#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.

[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.

[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.

[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!

[eyneyke]

The Moment pt3

Pairing: Max Verstappen x PewDiePie!sibling Summary: What if Felix had a genius brother who works as a RedBull's engineer and is also secretly dating Max part 29 of A Calm to my Storm Masterlist

aka. The Final Stretch – Max’s Miracle Drive

*just a lil heads up: while I am a fan of f1 and cars, neither english nor car and bolid technology are my forte, so bare with me and my questionable writing of Sam explaining something technical about the car :)

Two-thirds of the race is done, and the impossible is happening. Max Verstappen, who started at the very back of the grid, has fought his way up to fourth place. While no one doubted Max's abilities, today feels like a miracle. After his last pit stop, all eyes are on him, wondering if Sam Kjellberg’s overnight fixes will hold.

Commentator 1: “Max Verstappen is performing wonders today. I mean, he’s climbed from P20 to P4, but considering the issues Red Bull had with the car, this is nothing short of miraculous.”

Commentator 2: “Absolutely. His driving is superb as always, but we have to remember that what Sam Kjellberg did with that car—untested modifications done overnight—this is unheard of.”

---

Suddenly, Max’s radio comes to life.

GP (Race Engineer): “Max, you’re a second behind Alonso in P3. You’re 3 seconds off Sebastian in P2, and Lewis is 6 seconds ahead, leading the race. Behind you, Kimi is 10 seconds back, so you’ve got some space.”

Max (jokingly, but you can hear his breathing): Copy that. Hopefully Sam's still awake.

GP: “How are you feeling? The car feeling okay?”

Max (calmly): “We're both feeling good, mate. Great, even.”

GP (laughing): “Alright, Max, I’m officially handing you over into Sam’s beautiful arms.”

Max (laughing): “I do love those arms.”

As Max exits a tricky corner, preparing for the long straight, Sam’s voice comes over the radio.

Sam: “Max, I need you to empty the battery completely on this straight. 0% by the end of it.”

---

Commentator 1: “What? Did Sam just tell Max to empty the battery? That’s... that’s all the power he has left for this straight.”

Commentator 2: “Yeah, I don’t get it. They’re going to be a sitting duck without that extra energy. What is Sam thinking?”

---

Max follows the instruction without question, flooring it down the straight and draining the battery entirely.

Max (radio): “Battery’s empty, Sam.”

Sam: “Okay, go into the next corner like you would normally. Follow the line. When you exit, turn R20 on 55 and add power.”

---

The camera cuts to the timing screen. As Max’s battery drained, Kimi Räikkönen has gotten within 2 seconds of him. The pressure is mounting.

Max takes the corner flawlessly and follows Sam’s instructions. As soon as he exits, the car surges forward, accelerating, and continuing the drive rapidly despite the battery still being empty.

Commentator 1 (shocked): “What in the world is happening?! How is Max still driving?”

Commentator 2 (in disbelief): “I have no idea, but it’s working! He’s pulling away from Kimi now.”

---

Max (radio, laughing): “Sam’s arms save me again.”

Sam (dryly): “Shut up and finish the race so I can finally go to sleep.”

Max (laughing): “Sir, yes sir.”

As Max pulls away from Kimi, he’s closing in fast on Alonso in P3. The commentators are losing their minds, and the cameras show Christian Horner and Adrian Newey patting Sam on the back. Sam waves them off, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him. 

---

Final Laps

Max overtakes Alonso with a perfectly timed move, taking P3. Alonso can’t fight back, and just moments later, Kimi passes Alonso as well. The battle for the podium is heating up, but Max is now chasing down Sebastian Vettel in P2.

Commentator 1: “Verstappen’s done it! He’s up to P3, and now it’s a race between him, Sebastian, and Lewis!”

Commentator 2: “This is incredible. Sam’s strategy is somehow working, and Max is driving like a man possessed!”

---

On the last lap, Max gets a brilliant run on Sebastian coming out of the final sector and overtakes him for P2. Over the radio, Sebastian���s voice is heard, stunned.

Sebastian (radio): “Woah. That's amazing.” He says breathlessly and amazed by what he just witnessed.

--- 

The crowd is on its feet as Max closes in on Lewis Hamilton, who is leading the race. As they approach the final turn, Max makes his move, catching Lewis by surprise and sliding past him with a beautiful overtake.

Max Verstappen crosses the line to take the victory.

---

Post-Race Reactions

Max’s radio lights up again.

Christian (jokingly): “Max, you and Sam are the reason I’m going home with completely white hair after this race. I’m too old for this!”

In the background, Adrian Newey is heard laughing.

Max (laughing): “Happy to help, boss.”

Sam (dryly): “Good job, Max. Now, please don’t crash in the cool-down lap. Thanks.”

Max (laughing): “Sir, yes sir!”

As the drivers pull into the pit lane, the camera shows the Red Bull garage celebrating like mad, with Christian, Newey, and Sam at the centre of it all. Mechanics are jumping all over each other, and the energy is electric. Other nearby garages, including Mercedes and Ferrari, are seen clapping and congratulating the Red Bull team.

---

Commentators’ Closing Thoughts

Commentator 1: “What an unbelievable race! Max Verstappen wins after starting P20, and credit has to go to Sam Kjellberg for his work overnight. The modifications on that car—untested as they were—made all the difference.”

Commentator 2: “Sam’s miracle engineering and Max’s incredible driving... it all came together today. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

---

Online Reactions

@MaxTheKing: I cannot believe what I just saw! Max went from last to first?!? SAM IS A MAGICIAN! THIS WAS INSANE.

@RBRObsessed: Did y’all hear Max just casually say Sam’s arms saved him again? My heart.

@TheOvertakeMaster: Sam told Max something, Max ACTUALLY listened... and it WORKED. HOW?! HOW DID THAT WORK?!?

@MercedesFan92: Respect to Max, but Sam Kjellberg is the MVP of this race. His work saved that car, and Max trusted him 100%

@FormulaGod: Christian: "I’m going home with white hair." Sam: "Good job, please don’t crash." Them boyz are so tired they just want this weekend to be done

@F1LoverForever: Seb: “That’s amazing.” YES, SEB IT IS!

[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

[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?"

[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.

[bluetortoist]

Time for another Batman OC! Again not too awful original, but this one is my own take on the Brave and the Bold character Scream Queen.

She was Crane's star student, who became obsessively hopelessly in love with him enough to follow him down his path of a rogue while also both, harboring a complicated romantic relationship together. This one's a little dubious sooo

CW: Stalking, Student/Teacher descriptions down below

Name: Kathleen "Kathy" Holloway

Alias: Scream Queen

Age: 27

Gender: Cis Female

Identifies: Bisexual

Race: Human

Ethnicity: White

Nationality: American

Birth town: Gotham Heights

Current Living: Grand Avenue

Allegiance: True Neutral- Neutral Evil

Powers/Abilites:

Cursed hooded dress - Her magically cursed dress hoodie gives her many different abilities, such as below:

Flight

Invisibility

Sonic Scream - one of, if not her only, means of attack. It let's out powerful screams enough to blast through concrete and even metal to an extent. Every scream she emits is different sounding than the last; She hypothesized that the different screams it omits are most likely the screams it's collected from all of its past victims.

Life Force Draining - This ability is what helps power her Sonic Scream. It emits a different colored beam that is used to literally take the breath away of any living thing until the victim is drained completely of their life force (their breath per se), leaving them as a completely immobile, breathless husk. This, remarkably, is also collected by the cloak and stored as another victims scream to add to the ever-growing collection. This can and WILL kill the victim if not treated right way.

Medical/ Pharmaceutical Knowledge - Her family background and her Major in college has made her very knowledgable in the ways of treating illnesses, injuries, and even some knowledge in drugs/medicine. Even though she never got licensed, they are skills that absolutely do in a pinch and help with Crane in the lab sometimes.

History: Kathy Holloway was born into a wealthy family who does business selling medical technology. Perhaps not as wealthy and as influential as names like Wayne, but were still known and respected fairly well by those around them since they help contribute to some of the hospitals in Gotham. In her childhood, Kathy was determined by teachers to be intellectually smart for her age. However, she was als considered "the creepy weird girl" that her peers hated to be around or bullied her. It also didn't help that she had little interest in what other people her age liked and would sometimes get into arguments and fights with other kids. She was bothering a lot of her peers to the point that word got around and even her family couldnt help but think she was a problem child. But in response to her high intellect, they made her spend a few years of her childhood studying, then counseling at school and then taking finishing lessons at home as a means of keeping her in line and shaping her to be "normal" enough. It put a lot of pressure and hurtful abuse on her self esteem. She still wouldn't break from her usual self, but she tried her best to play along just so it could stop. When Kathy became 13, it started to feel pointless to her parents, and she was then considered "not to be bothered with anymore" and focuses on furthering her younger brother's growth instead.

Later on in highschool, it was at least a little less restricting than it was at home. Kathy was still ostracized among peers who grew up with her, but still managed to become friends and eventually a relationship with a senior year boy. However, she quickly became infatuated with him to the point of stalking him. She was caught and had a restraining order put on her, she was suspended from school for a time, which isolated her even more. She managed to graduate highschool with relatively no troubles, but as soon as she did, her family kicked her out of home, and cut her off after feeling too much shame from their failed and disturbed child. She hasn't made any attempt to contact any of them since. Luckily, Kathy had some money to her name, enough to find a place to stay, found a job at a nearby metaphysical shop, which was then when she found the cursed hooded dress that she decided to keep. When she discovered its frightening abilities, she quickly begun figuring out how it works and, taking inspiration from her favorite horror movies, uses its powers to commit small, haunted robbery's that left police and detectives baffled at how this is even happening. Gotta pay the rent and food somehow.

After a while, after finally scraping and stealing enough, Kathy uses said money to finally get into Gotham University. It was there she met Proffessor Crane, taking one of his Psycology classes. She didn't think much of him at first, but as soon as he acknowledged her intelligence and in her assignments (considering her one of his star students), how she saw how he revelled in his obsession with fear, and his phobia experiments on other people, she felt a kinship to him and his dark eccentricities and fell instantly in love with him. She would stalk him for a few months after that, trying to get his attention in any way subtle way she could. There was reluctance, but Jonathan gave in and thus begun having a relationship with his star student, albeit brief. She still stalked him, even finding out that he has taken on the Scarecrow persona after hearing how he was fired and kicked out of the school for his horrible experiments.

She continued her schooling after his attack on the University until she eventually got her masters, but continued keeping tabs on his whereabouts and activities. Even taking on her Scream Queen persona to help him out of a jam or two (much to Scarecrows confusion and uneasiness at first). She was finally caught one night when she got a little too brave sneaking into one of his secret hideouts and they found out both their identities. Scarecrow honestly thought that he would never see her again, let alone all that she has been doing without him noticing OR she was the reason behind a few of his close calls. Nonetheless, he couldnt take that risk no matter how fondly he thinks of her. But in response, Kathy insisted that as a compromise, she stay by his side and work alongside him in whatever he needed; She was more than willing to take this chance to be near him as much as she could. Scarecrow was both reluctant and distrustful at first. She knew his hideout and, apparantly, more so about him than he thought and could use it however she pleased. But on the other hand, she would've done so anytime but didnt and already said she is loyal to him (definitely stroked his ego). He definitely thought her strange abilities could be useful and knew how capable she was already. They, at first, agree to work together in the sense that they could both ruin each other at anytime, but Scarecrow soon starts realizing that they work together a lot better than he thought. Thus begun a complicated, twisted, slow burn romance that he never thought he'd get into with his right hand in fear, "Scream Queen".

Notes/Quirks:

Its typical, but she likes horror movies from all range of subgenres, but has a personal love for the ghost/haunting genre; she knows a very good amount of horror trivia; Some of her favorite directors are Dario Argento, James Whale and Wes Craven.

While in school, Kathy minored in Film/Acting because of her love of horror media and the means of producing and acting in them. Taking much inspiration from the actresses and female characters is what made her borrow the term "Scream Queen" as her alias.

While working at the metaphysical shop. She learned a few things like tarot reading from a former friend/employee of hers. She didn't entirely believe it (at least not at first before she found a literal magic hoodie for crying out loud!), but she thinks it's all very interesting to learn about.

She prefers to be called by her shorter name "Kathy" because she doesn't like her full name or when other people use it. Jonathan is one of the handful of people whom she let's call her "Kathleen".

The only family members that Kathy can say she remembers fondly or indifferently towards to was her little brother, and her estranged Aunt on her mother's side. Her Aunt being the one person she felt connected to due her Aunt also being seen as an embarrassment by her family. She unfortunately passed away when Kathy was 11. Kathy and her little brother, sadly didn't spend much time together. Her brother would be constantly away in his own schedule their parents made and was 7 when Kathy was kicked out. He doesn't remember much about her.

[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.