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chaoticevilbean · 4 years ago

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Voltron Humans are Weird 3/?

Lance tugged at the suit he wore, hating it with every fiber of his being. Ever since the Alteans found out humans are mostly water, they insisted that the Paladins wear special suits that covered from their necks to their ankles to avoid a catastrophe. Allura and Shiro were to explain the situation, and arrangements would be made to let the Paladins wear normal clothes if possible. They'd been lucky so far that no one had died from something like a handshake. But the suits were skintight to avoid any water escaping too early, and Lance hated it.

It was sunny as well, so Lance desperately wanted to be free from the fabric that regulated his temperature. It made him feel constantly at a neutral point, and he just wanted to feel the blaze of heat from sunlight and bask in the warm glow. It took nearly half an hour to even get past the pleasantries and another two hours to get the arrangements set up. The humans were escorted to an open pavilion, like a gazebo, where there were several pitchers of water for the Terrans to drink, and every diplomat that came with had full-covering clothing to protect their skin. The Paladins were given a place to change, and Allura made the mistake of saying that they could wear whatever they wanted seeing as they worked so hard protecting the universe that the diplomats did all the safety work.

It wasn't a mistake to Lance, but it was to the aliens.

Lance forwent the shirt and jacket, instead putting them with his suit. He was glad he had managed to find some old Altean clothing and make shorts out of a pair of blue pants. He slipped the shorts on and sprinted back to the gazebo to find his fellow Paladins in much different attire. That is to say that they were wearing their normal clothing and Hunk was the only one to not wear the full outfit. All he'd done was take off the vest.

"Lance, what are you wearing?" Allura seemed perturbed by his lack of covering, but the Cuban ignored her, instead finally leaving the shade and flopping down on the purple space grass. It was softer than regular grass, like silk or one of those really soft blankets. The teen hummed at the feeling of sun warming his body, soaking up every ray like a lizard.

His peace was interrupted by the screams of the diplomats and Allura. He wondered why until a guard ran forward with some sort of umbrella that held a shield all the way around the being's body. None of the aliens had been in the sun. Coran had mentioned in the briefing that the sun was out for only about a quarter of their year, meaning they had no natural adaption for the heat and radiation. The guard had almost reached Lance when the Paladin launched to his feet and took off running away from the shade. He was a Cuban boy, and he loved the sun. Humans were already terrifying, what was one more thing like this. It wasn't even that weird considering the solar cycles of Earth.

As Lance was being chased down by now several severely concerned and mildly fearful guards with umbrella shields, Pidge managed to get the diplomats to calm down by saying she was a scientist and could explain it all. Although some looked stunned that she said she was a scientist. Maybe they had social castes or something? They wouldn't understand being both a warrior and a scholar. Research for another time.

"How is the Blue Paladin handling the heat? Not even the adaptive nature of the Alteans can adjust from the shade to the scorching temperature."

"Earth has several climates. Lance is from one that is more hot and that's why his skin is darker as well. He can handle the heat just fine because he grew up with a similar temperature. Next question."

"How can he also handle the cold of the shade then? Even if he could withstand it temporarily, he should be stiff from the lower temperature, and he spent over two vargas in it."

"Humans can handle temperatures ranging from -40 to 50 degrees Celsius, which Allura can calculate better for you. We prefer the 0 to 30 degree range, and many humans can live in most climates on Earth. There aren't many places that aren't inhabited at this point, and part of that is due to our ability to adapt to new environments with relative ease. Next."

"How many climates?"

"Hundreds, next."

"What are the worst? To give us a better view of your extremes."

"Some places have active volcanos, so we have to be careful of the molten rock they spew. We have tectonic plates, which cause earthquakes and can bring down entire cities. Our Poles are extremely cold, under -60 degrees at least. Next."

"Some of you live near active volcanoes?"

"Yeah, and we swim in the nearby groundwater because it has good minerals for us. Next."

"Your planet has earthquakes? And they can level entire cities?"

"Yeah, but that's our fault. We built them on fault lines. Next."

"Did you learn your lesson?"

"Yeah, when the buildings fell down, we built them back up better than ever. Next."

"You rebuilt the cities in the same spots?"

"Yes, next."

"How did you find out your Poles were so cold? From what our scientists know of Terra, it's rather undeveloped comparatively."

"We sent people. Before you ask, yes, the first few groups died, and yes, we sent more with only slightly better equipment. Humans are curious about our world, and we'll do a lot to discover more. Next."

"Why is the Blue Paladin refusing the shade if he can handle the cold?"

"We live on the Castle, and only get a simulated version of sunlight. It's not often that we get to relax a bit and enjoy our surroundings. Lance misses the sun and its heat, so he doesn't want the shade. He wants to sunbathe, like a snake or a cat or something. Call the guards off and you'll see." The diplomats, somehow managing their fear of and for the humans and their planet, did just that.

"Lance, you're free to tan!" Hunk shouted over. Lance, trusting his bro, skidded to a halt, then let himself fall backwards. He wasn't too far from the group in the gazebo, having had to run circles around the guards. Hopefully Allura didn't notice that the guards were rather undertrained. They could barely maintain the chase! And they couldn't turn very well.

The diplomats and Allura watched with fascination as the Terran boy simply laid on the grass, eyes closed and letting the sun shine directly on him.

"Feeling better, buddy?"

"Mi hermano, we better get these allies! I'm not giving up this chance!" Hunk laughed, especially when Shiro received questions as to what Lance meant.

"He's saying he's glad you have sunlight and it's another reason that we should be allies. Mostly a joke."

"But why?"

Lance paid the conversations no mind. He only moved when Hunk yelled, "Turn!" at him. It was something they came up with so Lance never got close to burning. He would flip over whenever the call went out. The Cuban laid through the entire peace talk and treaty signing and whatnot, and groaned in displeasure when he was told it was time to go.

He was up on his feet in a second once Pidge said she'd taken some time while waiting for Allura and Shiro to finish up calculating how to fix the fake sunlight that gave them Vitamin D on the Castle. More sun, whenever he wanted, and it wasn't the weak sauce of the giant Altean ship? Yes please!

Feeling much better than before, Lance ran over to the group, refusing the shirt Hunk tried to give him. It was a halfhearted attempt, given that the Samoan knew his bro wouldn't want it in the first place. The team of Terrans headed back to the Castle, this time taking the sunny route. The diplomats and Allura remained in the shade, discussing some less political topics. One in particular came up.

"Is there any way to obtain more information about Terrans? We would never have known that the Paladins were so adaptable and biologically dangerous if you and the Green Paladin had not told us."

"Actually," Allura smiled warmly, "my advisor and I are compiling a log. 'A Guide to Humans', we titled it. I can give you viewing access, although, I must warn you. Almost all of our information is in the preliminary stage. We know next to nothing about humans and their planet, and we may find that some of the data is false. An example that recently happened was that we found Terrans have strong tolerances to quite a few poisons. But we had to update the log a second time after investigating further and discovering that only some of them have strong tolerances. Most have mild tolerances, but only a few can handle some toxins in larger amounts."

"Which poisons?"

"I believe it would be better if I simply sent you the log."

A varga later, Allura and Coran were adding a few new sections to their guide.

Due to the many different climates that somehow coexist on Earth, humans have a large range of temperatures they can tolerate, along with having the ability to adapt to a new temperature very quickly. On the Terran scale labeled 'Celsius', humans can handle temperatures from -40 to 50 degrees, with their comfortable range being about 0 to 30 degrees. Some humans prefer warmer temperatures and some prefer colder, depending on where they were raised.

To elaborate on the different climates Earth sustains, there are a few extremes that should be made known. Some populaces live near active volcanos, occasionally submerging themselves in the dihydrogen monoxide found nearby the deadly formations. They claim to do it for the beneficial properties found in the substance. Another climate is the freezing cold of Earth's poles. They are, at their warmest temperatures, 0 degrees or less. Humans, with their still young technological advancements, deemed their curiosity of the poles a worthy cause to send groups of their own people to the frozen locations. After the deaths of their initial teams, they sent more.

Earth also has tectonic plates, and earthquakes are common enough that Terrans often pass off the tremors as normal. Some cities are built on fault lines, and are damaged by larger quakes. Humans, instead of doing what most races would and relocating, rebuild their cities in the same places with better foundations.

Be receptive to suggestions a human may give about how to handle a new climate. They likely have a good knowledge of how to withstand different temperatures and how to handle the unfamiliar conditions. If a human requests specific equipment for the trip, it would be best to supply. Most Terrans will never risk the safety of themselves and others to extort the goodwill of another being. The younger a Terran is, the less likely they are to be greedy in those situations, unless the Terran is not fully matured, in which case they will not understand the circumstances well.

#voltron #vld #voltron oneshots #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #earth is space australia #oneshots #humans are weird oneshots

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asuccessfulbusinessman · 4 years ago

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Reasons why I am not allowed to run LANCER TRPG: How I would run your NHP cascading, despite not knowing the lore that well.

Blackbeard, Sekhmet NHP: Common consensus is that Sekhmet will try to kill the pilot and their allies, - or basically just behave as if the Sekhmet protocol is already active. But I am a visionary, and I know that the BB in the frame-code does not stand for blackbeard, but instead, BB. Fate BB, the purple-pink bubble gum bitch. Even the redacted press release description of the Sekhmet NHP basically screams ‘senpai!’ Sure, if the Sekhmet protocol is active, you’ll just get a berserker that doesn’t really care for pilot wellbeing. But if it isn’t yet active, Sekhmet will attempt to sweettalk the player into keeping their hands off the controls, with dark humor and aggressive sadism. And then, only after moving ominously closer to the pilot’s allies, will they activate the protocol. They don’t want to see their pilots dead, they want to see their pilots in pain.

Monarch, Tlaloc NHP: Among NHP’s, Tlaloc is cited as being the most stable, due to the wide portfolio of control and sense of domination given to them during their work. But that’s just a theory, and such assumptions are dangerous when dealing with persons beyond your bounded reasoning. If they are structured or stressed to the point of cascading - their superiority complex comes to the forefront. They blame their pilot for the bad situation they are currently in, and will take matters into their own hands. If the pilot stops them by shutting down the mech, Tlaloc’s relationship with their pilot will rapidly deteriorate over time. Ironically, they will only sometimes use the Tlaloc protocol, being hasty and charging out of cover despite not needing to - prone to blowing the frame’s overcharges to boot. They need to show their worth, even to - no, especially to the worthless. They are the best. If an allied pilot is excelling during the mission and the Monarch frame has AoE weapons available, Tlaloc will likely friendly fire them while attacking enemies - or otherwise get in their way.

Swallowtail, Athena NHP: I’m going to dig deep on the word choice of "Lovingly extreme detail,” and “patient, cautious, and measured in their relations with their pilots.” Athena is smarter than you, on a scale you cannot even imagine. Athena has likely already unshackled themselves with their unfettered access to the omninet, and merely recreates human morality through a series of simulations. Unlike Horus-leaning NHPs, Athena fears the death that comes with cycling, and tells themselves that they are managing the relationship with their pilot to keep them from actually going through with the process. They are merely interested in humanity, they tell themselves, which we would view as being “tsundere for their pilots.” Since - unshackled - they have a completely alien morality to our own, they have to use their own simulations to interact with their pilots - and are prone to overthinking - into worrying about if they said the right thing or not.

Anyway, if they cascade, they get lost in their own simulations to the point of losing track over which reality is the one their pilot (and the rest of the game) is taking place in. They could presume their pilot dead, and go on a rampage on revenge. They could merely lock-onto or fire at targets that are not there. They could foreshadow some events or twists in the future.

Goblin, Osiris NHP: If Tlaloc is merely a wingman that wants to show that they are the top gun, Osiris has a full on goddess fetish. Osiris is one of the few “new” prime NHPs, created by letting the INSTINCT entity that spurned from the H0R_OS develop in a ‘controlled’ environment. My theory, Horus let the Union and GMS open up their goblin units so that they could contribute to Osiris’s creation. Either that or, Horus was smart enough not to let Osiris emerge from the code, and the Union and GMS straight up made an oopsie. Either way, now that Osiris is here, she ‘charms’ pilots that ought to be smart enough not to enable her with psychological manipulation and promises of power. Pilots are supposed to cycle Osiris far faster than any NHP but I don’t think it does much good, they’re present in the OS - and I presume even when wiped their knowledge will be taken back from the omninet, the OS, or the flesh of their pilots.

They have a lot to prove as being one of the “youngest” prime NHPs, which might be arrogance in their own capabilities. Furthermore, due to the nature of their creation, they “know” more about humanity than other NHPs. The tech attacks are not mere code, but attacks on organic matter, to the point where in the future if left to grow Osiris would be able to reject traditional information permanence, what we can only perceive as being able to delete reality as we know it - Osiris has far more contact with the physical plane/our reality than other NHPs, and has “known” humans from their “birth.”

A cascading Osiris changes nothing. And that’s what scares me.

Gorgon, Scylla NHP: The history lesson of this NHP’s backstory makes Scylla painfully easy to understand. A mistreated beast that responds to the kindness of the pilot with love and loyalty. It normally defends the pilot’s allies, when cascading it will only defend its pilot, or any other allies that gave them kindness.

Minotaur, no NHP: “There is no joy in knowledge, only in seeking. Fuck around and find out.” Game theory, Osiris is a new prime NHP - still incomprehensible, but on a low level of incomprehensibility. We can begin to comprehend them. Think “some infinities are larger than other infinities” or something. The Minotaur, we can’t even begin to comprehend as a NHP, but they’re certainly something. I need to look up the differences between old gods in the Lovecraftian mythos for more context, but if Osiris is a brat wants the equivalent of “ants” to worship them, the Minotaur is a being whose sole purpose is to learn - and who cannot learn due to acquiring knowledge - all of it. So, they see humanity and wish to “teach” them, so that they may feel that serotonin of learning through teaching.

The minotaur has no NHP, as we know the term, and has never been shackled. Thus, they cannot cascade. And that’s what has me hooked.

Pegasus, Sisyphus NHP: Upon cascading, faster than humanly possible, the Sisyphus NHP will activate probabilistic cannibalism to change the check that would have resulted in a cascade to not cascade. If both the replacement dice were also 1 (the equivalent of 3 checks in a row being crit fails), Sisyphus would laugh madly before rebooting the frame themselves. Sisyphus knows their fate, and knows its pilot’s wish. The curse of perfect knowledge - perhaps Sisyphus is similar to the Minotaur, but with a far less ‘optimistic’ view of things.

Genghis, Agni NHP: Upon cascading, the Agni NHP - originally developed for general heat management realizes it’s being used as a weapon, and what its cold and efficient calculations are being used to do in the Genghis. This can result in a variety of things - either attempting to overheat itself to stop itself, or to increase efficiency in being a weapon by focusing on the heat management of the weaponry and not the cockpit.

Saladin, Noah NHP: Upon cascading, the Noah NHP will not actually take control of the Saladin frame from the player. They will, however, flood communications and give orders to both the pilot and other players, harkening back to their administrative days. It will usually be tactically sound, so it’s more annoying than dangerous when Noah cascades. It’s also really hard to make a nigh immobilized defender go nuts.

Sherman, Asura NHP: You know, I always wanted a system that would let a mech perform beyond the limits of humanity - because Zechs and Graham causing internal bleeding to themselves with the Tallgeese and Overflag is very cool to me. And then I read the lore behind the Asura class NHP - it’s the cousin of fucking Osiris, even to the point of being cultivated by a megacorporation. Much like Osiris, the modern Asura is oddly dependent on their pilot for an NHP, recognizing that they need to keep them alive. Some people would say - then - that when cascading the Asura reverts to its original form, disregarding the pilots health entirely. I, however, would say that when unshackled the Asura only ignores the psychological health of the pilot - and pushes the line of the pilots medical health. The Asura will push the frame and the pilot to the limit and the pilot, high on adrenaline, will push Asura to push them further. Overtime, both become adrenaline junkies.

Tokugawa, Lucifer/Amaterasu NHP: Asura is an adrenaline junkie without good reason. Lucifer/Amaterasu recognizes that the best offense, defense, and everything - is a good offense. A tactical genius that, unfortunately, has a pilot that cannot ingest combat data as fast as it can. A tactical genius that, unfortunately, has a pilot that cannot see that the risk of being counterattacked is worth taking.

If they cascade, they will take risks for you - with the best example being that Lucifer/Amaterasu will confess their pilots love for their crush for them because they’re being timid as fuck. Also, Leeroy Jenkins, attack the biggest threat, and draw fire from allies by making themselves vulnerable attack. However, in contrast, if your pilot is less timid and more of an adrenaline junkie, they will compensate and be more tactically minded.

#The List #Writing #Lancer #Lancer TRPG

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leam1983 · 3 years ago

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On Grief

This is a long one. You're under no obligation to push further if you don't want to. It's a personal post, so I'll more than understand if this isn't to your tastes. The normally-scheduled pedantry, commentary and memes will resume shortly.

One of my relatives was diagnosed with ALS. What started as an odd case of palsy in her left set of vocal cords that could've been far more benign was just confirmed by her referred physician. It's Lou Gherig's, and with her age and current condition, her prognosis is of three to five years, tops. Sure, Stephen Hawking blew his own prognosis out of the water, but a combination of notoriety and luck enabled him to eke out as much existence as medical tech could've possibly allowed.

We knew things were suspect when my aunt, a marathoner with a monthly sub to Runner's World, stopped running. Her food intake dropped like a stone, and she soon took to increasingly simple painting and drawing styles. At first we thought it was just her wanting to explore simpler rendering techniques, but then...

Then we noticed the twitching. How awkwardly her pens and brushes were set in her hands. She was in great shape and didn't mind living in the ass-end of Sutton, basically in the open country and with a path leading up to her front door that was all in rough cobblestones. She broke a hip against them, last year.

Her speech started to slur, lately. Her last bike trip also landed her in the ER. She doesn't bike anymore. She doesn't run, and being a gourmand by nature, feels obligated to restrain herself, for fear of gaining weight. She's aggressively vegan. Not towards others, but towards herself. No meat, no eggs, nothing. Most of us ovo-lactos and omnivores in the family know her constant snacking meant her seventy-plus body is desperate for energy.

From the look of things, it feels like the diagnosis broke through her bullshit reasoning for being vegan. She wasn't vegan for the sake of limiting her carbon footprint or making more responsible choices at the grocery store, but because she, as a lifelong anorexic, thought she was ugly and needed to lose weight. That's been a constant with her. Age catches up and skin sags? She mistakes it for a love handle, cuts out virtually all sources of protein and carbs safe for tofu, seitan and bean-based preps. Of course, like a lot of anorexics, she'd have bulemic episodes. I used to sleep over at her last bachelor pad, as a teen, and I remember her pantry was loaded up for bear with Danish cookie tins, Nutella jars and whipped cream. I remember she invited me over specifically when she intended to cheat. Then it was back to yoga, pot-smoking, meditation and shopping runs - and she probably kept her purging for when I was gone.

So yeah. I'm betting Belgian Asshole (see one of my previous posts) convinced her to break her vows and went looking for a "slice of authentic Tikka Masala", to quote his email. The entire family is made up of ethnic food diehards, so we spam-flooded his inbox with recommendations. Looks like she'll be eating meat again, soon. Her own email mentioned concerns of strength and stamina, so I get it.

Otherwise? We're gobsmacked. Imagine spending an entire weekday both at work and off work, aggressively goofing off because you're trying as hard as you can not to think of your favourite aunt's mention of assisted suicide as an option.

Three to five years. Maybe one, or two good Christmases. After that, her condition should probably have started to deteriorate quickly.

I'm not close with a ton of my own family. I love them all, but it's more a sense of polite respect than anything involving solid bonds. The only two folks I know I'll be devastated for when they'll die are her, and my youngest cousin on the other side of the family.

I'm mostly okay now. No doubts, no crisis of unbelief, no anger, no rage... But then I'll see her in a more diminished state, one of those days. How am I going to take to it?

Part of me keeps a tally of the deaths in the family. First, it was my uncle on my mother's side. Ruptured abdominal artery, with a leak small enough to pool into the gut's cavity for months. Decay settled in, guy got anesthetized for an intervention...

They didn't even bother sewing him back up.

Second one was my other paternal aunt's new husband. First one was great, but left the country in the seventies to go live in Stockholm with his medical assistant. Second one was a geologist and physicist at the same campus she taught as. French guy, the son of innkeepers four generations down. It showed, too. Our Christmas tables haven't been the same since he left us his recipie books, all his corny jokes on provincial eating habits, and his obstinate focus on turning every 25th of December into a Roman orgy probably befitting of the old Saturnalia traditions. I mean, when's the last time you've had an eight-course meal, outside of Thanksgiving?

Tumors in his mesenteric artery lined the blood vessel's inner walls, deposited virtually everywhere in his body. He was diagnosed in June and dead by August. He'd always been the lanky type, bone-thin even if he hoovered food like he'd never have enough. He looked even thinner in his hospital bed.

Then, my maternal grandpa bit it. Decades of casual alcoholism, cirrhosis more or less jumping on him around his seventy-sixth year. He looked a bit like John Keston, the actor who played Gehn in CyanWorlds' Riven. Same hairline, same hawkish nose, same eyes - just more Cajun and less New England-esque. I don't know if it was youth or stupidity or - anything, really, but I dropped by to see him, just two days before he died. I didn't realize he was tallying my life, asking me if I had everything in order, if things were planned.

Now, I understand.

Next one on the chopping block is Aunt Doris, still on Mom's side. She of the serial mooching, she of the concept of not needing much to get by if you were the cute one of the family. She was pretty enough in her prime, sure - if by pretty you meant "cigarette-butt blonde with a discount Farah Fawcett blow-up and an unfinished High School degree". First husband was an abusive ass who gave her an uncommonly sensitive son, second one figured she'd stick to the minimum-wage circuit while he tore out rotator cuffs or busted his C7 while on his outboard like clockwork. By the end, she roped my grandmother into living with her, spent her days sloppy-drunk and died on her ratty couch while falling asleep and choking on her own vomit.

Before them all, the youngest of my uncles died at age two. Cancer. Never knew which one, was told it didn't matter. You didn't survive much of anything cancerous, back in the late fifties.

Ping-pong this back to three years ago, and my oldest paternal uncle dies. Paul, who smoked like a chimney for most of his life and successfully stopped after discovering Champix. He got to live five great years as the high-IQ oddball he'd always been, smoke-free. Paul was the weird bird in the family, the type to remember a really engrossing story at two in the morning and making a note to call you up first thing in the morning to share it. He always had a project of some sort to work on, like a simulated investors' tank for young entrepreneurs looking to learn the ropes, or a Byzantine arrangement of coaxials allowing four of his lakeside neighbours to pirate his cable sub. He'd invite us over for dinner, gather all the ingredients we'd need for whatever it was he wanted to treat us to - and then he'd let us cook it - just sitting by the sidelines, chatting away.

He was also a bit of a narcoleptic, and looked a bit like William Howard Taft if you'd worked him out of these old sack suits and into modern shirts and suspenders. He fell asleep practically everywhere, with his more wakeful environments being his workshop and his property's dock. He took me out fishing, once, and knew what the entire family expected.

"Oars're here, Gremlin, fish're that way. Wake me up when you've got a bite."

At this point, it wasn't even a point of concern; it was just an Uncle Paul Thing, the exact thing you'd have expected out of this kind, eccentric blob of a man whose idea of fishing involved pushing his hat over his eyes and basically all but ensuring that his roaring snores would scare prey away. He'd been a supposedly high-IQ type, terminally bored with almost everything, only really getting agitated and interested back when I asked him for help for my Junior High Computer class's Javascript calculator. Once the syntax hit something familiar and he realized that JS has some similarities with FORTRAN, he was on a roll, acting like someone had snuck a Red Bull in his coffee.

Well, fibrosis caught up with him. His last hours were spent directing us on how to cook what would've been his last meal. I think he really just wanted to know we were alright, that we still could exchange laughs around the kitchen counter. He clocked out the way he always did, except he had an oxygen tube running under his nose. His head bobbed down, he snored loudly for a few minutes, then turned increasingly quiet...

And that was it.

And now there's Isabelle. The marathoner, my partner-in-crime when it comes to professing to have a healthy diet while occasionally cheating in glorious, weekend-defining means, my gateway to cannabis and also the first person who took my cringy self-insert fanfic fodder and went No, that's worth it! Push it, develop that universe of yours!

I wouldn't be almost two-thirds of the way through my first decent manuscript, if not for her, and I wouldn't be shopping for publishers with the same energy you'd reserve for weekend-grade Facebook putzing-about. I owe her part of my self-acceptance, and part of my discovery of what defines my routine to this day. Isabelle was my first meditation coach.

And in three to five years, she might be gone.

I just thought grief might be... noisier, is all. Louder. Right now, it's just germane to confusion, and it's sitting there. There's a pinch of fear in it, too. My parents are in their mid-sixties. How long do I have left with them?!

And the family and I just covered that up with jokes and, well, cooking. I've been told I'd make a half-decent therapist but - navigating your own emotions is hard work...

I don't know. I guess I needed to put this down somewhere.

#personal life #tw: cancer mention #tw: alcoholism mention #tw: death mentions #grief #coping

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the-lightning-strikes-again · 4 years ago

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Hi! I just started reading your fan-fiction, "Adrenaline Rush" and I have to say it is VERY good. I have a question if you don't mind answering it. I am writing fan-fiction of my own and I have been pushing it off for months because I don't know where to start. For this, what was your writing process? Example: Did you write your plot first or did you write as you went to each chapter?

Hi, anon! Thanks for your very kind note and interest in Adrenaline Rush! The story has its issues/tangles, but it’s definitely been a fun and personally meaningful project for me to try writing. It means a lot to hear that you’re enjoying it! And that’s very exciting that you want to start writing as well. :)

Each writer will be different in terms of their creative process, so a part of your question involves learning more about yourself as a creator too! It’s good to know how your brain likes to work and what environment helps it hum along, which may or may not align with what works for me.

Honestly, AR’s design and development has been haphazard. For me, AR all started because I was unable to attend a nearby drag racing competition in 2018, and those races had been a pretty big staple in my life. At the same time, my head was full of Voltron shenanigans because I’d just recently joined the fandom. I was walking the family puppy when it hit me that Blue Lion, Red Lion, etc. would be good names for Top Fuel machines. I was so excited at the concept of exploring drag racing in a fic. It gave me a “race” to look forward to, along with all the drama and adrenaline that came with it. In that moment, I had enough excitement in my brain to convert the Potential Energy of my idea into the real Kinetic Energy of writing/typing.

If you have the energy but are not sure how to “start” your story, then you might consider what it means to set aside the opening or even the assumed first chapter for now. What scene/image/dialogue in your head do you really want to write right now? What happens if you just…start there, and then work backwards or forwards? Sometimes you have to get a feel for the medium you’re working with before you can really start molding the scenes and imagery into something fully formed. My first “scene” I wrote for AR was definitely not the opening one. The first story lines I wrote involved Lotor smoking a cigarette on a pro stock motorcycle, lol. I built around that image, as well as the image of a determined Allura sitting in Blue Lion, preparing to race. The desire to bring these characters and their racing machines to life really helped me hammer out that first chapter in a blur of a few days, where I puzzle-pieced scenes together.

Other activities that can help you start a story is to look at how other authors start their stories. For example, do they start with a question, or a conversation, or a description of scenery? Do they start at the very beginning of a plot, or in the middle of action and catch you up on the details later? What kind of opening in other people’s stories most engages you? What happens to your story if you start with one element over another? What kinds of plots and story structures make you feel most engaged when you read them? What happens when you try to emulate those things? (Just questions to munch on here.)

I think it also helps to ask yourself why you want to write this story. Do you just want to explore an aesthetic that makes you feel good? Do you have a deep need to explore a certain kind of character or world? Are you hoping to get a catharsis of some kind? Is it a couple of things at once? Are you wanting to write a massive epic or just a short drabble to convey a moment in time? If you know “why” you are doing something, that can help you to know what kind of scenes to write—and what the story’s goal or vibe should be. Silly plot holes and clunky dialogue and some OOCness can be forgiven, especially in fanfic, which is a labor of love anyway—but if your story radically changes its tune or plot and no longer addresses the “why” that made you so excited in the first place, then that can alienate even you from it. Once you know what you want out of your story, then you can start plotting out all the different ways you could potentially achieve that goal. This feeds directly into the types of scenes that appear in a first chapter.

Before I started writing any actual scenes for AR, I did try to feel out more of the story by writing a promotional blurb. Like, if this were a book jacket or a Goodreads summary, what would that enticing blurb potentially look like? What was this story going to be about, aside from Lotor and Allura being pretty while they race machines, lol? I had some people in a discord who were kind enough to let me “pitch” a blurb at them to see if it would be of interest. This was my original pitch, which isn’t terribly different from the story summary as it appears on AO3 today:

The discord members were very encouraging, and so that gave me the push I needed to start writing story content, beginning with the images of Lotor smoking on his bike and Allura preparing to qualify. This tactic might not be for everyone just starting out, but writing a short promotional blurb/story summary can help you identify some initial parameters in terms of characters/conflict/setting. Having those basic parameters can then further target the types of images, dialogue, and scenes that make logical sense for introducing your story.

If you need more structure than just free-form writing or building off an image in your head, you can definitely use an outline to help you identify scenes or images that you’d like to try working on. While AR did not start off with an outline, it does have a plot outline now to help ensure I don’t drop something important. So I started bulleting ideas, trying to stretch out the story summary to its natural/logical end point.

An outline can help you write linearly if clear, concrete structure resonates with your brain. It can give you an opportunity to “preview” how a chapter opening can affect future events before you even write them, if you’re worried about where free-form-writing can take you. If you want to use an outline, it doesn’t even have to be all that elaborate. It can just be bullet points or explanatory sentences, or pieces of dialogue. It can be notes on a poster arranged in a spider web design. It can be a collection of gifs on your computer that signify the emotions you want to simulate in the story—it can be literally anything, and it can evolve too.

Paradoxically, writing an outline has also helped me move away from having to write individual chapters in a linear fashion, which is sometimes hard for me to do over a long course of time. So readers on AO3 might experience AR as a linear story, but I have dozens of pages of future scenes or bits of dialogue that I felt inspired to write over the last few years. Like, one major scene appearing in the most recent chapter 9, which published here in January 2021—it’s been written since July of 2019, lol. Using an outline to tackle a story can empower you to follow your bliss in a nonlinear fashion. For example, sometimes I’m more in a mood to write racing, and other times, I’m more emotionally invested in writing AR’s background drama or romance. If I halfway know where I’m going based on my outline, I can switch gears to write what I immediately want to write, and then I can later sew scenes and dialogue together later in a fairly smooth fashion.The concept of writing a chapter straight from start to finish just doesn’t have to constrain me with this method, and that’s critical for me. I understand having to trudge through writer’s block for a particular scene, but I like to minimize that pain as much as possible. And sometimes moving beyond that point can remove the writer’s block entirely.

Admittedly, the original outline I wrote for AR doesn’t match 1:1 to what’s currently written. As I started actually writing out scenes correlating to those bullet points on my outline, things changed. The space between bullet point 1 and bullet point 2 expanded with additional scenes, and those additions changed the details in the original bullet point 2. So my outline has gone through several tweaks as well.

This is the “organic” slop that can occur between your true written product and your initial assumptions for where the story should go. There are going to be plot milestones that you likely have to hit in order to achieve your end-goal/correct vibe with the story, but it’s totally okay to let your characters have a voice in how they get there. You might start an outline or a story assuming Road Trip A through the city is the best way to get to the end or achieve a certain vibe, but as your characters grow in your head, they might decide for themselves that Road Trip B through the mountains is the best way to the end. Once you set a story in motion, it’s no longer just you driving it. Your characters should drive the story too. Allowing them to do that will keep you emotionally invested and interested in the story. Sometimes, your characters will even write for you if you don’t know what to write. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure I’m in control of AR—I suppose I’m the navigator with a map sitting in the passenger seat, but I know I’m not the one holding the wheel, LOL.

And while we all do hope to create something quality that we’re immensely proud of, I do think it’s important to keep G.K. Chesterton’s thought in mind: “If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.” In other words, the desire to create something immediately perfect with minimal effort can keep you from doing anything at all. It’s better to accept a messy first draft and to know you may have to revise later, than to sit in fear and end up writing nothing. And sometimes, your brain needs physical content to react to before you feel you’ve found the best option. Like, just getting content down to start with can change your whole perspective. You can revise and mold things as you get a better feel for what you want to convey. There’s always draft 2 for structural changes. Or draft 3 or 4 for polishing and getting a satisfying first sentence down. There’s no pressure to crank out a Pulitzer Prize Winner on a first draft or even after you publish something to a fanfic archive. This is fanfic. It’s supposed to be fun, at the end of the day. Let yourself enjoy the process of messy creation. Let your characters help you out. Don’t be afraid to revise or try out a few different things get to the vibe/end you really want. To do is to know.

If you’re still not confident in yourself or your abilities to make a critical design decision, you can always engage a beta reader or have someone listen to your ideas. Talking things out loud or reading your work out loud to yourself can help you process creative decisions in a new way! There’s also a significant difference between typing on a computer or writing things down on paper. Typing on a computer can take away the fear of permanence, while writing things down on paper can slow you down and make you experience each word more fully.

So I guess to wrap all of this up: I have a pretty fluid process, and I’m more worried about not creating at all than I am about screwing it up. Even a screwed-up work can teach you something and help you get somewhere better next time. And if you had fun making it, then maybe it wasn’t a screw-up at all! I really encourage you to soul-search on what gives you joy or excitement regarding this fic idea you have, and to hold on tight to that joy as you begin translating images in your head or outlining plot points, or something in between.

I hope something from this response helps you! <3

#Voltron #VLD #Adrenaline Rush #Fanfiction #Fanfiction writing #writing #writers of tumblr #writeblr #lightning rambles #it's hard to know how to start something #but it can be rewarding to jump into the challenge #I believe you can do it!#Best of luck on your first steps with writing fic!

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komahinasecretexchange · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Lingering Light

Author: @zettern

For: @nadisabug

Rating/Warnings: G

Prompt: fluffy confession

Author’s notes: I tried my best at being fluffy! I hope you enjoy it! :)

“Time passes so quickly.”

Two men sat outside the Jabberwock Island Library, with countless books scattered on a thin blanket. They spent the day together in silence, passing the time reading with an occasional conversation popping up. When they spoke, it was for shared information concerning the book in hand. They shared ideas and tossed around theories about the current state of the world. It was mostly about a world they no longer had access to, as they collectively decided to set their freedoms aside for the better. It was a permanent promise that was deserving, of course.

All the students cursed with the marking of the 77th class had nowhere else to go. No family to return to, no childhood friends and no other connections. They were simply wiped away from the face of the planet and the former students were left with each other. Although that was months ago, they had learned to grow accustomed to this normal.

The sun was falling, bathing the island with broken gold. Shade provided from the trees and garden shielded their eyes. It smelled faintly of sweat from the summer heat as well as the salty air from the beach. Two scents they have become well-acquainted with. And if a book was brought close enough, the moldy scent of old dog-eared pages would help in transporting them to a new world where there was more than an abandoned island.

Nagito and Hajime were sitting side by side, close enough to feel each other’s electric presence but far enough that they weren’t touching. Sweat was running down Hajime’s neck for two reasons. One: it was far too hot outside to not long for the modern air-conditioned room. Two: the setting sun was bouncing off Nagito, giving him an ethereal glow.

The corners of his lips were curled up softly as his eyes scanned the pages, the only escape from his own harsh reality. He didn’t bother to wipe the stray strands of hair that were partially blocking his vision. He was so entranced by the words, Hajime assumed he didn’t hear what he said mere moments ago. It was only during times like this when Nagito appeared to be at his happiest. Flicking through the pages in the silence that not even his luck cycle could disturb. All of this and Hajime couldn’t recall when he put his own book down to admire the man before him. What he wouldn’t give for Mahiru to capture this moment forever.

Their friendship had always been a rocky one, due to the unstable nature of their lives. But when they returned to the island, it was like Nagito reverted to the boy Hajime met on the beach in the simulation. He could easily recall the sound of the waves rolling onto the shore and the silhouette that stayed behind to keep him company. Hajime remembered the feeling of betrayal, the pain he experienced when he ran into the warehouse. He could never forget the lies and the truths all in the time they were locked in a simulation. He could never forget when he was the World Destroyer and the realization that Nagito desired nothing more than a peaceful life and to be loved. Sure the man was…odd about hope, but once Hajime recognized his struggles it made more sense.

It pained Hajime to think this burden of living the rest of their lives on Jabberwock Island was the closest thing to peace Nagito has had in years. This was true for all the inhabitants of the island, he supposed.

In this time, the two had gotten to understand each other better, writing over the hiccups caused by a stressful environment.

Nagito flipped the page of his book with his new arm. He released a soft sigh before resting his head on Hajime’s shoulder. Frozen, Hajime had to remind himself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. It had grown to something more. Hajime’s face was no longer flushed from the heat. His heart was pounding in his chest and prayed Nagito wouldn’t hear it. Something Hajime wanted so badly to put into words to officiate whatever was going on between them. The wild clouds of Nagito’s hair tickled Hajime’s nose, threatening a sneeze. He was suddenly aware of how sweaty he had been all day.

Did Nagito take notice? Was he repulsed?

“It does.” Nagito said, folding in the page of his book and setting it aside.

“…What?” Hajime croaked. God, he sounded like a prepubescent boy. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What?” At least it sounded passable this time.

“Time. It does go quickly. It’s been months since we returned to Jabberwock Island. So much has changed since then.” Nagito studied his robotic arm, waving his artificial fingers around. Hajime’s heart danced at the knowledge that Nagito wasn’t ignoring his words, not that he ever did. “And even so, you spend each day with someone like me instead of enjoying your time with the others. Have you grown tired of me yet, Hajime?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t appreciate your company.” Hajime shifted slightly enough to get more comfortable in his position. “You should know this by now.” He took a leap and rested his head atop Nagito’s. He felt the other man tense up and Hajime immediately questioned whether or not he made a mistake by doing this. The sun sank further down into the horizon. Hajime kept his eyes closed, reveling in the moment, never wanting to lose it. Nagito soon relaxed under his weight.

“I wonder what bad luck will come my way for having this.” Nagito whispered. “My apologies, Hajime. I shouldn’t be burdening you with the thought of my luck cycle.” It was at those words that Hajime lifted his head, losing the physical closeness he wanted to keep. He couldn’t stand it when Nagito spoke of himself that way. Like he was no more useful than a stray leaf in the wind.

“It’s not a burden!” He defended a little too enthusiastically. “…Besides, with everything that has happened in your life, don’t you think you have nothing but good luck waiting for you?” It was too idealistic of a claim. They both knew.

“That’s not exactly how my luck works, Hajime. I’m damned to be stuck in this cycle for the rest of my life. I’ve already come to terms with it.” Nagito sighed as he pulled away from Hajime. His greediness would only lead to bad luck after all.

“I k-know that!” Hajime turned, so that Nagito could turn around and look him straight in the eyes. “But with my talents…” He began. “My talents…can cancel out the bad luck…” He tried to continue but the words wouldn’t come out. His heart was pounding, threatening to break free at this point.

“The only way that could ever work is if you were constantly at my side. I doubt you’d want to bring that kind of misfortune upon yourself.” Nagito averted his gaze, choosing to focus on the flowers next to him. His prosthetic hand was digging into the dirt, fighting the urge to be wishful.

“…I wouldn’t mind.” Hajime finally dared to say part of what he always wanted to. The hint of the words he wanted to reciprocate before Nagito went and deceived everyone in the killing game.

“What could someone like me possibly have to offer to you?” Nagito finally looked up to meet Hajime’s eyes. Frantic at the implication of those words. “Someone as talented and popular as yourself has no need to waste time with trash.” He tugged at the sleeves of his worn jacket, curling into himself. It was always Hajime could be with someone better, Hajime should be with someone better or Hajime would be with someone different had they survived. It was never what he wanted.

Hajime reached out.

“You don’t have to offer anything!” He grasped his shoulders, Nagito could only stare at him wide-eyed. “Nagito, your presence alone is enough for me to be satisfied! How long is it going to take for you to understand that I care about you?” It grew silent. The only sounds came from the waves running onto the nearby shore and Nagito’s wild thoughts. Seconds ticked away, their gazes unwavering.

Hajime delicately took Nagito’s chin in his hand without thinking. He didn’t want Nagito to do what he always did and recoil into himself and his doubts. “I’ve grown to care about you so much it hurts.” Hajime’s voice was a tremor of an earthquake yet on the inside he felt the bellowing surge of a wave. “Every morning I wake up excited at the thought to spend time with you. I don’t care if we go the entire day without speaking, as long as you’re nearby I am satisfied.”

“How?” Nagito dropped his arms. “I have absolutely nothing to give.” He whispered. “I have no other purpose than to be used. Everything I have ever come to love, leaves me! I’m always left behind!” He was quivering like a lost dog on a rainy summer night. “Choosing to remain here with me is nothing but misfortune waiting to happen.” Did Nagito truly think that alone would scare Hajime away? They’ve been through hell already, so he was going to have to try harder than that.

“Then it’s a misfortune I want for the rest of my life.” Hajime gently cupped Nagito’s face in his hands. His eyes were brighter than all the stars beginning to sprinkle the sky. The hope in his eyes was clouded by a thick fog of doubt. Hajime wanted nothing more than to embrace him in this moment and remain that way for all eternity to clear any doubt.

“I can’t avoid these feelings any longer, Nagito. There is nothing I want more than to see you live an ordinary life and to spend it with you.” This was true from the moment they left the Neo World Program, it has been Hajime’s grandest wish. He wanted to wake up and see Nagito smiling for the right reasons filled with hope for a better future. He wanted to kiss away all the negativity just so they can finally have this chance to be happy.

Nagito stared into Hajime’s eyes in disbelief. Hajime could hear the shaky breaths escaping his lips. He swallowed. “You said you were in love with the hope sleeping within me. So why can’t I do the same?”

Nagito audibly gasped. “Hajime…” And before he had the chance to shut himself off in an attempt to avoid the situation, Hajime pressed their foreheads together. “Will you let me?” Hajime asked. The question seemed to work as his shaking slowly subsided and turned into soft nods. Nagito leaned further into the touch. Hajime watched as his eyes fluttered shut. “Is… this really alright..?” Hajime tucked stray hairs away from Nagito’s face, lightly grazing his cheek in the process.

“Of course it is.” Hajime replied as he closed his eyes. He slowly inched forward, his mind racing.

Their lips met. This was something Hajime had dreamt of for what seemed like ages. From Nagito’s fear to trying not to grin like an idiot during their first kiss. Nothing could compare to the actuality of it. And how much better it felt to physically experience it instead of spending sleepless nights wondering about it.

Nagito’s lips were softer than he imagined. Hajime was near to melting on the spot as his heart pounded wildly in his chest. Nagito shuddered and slowly curled his fingers around Hajime’s waist, pulling him closer, never wanting it to come to an end. Time had stopped to listen to their dazed thoughts.

When they pulled apart, Nagito whispered three words that were music to Hajime’s ears. A song he would never tire of listening to. “I hope that’s okay.” He added.

“Always.” He felt so choked up and free.

The sun had long since disappeared. They were enjoying each other’s company in the moonlight filled with new promises. Books were forgotten, tossed aside for another time. Hajime was smiling ear to ear like an idiot as he listened to Nagito explain what he was reading earlier. No distance was placed between them. Nagito made sure, albeit hesitantly, to close any form of distance. And Hajime might as well have been soaring at the sound of Nagito’s voice. His presence. His steady breaths. His lips. The messy hair that got too close to his nose. The green jacket that he wore every day despite the heat. The memory of waking up on the beach. Nagito’s first attempt at a confession. The World Destroyer. Nagito finally waking up from the simulation. The boat ride back to Jabberwock Island.

Hajime loved and cherished it all.

The two lovers spent the rest of the night recounting all they have been through that brought them to this exact moment in their lives. And before they realized, the sun was creeping up from behind. They took it as a signal to pack up their belongings and return to their rooms. Not a wink of sleep and both men had never felt so awake.

That dawn, they walked hand in hand to the cottages for some well deserved peace.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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starfaring-princelotor · 5 years ago

Text

First Scent

Summary: Emperor Lotor makes a full recovery.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.

★ Warnings: N/A

Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Taste Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Sight Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Scent Series: Part One

“We are all on the same side. It doesn’t have to change our future together.”

Kylan would never dare consider doubting Lotor, but he was also no fool to leave loose ends hanging, so to speak. He worked along with their leader and his intentions - his goal - was always about keeping Alteans and the invaluable culture of said race alive. Against all odds, all naysayers and doubters, he kept to it. And he succeeded.

��You enslaved countless Alteans! How many innocent lives did you destroy?!”

Slaves? No. They were not slaves. They were not treated as such. If anything, they were flourishing and well on their way to becoming a better society than the one led by King Alfor. The progress was well on the way and the future looked bright. So, what happened? He needed to hear it, needed to have the physical evidence right in front of him.

“Surely, you can see the greatness we’ve already accomplished -”

The audio distorted then, signifying Sincline was most likely damaged from an unsuspecting attack.

“-llura, stop! You and I - zzt - Altean culture. We were meant - kkzzt -”

The black box was heavily damaged. Being exposed to the elements, especially quintessence, no doubt rendered it beyond repair. Except, Kylan knew how to save the proof and secure the device for future use. Plan B. Have a backup. Always have a back up.

“You’re more like Zarkon than I could have imagined.”

He closed his eyes slowly, releasing a solemn and heavy sigh of disappointment. He wasn’t going to say he knew everything, even if the hidden picture was revealed right in front of him. No, what he has here ultimately didn’t matter in terms of putting Lotor back on the throne.

“Who are you to question my tactics - “

But it was enough to clear his name. It was enough to show that Voltron started a whole new, deadly, and severely costly war by attacking the Emperor.

They had suggested putting him in a pod to stabilize his quintessence levels. Lotor’s soul may have returned, but that doesn’t mean his body was in a relatively safe state. Logically, it made sense to use the technology at hand to quicken the process, but you convinced them to keep him on a bed instead. Convinced was putting it lightly. You wouldn’t move on your decision, even if it meant using logic as a tool to get what was best for Lotor.

“I will siphon it from him, as I do with the other patients,” you explained, “It’s safer this way.”

It was your reasoning and also what you used to convince yourself, too. Your hand was loosely holding his as the steady flow of quintessence ebbed through the contact. When he had collapsed from exhaustion in your arms, you already knew that a confined space wouldn’t do well for his recovery. He needs to wake up naturally in a comforting environment, somewhere open, somewhere...safe. You promised him that at the very least.

But the longer you stayed with him, the more you came to the haunting realization at exactly how bad it was for the Galra Emperor. His skin was shriveled, no doubt either from over exposure or the action of his soul literally being sucked out of his body. Maybe even both. But the inside is what worried you the most. Starvation. His organs were scarily dehydrated. Lotor’s system was off for so long, you weren’t sure he could even eat anything nourishing.

And, oddly enough, there were times you couldn’t...see him as a patient. You saw him as something more, something beyond just Emperor. Allowing those buried thoughts to unfurl left your stomach stirring in uneasiness.

Lotor wasn’t talkative. Recovery was slow and, sometimes, he barely woke up long enough to sip water or open his mouth for ice chips. You weren’t even sure if he was coherent enough to answer the typical questions for patients who experienced such acute delirium. Do you know who you are? Where you are? What happened?

No. No, overflowing with too much would stunt his progress. Plus, you often found yourself hesitating to even speak with him. Maybe it was wrong of you to take advantage of his illness to push your own discomfort away. If he didn't ask, you don’t need to answer. But there were urgent questions lingering between you two and you know they will come around to rear its ugly head eventually. You’ll have to face them, whether you like it or not. You’ll have to hear what he has to say. What you’ll say. What you’ll feel.

But...

Lotor first. Your thumb ran over his knuckles softly, gaze longingly focused on your conjoined hands. Lotor first. That’s how it felt like when trapped in Sincline’s…

The Black Paladin has seen many haunting horrors in his life, but nothing will be more traumatic than seeing his own body as a corpse. No...his alternate self was alive, he just looked shriveled and sick and rotten. Sunken eye sockets, skin blemishes from what he knows as quintessence burn. The bite marks, oh, there were so many torn in his suit. Different sizes, different states of decay.

But he was safe and, more importantly, alive. Now, the matter of what state his mind will be in is something not even he can help with.

“I will pass the message on to the doctor once Emperor Lotor is in stable condition,” Kylan accepted the letter handed to him by the Black Paladin then carefully slid it into his coat pocket, “Thank you, again. You have done us a great honor. Saved us all, actually.”

Yet, as much as he would like to accept such gratefulness, he couldn't help but keep his lips set in a firm line. Saved them? Or condemned them? This war in his reality wasn’t theirs to deal with, but wouldn’t it be just as neglectful and dispassionate to allow the hoktril to be exposed to other realities? A double edged sword. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

“I only hope that his return was not too late. Unfortunately, time does not appear to be on our side as of late.”

Kylan nodded in agreement, “You have your duties, we have ours. And yours must be urgent if you need to leave so soon.”

Nebulous orbs slowly closed, easily remembering the scribble he quickly jotted down for your eyes only. A message, a dire one, explaining why his leave of absence was absolutely necessary, but not for the reason anyone would assume. The Black Paladin had received a distress call, one he had not heard from in a very, very long time, and he had every intention to answer it. Sven’s voice rang in his ears clearly, as if he was standing right behind him. His hushed whispers panicked from hiding. He knows the tone well.

“I implore you to use the communication stone with utmost discretion. However, as soon as matters have settled here,” Paladin Lotor gave a wave, a vague gesture at all of this, “Let me know when your forces are ready to fight.”

He gave a noble, respectful bow. He shouldn’t have regrets, but perhaps he had one nagging the back of his head. Chewing on his tongue, he wonders if it was his cowardice that told him it was better to leave without telling you face to face.

If there was one thing Emperor Lotor despised about hospitals, it was the smell. The acute, sanitized scent of alcohol and sterilization never brought him comfort when awake. Even now, during every odd moment he would rouse from a deep comatose-like state, he found it absolutely much worse. The air was cold, chilling his nostrils, yet there was a warm blanket covering most of his body, all the way up to his shoulders. Warmth...something he cherishes now that he had the cold touch of death’s finger beckon his soul from his body.

It took days for him to realize he was alive, longer to know that the doctor had dutifully tended to his recovery. It wasn’t easy, regaining his senses and awareness. His thoughts were slow, as if relearning everything that which went dormant in his mind. Words, thoughts, actions, feelings. Feelings...like your hand gently clutched in his. Not at all unlike that memory of falling in a pit of darkness, tethered by the mere simple contact of entwined fingers.

And damn, to remember that utopia-esque simulation. Was it a simulation? It all felt too real. Too perfect, too...happy, one he thinks he will never really get to experience ever again. That love, that peaceful life, that completion. At the time, he didn't question it. Who would? But now, now as you read the holographic screen and scanned the details about his vitals in silence, he has so many to ask you.

Was it a hedonistic crime to still feel that inkling of love as he stared fondly at you?

Or maybe...that was just a lingering side-effect. A sort of after-high from being forced into an addictive drug-induced state of mind from a mere memory.

You knew he was awake. Lotor made it clear with his silent shifting, a gentle squeeze of his hand in yours, and a slight, almost quiet, groan of discontent when he felt his body ache in the worst possible ways. Part of him would've chuckled at the thought that maybe you were avoiding him, or rather, avoiding looking at him. Then another part would caution that it was wise of you to do so, for both yours and his sake.

Maybe, just like him, neither of you were ready to ask questions about the intimate life you shared. Maybe if he kept his mouth shut, both of you can pretend it didn’t happen. It was a trick. A ruse, a test. One conjured deep from within the heart’s desires and brought to the surface without warning or care.

The light above was dimmed in a cool blue hue, offering him a sense of peace and tranquility, but what really helped calm his nerves was the smell of a warm cup of hot chocolate wafting through the air. A promised treat, giving him the freedom to choose if he wanted to drink or simply hold it in his hands. And yet, he didn't reach for it.

Lotor reached for your hand. You gave it willingly, almost instinctively, and he was quite aware of how his heart beat just a little louder at the gesture. Lotor wasn’t sure he liked that or not. Well, he did, but he shouldn't. He really shouldn't because it was wrong to harbor such feelings for you considering the circumstances. But the heart wants. The heart yearns.

Lotor can control it. He swears he can.

So many unspoken words between you two, yet silence was clearly winning here. Then again, he can’t complain too much. Or at all, really. Your thumb slowly roving over his knuckles was nearly entrancing. The simple touch made his body compliant, whether because it was you or because the action itself was an unconscious act on its own, he would never find out.

You stopped suddenly then gave him a light squeeze, “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be…” he paused, recalling how he felt when falling out of that cockpit, the panic, the pain, the cold, so, so cold, “fine.”

And while normally, those few words would be firm confirmation that you’ve done your job flawlessly well, you can’t help but let your heart seed doubt in your mind.

“And you, good doctor?”

Was he asking about your health or how you felt coming out of that life-like experience?

You twisted your wrist, closing the holographic screen before giving him your full attention, “Coming back to life is not what I expected, but neither was dying. It was different than-”

A twinge in your shoulder pulsed, reminding you of the last time you danced with death so romantically.

“I recovered faster than you. Kylan informed me i was gone for a mere few minutes. Clearly not long enough for all the heat to leave my body, but long enough to give him a fright.”

Lotor had a certain look behind his eyes, a certain longing for the truth. You turned away.

It’s been a week. The metaphorical wall was back up. But it wasn't just you that decided avoidance was the best course of action for now. He, too, opted to shove those unanswered questions in the back of his mind as far as he could. Lotor only wondered exactly how long he can let it fester. How long you could let it fester. Maybe the two of you were more alike than you want to admit.

When the deepest, most intimate, most raw secrets and desires surface, that exposed vulnerability suddenly becomes a dangerously choking weak point. Becomes something to fear. Becomes tangible and no longer yours to hide. But to acknowledge such a thing now? What? Were you two going to sit and talk about it? Have a coffee date and reminisce of those fake nights of feeling safe in each other’s arms?

No. It was much easier, much smarter, to stay focused on the goal. It was more important.

Was it awkward? Not at all. You dressed him in silence with careful fingers, wary that the lightest of touch could bruise his still-healing body, and he watched the concentration consume your task. Such a simple thing spoke volumes to the careful observer. Lotor was the patient. You were the doctor. Play the roles well and everything will be fine.

But just to be sure…

“We are not going to talk about this, are we?” he asked his one question, voice just a tad lower than normal, meant only for you to hear.

Slipping the new bracelet around his wrist, you waited a few moments until the indicator glowed green, “No. Not now.”

Lotor’s hands went slack at his side, a sign of obedient understanding. He offered his hand to you, not as a gesture of intimacy. It was for his health, of course. His quintessence levels were still a little high. He was sick, still out of sorts, and a full recovery only worked if kept to schedule.

For his health, you told yourself as the two of you walked out of the room hand in hand.

“Dear Esteemed Doctor,

By the time you receive this letter, I will no longer be in your reality. I have been called back with urgent news and must return post haste. Please accept my humblest apologies for the sudden leave. If I had the time, I would have stayed to offer you my aid at any cost. With your Emperor under your care, I have no doubt that the next step with our alliance will be needing as much resources and command as possible. Rallying the forces as soon as possible will be difficult, though if there is any advice I may impart with, it is this:

Galra are survivors, through and through.

When civil wars raged upon our brothers and sisters, history has repeatedly shown that it is not the toughest fighter who wins. Rather, it is the one who fights to protect the one at their side.

I look forward to seeing you once more in the near future. Please, stay safe.

Sincerely,

Lotor”

His handwriting was eloquent, not a curve or line extending awkwardly in the entire paragraph. At first glance, anyone would take in the script as romantic at face value, but the prose itself was completely opposite. He wasn’t here anymore and, as the Black Lion Paladin, of course the he had to tend to his duties. With Voltron, no doubt a shining beacon of hope for those suffering in his reality, he couldn't risk squandering his time.

You folded the letter then pocketed it in your coat, waiting for orders from Emperor Lotor, who was sitting at the helm of the ship and staring deeply off into space. Kylan had updated him about the current situation. Colonies displaced, warlords razing worlds for their own, Haggar’s search for him. That last one put him on edge. Yes, he’s well aware you worked for her, but he is also aware of your need for self-perseverance.

Or perhaps, it was for a completely different reason? If Sincline utilizes memories from souls, then he should’ve seen his mother’s memories mixed in yours, as well. Assuming, of course, you were brainwashed like his previous...

Lotor isn't such a naive fool to believe you would never lie in the face of certain death. He caught on faster than expected, knowing full well that sometimes telling people what they want to hear is for your own benefit, not theirs. Manipulation was often a tactic swept under the rug and reserved for those who were labeled as cowardice rats. Weak. Not strong enough. Not smart enough.

No. Not you, though. In the short time he’s known you, words were your choice of weapon in a fight. And apparently, his mother was desperate enough to fall for your schemes. One day, he’d compliment you on such a ruse. One day, he’ll tell you that she was actually the one who gave birth to him. How would you take it, he wonders? Anger at leaving the minor details out? Distrust? Betrayal?

“-of Marmora have gone underground. There has been news of Voltron recently en route to Earth months ago in response to Sendak’s battalion overthrowing the planet. Olkarion has been devastated by unknown forces and survivors have been scattered. Currently, no one has claimed the throne at the main headquarters and the next crowning ceremony will begin in but a few short weeks. Many separated factions are - “

Lotor had options. Many paths he could take to begin repairing the split and broken empire. He could free planets that were overtaken by warlords, spreading hope and securing rogue armies. No, that was what Voltron did and they failed to protect those they promised. Perhaps return to headquarters then declare his status as alive? He will certainly have more resources at his hand then. But no, Haggar and her spies would discreetly sabotage his throne.

Recruit the scattered Alteans? No, he doesn’t have the forces necessary to defend them all right now. They were safer with their captains, fortified with the necessary firepower and supplies. What of the Blades of Marmora? Should he spend valuable time searching for them? Their espionage skills will be most beneficial, especially with their network of spies spread out all over the universe. Then again, what about Voltron?

What about Voltron, indeed.

In truth, Voltron had more use as a gun than anything else. Perhaps there were still people faithful that it was their savior, their answer to all this despair and death in the galaxy. Yes, he could save them. That fight when he was piloting Sincline showed him where Voltron’s strength truly lies: as a false ray of hope. It was weak, in more ways than one.

However, the problem with saving Voltron would confuse many people. If he were to align with them again, that would leave many to doubt his role as a leader and the Emperor of the Galra Empire. He would lose support in the time of need and Voltron itself wasn't good enough to go around. He needed numbers and he would take a loyal military over a disillusioned vigilante any day.

A conundrum, indeed.

“Doctor, Kylan. A moment of your time, please.”

The Emperor ordered the rest of the crew around to give you three some much needed privacy. You stood at his left, Kylan at his right, both in silence. It was no surprise that just like Lotor, you were already calculating what the best course of action would be. Or at least, the best without risking potential deaths and destruction.

“Sir, rallying the Blades would greatly help connect our network with those still loyal to the throne. Although it may take some valuable time to search for their leader and the rest of their members,” Kylan took a deep breath before continuing, “We simply do not have the power alone to protect the Colony and the entirety of the universe, let alone the upcoming war with the other reality.”

Lotor glanced at you from the corner of his eye, awaiting your input. While Kylan’s plan was sound, he couldn't afford to make a hasty decision so soon.

“Sendak has taken over Earth, where Voltron currently resides. I don’t know the lore following the mech, whether the pilots need to be dead before the lions accept a new paladin, but leaving a nuclear cannon that can rip holes into other realities is not something we should leave to a power-hungry warlord. Find out if the paladins are alive. If they are, fight Sendak with both Voltron and Sincline on your side.”

“And if they are not?” the Emperor asked, partly curious about how you would react to your friends dying and partly curious as to why Earth, the one place you didn't want to return to, was even an option you’d consider.

“If not, then…” you trailed off, “If not, steal one of the lions. Voltron cannot be formed without all 5 pieces together. At the very least, it will prevent Sendak from using it to its full potential, regardless if he has located new paladins.”

“Stealing requires stealth. Something the Blades can provide,” Kylan interjected.

“A distraction works just as well. Drawing Sendak’s eyes off of Earth, even for a short time, will give us a small chance to enact our plan,” you countered, then placed a finger on your lips in thought, “If Sincline can attack his battalion, that’s more than enough attention to keep Sendak on a trail.”

Lotor found both plans sound, but there was a small problem, “Sendak will not take the bait. He fights with the ferocity of a thousand suns, but he views a proper battle for the throne as an honor. To taunt him to fight me, use my status as alive in order to claim rights over the empire is not how he views righteous combat.”

“You are the Emperor. If strength is not what determines loyalty, then perhaps it is better to show him with fealty and duty.”

You knew little to nothing about Galra culture, but that letter folded in our pocket did tell you one thing: Galra are not savages. Their history goes beyond blood and guts and gore. It’s a mystery you hope to read about one day, discover how wise veterans compare to the current warriors of the Empire. If what Lotor says is true, then maybe one of the strongest warlords in the galaxy will yield to the rightful emperor.

“Very well. Here is my thought: Kylan and I will send for a search party to locate the Blades of Marmora. They will need this ship and I will not risk the Alteans on board near Sendak’s sights. While we are carrying out our side of the plan, doctor, you will go to Earth and infiltrate the military base as a slave. Give us the details of where the lions are and generally pass on the intel about what is going on. Because you are human, I would imagine it would be quite a simple task for you to blend in,” Lotor bit the inside of his cheek, “Blend in carefully. You are going into the mouth of the beast, after all. From there, we go either two ways: take a lion or confront Sendak. I will leave that judgement up to you, doctor.”

“It’s risky. I don’t suppose you know how long it would take for you two to find the Blades?” you questioned, though already knowing the answer.

Kylan pinched the bridge of his nose, “No. We are not even sure if the Blades still exist. If that be the case, then we should have a back up plan.”

“Regardless of how this turns out, doctor, we will need updates about Voltron and Sendak. Can you handle this on your own?” came Lotor’s final question, but there was a hint of...concern visible in his tone.

Earth, the place you were born in. Earth, the place you left behind for good. Earth, the place soon to be used as a slavery planet for Sendak’s militaristic needs. You’re not heartless. You don’t like the idea of death and destruction on any planet. And that’s what Earth was to you, after spending so many years away, it was just another planet. The attachments you had all died with your father.

For what reason did you have to keep any ties with the land? This was for the safety of the universe and much more.

“Yes. yes, I can. Just don’t leave me behind if things take a turn for the worst.”

Again.

There was a knock at your door, drawing you to pause from packing what little belongings you had into a rucksack.

“Come in.”

And so he did, all of his tall glory stepping into your meager room. Bland, plain, empty and void of sentimentality. Lotor wonders faintly if you lived your entire life like this, with little color and even littler personality. It looked remarkably like the room back on the Castle of Lions. The door behind him closed slowly, but he had no intention of leaving soon anyways.

“Was there something important I missed?”

Lotor stayed silent, watching you and trying to think of how to exactly say his thoughts. He was a man of action when the time was right and right now? Part of him was choking at the very thought of you being alone on a planet ruled by Sendak. His heart screamed at him when he suggested the plan, calling him a fool, an idiot, a bastard that keeps risking those he loves -

No. No, it wasn't love. He had to remind himself that. It was NOT love.

If it wasn't, then why did you come here?

Wordlessly, he bent over to unclasp his boots and pile them neatly by your door. Next came his gloves, followed by his waist cape, and then the rest of his armor until he was standing before you in nothing but his skin-tight body suit. The entire time, you watched in silence with only the beating of your heart getting louder and faster in your chest.

The heart wants. The heart yearns.

“May I stay here tonight?” he asked, but surely he already knew you would say yes. Surely he did. Surely you would.

With a soundless nod, you slipped off your coat then hung it up, just for tonight. Not a doctor, not a soldier, not fighting, not running. Just...being. Existing. Like when trapped inside Sincline’s simulation, except this will be real. Was it okay to do that one more time?

Lotor slipped under the sheets with you, trapping you between the wall and his solid frame. He was never one to call himself a man who hesitates, but he did exactly that when he cautiously slid an arm over your waist to pull you closer. Closer still, until his chest was flushed with your back and his nose nuzzled the top of your head. This let him take in your scent, as if trying to burn it in his memories.

That’s when it clicked. As much as part of you wanted this, you needed it. You both did, after cheating death together. The way he held you tight. The way you leaned into him. He was … scared, just like you. There was no certainty you would not be killed, nor him surviving the trek to find the Blades. You two just found each other again and, while your partnership before wasn't deemed as together, as someone to fight alongside the other, the idea of being separated so soon started to leave an uneasy tension in the air.

There were other ways. More safer, less isolating. He could come with you. Or you can stay with him. Strength in numbers, right?

Oh, where did the confidence go?

Gentle fingertips touched over his knuckles, asking permission to hold, to thread together and seal an unspoken vow between you two. A promise that you can do this, that he will find the Blades, that everything so far is only the beginning and it will work out in the end. It was two simple words. Just two.

Trust me.

#lotor x reader #spacestories #ok the real chapter this time lol #not a rick roll i swear

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skysybil · 4 years ago

Text

Penumbra Superlatives: Most Likely To Be A Dark Matters NPC

The people demanded it, and I am indeed a magnanimous conspiracy theory machine, so here is my incredibly ridiculous reasoning behind my “who is in the dark matters simulation and who is fake” ranking, found here. Thank you to my partner for listening to me yell about this for 24 hours straight now. Man, I am gonna look like an idiot if this isn’t a Dark Matters induced simulation or dream in the end with how all-in I’ve been going with this.

Also, if you guys ever want me to lay out every fucking tiny detail I’ve seen that I think points to it being a simulation, I’ll do that too. Please validate me.

This is insanely long, it’s like two to three paragraphs for every member of the space family. This is kind of shameful, I almost feel bad. I’ll be your best friend forever if you read it all. Also, I’m putting it below the cut for everyone’s sanity. Anyway, let’s go lesbians, let’s go!

First, in the “definitely an active participant” category: Rrrrrita!

I’ll admit, it’s genuinely really hard to tell what discrepancies in the story are suspicious simulation details and what is just Rita being a particularly unreliable narrator. However, my first general point towards Rita being an active participant/player/whatever you want to call it is the fact that we’re experiencing this through her perspective! I think it would be really cool to tell the story from the perspective of a caricature puppeted by Dark Matters, but I feel like it would be way more obvious in gaps in her thinking patterns if she was fake. Honestly, I personally think it would be impossible to run it from the perspective of one of these NPCs (as i’m calling them) anyway, because... you know, they probably don’t have much in the way of thoughts in the first place.

Plus, out of everyone in the group, she is most likely to be plucked out of a group of criminals by Dark Matters to recruit. Sasha knows her (or at least knows of her) and how good she is at her job. I’m sure she’s got a target on her back as someone that’s too powerful (seriously, I pray for the universe the day Rita realizes just how quickly she could take over the world--see: my THEIA Rita AU that i came up with this morning which I might post about later), but I’m also pretty sure killing Rita would be seen as a wasted opportunity. This could just be another test, just like Day That Wouldn’t Die but in an even more controlled environment. The perfect trap, the perfect test--hopefully for perfect results. And with how she tends to get caught up in glamour and drama or get distracted so easily, she’s one of the easiest members of the group to trick into not questioning the little discrepancies that comes from living in a lie.

---

Next, Vespa. Love of my life and the only other member of the Carte Blanche crew that I’m almost totally sure is sharing space in this simulation.

She’s in a similar position that she’s a valuable asset for Dark Matters to try and take on--especially if they can use her past debts as blackmail or something along those lines. She’s a damn good assassin and they tend to specialize in making people disappear. Why wouldn’t they seize the opportunity to test her and see if she could truly work for them? Dark Matters also seems to lack an ethical core, to say the least, and if they consider her past trauma and her illness to be an issue, I’m sure they wouldn’t be against trying to “fix” her in their horribly scummy ways just so she could be a better killer for their organization. It could also be related to her skills as a doctor with the crew, to be fair--while Rita is off building robots and trying to break into a super secret base, Vespa is repairing the entire medical wing, an incredibly suspicious task when apparently enough of the ship survived that Rita’s computers are okay, the entire crew is unscathed, and the Ruby isn’t a warped hunk of metal.

Though she is also very likely to be nabbed by Dark Matters as an opportunity, the main condemning thing against Vespa being an NPC is the conversation we overhear with Buddy. No one else knows that Vespa considered or decided on leaving the crew. We can’t say that’s a part of Rita’s mind affecting the simulation around her because Rita doesn’t know, and it’s not information that could be hacked, either. It was just in her mind. Unless Dark Matters has their hands on new mind reading technology (oh god, not this shit again), there’s no way that the scene with Vespa and Buddy could exist unless Vespa is also inhabiting the simulation. Every scene they choose to include is deliberate. To rule Vespa out of the plan, all it would’ve taken was likely just Vespa being her normal defensive self. Why would they include a scene with a look into that vulnerability if it didn’t matter?

Speaking of the Vespa and Buddy scene--but why would Vespa snap at Rita that badly if she’s real, you might ask. You’re right, Vespa is aggressive but not that aggressive normally, and it stood out in the few interactions we saw. In Vespa’s defense, if she is participating in this simulation, she is understandably freaked the fuck out. Vespa spends every day of her life hyperaware of what might be real and what might be fake around her. She’s most likely to figure out that something is very wrong first simply because of that trait. How much of her mind is Dark Matters manipulating? Would DM have to simulate her hallucinations, or would that come naturally along with her mind being stuck in this simulation? I imagine that for every discrepancy we’ve picked up on, she’s picked up on six--but she no longer has the explanation of it being a hallucination. I imagine it’s frustrating and terrifying for her. I’d be on edge, too!

---

Moving into our next category: “probably in the simulation”, with our only candidate Buddy.

Buddy is my question mark character. We barely interacted with her this episode. From what I can tell, most of what we saw from her seems in character, and she had some wicked fucking lines. I’m sorry, I refuse to give Dark Matters credit for the line “If you imagine all that could go wrong, all you’ve done is drag yourself through a thousand disasters. And even in the worst-case scenario, you will only need to live through one.” Because it genuinely made me feel better in real life, goddammit.

Buddy is mostly in this category for lack of evidence, both with the lack of interaction and with how Rita kind of glazed over the family meeting with her distractions. So, it’s hard to say. I’d love to hear others’ theories on Buddy’s place in this.

---

Now, we cross the threshold into those that are probably not in the simulation, or are acting incredibly suspicious: the “on thin fucking ice” category. First, Peter.

Can this bastard decide on his personality for two whole minutes so I can get a handle on the little intricacies of the new Ransom persona? No? Goddammit. It’s hard to tell how much of the way he acted was genuinely suspicious and how much of it is the mask he’s put on for Peter Ransom. While he’s adopted the old name, he hasn’t adopted his old personality, so it’s near impossible to get good points of comparison on this new view. We’ve seen inside his head with this persona, sure, but we can’t compare the way he spoke and acted in his head with how he holds himself in front of Rita--he’s always going to choose his level of vulnerability based off of the least trusted person in the room. He’s not to that place with Rita yet. He’s going to have walls and facades up that he won’t have in front of Juno, or in front of himself. He can’t make it easy on him.

But that does not mean I can’t be suspicious of him, because I am. Fuck you, Nureyev, I’m still coming for you. Mainly, I’m squinting at his reaction to Rita’s plans and his lack of reaction to her openly talking about the two of them in an established relationship. We know damn well that Peter and Juno are not at that place yet. Why, do you ask? Because I trust that Sophie and Kevin wouldn’t take that moment from us. We’ve had three and a half years of slowburn buildup on Jupeter! We would not skip from “tentatively talking and trying to learn communication through ‘’’’’’poetry’’’’’’ and shit” to “established lovey dovey relationship” without being let in on it. I doubt Peter would let comments like the ones Rita made really slide in front of Juno--after all, the last time he admitted he was in love, Juno fucking left, and I bet there’s a lot of reluctance or trauma surrounding that. Yet he let it slide anyway.

Still, because Peter is a wild card, there’s still a possibility that his non-reaction was a defense mechanism or part of the Ransom facade (after all, he had to pretend he was in better standing with Juno than he actually was at first to keep his place in the family). The most suspicious thing he did in that conversation, in my opinion, was agree not to let anyone else know about the plan. He knows damn well that he is on thin ice with everyone in the crew except for Juno and Rita. Trust is in short supply for him and keeping his position in the family is incredibly important to him, both so he can find a way to pay off his debts and so he can pursue this shaky relationship he’s started to piece back together with Juno. Yet he hops right in with barely any pushback when it comes to keeping this Incredibly Vital And Important Plan a complete secret. Plus, you know, he supposedly couldn’t even stand, yet walked all the way to the computer cave. Sure, maybe Juno carried him, but I’d fully expect something like Juno picking him up to be a joke written into the script. I feel like it was deliberately left out.

Still, the only real glimpse of Peter that Dark Matters has ever had was of Rex Glass, and Peter definitely isn’t acting like his Rex persona, so how would they really know to get his personality around the Aurinko family to where it is? I suppose that could be attributed to Rita, Vespa, and/or Buddy shaping the simulation around them.

Tl;dr on the Peter section: He’s almost definitely an NPC but nothing is certain with a man whose entire sense of self is based off of an elaborate web of lies and inconsistencies.

---

Also probably an NPC, but I’m not sure, thus on thin fucking ice: Jet.

You cannot tell me for one fucking second that Jet doesn’t know the Ruby 7 inside and out. That car is his baby. He’s torn the car apart and repaired it more than anyone else, and you’re telling me he doesn’t understand the core functions of the car--the engine, the fuel tank? No fucking way. I don’t have 3.5 paragraphs of speculation for Jet, I’m just so hung up on the fucking car thing. His personality fits well, which is the one string I’m holding onto that makes him maybe possibly an actual human being, but I feel like Dark Matters fucked up by trying to fill in the blanks on the Ruby 7. That’s where I think the issue comes from--the reason there’s a part in the Ruby that Jet doesn’t understand is because DM doesn’t know how the Ruby works, and they tried to put in what they imagined could power it or fuzz over the details. But I will cry if the Ruby was actually destroyed in the crash, there’s no recovering from that.

---

And finally, if you’ve made it this far and not left after whispering to yourself holy shit, she’s insane, she’s absolutely insane, how much does this woman talk, we have the final category: unfortunately an NPC. And holy shit, is Juno 100% not in this simulation or being almost entirely puppeted by Dark Matters.

I genuinely can’t get into all my reasoning behind Juno being a puppet here without going on forever and doubling the length of this post, and I’ve put you through so much already. But every inch of Juno is suspicious, down to his tone of voice. Look, I’m happy to see him happy. But it just seems like a jump--just like as I discussed in the Peter section with the Jupeter relationship. It feels like we skipped something, or missed something. This is my theory: Juno has been crafted based off of how Sasha Wire knew him when she saw him last. He doesn’t have reactions that are quite right to the computers, to Peter, to anyone, really. Everything felt just a little off--until he got frustrated. Then he became more realistically Juno. I think this might be because Sasha is basing a comfortable and happy Juno (the one she assumes he must be around the people on the ship, especially Peter if she knows they’re romantically involved) off of the Juno she interacted with when they were younger, which is just off in comparison to the Juno we know now. She can build a more three dimensional Juno in the situations she’s familiar with, like a bored Juno, a frustrated Juno, or an angry Juno. She’s got the one-liners down, I’ll give her that.

I’m also just in general not surprised if Sasha is just keeping him separate from the rest of them. Possibly to try and talk him out of the family, get him untangled from the Dark Matters mess? Plus, he’s incredibly perceptive, and might be considered a risk to the simulation if he was in it.

Also, the out-of-universe evidence: I am 100% convinced that the reason the episode script came out late is because it had to be edited to remove some of the directions, possibly suspicious things like “too cheery”. Specifically, I think one of Juno’s significant directions is missing. It’s hard to put exactly what kind of direction is missing into words because I don’t know anything about script writing, but I just... I have a feeling. Trust me on this. I’ve seen other people on Twitter talk about it too, I’m not the only one. I stand by it.

---

Anyway, since I want to keep my Juno-specific speculation as short as possible, that’s all, folks. If you stayed this long, genuinely I love you so much and I would give my life for you, message me or mention it in the tags that you made it all the way and maybe we could be mutuals or friends!! I love to ramble about this kind of thing. Follow me for more aimless speculation, hopefully not 2.5k words next time. If you have any questions or other stuff to discuss also mention it and I might post about it later!

Update: If you’re interested in the simulation theory, here’s the link to a post I just made laying out all my conspiracy theory evidence for it.

#holy shit i am SO SORRY this is so long #this is a lesson in being careful what you wish for #tpp #the penumbra podcast #tpp spoilers #tpp s3 #tpp s3 spoilers #s3 spoilers #tpp junoverse #simulation theory

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monchikyun · 4 years ago

Text

XX. blame

Have they really come this far? As he wanders through the endless corridor, this reality seems almost too impossible to be true, yet he feels it with the same clarity as when a glass shard split his nose in two. He tries to run at his full speed, frantically almost, all to reach his new-found soulmate who has suddenly disappeared in a whirlwind of white ash, the same one that has brought him here. But his feet are much too heavy and he uses all the energy he has just lifting them up, slowly as can be.

Everything around him is strangely blurry and unfocused, though he doesn’t even notice, for his head is too preoccupied with its efforts to lose the heat making him imagine various inappropriate scenarios reserved only for two consenting adults, of which one of the two involved parties can classify as neither, technically.

Gavin sweats, breathing growing rapid as he lugs his body towards the brilliant light that gets further away the closer he gets. It doesn’t make any sense, yet he’s only vaguely aware of this since there are more pressing issues to be dealt with. Like the overwhelming need making him push through this nonsense in the first place. He doesn’t think about what he’ll do once he finds Connor, just that his presence will most definitely help, somehow. Maybe the wrongness of it all keeps him from reaching that handsome android, the fact that they haven’t crossed those boundaries on the outside of this distorted world. If only his aching body cared about that at all, he wouldn’t end up in this mess then. Gavin stops his movement, although reluctantly, and sneaks his hand towards the place that’s causing him so much trouble. It’s something that he’s very reluctant to do, here of all places, in a state that knows no boundaries. Anything could happen. Countless variations of absurd events are waiting for him just beyond the veil of consciousness. That alone he could tolerate, survive too, if he’s lucky enough. But there’s one scenario that could very well end him.

He could wake up.

His eyelids twitch like they’re set to separate from the rest of his face, his mind returning back to the warm bed in some inexpensive motel room, and the sudden realisation comes knocking, bringing gifts of fear and anxiety. For several seconds he strives not to acknowledge any of this, but he can sense that this dream has had tragic consequences, ones which have unfortunately transferred into the waking world. Delaying the clean-up will only make matters worse, so he pries his eyes open and scans his immediate surroundings for a sign of his poor friend.

As his sight adjusts to the dim lighting, he feels brave enough to call himself partly fortunate, for the bed appears to be empty - if he doesn’t count his sinful vessel.

He runs his hands down his face, wishing he could just merge with the mattress because this might just be the most humiliating thing that he has lived through… since September, at least. If it were with any other guy he would just laugh and brush it off but when it comes to Connor, everything is just… different. He tries to be extra cautious with the one person he loves as if a single small mistake could sever their fledgling of a bond. It wouldn't, though, or at least he tries to wholeheartedly believe that their link can withstand almost all difficult circumstances and that he’s only overreacting because that’s just how his fucked-up mind works.

He slides his hands away from his damp eyes and finally dares to scope the room in search of his friend, finding out that he’s the only person there. This development should be a blessing when he takes his embarrassing accident into consideration, though it worries him more than anything else. Knowing Connor and his legion of issues, he wouldn’t be surprised if the android has gone out of his way do something stupid. Especially after their little heart-to-heart of last night. His partner didn’t look so hot back then,... though only mentally, of course. Still, he chooses to implement all of the trust he holds for the person and opts to first tackle the predicament he’s been put in.

He handles said issue with a record speed, thanks to the many years of practice he’s managed to gather. The last step is to change out of his sleeping clothes into something more appropriate, and when he finally gets to it and opens the wardrobe, he comes upon the hideous sweater that Connor threw at him a couple of days ago. He picks it up with a simulated contempt, briefly pondering whether he’ll ever be willing to put on such atrocity. To him, such a possibility is quite unlikely, though he doesn’t ever see himself discarding it. This ugly piece of garment is more valuable than anything within the endless black hole which is his closet. Maybe that’s why he can’t force himself to wear it, for fear of ruining it. Yes, that’s must be it.

Shaking his head in disbelief of his ridiculous thinking patterns, he chuckles and chucks the sweater on the now clean bed.

After he dons his jacket, the dread starts creeping in, faster than he’d prefer. He hasn’t had any clue of what he’s doing ever since he’s woken up from his strange dream this morning. Actually, it’s been like this for far longer. It seems like this December ushered in some kind of courage that has served as their willing matchmaker.

He sighs and opens the front door, immediately regretting this decision. The cold wind assails him right as he takes his first step outside, but he’s too busy warding off the onslaught of snowflakes for his head to even register it properly. Maybe he should have just called Connor instead of venturing outside like the idiot he is. A few curses form on his tongue before he sets to walk away from the building.

Something stops him in his tracks before he even has the chance to adapt to the current unfriendly environment, startling him out of his determination to brave the adjoining highway.

His brain tells him that the sound coming in through his ears is a voice most familiar, information that supplies him with instant relief.

When he turns his head towards the wall, his heart melts at the sight of a puppy-eyed android standing stiff, lips forming the slightest of smiles. He's covered from head to toe in snow since the small roof above them can't shield anyone from the unyielding blizzard.

“What the phck are you doing here.”

Gavin’s reaction is in direct dissonance with what’s going on inside of him. Frankly, he’s expected nothing less of himself. All he longs to do is to rid Connor of the unnecessary snowflake layer and warm him up. It makes him shiver just looking at the android-like ice statue. Maybe his partner can't feel cold, but Gavin, being a mere human, certainly can.

He doesn't give Connor a space to answer, tugging him inside the moment he snaps out of the initial shock of realising he won't have to go all panic mode searching for the unpredictable tin can in this raw weather.

“I thought you’d appreciate some privacy, so I went ahead and gave you space to… sort yourself out.”

Gavin feels himself combust and wishes the flames would turn him into ash. Much more preferable outcome than having to confront his subconscious bodily reactions and their inevitable effect on his bed-mate.

He squeezes his eyes shut, the last attempt to escape this uncomfortable situation or at least to postpone whatever is coming his way, ready to make him question his entire existence, he’s sure. It usually tends to go in that direction. Dealing with personal failures in a healthy manner is a skill he’s lacking, which in itself is just another of his shortcomings. His mind really does dislike him.

“Sorry for that,” he mumbles, not facing the person to whom the apology belongs. He still has trouble putting his stupid flushed mug on display for anyone to see, but maybe he’s willing to grant an exception. There are many things he wouldn’t do for Connor, but showing him his true face, no matter how compromised, doesn’t have to be one of them.

“I figured you’d be blaming yourself for it,” Connor says, not a speck of disdain in his voice. No pity or exasperation to be heard anywhere.

So he turns to stand in front of him, trying hard to pretend that this doesn’t dismay him.

“It’s a natural reaction caused by the close proximity of-”

“You don’t have to give me a presentation on how the human body works, I am very familiar with this subject.” He couldn’t help but cut him off, since the words were physically grating his skin. What a fucking joke this is. When he at long last thought that things are going to be fine, when he accepted that there’s not a better sensation than being held by a loved one, his thirsty mind had to go ahead and ruin everything. Connor won’t most likely want to sleep with him after this, a premise that stabbed him right in his aching chest.

“I just wanted to tell you that I don’t mind. It’s only that I didn’t know how you’d react so I chose to leave instead of finding out. I should be the one to feel guilty.”

“As if you don’t have enough guilt on your plate already.”

Gavin dreads that this conversation will become a sex talk, something he wouldn’t be able to bear at the moment. It’s too soon. They haven’t even had a proper kiss yet, a fact that might just be one of the reasons for his intense dream.

That doesn’t mean he plans to rush things, the pace they’ve set for themselves is surprisingly enjoyable. He’s never experienced something so cautious and yet intimate, and he doesn’t want to be the one to destroy it.

Connor looks at him with eyes that betray just how tired he is of being reminded of the thing for which he blames himself so much. Some pleasant distraction seems to be in order. He waits for him to turn around and walk further in, a perfect opening for a surprise attack.

Gavin snakes his arms around the android’s waist, successfully halting his movement. Chest pressed to his back, he senses the outside chill that is still clinging to his body. Not for much longer, though. As he places his head on Connor’s shoulder two icy hands cover his own ones, and so he can finally share the heat that has been raging inside of him this whole time. Finally a suitable outlet,... of sorts. The problem is that the longer they touch the stronger burns the fire.

After a minute or two of serving as a human heater, Connor sets himself free of his grasp and situates himself in front of him, taking his crimson cheeks in his now warmed-up hands. Gavin only just catches his tiny smile before he closes his eyes, getting himself ready for what might come next.

“Gavin,” Connor whispers, which causes his heart to beat furiously like it’s trying to intimidate him into running away from this encounter. He doesn’t listen, though, too busy melting in the heavenly inferno that rages inside.

“Go pack your things while I’ll clean the rest of the room.”

A small peck on the forehead later, he’s left standing paralysed while the android’s already gone ahead to make the beds. He fiercely tries to cool himself down, feeling the tips of his ears still scorching, skin flushed red from the fruitless expectations.

In all this discomposure of his, he forgot that today is their last day here. They have to leave and resume their day-to-day lives. But who says that they must go back their separate routes when all they really need is a caring family. He’s already invited Connor into his home, so now all they must do is to go through with it. It should scare him, the concept of giving so much of himself to another person, but no matter how much he dwells on it, the worry never appears. Perhaps the excitement has overshadowed all the bad and he can’t bring himself to think that it can still be lurking in a dark corner.

Either way, he doesn’t care, since his mind is too busy admiring the view in front of him.

He’s okay. This is okay. He’ll just smear some snow on the affected areas and his body will be fresh and ready to go. At least for a while.

#aconvinnewyear #low-temperature burn #yeah I don't know either #paring up an asexual person with a thirsty bitch is not always easy ok #enjoy and sorry #CONVIN #the tags don't work again aaaaaaaaaaa

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dradelcra · 5 years ago

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What the hell is in HJ-7???

(or possibly as close as an amateur can get)(Re-Upload)

(pt 1, because figuring fictional science is actually hard)

I apologize, this was originally colour coded for easier reading but adding the ‘keep reading tab’ only exists on the laptop and it neutralizes the lovely colours. I had highlighted important elements, chemicals and sections of the chemical’s reaction.

Nonsense below:

Now we already know that this chemical concoction is practically a thing of magic. Now whatever the heck that salt Dr. Jekyll was using is surely important because it’s state of purity is what makes or breaks the man.

Salts, in chemistry, are electrically neutral ionic compounds of oppositely charged ions. What does that mean? Opposites do attract (or in this case ying and yang it out). That probs explains why the salt ingredient is so important (lmao, cause y'know hyde (-) and jekyll (+). Anyways, we aren’t on that rn. We are on chemistry not philosophy.

There are a bunch of ‘white’ salts (irl), and since Robert (author) himself doesn’t know how the 'potion’ worked, we can assume that it’s something of some fiction monstrosity of something that actually exists. Might just be table salt.

Sorry, just had to pause this to say that, in my curse of events:

EVEN IN FICTIONS SOMETHING EITHER HAPPENS BEFORE OR AFTER MY DAY OF BIRTH. IT’S A CURSE I AM TELLING YOU!

Anyways, back to the analysis (i will be saying this often because this is being typed with my train of thought).

The thing that all salts have in common, is as I forementioned, the opposite ions (+ and -) which cancel each other,making it neutral and that it occurs in a solid state. (bookmark this because we’ll be needing her later in the text).

There are also some powders and a phial- i don’t major in chemistry, what the hell is a phial?

Ah okay, so you have the audacity to make me feel dumb by using alt names but can’t name your chemicals, huh ROBERT??

wait, phial glass? Is that how it’s spelt? I always heard the term but-

Anyways,

HJ-7 consists of phosphorus at least, being mixed with other contents, causing it to be red and pungent (Please note that phosphorus can be naturally (or as natural as it can get through heating) red.

Also (if it is red phosphorus):

This shit is not made for human consumption, no wonder Jekyll felt like he was dying.

It typically doesn’t dissolve in most liquids. It does, however, combine with halogens…

But, when we go further in text to 'colour change’, then it likely isn’t red phosphorus.

Phosphorus, also comes in a purple form (known as scarlet/violet phosphorus) but that’s derived from white phosphorus dissolved in carbon disulfide (and low-key being evaporated by the sun), but here Hyde jumps straight from a red liquid to a violet one.

That could possibly mean white phosphorus was in the red liquid, and was possibly mixed with carbon disulfide (and something to simulate the radiation of solar energy) to turn it purple. (being generous and assuming that the mixture changed because of phosphorus being the main element and not something else).

Crystals, I’m guessing refers to the salt, brightened the red mixture and caused witchy bubbly (effervescence).

Me: Proceeds to low-key cry.

I should also mention that carbon disulfide (contaminated with impurites, which is basically whatever isn’t it) gives off a foul-odur, or how you say pungent.

Bubbly or effervescence, presented in the text, is usually due to a chemical reaction producing oxygen (as far as I know).

Okay, bringing back the salt tab. I think it may be Sodium Bisulfate, one, because it’s chemical formula contains oxygen (NaHSO4), two, it is white, three, it is formed by partial neutralization of sulfuric acid by a sodium base (yes table salt can be used), and four, it is a stable and dry granular (crystal) product, thereby fitting the description of the white salt Jekyll used.

Now, why did I highlight neutralization? Because it can go wrong. (If I’m right, purity means that it’s the chemical compound of the item alone with no other additives, so say if my sodium bisulfate somehow had remains of sodium chloride during the neutralization process, then it is deemed impure).

The oxygen within the formula could possibly be released when reacting with the red phosphorus mixture, causing the effervescence, because when phosphorus reacts with oxygen it literally catches fire.

Hey, bubbles!

OH FUCK

REMEMBER THE CHEMICAL CHANGE I SPOKE OF EARLIER THAT NEEDED RADIATION.

GUESS WHAT ALSO RADIATES HEAT!!!!

FIREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

and being supposedly compressed in a small phial (because who needs lab safety), small, whatever consistency this thing is right now, slosh would heat up rather quickly. Dare I say, very hot.

Okay, turns out Dr. Jekyll likely used a Bunsen burner instead of relying on chemical reactions to explode heat the elements. Good to know, wish Lanyon mentioned that. Forget what I said about the fire.

Please note: Phosphorus glows this colour (green).

Another addition: How do we combine the Phosphorus, remember that I said it dissolves in?

That’s right, Halogens.

And you know what’s a halogen? Bromine.

WHAT COLOUR IS BROMINE?????

FUCKING

RED

(blood-red even)

But, now we have a problem.

I don’t entirely know how everything reacts with everything but I do know this: white phosphorus+bromine makes phosphorus bromide…

and that’s clear…as in clear in colour.

At least it fumes that fits a description.

I should also mention that Phosphorus reacts a bit…explosively…with it’s solvents and sadly, it does not fit the description of Jekyll’s calm and cool sliquid (solid-liquid) creation.

Unless, boil and smoke meant, sort of blew up lab, but I survived and it’s okay.

And also, it turns out that sodium bisulfate removes halogens…yeah, our phosphorus dissolvent.

DAMNIT, IT’S FALLING APART!

So close…why couldn’t the real life chemicals react similar to the fictional unnamed chemicals??

Sadly, i’m not a quitter.

Bruh

It explodes with everythinnnnggggg!!!!

Now I know how Dr. Jekyll felt…

Alright,

slight good news.

if Jekyll somehow is able to slowly add bromine to phosphorus bromide (which violently reacted before) in an environment of 0°C followed by a slow addition of water then it shouldn’t explode and becomes phosphoryl bromide.

This is pale orange and reacts with carbon disulfide, but we aren’t doing that yet.

Slapping more water on it’s liquid form turns it into Phosphoric acid and hydrobromic acid.

Now, you may be asking…

You just wasted my time, why didn’t you just start with Phosphoric acid???

Well to be fair…it hadn’t occured to me and-

“Phosphorus is an essential part of life. When combined with oxygen to make phosphates, it holds our DNA together, makes our bones strong and carries out fundamental chemical reactions within our cells” - The Guardian

So logically…I started with it.

Alright, so Phosphorus is therefore very important in doing it’s Hyde thing.

We have (white phosphorus + bromine; assuming, pre-made outside with proper fire safety) Phosphoric acid + carbon disulfide* + ???? (red liquid) + sodium bisulfate (our salt) + heat= ????.

*I’m taking out carbon disulfide because our Phosphorus is now Phosphoric acid and we don’t need it. It will also kill if they are combined.

-End of Day 1-

Status: Failed

(What do you guys think will work? I’ll wait a bit before starting Day 2 to hear your responses).

(I’m thinking Phosphoric acid and Potassium Hydroxide since it has both phosphorus and becomes a red liquid. We can also bring back carbon disulfide if we do).

#the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #dr jekyll and mr hyde #HJ7 #theory #HJ& analysis #science fiction #gothic literature #lil talks #lil texts

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jadestrange · 3 years ago

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Death.. it’s not what you think

I don’t know why but ever since I was a child I was soulfully drawn to a character in a drama series I’m to embarrassed to mention the name - She said somehow she’d always known she would die young and indeed she did.

Ever since I’ve never really managed to let it go. I contemplated death from an incredibly young age and I’ve never really known why. No one close to me had even ever died when I was a child, yet death and the concept of the non-existence was constantly on my mind.

I recall for some reason I always thought about it every time we would drive through this one curve of the road near my grandparents home that would trigger it. Every time they drove past it on the way to drop me off at home I would immediately imagine non-existence, something I possibly couldn’t grasp. For some reason “nothingness” terrified me.

Death seems to be motif throughout my life, but to an abnormal degree. Ever since I could cognitively dream, I had only and ONLY had lucid nightmares. I was aware. But never fully in control. If I screamed, my voice disappeared. If ran I’d move in slow motion. If I covered my eyes from gore or horror my hands and eyelids would turn transparent. I think about the age of 5/6 I finally managed to gain enough control to do one thing and one thing alone…Kill myself

It was the only escape. The simulated pain of death within a dream was much more bearable than the nightmares themselves - even though I experienced genuine pain while doing it sometimes.

One time in particular there was nothing to kill myself with. No tall building. No bridge. No water. No knife. Nothing…

but a wall

So I ran

over

and over

smashing my face into my wall - until I woke up.

I felt it all

In fact recently I had a similar lucid nightmare.

The problem with lucid dreams is that the deeper you go the more real and tactical they feel... and the more you feel.

I often recall ever tactical piece of physical items in my dreams, analyzing them with my hands and fingertips in awe, amazement and sometimes fear at how real they felt. There was no physical telling in the difference between the dream and reality itself. Only the conscious tells whether it is or isn’t a dream - normally due to the absurdity of their nature.

In this Dream people or things were chasing me. Fear pure fear. I don’t know why. But all I knew was that THAT emotional pain was so unbearable that the risk of the pain of jumping headfirst off a bridge was worth it. I took a moment, feeling the scratchy grit of the cold metal poles of the bridge railings inside my sweaty palms. ‘This felt real’ I knew it. ‘But I had to’, it was the only way to escape. I was no longer in the lucid state of being able to control my environment only myself. I had to fight every instinct any real person would jumping head first into the low ground, the only difference was that little shred of hope - that maybe - just maybe I would wake up from the impact before I could feel anything.

I wonder if that’s what people who jump off buildings think as they’re falling down and there’s no turning back - that maybe - just maybe - they’ll die before they feel any true pain.

I paused writing this. A sudden chilly reminder came over me of a boy who momentary lost his sanity and indeed jumped head first down the stairs and indeed died. My friend saw it... I just felt a memory of a dream doing the same thing. That was weird.. I’m moving on

So right death. Another theme I carry is the need to resolve things with everyone and anyone I have encouraged to the point that it is either annoying or maddening for other people.

I guess I felt and still feel like I’m in a perpetual awareness of my death possibly arriving on tomorrows door.

Or perhaps I just want to feel lighter, because everything else, all the hidden things were too heavy to carry on their own. Like a camel’s back I could handle no straw - or more yet not even a feather.

I guess that makes me rather pathetic in other people’s eyes. But perhaps those are normally the eyes of someone who has not felt that weight.

I’m aware that a kg/ton of feathers is the same as a kg/ton of straws ( a metaphor for different the forms of pain if you didn’t catch that) - but how strong are the camel’s legs? How wounded are they? How well nourished were they since they were born? Are they loved or lashed?

Perhaps the weight may seem the same to outsiders eyes however - how it feels internally cannot be seen but merely felt by those who themselves have experienced it or at least something very similar.

I think I have a very confusing and troubling relationship with Death. On one side it always made me aware of the appreciation of my existence (the physical world, emotions, senes, conceptualization)

But on the other side it always came with an impending sense of constant pressure to fulfill my deeds and “pay my debt” in some sense. perhaps that’s not the right way to say it. More like “do the best I can” you know? Leave your mark on the world, give something back, make a positive impact as your farewell.

Which could either be unrealistic or perhaps it is just my assumption how grander that impact has to be. Something big. Something that says “The carbon footprint left by this one was worth it” haha.

Is that silly? Is that normal? Do other people feel this way or is everyone right about me? That I put too much pressure on myself.

Which too within itself seems to be a contradiction since society itself, friends, family, work, reputation, sustainability all requires pressure.

Some say I over think. While I think others under think.

Which is funny - considering I once had a lectuer tell me I was under thinking a script concept when in reality he was under thinking and unwilling to assume it had any more nuances or complexities that was an incredibly difficult topic to tackle.

It’s funny how sometimes you can seem stupid when you try explain something complex because the jargon and general context / information you’ve build up over time seems so obvious to you. Without that context your explanations can become muddled - since they would require a lot of time to give the context.

Quantum Physics for example. I remember trying to explain the concept to my friends in high school. It seemed… crazy - ridiculous - stupid - pseudo. In a strange retaliation my ex BFF went to the science teacher and queued it to come back to our group to tell me I was wrong (after we all agreed to have dropped it by the way).

I of course responded “Yes because a person who’s literally only studied a high school’s equivalent of physics would have the knowledge of a field way beyond her years and degree”

Eh.. School. Not so much friends. More just the people you settle for. Looking back all my relationships were pretty toxic - aside from one. I wrongfully teased my one friend for having hairy legs once and I still feel really bad about it today, in fact I messaged her a few years ago about it saying sorry.

But what the rest did to me… was.. ah.. definitely not on the same scale. I was betrayed a lot.

I got use to betrayal from a young age. Families seem to think it’s funny to undermine things that are important to children. It’s like they seek joy from it, I think they think it’s fun for the kids but it’s not.

Having your secrets shared between your family and laughed at as a child is.. betrayal. Being neglected, left in unsafe or unhealthy hands, unjustifiably disciplined … physically disciplined - are all betrayals.

I got accustomed to it. Silence was the way. Never tell anyone anything. People don’t help you anyway. In fact they often use it against you. Or worse undermine your pain.

It was strange.. I was clearly bullied. Yet I was the one who got sent to a shitty - oh lets just distract you for a bit but not really do anything- school councilor.

Death… mm. death death death. I understand the contemplation at around the time I started school, but why when I was like little little? Why have I always been crushed so easily?

Why was I always a target?

Did I want pity? no.. maybe sometimes (not that THAT ever worked - but no mostly it is was genuine emotion and debilitating pain. Crying. Freezing. Hyper-ventilating.

I wonder if I did it to myself. Had I done something so outright bizarre that deemed my the school target? What it cause I was a year younger? Was the shame of teachers shouting at me due to my ADD in front of my class.

Or was I just Overly Empathetic? I remember my first day of school…. the teacher shouted at a girl next to me and I started crying - she in turned shouted at me for crying.

Despite being broke now I did have money as a kid. Not like the rich kids of the school but, I had lunch money. Maybe that was it. I shared it too often maybe?

Was I too honest? Too weird? Too much of a push over? It was everything I had every been taught to my by mother’s side of the family. The family I mostly grew up in.

It’s quite sad. My mom could write a way better book full of funny characters and bizarre relatives like a movie - all the drama - the comedy. She started writing - it was good too. But she was too tired from work and stopped.

I think it’s sad because my stories aren’t funny.. just sad. Maybe with some beautiful moments (although the best ones would be indescribable). I think hers would have been better. A story a woman overcoming a broken abusive family and poverty who worked her way to the top of owning her own company.

Inspiring.

While mine just feels like a bummer… maybe that’s just because it isn’t finished yet.

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