3 percentage points more likely than low-income men and high-income women are 6 percentage points more likely than high-income men to use common services” — it gets even worse for low-income mothers, who take on the time-burdens associated with their kids’ need to access services.

Surprisingly, men actually end up waiting longer than women to access services: “low-income men spend about 6 more minutes than low-income women waiting for service…high-income men spend about 12 more minutes waiting for services than high-income women.”

Given the important role that scheduling flexibility plays in the time gap, the authors propose that interventions like subsidized day-care and afterschool programming could help parents access services at off-peak hours. They also echo Graeber’s call for reduced paperwork burdens for receiving benefits and accessing public services.

They recommend changes to labor law to protect the right of low-waged workers to receive services during off-peak hours, in the manner of their high-earning peers (they reference research that shows that this also improves worker productivity and is thus a benefit to employers as well as workers).

Finally, they come to the obvious point: making people less cash-poor will alleviate their time-poverty. Higher minimum wages, larger earned income tax credits, investments in low-income neighborhoods and better public transit will all give poor people more time and more money with which to command better services.

This week (Feb 13–17), I’ll be in Australia, touring my book Chokepoint Capitalism with my co-author, Rebecca Giblin. We’re doing a remote event for NZ on Feb 13. Next are Melbourne (Feb 14), Sydney (Feb 15) and Canberra (Feb 16/17). More tickets just released for Sydney!

[Image ID: A waiting room, draped with cobwebs. A skeleton sits in one of the chairs. A digital display board reads 'Now serving 53332.' An ogrish, top-hatted figure standing at a podium, yanking a dollar-sign shaped lever looms into the frame from the right. He holds a clock aloft disdainfully, pinched between the thumb and fingers of one white-gloved hand.]

[gillbrother]

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[natalievoncatte]

Here's a quick snippet of something I'm working on. This is from a discarded draft, but I'm still thinking of rewriting it and using it as the cold open for the story.

The bullet in her leg was going to be a problem.

Lena had been in scrapes before. This was, after all, the third version of her armor, each one built after the previous one had failed her in some way. It had taken her six long years to work out the balance between strength and agility, speed and power; to enhance her stealth abilities and find the right balance of preparation vs weight in her equipment. Prior to that she'd spent almost ten years preparing for her mission. Traveling, studying, learning, inventing.

At first her only concern had been blades and bullets. That had been easy to deal with. Her armored suit consisted of a base layer of electrically activated fibers that simulated fast twitch muscle fibers and could boost her overall strength output five fold, making her the physical equal or better of any enemy she might encounter in the field. A layer of kevlar-nomex triweave and proprietary composite armor plating over that made her quick and agile but well protected against guns and knives.

Tonight she'd learned that well protected wasn't totally protected.

It was almost funny, after everything that had happened in those five years, everything she'd overcome, that a gang of corrupt cops and mob thugs would be the ones to take her down.

Oh, and make no mistake, she had been taken down. She might have escaped the Axis Chemical factory, but she wasn't going to make it to the extraction point, and she knew it. She wasn't going to make it to Alfred this time.

They'd find her, eventually, pry her out of the armor, and reveal to the world that the Batman had been Lena Wayne all along. Of all the things she regretted as the plain flared in her thigh and she felt hot blood flowing beneath the inner layer of her suit, Lena was surprised to find that one of the things she'd regret most was not getting to see the looks on their faces when they found out.

She'd faced down plant toxins and freeze cannons and a shape-shifting monster. Aliens and metahumans and magicians. She'd taken them all on and come up ahead.

You know what? Lena decided, this isn't too bad. No, it wasn't a good death, but she was going out on her terms, knowing that she'd made some small difference. Maybe someone else could carry on her work. She'd left journals behind, set out instructions for what was to be done with her inventions and technology and the Wayne fortune. She would leave good in the world behind her. Martha and Thomas, the people who'd taken her in and raised her, would be proud. Bruce, her little brother who'd been the bravest man she ever knew, would be proud.

Maybe it would be a good death after all.

Lena stumbled through the open construction, threading between exposed I-beams. It wasn't in her to give up, to stop limping forward. She'd locked out her wounded leg, turning the suit rigid so she could hobble on it, and had already hit herself with an adrenaline auto-injector to keep her eyes open. She could make it to the extraction if she just kept moving.

Just keep moving.

As she limped forwards, Lena wondered how she'd get down. One problem at a time. She was in no shape to use a grapple line to get to street level. Keep moving. The pain in her leg was shocking, excruciating. She wondered if the bullet had fractured her femur. Maybe. She'd been hurt before, of course. Bullet to the back that slipped between armor plates and punched through, once, and all the ones that didn't hurt like hell anyway; it was like being pummeled with baseballs.

The display on the inside of her cracked helmet was lit up with warning lights and messages she didn't have time to parse. She knew what some of them were: Corrosive damage to the suit, drained power cells, her vitals plummeting, and the repeating all points bulletins declaring that the Batman was to be arrested on sight for the murder of Jack Napier.

Lena made it to the edge and leaned on a steel beam, looking down. Two blocks over to the extraction point. Alfred would be waiting for her. He'd get her out of the suit, patch her up, make it better. Alfred always made it better. She had to try. She had to try to get back.

Fumbling, she almost tumbled right off the edge until she slumped against the beam, her wounded leg starting to slide out from under her. She had to hug the steel to pull herself back up, prop herself up on the locked armor segments.

No, she wasn't going to make it, she realized. This was it. No heroic last stand, no final sacrifice, just bleeding out in a half-finished bougie apartment complex that had been stripped of all its copper five times. Lena wanted to laugh, but her lungs could only wheeze.

She almost didn't realize it when the half-skeletal building shook from a gust of wind.

No, not a wind. A blur of motion.

Her HUD lit up with proximity alarms, the onboard computers panicking when the sensor systems started failing from lack of power or severe damage. She really wanted to laugh. What now?

Turning, Lena put a hand on the beam to keep herself upright, and sighed.

No amount of preparation, no amount of refinement to her suit, would ever prepare her for this.

The Kryptonian strode across the plywood construction floor, cape majestically billowing behind her. Even in the dark she seemed alive with light, haloing her flawless golden curls and alive in her sky blue eyes, like she brought the sun with her. Her bright blue and red uniform stood in stark contrast against the muted grays, blues, and blacks of Gotham by night. Below them, sirens wailed. Hunters on the prowl for their wounded prey.

"What do you want?" Lena rasped. Her helmet altered her force into a deep growl.

"Batman," said Supergirl, "there's an all points bulletin out for your arrest."

"What else is new?"

Even now, she was the detective, stalling. The helmet's systems were scanning Supergirl's face, matching against her own facial recognition database using algorithms she'd written herself. The suit did all this automatically, so that she had complete files when she returned to the Cave.

"They're saying you killed a man tonight," said Kara. "I'm taking you in."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Lena coughed, the sound exploding in a garbled belch from her damaged helmet.

"You can barely stand," said Supergirl. "That wound in your leg needs medical attention. Just let me help you."

"Help me?" Lena spat, reaching for her belt. "Don't be absurd."

"You're coming with me either way," said Supergirl, edging closer. "Trying to fight me is pointless. You don't stand a chance."

"Want to test that theory?" said Lena.

Supergirl shook her head.

The suit came back with a facial recognition match.

DANVERS, KARA.

Her biographical data began to scroll across Lena's vision. She dismissed it with a laugh.

"It figures," she muttered.

"What?" said Supergirl. She moved closer. "I can hear your heart rate decreasing. I'll take you to a hospital. I promise, you'll get a fair hearing, you just-"

Lena laughed again. "A fair hearing. You must be joking."

Supergirl edged closer. "Wait. You're using a voice changer."

Lena's eyes shot open wide inside her helmet. "How... of course. Superhuman hearing, right?"

"Wait," said Kara, "wait, I know that voice. Lena?"

[nowimjustastranger]

Has Sctmo!Ford ever had to mercy kill a Stan?

Unfortunately, yes.

Usually it's in a situation where Stan shut down completely and went comatose or if he suffered an injury that made him brain dead. If Stan's Ford is around (not trapped in the portal), they almost always can't pull the plug on a brain dead Stan or coax Stan out of his comatose state. And, despite recalling their conversation when they were younger where Stan didn't want to live that way more than anything and made Ford promise to just put him out of his misery, Ford can never to it.

That's where Ford 419"3 comes in. If Stan is just comatose, Ford will use an incantation to enter Stan's head while he's asleep and see if he can bring him out of it. But if Stan is just tired, and living would only prolong his suffering, then Ford will offer a quick and painless death. Now, Ford has alien shit that humans don't have the technology to detect, so he can kill Stan and make it look like a natural death. Usually he checks the medical chart to find out what medical problems Stan has that he could use as a cover. After whichever serum is administered, Ford will enter Stan's mind again and stay with him until his mind goes dark and Ford is forced out.

If Stan is brain dead, Ford can't even communicate with him, and he damn well knows Stan wouldn't want his empty husk wasting away in the hospital, draining his brother's funds. So Ford would tamper with the machines to cause a glitch where the ventilator shut off long enough to kill Stan without alerting the staff. It would look like a temporary fault in the system, one that affected several ventilators in the hospital. The other patient's ventilators would turn back on in time to prevent death, but Stan's would not. When the system registered that Stan had flat lined, staff would be notified. Although by then Ford would be long gone.

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Malleyuu Whump vs Flufftober: Day 19

abandoned cabin / Yarn

The wood creaked as fibers ran through the spinning wheel.

Malleus was always entranced whenever his grandmother wove. There was something hypnotic about whiling the hours away with one singular goal.

With the approaching frontier of technology, advancements being made seemingly as fast as Malleus could grow new teeth, textiles in all colors and shapes had become more commonplace.

He believed that was largely a good thing. The material comforts he often took for granted deserved to be proliferated among the masses.

For the House of Draconi, however, the act of spinning would likely be buried with them.

Black Scale Castle was lined with the efforts of his ancestors. Wedding tapestries, baby blankets, ornately embroidered frocks, even sets of pillowcases.

The majority was kept in the family vaults, as it was too large a collection to keep constantly on display, but at least one piece from every reign decorated Black Scale.

He knew his mother hadn’t made much in her short time. On the advice of several of the records of previous rulers, she had stayed her hand during her and his father’s courting phase, believing she had a whole lifetime to make him and his father more.

She’d been in the middle of a large rug that would have gone in his nursery at the time of her passing. The rug, loose threads and all, had been framed and hung in there instead.

“Before long,” spoke his grandmother, hands never straying from the spindle, “but hopefully not too soon, you will begin your own work.”

She continued. “Though you will decide for yourself what method, I feel it is important for you to know every step in this process. Do you know why?”

“No,” answered Malleus.

“It is because you must learn to appreciate the work that goes into love, and into a successful relationship.“

She adjusted something on the wheel before contributing. “Love, with the right person, can feel magical. Complacency in its source will cause the fountain to run dry.”

Malleus nodded, but he didn’t fully understand. “Who is this for?”

“This yarn shall be for you. I will teach you spinning later, but for now, we will start with knitting and crochet. You will make yourself a hat and gloves for winter.”

She patted her lap. “Come. Observe me closely.”

Malleus climbed up onto her lap, happy to be surrounded by his grandmother.

—

“So this is where you went.”

Malleus turned around to see Yuu in the doorway.

Members of Night Raven’s student body were on a field trip to the Briar Valley, to observe the Welcoming of Spring, and Malleus had generously lent them use of one of the many properties his family owned, this one a cozy cabin farther away from the bigger cities.

“Ah, I apologize,” he said, putting down his work. Being a good host was draining, but he’d had enough of a break.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Yuu, waving it off. “We were just setting up a board game. Wanna be on my team?”

Malleus took one last glance at his work to make sure he’d remember where he left off- a grey scarf, the same silvery grey Yuu often favored- and placed it to his side.

“I would love to,” he said, tongue curling around the word as the corners of his mouth rose as if by magic.

[edutainer2022]

In commemoration of that time, recently, when I delivered a conference keynote in a ridiculous o'clock timezone, after having been up and neck deep in other energy draining university commitments for three days straight on four hours of sleep at best, here's a little thing. I couldn't remember what I was talking about the minute the presentation ended. Scott Tracy is a public speaker extraordinaire on bingo sleep and adrenaline overdose. His brothers are worried and have to think on their feet. Special thanks to @astranite for nudging my muse in this direction.

AUTOPILOT

The trick was to get him off the stage. Scott Tracy, the Tracy Industries CEO, giving an opening keynote at the New Frontiers Expo had been scheduled a year in advance (involving the program committee begging on hands and knees for a year prior, Scott's annual commitments shuffling, some major security concessions, up to and including Kayo's team practically taking over the venue security altogether, as well as meeting a hard line of excluding any tech associated with Langstrom Fischler from the exhibits or conference talks).

Nobody could predict a mine collapse and Scott Tracy, the Commander of IR and Thunderbird One, being involved on site for the past thirty six hours (a good portion of that time spent underground without sleep).

The family medics' quorum, in full agreement with the family extended quorum, voted for canceling his public appearance and putting him on mandated rest. For a week. But Scott Tracy gave his word. So Scott Tracy gave his talk.

As keynotes go it was a huge success. Scott was passionate, funny and inspired, engaging the audience with dimples, moving personal touches and heartfelt convictions. The listeners were just about ready to "boldly go" wherever Scott would lead the way to a better, technologically enhanced and kinder tomorrow.

They divided forces in case the predictable worse actually came to pass. Virgil was behind the podium with a med kit and med scanner at hand. Gordon unironically got a tranq gun, which earned him a side-eye, but knowing Scott it might as well come handy.

John was in the audience, vigilant and listening to the keynote (and rather enjoying biggest brother public speaking prowess - seriously, how did Scott do it, half-dead on his feet?), ready to step up and take over if need be. That wouldn't be what the hundreds of Expo attendees payed and donated to R&D funds for, but they'd be getting A Dr. Tracy, at least, if The Mr. Tracy collapsed mid-sentence.

That was just the problem at the moment. Scott didn't. He concluded the speech, got a standing ovation, and was now just sort of hanging out on stage, swaying slightly. It was obvious he was running on dregs of fumes of an adrenaline high, refusing to crash on sheer willpower. It was also obvious Scott was completely unfocused and unaware where he was and what he'd been doing the minutes prior. The brilliant blue eyes were getting telltale glassy.

John had a FRANTIC Virgil booming in his earpiece. The public spotlight made the logistics of what needed to happen next tricky: they couldn't just drag him off the podium in a firefighter hold or tranq him - and spoil the profound impression of the speech; they also couldn't wait much longer till Scott fainted in front of everyone (and possibly injured himself by the fall). John was half on his way up to try and steer Scott bodily off the stage. Gordon would have been a better man for the job - dressing the thing up with a quip and some theatrics, but the Fish was still in uniform. IR on site, crashing the keynote, might have set off unwelcome panic, dangerous in a crowded space.

In the end, it was still Gordon's out-of-the-box thinking that saved the situation. They could all hear a boy's voice through their earpieces - Alan went for the highest littlest-brother-in-distress pitch he could master:

"Scotty, could you come here? I'm right behind you! Scotty, please!"

Scott could hear it too. A less exhausted brain would have remembered Allie was on the island still. They agreed Scott would take him the next day on a tour around the Expo and to several talks the kid wanted to attend.

But Scott's bandwidth capacity at the moment was reduced to the most rudimentary parent-brain instincts. So he started slightly, turned on his heel and marched backstage. It took a bit of flailing to placate a wild-eyed Scott that a) Allie wasn't in danger; b) Allie wasn't there immediately available for inspection and protecting from danger.

It came as close as Gordon clicking the safety off the tranq gun. But finally, the blue eyes stopped searching the perimeter behind Virgil's shoulder and rolled back. Scott slumped as a ragdoll in Virgil's hold.

John rushed to join the brothers the moment he heard Alan on comms. In between the three of them they settled the Commander on a hoverstrecher. Virgil insisted on a quick scan on the spot. Nothing more serious beyond bruises, exhaustion, stress and dehydration. Small mercies. Every single one of them had a private itemized inventory of possible injuries Scott might have "forgotten" to mention in order to be cleared for the keynote commitment.

Kayo's security team were clearing the path for them, off the Expo busy routes, to leave for Thunderbird Two discretely.

John lingered to brush the fringe off Scott's now noticeably pale forehead. His original intent was to go straight back to orbit after the biggest brother was sorted out. But now, there was no way Grandma or Virgil would let Scott out of the infirmary for the next forty eight hours at least. Nor would Virgil let biggest brother out of his sight for at least twice as long after. So it would fall to John to take Alan to the Expo and show the boy around.

John didn't favor crowded bustling places on a good day, but it was crucial not to disappoint or worry the kid. Scotty unconscious, sedated and grounded would have him anxious enough. It was also a great bonding opportunity with the baby-brother and a way to lift a bit of weight off Scott's shoulders. John knew biggest brother enough to foresee he'd beat himself up for succumbing to weakness and letting Alan down. John couldn't have that. So he landed a hand for support on Gordon's shoulder and all together they started the way home.