#edit: i have been informed that this is ultra magnus

[too-cool-for-facebook]

[🔊] Behold, the crap I send to my sister

[cybertron-after-dark]

More questionable tfa headcanons

-Bumblebee and Bulkhead do impressions of Optimus behind his back. Bulkhead actually feels kinda bad about it but that does not stop him. Prowl is not immune to joining in. OP still hasn't caught them.

-Optimus really wants to adopt a dog once he's positive he could adequately take care of one. He loves the idea of keeping a big grey one and naming him Silverbolt, after Silverbolt Major from the great war. It just feels right.

-Starscream will never admit to listening to the dumb sound patterns humans call music, but in private he's a swiftie, and he WILL sing shake it off if nobody's watching.

-Lugnut bakes in his off time, and he keeps trying to spoil Megatron with little treats, as his grand and glorious master deserves little gifts and tributes whenever Lugnut can give them. Sadly, Megatron doesn't actually have much of a sweet tooth so most of Lugnut's edible gifts get passed off to someone else.

-you know that bit in the Allspark almanac where Lugnut is bitching about earth sports and the Tigatron stadium? He has such strong feelings because Blitzwing loves that shit and keeps trying to rope Lugnut into playing. For Blitzwing, it reminds him of his gladiator days, it's a way to have fun and reminisce without killing someone. For Lugnut, it can't compare, it's kinda just a watered down, wussified version of real gladiatorial combat.

-upon discovering ytps, both bumblebee and bulkhead trained their voice synthesizers to be able to mimic the edited sounds. Sometimes they'll use it in the middle of a fight as a sort of secret code so the cons can't pick up on what they're planning to counter it. Optimus has mixed feelings. He doesn't understand what the hell they're saying like 90% of the time, and he recognizes this isn't proper military strategy, but he can't argue with the results. At least they're sort of taking the fights seriously?

-Blitzwing and Blackarachnia fucking hate each other but Megatron frowns upon infighting, so instead of constant violence, they've sort of settled on an escalating cold war of inconveniences and irritants. Neither of them can throw a punch, or set anything up that would result in actual injury, but immobilizing via ice or webs is fine, provided it doesn't affect tactical matters. Blitzwing constantly freezes the locks on BA's door, BA spikes Blitzwing's energon with cyber venom, pretty much anything that could qualify as day ruining. The worst was when Blitzwing covered BA with electronic paint and turned her into a walking rainbow all day.

-prowl wants to volunteer at animal shelters but he's a bit too big to fit in most of the buildings

-both shockwave and starscream are horrible liars but Megatron is terrible at picking up when someone's lying, so starscream's scheming went unnoticed for years and shockwave was sent in as a spy with full confidence that he wouldn't blow his cover.

-ratchet and optimus have been teaching Sari bits of cybertronian. Optimus teaches her the more formal aspects of the language, given there's a high chance she'll be interacting with Ultra Magnus, the guilds domesticus, and other high ranking autobots that warrant a more formal address. Ratchet (Mr "don't call me sir, I work for a living") teaches her more day to day, informal cybertronian. And swears. He teaches her pretty much all the swears.

-when Sari moved in, Optimus learned to cook so she wouldn't have to live off fast food from the burger bot. Which was hell for the big guy because why in primus's name is human fuel so complicated? He used to think sugar was pretty much an energon equivalent, cut and dry. He was wrong. He was so wrong. OP usually has Sari help him out because he cant exactly taste it to make sure it's, you know, actually edible.

-Prowl loves animals and the natural parts of earth with all his spark, but man are some parts of it brutal. When he learned what a parasitoid wasp was he couldn't sleep for days.

-bulkhead actually wants to go to a human art college once the war's over. Maybe not full time but he definitely wants to pick up some classes and learn what he can. Once he gets good enough, he wants to bring that knowledge back to Cybertron and see what other bots do with it.

-Optimus has a collection of skeezy romance novels. The equivalent on Cybertron is kind of an obscure rarity, only really sold in the seediest of places, so he couldn't really believe how easy it was to find smut like that on Earth. The intrinsic human fleshiness of the book characters always weirds him out just a bit, but not enough to ruin it for him. It's not really the pornographic aspect he's interested in, after all, it's the romantic aspect. He keeps his digital stash double encrypted in his datatrax, because he knows if anyone found it (cough cough bumblebee cough) he'd never hear the end of it.

-giving Blitzwing internet access was a mistake. Now he knows what memes are and random has been making that every other decepticon's problem since he found out. Megatron has to constantly guess whether what would normally be a standard Blitzwing non sequitur is actually a setup for Megatron to get laughed at by the entire human internet. He's fallen for updog, he's fallen for Ligma, he will NOT be caught slipping again.

-while he was undercover, once a week, shockwave would call Megatron and complain over a few barrels of oil about what kind of stupid slag his pompous idiot crankshaft coworkers would pull. One of the few autobot names Megatron could remember was Sentinel Prime, solely from the long list of transgressions Shockwave has drunkenly recounted.

-Soundwave hates most humans but he's decided that a few specific bands whose music he likes will be spared when the revolution comes, inferior as they may be.

-Prowl sends jazz earth music sometimes. It's pretty much blown Jazz's mind because most of the music on Cybertron is propaganda songs. He's not really used to songs about things other than war heroes, or even songs with no words at all. Just music for its own sake.

-Sentinel Prime's only friend is Cliffjumper and Cliffjumper only hangs out with him for brown nosing sycophantic reasons, not because he actually likes the guy.

-Ultra Magnus knows he's a corrupt bastard. He doesn't lose sleep over it, as long as his public image is good.

[skelswritingcorner]

A Question, A Scar-Covered Body, A Sister?

Part 2 of A Stranger, A Vessel, An Experiment! Read the first part here.

Synopsis: After the incident on the Lost Light, First Aid brings Ailith (canon name of reader characters) to her original destination of the clinic.. However, there was a gift waiting for her when they arrived. Angst galore.

She/Her pronouns are now used when referring to the reader character.

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: SFW, Mentions of blood, mentioned kidnapping, mentions of unethical experimentation, probably some other stuff

(Edit: I forgot to turn some layers back on when I originally saved the image oop- It's fixed now)

Before the story…

It was a broadcast from Earth, of an interview with a black-haired woman. “Miss Makayla MacArthur,” the interviewer asked, “what motivated you to join the Intergalactic Negotiations Program?”

Makayla sighed, “Twenty something years ago, my twin got abducted. They were alien creatures, and they took her. I strongly believe that she’s still alive out there. This is the best opportunity I have to find her.”

The interviewer’s face softened, “I’m sorry that happened to you, Makayla. What will you do when you find her?”

“It depends. Will we realize that we’re sisters when we meet? I’ll try to bring her back to Earth, even if it’s for a brief moment. She doesn’t know about our niece! A family reunion would be in order. We’ll have so much to catch up on.” She put her hands in a steeple.

“Do you have something you plan on giving her?”

“Well…” Makayla sighed, “I plan on giving her a box and a letter. I won’t refer to her by name though.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, it’s been twenty years! I don’t think my sister remembers it, so I don’t want to call her something she won’t recognize.”

The interviewer leaned forward, “What else will be in the box?”

Makayla started counting on her fingers, “A few photos, and clothes. We’re identical twins, so what fits me is probably gonna fit her.”

The interview went on for another twenty minutes, and eventually concluded. The blue-visored Cybertronian finished recording the interview. He had a feeling that this could be relevant.

✩✩✩

“So,” Ultra Magnus looked at Rodimus, “the small object was in fact, a ship. Is that correct?”

Rodimus nodded, “And it had a human inside it, who is currently in the medbay recovering from her injuries.”

“Along with that,” he scrolled through the datapad, “there were documents about experiments, most likely performed on her. Ratchet did a scan that confirmed this as well, along with other various injuries.”

Rodimus gave the datapad to Magnus, who looked at the report. He tilted his helm. “What’s with this thing slightly above the pelvis?” He pointed a digit at a white shape around the pelvic area, overlapped by a crescent-shaped trauma area.

“Beats me. I’m pretty confident that it’s deep inside her.” Rodimus shrugged.

“Maybe there’s another document we haven’t gotten yet explaining it. Hidden in a more obscure place.”

“That’s probably the case. Anyway,” Rodimus stood up, “I’m gonna go ask Ratchet about Y/N’s condition. If Megatron is confused, explain the situation if he hasn’t gotten one yet. Also, inform the others on Cybertron.” He didn’t wait for an answer, simply leaving the office and walking to the medbay.

The doors to the medbay opened, and Rodimus saw a familiar gray figure.

“Megatron?!”

✩✩✩

When you woke up, the helms of several people were looking down at you. One you recognized as Perceptor, another being Drift, but there were a few unfamiliar faces. One had an orange face with yellow eyes with a mask covering his mouth, another that was white and purple and had horns coming from their forehead, a blue one with a single yellow optic, and a gray one with red optics.

“So this is the human you all have been speaking of?” The gray one asked.

“How in Primus are they so small?!” The blue one asked. Loudly. Making you get up and give them a stink eye, even if it caused you a bit of pain.

A chuckle to your left distracts you, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to crowd around someone that’s injured.”

The blue one rolled his eye, “Whatever you say, eyebrows.”

The doors opened, and someone entered the medbay.

“Megatron?!” Rodimus yelled.

Oh. You know that name. Other mercenaries have warned you about a giant robot with that name. If you caught his eye, you were doomed. After all, the group he led destroyed the homelands of several mercenaries you knew.

“Perceptor explained everything to me,” Megatron said, “I just had to see for myself. Humans usually aren’t present in this solar system.”

“Well,” you cracked your knuckles, “I haven’t seen any humans other than myself during my travels. Also, most of the people who hire me don’t know either. I like to keep my identity… well-hidden from the masses. I barely know who I am anyway, so it’s easy to do that.”

“You don’t even know yourself?” Ah, the purple one is speaking now.

“It’s hyperbole, but technically true,” you rolled up the sleeve of your left arm, “I don’t know my family, my ancestry, or any way to return to my birth planet. All I know is that I was experimented on to be sold as a smuggler. That, and the skills I acquired after years of being a mercenary.”

The purple one put a clawed servo on his chin. “Tailgate told me as such.”

Rodimus walked up to you. “How did you even end up like that, anyway? The injuries, not the… subspace thingies.”

You sighed. Might as well explain it now. “It was when I was doing a job,” you explained, “I got myself hurt pretty badly, but my client didn’t get a scratch. They tried to have me go to a clinic nearby after the job was done, but I told them that I’d be alright.”

“Why did you do that, though?” Drift’s optical ridge furrowed, “Your client knew you got hurt, why didn’t you heed their advice?”

“The moment I receive my payments in full, the contract ends. They are no longer my client, and therefore no longer obligated to show concern about my wellbeing.” you growled out the last part.

“You should’ve listened to them, though.” You sighed at that comment.

“As I said earlier, I was experimented on,” you justified yourself, “if I went to another clinic, they’d essentially keep me captive and do a bunch of tests on me. That, and I don’t know if any of them are connected to the experiments and will try to bring me back to that wretched place. And I’d rather not have to deal with them again.”

“Why do you go to one specific clinic, then?” The purple one asked.

“Cyclonus, I think that might be too-” you cut off Drift from saying anything more.

“It’s because the sister of the mercenary who took me in works there. The people there were the first to treat me with empathy, despite me being so difficult to them the first time. All the other clinics I’ve been to, they’ve been too scared of me and think I’ll mangle them.”

They’re all looking at you.

The blue one laughed, “You, scary? You’re not scary at all!”

“I think that’s when she’s wearing her mask and cloak, Whirl.” Drift said. You nodded, confirming his guess.

“Anyway,” Rodimus ordered, “let’s give the human some privacy. Perceptor, Brainstorm, you both plan on asking her about the documents that have been translated, right?”

“Correct.”

“I’ll leave you two to it then.” Rodimus left the medbay, followed by most of the others. Perceptor and the one with the yellow eyes stayed. That must be Brainstorm.

Perceptor took out a datapad, looking over at some data. “I’ve looked through all of the documents, along with Ratchet’s scans of you. I’d like you to confirm some things.”

“Go ahead.” You gestured.

“According to these documents, you’re from Earth. Do you have any memories of that planet?”

You shook your head. No shit you didn’t remember anything, you were a year old! “Some species don’t have memories until they’re a few years old. I was taken at roughly eighteen months old, way too young to form memories.”

“That’s strange. We Cybertronians remember everything from when we were first created, excluding amnesia.”

Perceptor wrote something on the datapad before asking another question, “Were your eyes originally golden?”

“Nope. I’ve read those documents multiple times, my eyes were originally brown.”

“Isn’t gold also the color of the subspace openings on your body?”

Well, damn. “Yes? It was also the case for the other experiments.”

“Now, a third question. Do you know what this thing is?” Perceptor pointed to the intrusion shown on the datapad.

Right. That. The documents explaining it are in the subspace on your left arm as far as you recall. As it was inside your uterus, however, it’s something very few know about. And you’d rather not explain to a bunch of mechanical beings something you only know the basics of.

“I think that’s none of your business, Perceptor.” you crossed your arms. They likely don’t have ultrasounds on the Lost Light anyway, so it’ll be hard for them to find out.

The mech grumbled. “You’re making this difficult for yourself, Y/N.”

“Explain why you want to know what it is so bad then.” You stared directly into his optics, “Because it’s pretty fuckin personal. And don’t just say ‘I need to know for scientific reasons’ either. You better have a good justification.”

“Because it might be a dangerous object that could kill you, and may need to be removed.” Perceptor justified.

You scoffed. Based on the documents you stole, it just prevents fertility and menstruation until removed. Prevents uterine lining from building up. All the uterus-having subjects (or an organ with similar functions), including yourself, had it implanted once puberty was entered. So far, there’s been no complications.

“I’ve had it for twelve years and it hasn’t killed me yet.”

“How has it not-”

Laughter. You and Perceptor looked at the source: Brainstorm laughing his ass off.

He composed himself, “Sorry, sorry. It’s just the way you two are bickering. I’m confident that the object is medical in nature. It’s meant to prevent pregnancies, correct?”

Right on the money. “Surprised to hear you figured it out without cutting me open to check, but you are indeed correct.” you put your hands on your hips.

“So I am right!” Brainstorm smiled with his eyes. “Also, can you show us how the subspace works? Are you able to pull something out?”

Say no more. You put a hand in the subspace on your left arm, pulling out a mechanical object. Something you won after a bet.

“That’s… an optic. An actual optic. How did you get this?” Perceptor asked.

“I got it after winning a bet.” you replied.

“What kind of bet would lead you to owning a Cybertronian optic?”

“Drinking contest. I don’t know why they even placed the bet in the first place, it’s common knowledge that no matter how much I drink I physically can’t get drunk. I’ve tried several times.”

Brainstorm chuckled, “If you could even consume highgrade, Swerve would love you as a customer. It would be a good experiment if you could.”

“That would be one of the few experiments I’d consent to,” you chuckled, “once my injuries have finished recovering, that is.”

Oh. You just remembered. “I just realized that I should probably go to that clinic. I lost a good amount of blood, I might need a blood transfusion.” you grimaced.

“That makes sense. I believe Ratchet and First Aid were communicating with someone at the clinic you mentioned. You had the coordinates set on your ship’s navigator, correct?” You nodded at Perceptor’s question.

“It’s possible that holoforms may need to be used to get you there,” he commented, “I don’t know how large the facility is.”

“It’s pretty big, actually.” you replied, “I’m probably their smallest regular patient, which makes some things a bit difficult to do. Most rooms are about four times my height. I’m sure at least one of y’all can fit without feeling cramped.”

Well, at least the smaller ones. Probably First Aid.

“I’ll inform Ratchet, then.” Perceptor nodded, then left the medbay. Brainstorm quickly followed.

You’re gonna need a plan. Your main grappling hook was taken from you while you were asleep, and those two likely have it. You have spares, yes, but you’d rather have all of them in case one breaks. You also need to find where your ship is, as most of your supplies are still inside along with your spare clothes. What you’re wearing right now is bloody, and you’d like to wear something that is not covered in your own blood. The magnet boots should help when dealing with the Cybertronians and navigating the vessel.

Along with that, you need to figure out how to deal with them if any try to kill you. The blasters in the subspaces should work at least a little, but do you have any weapons that can give you an advantage? You have cable cutters, but that will only work if their cables are exposed. Can any of your blades cut through their armor? If you’re able to, you might need to see if any weapon dealers around these parts have anything that can give you the ability to fight them. Trying to sneak away for long enough to get them is another story entirely, though.

The door opened. Ratchet and First Aid walked in, with First Aid beelining to you. “We established a connection to the clinic!” he exclaimed, “When we told them about you and your injuries, they told us to bring you there as soon as we can. Also, apparently there’s something for you there? They said it’s best if they tell you about it when you arrive.”

“As long as you can get me to my ship so I can change out of these blood-covered clothes.” you said. It’s likely the best way for you to figure out where your ship went if they can bring you to it.

“The ship’s probably with Nautica, she wanted to check it out. I’ll escort you there.” First Aid picked you up with a delicate grip, likely to prevent accidentally hurting you. Given the strange condition of your body, however, you’re probably gonna end up dislocating a joint before he harms you.

Entering the room, you saw a purple and yellow Cybertronian. Most likely Nautica.

“Hey there! That must be the owner of this ship, right?” She reached a servo to you, “I’m Nautica. Nice to finally meet you!”

You couldn’t do a proper handshake with Nautica, so you just held her pointer finger and shook it.

“I’d like to enter my ship to get something. Is that alright with you?” you asked.

“Of course! I made sure to clean the blood where I could. Had to use my holoform to do that, though. Here, I’ll carry you to it.” she picked you up gently, transferring you to the entrance of your ship.

“Thank yo- ack!” you stumbled, quickly being caught by Nautica.

“Be careful!” she exclaimed.

First Aid grabbed you. You didn’t know how he got up to where you were so quickly, but before you knew it he was holding you up. “I’ll help Y/N. It’s probably a bad idea to let her be alone for a long period of time with her blood loss anyway.”

Oh, this might get uncomfortable fast. You were fine with First Aid seeing you all battered up and bloody, but the concept of him watching as you got changed made your stomach flip. And you’d rather not show your tits and bits to someone you’ve only known for a single solar cycle.

Before you could protest, though, he carried you to your ship. While he did put you down on your feet, he waited a bit before letting go. He even followed you to your quarters, where you hastily grabbed a crop top and a pair of pants. You’d grab a jacket after changing. When he tried to follow you into the bathroom, you put a hand over his chassis. “You’re not going in here. I don’t know how y’all view nudity, but for us we usually don’t do that around people we’ve only met for a day.”

“Oh!” First Aid backed up, “Sorry about that. Nurse instincts, I guess.”

You walked in, closing the door behind you. There’s no windows in the bathroom, so he couldn’t peek even if he tried. You knew he had innocent intentions, nothing perverted or anything, but you needed some time to yourself.

Quickly removing your blood-stained clothes, you ran some water and used a cloth to clean some dried blood off your body. After cleaning what you could, you put on the clean clothes. You’d usually not wear a crop top, but at this point you didn’t care. You had a jacket anyway.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, holding a hand over the stitches. Despite Ratchet being significantly bigger, the stitches were done expertly. You looked at all your old scars, and at the subspace entrances on your body. Never were a fan of looking at ‘em, it always reminded you of the fact that you’ve been mutilated. Not enough to be unrecognizable as a living being, but enough that people would stare if they knew. It’s why you covered yourself entirely. Strangers have no right to know what’s going on with your body after all, why should they look at it? Of course, you couldn’t do that with the ones on this vessel; they all know. Might as well not hide it.

Walking out the bathroom, First Aid was just standing there. At least he didn’t try anything, that was reassuring. You went back to where your jacket was, back turned to him.

“What’s that purple and blue thing on your back?” he asked. An innocent question.

Shit.

You always knew that you bruised easily, most likely a consequence of a condition you have but don’t know the actual name of, but you didn’t expect that the fall from yesterday would bruise you.

“It’s a bruise. I don’t know why, but it’s pretty easy for me to get bruised. It’s an organic thing, it takes a few days to heal. Don’t worry though, as long as I’m careful it won’t hurt.” you explained, putting on your jacket. “I’m ready now, let’s go to the clinic.”

First Aid picked you up, being mindful of your back. Nautica helped the both of you down, but not without making a comment about the fact that he was holding you.

“That worried? You’re holding her like she’s made of glass.” Nautica commented.

“Y/N’s still my patient, and is still recovering!” he countered, “Also, humans are way more fragile than Cybertronians! It makes sense to be careful!”

Oh, if he knew about how roughly you’ve been tossed around in fights. Or how roughly you’re often treated in general. In fact, being treated so softly was unfamiliar to you, but a welcome unfamiliarity. How they’re gonna freak out if they pop a limb out its socket if that happens will be priceless when it happens.

The both of you walked, well, technically just First Aid since he was carrying you, to a smaller ship docked in the vessel.

Why is Rodimus there?

“Hey, Captain!” First Aid greeted the orange mech, who was waiting by the smaller vessel.

“Yo! I wanted to get here before you two left. How’s Y/N’s condition?”

“The usual. I did experience some blood loss, so I might be at the clinic for a solar cycle or two. That, and I’d like this injury to be documented with them.” you replied.

“Also, there’s a nasty blue and purple spot on her back that she says is fine but I’m not sure if it is.” First Aid added. If you could, you would’ve covered his mouth. You couldn’t though, so you gave him a stink eye. Fucking snitch.

Rodimus took a bit to reply, “Oh. I’m neither a medic nor an expert on humans, so I’m not going to try reassuring you.”

“Aaaaanyway,” Rodimus started walking away, “Mags needs me for a meeting since Y/N is probably going to have not much choice in staying on the Lost Light with those injuries. Something something ‘We need to inform the officials on Cybertron about the organic on the ship.’ See you two later!”

You looked up at First Aid, “Who’s Mags?”

“Ultra Magnus. He was the one who noticed your ship and the blood coming out of it, surprisingly. Best not to call him Mags though, something about shortening a senior officer’s name being an offense.”

You understood that. A lot of people in important positions don’t like having nicknames, likely because it makes them appear less threatening if they accept a nickname. It’s something you’ve weaponized when doing non-bodyguard work, but the people here don’t need to know that.

When you and First Aid entered the ship, the coordinates were already set. First Aid placed you near the navigator, making sure that you wouldn’t fall.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Luckily, the ride was rather smooth and quiet. Neither of you said anything until the vessel docked.

“We’re here, I’ll carry you to the entrance.” First Aid picked you up, and carried you there.

✩✩✩

“Welcome! What’s the purpose of your- Y/N?!” the receptionist jumped up from her seat, walking up to the both of you.

“What happened? Why are you being held by a Cybertronian?!”

“Y/N was injured badly, a spike impaled her, a cut on her back, and what I think is a bullet hole in her right cadulen.” First Aid explained. “We didn’t know that her ship was the one sending an emergency signal at first. We patched her up as best we could, but she mentioned needing a blood transfusion since she lost a good amount of blood.”

The explanation eased the receptionist. “That’s good. I’m glad that she’s alright. I’ll inform the doctors right away.”

Using her communicator, she informed the doctors on call. After a minute, an all familiar face walked up.

She was a being with four yellow eyes and light red skin, with tendrils coming from her skull neatly tied behind her. Relatively human, but still noticeably not. This is the one person who you consider family right now; Doctor Daule. You call her Aunt Daule, however.

One set of arms held a datapad, with the other set crossed in front of her. She had to look up to see you.

“Eirii told me. Are you able to walk?” she asked.

“Oh! Sorry,” First Aid set you down, making sure that you could stand before letting you go, “She stumbled some time ago, so I thought it was best if I carried her. I’m also a little uneasy about transferring my patient.”

“Don’t worry,” Daule smiled, “I’ve known Y/N for years. You can trust her with me. Besides, a group of humans just came by last solar cycle. I took a DNA sample from one that looks a lot like her, and she gave me something to give to Y/N.”

Wait, someone that looks a lot like you? You’ll have to ask later. Aunt Daule supported you with her right arms. “You’re also a medical professional, correct? You can come with me, I have some questions for you.”

First Aid followed the both of you. Aunt Daule walked you into a room where the IV was just finished being prepared, setting you down on the bed. As a nurse prepared your arm for the IV, you asked a few questions.

“You said someone that looked like me was here, right? Do you know their name?” you asked.

“She said her name’s Makayla.” Daule answered.

“Is she still here?”

Daule shook her head, “No, she left the same day she came. Makes sense though, she had to bring her injured colleague to us. She wanted to stay in case you came by, but her Captain needed her somewhere else.”

Oh. Guess reuniting with family needs to wait.

“You mentioned getting her DNA, is there a match? Do you need another saliva sample? I haven’t eaten anything in the past solar cycle, so I should be fine on that.”

“It matched pretty quickly, said there was almost no genetic deviations between either of you too. Anyway,” she walked over to pat you on the head, “I’m going to talk with him for a bit,” she gestured to First Aid, “the nurses will check you out. I’ll be back soon.”

They both left, leaving you with the whir of machines and the feeling of lightheadedness slowly leaving your body as the blood dripped into you.

✩✩✩

The two walked into an office. Daule sat down in the chair. “We should introduce ourselves. I’m Dr. Daule, I mostly take care of the smaller species at this facility. I was also Y/N’s caretaker for some time.”

First Aid nodded, “I’m First Aid. Currently stationed on the Lost Light as the Chief Medical Officer-in-training.”

“You’re a medic, that’s good. That means some of these concepts should be somewhat familiar to you. But first,” she put her top hands in a steeple, “how did you end up finding her? From my knowledge, Cybertronians are not only rare around these parts, but also one of the largest species in the universe.”

“We noticed an emergency signal coming from a vessel, and one of the people captured what turned out to be her ship and put it somewhere. Eventually, the second in command noticed that the entrance was open and that there was a blood trail leading out. I was with the CMO preparing the medbay. We were able to take care of her, but as I’m not that familiar with organic biology, I had a feeling that it would be best to bring her to people who can actually treat her.” First Aid answered.

“I’m glad that you found her and did all you could. In fact, I think it might be best if she stays with you until she’s fully healed.”

The mech stalled, “Why do you say that? It’s likely best if she stays here, right?”

“Well,” Dr. Daule grimaced, “there’s been a recent incident that’s making our clinic a little bit packed. Y/N doesn’t need to be here for too long, probably just a cycle or two then have her return to get the stitches out in fourteen cycles. Besides, she needs to socialize more.”

“Oh! That makes sense. Just give me the care instructions, I’ll inform everyone once I get back on the ship. It’s best if we all know so we can prevent Y/N from being reckless.” First Aid nodded.

“Once the nurses come back and tell me what’s going on, I’ll write a care plan. Make sure she doesn’t do anything strenuous, the stitches might break." She said, “Also, there was no dressing on the stitches, so we’re going to add some. I’d rather not have the stitches redone if possible, they’ve been done rather well.”

“Anyway,” Dr. Daule got up and walked to the door after grabbing a box, “I’m going to check on her. This is what her sister asked me to give her. Follow me.”

✩✩✩

The nurses did plenty of checks on you, along with putting dressing on the stitches. After some time, Aunt Daule and First Aid returned. There was a blue box held in her lower arms.

“What’s with the box?” you asked.

Aunt Daule brought the box to you. “Your sister brought this to us. Said this was for you, in case you were alive. I know it feels weird to get something from someone you haven’t known since infancy, but try not to think about it too much, Y/N.”

You opened the box, opening the letter. It was in the language the planet you were raised on spoke.

My dear sister,

How long has it been since you were taken from home? Twenty years? We couldn’t even hold our heads up back then, and now it’s possible for us to meet again at a bar and drink together. I miss you so much and I’ve known you for so little. It’s ironic in a way; identical twins who won’t even recognize each other. You’ve shaped my life in so many ways. Even as you were declared dead, I never stopped searching for you. I’d look up at the night sky and wave, imagining you waving back at me. I went into astronomy, learned all I could about the world beyond Earth, with the thought of meeting you again.

I joined a space exploration program for the possibility of seeing you again. I knew you were somewhere out there. If you’re reading this, then I was right all along.

I know the possibility of you being alive is slim, but if you are, I’d like you to have these. The clothes you have might look weird on Earth, right? I bought some and washed them for you. I don’t know what style you like, so I mostly went with simple solid-colored stuff. Mostly black. I feel like you’d like black.

On the back of this letter are some coordinates and addresses. These are the places mom, dad, and I live. And our big sister too! I can’t wait for you to meet our niece. When we meet again, tell me your name, okay? I want to address you properly.

Your long-lost twin,

Makayla MacArthur

P.S. We have a weird gene that makes it so we can’t get drunk no matter how much alcohol we drink. You might’ve figured that out already, though.

Opening the box, the first thing you saw was a picture of a little girl next to two swaddled-up infants. The girl had black hair and brown eyes. Two pieces of paper had names, and the one on the right simply said ‘When you tell us your name again.’

It was you. You and your sisters. Another photo, far more recent, was of an older woman holding a child. The note on that said, ‘It’s our niece! Hope you don’t mind Chloe using your old name for her middle name.’

There was a third picture, with who you believe is Makayla, in a night blue uniform. She looks almost exactly like you, without all the experiments and scars. Brown eyes instead of your golden colored irises.

You thought you were a lost cause. That nobody would be looking for you on Earth. Oh, Makayla, how she proved you so, so wrong.

MacArthur. MacArthur. Y/N MacArthur. It’s going to take getting used to having a family name. An identity beyond being an experiment.

“Also, apparently the elasticity of your skin and flexibility isn’t normal for humans. According to your sister, it’s because of a condition called Ehler-Danlos Syndrome. I’ll explain some of the other things she explained once your scars are healed.” Daule added. “I’ll write up a care plan for you. You’ll be staying on the vessel that found you until you’re fully recovered.”

Honestly? You’re fine with that. The people on the Lost Light have all been kind to you so far, especially First Aid. Kinder than most people from the planet you’ve lived on for your whole life, despite knowing nothing about you.

“That’s fine with me.”

“Well then. Rest up, you’re gonna need it Y/N.”

[artobotsrollout]

The more I think about it, the more I'm thinking I'd like to bring Jazz into Harbingers.

He's smart and lovable and deserves screen time!!!!! Exodus did him dirty. I'm so sorry Jazz you deserved so much better than the role of frequently ignorant devil's advocate. 😭 (I'm also still salty at how bad Micheal Bay messed up Jazz like?!?!)

He'd have his own arcs to explore! *exploration into possible deeper arcs is below the bullet points

With the Decepticons losing Starscream and Knockout, the least loyal to the cause so the most likely to give up information, they're gonna need someone to gather Intel and insight into what Megatron's loyalists are doing.

He would really work well with the general energy Team Prime in TfP has and would connect well with the humans. MORE SLICE OF LIFE MOMENTS!

Optimus is already a serious character which is a big reason imo Ultra Magnus wasn't the best choice to bring in to fill a SIC role. Giving Jazz a more second in command role would be an ideal choice. He would be a good fun contrast to Optimus. With the energy of TFP having some really dark moments, bringing on someone like Jazz would bring hope and fun to a dark situation. He'd be a fun character to have that stands well on his own or with others!

With Starscream and crew taking on a neutral role, there needs to be another higher ranking person, besides Optimus, who is clever, chill, and good with people. Jazz helping Optimus build bridges and keeping a cool head would be helpful in working together, so the first insult thrown by say... a grumpy Wheeljack, Ratchet, or Ramjet won't escalate too far.

On the flipside, having another person who can keep team members in line besides Optimus and Ratchet would add variety and other unique approaches to situations.

As a leader figure, he could connect with the team w/o being as distant as Optimus. (more dads? In MY team prime? It's more likely than you think.) Maybe even be the character to bring in the emotional validation that TfP sorely lacked.

Another person to make fun of Megatron is always good.

Starscream is very clever and having someone who can keep up with his witticisms and not hesitate to call him on his bluffs would be a good edition. While Optimus is clever, I have a hard time seeing him actively engaging with some of Scream's sharper digs or calling people out on things that aren't essential. And I feel like Starscream and Ratchet would both rant about things together but also argue in circles together. XD. Jazz and Starscream could have a somewhat friendly relationship w lighthearted banter while also having some of that warning laced into what they say.

Stealth missions? Hell yeah another whole avenue of stories to explore!

With stealth/spy missions being more of a thing, Smokescreen could be developed further and become an essential member with emphasis on diversionary tactics like he was in other continuities.

While Arcee fills some of the above roles, I feel like a bouncier playful character is enough reason to make him a great addition.

I may or may not want to have Soundwave and Jazz have a music battle.....

*2. He could bring his own character arcs.

I could touch on how important he was to the rebellion against the senate and what he and Optimus were like back then. Having been with OP since the very beginning he'd be pretty exhausted as well

I could see him sometimes using humour/ putting on a smile as a coping mechanism. That's a big avenue to explore too. Maybe even making light of situations that are actually pretty dark. Maybe even accidentally making things awkward by joking about something awful that happened to him. This would be stemming from one thing he and Optimus would have in common: they both have a certain blanketing numbness due to being overwrought.

Imo he could be a good person to explore the masks sometimes made to cover depression or despair with. Maybe even touching on using distraction as a coping mechanism. But I wouldn't want this exploration to be the reason for his interests, instead it would be like, as a person he genuinely loves playing and listening to music, learning about earth and well... learning new things in general. He's genuinely a nice dude.

I could just see him not taking a moment to pause on his off hours and constantly trying to keep himself busy. Anything to keep giving himself purpose and reason to move forward. I think most agree that no cybertronian would be emotionally well adjusted this late in the war. He, like everyone else, is doing what he can to hold himself together. Jazz could try and keep the person he was before the war around for others but mostly himself. The war has taken everything from everyone. He doesn't want the war to take away pieces of who he is as well.

Anyways this post is way longer than I expected it to be and while writing it I went from "I'm considering adding Jazz" to "I'm adding Jazz". This is what I have so far but be aware some things may change as I develop things more!

Jazz would have been one of the members to steal the show if he had been added. Hasbro was too afraid of his power but I want to free him >:O!!!! . Dnchsjdkw

If you're still here after that massive ramble/glorified brainstorm session please take the greatest honour I can bestow, the Autothots Badge of Thottery. Thank you.

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Good morning, folks, have another painstakingly hand-drawn shipping chart for a show that’s been off the air for over a decade--this one is for Abaranger, because I’ve had Abaranger on the brain of late.

EDIT: I have been informed that the image of Ultra Magnus I’ve used here is not, as I thought, a panel from MTMTE, and is in fact fanart by @dataglitch. Which, wow, ok, that’s gorgeous, thank you for drawing a beautiful Mags, I appreciate him.

[heliopauseentertainments]

I’ve been neglecting my WIP Wednesdays lately and MegOp Week 2021 has interrupted my normal fic writing schedule (and by interrupted, I mean full-on break taken to do the prompts for the benefit of my sanity).

Here’s an unedited chunk of the upcoming chapter of Reforged. I say “unedited” because I have the edits, but they’re hand-edits and I haven’t put them into Scrivener yet. The actual update will look rather different as this is... raw.

The buildings of the abandoned settlement rose a few stories on either side of the road the expedition currently traveled. The buildings cast long enough shadows at this time of day to shade most of the street.

Most of these structures had likely been shops with residential dwellings on top, at least as far as Minimus could guess. The carvings were not dissimilar from those in some parts of Kremex. Yet Saxetum was marked by the stone building material and illegible script adorning what may have once been signs. It didn’t look familiar enough to the dominant Camien script for him to read it with any success. The script hadn’t been in any of the guides he had been able to locate before they had arrived.

He had also been too occupied of late to try and visit the archives in Kremex just yet.

With Prowl’s arrival on Caminus, Minimus had a new problem. Well, rather than a new problem, it was more an exacerbation of a prior problem. Prior to revealing his true self to Rodimus and his fellow crew members of the Lost Light, Minimus’—and be extension Ultra Magnus’—identity was known only to Tyrest, his former employer. While his crew members had accepted the information rather readily, perhaps because the ship was already crewed by a band of misfits, Minimus had yet to come clean to Autobot High Command.

Simply announcing that not only had Ultra Magnus, the mech, been dead for millions of years, but his identity and credentials had been assumed by series of load-bearer minibots ever since? Turned into a seemingly immortal lawbot? That wouldn’t go well in the least.

Not that Prowl wouldn’t just love—in as much as Prowl loved anything—the idea of an immortal lawbot, but not like this.

While, of course, Minimus had intended to come clean and lay all of his cards on the table, but the opportunity had yet to arise. He hadn’t planned yet how exactly to do it either. If he was going to reveal himself, he would do it on his own terms, not because Prowl was digging around and uncovered the secret. Sure, he was well aware that Prowl’s main investigation centered neither on him nor on Ultra Magnus. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be collateral damage in the investigation against his captains… his friends.

[earthstellar]

MTMTE HALLOWEEN 2020 FIC: Costume Party

SUMMARY: 

Rodimus sets up an Earth style Halloween costume party at Swerve’s to help boost the crew’s morale. Things get a little... weird, when they start to behave like the creatures their costumes represent. 

PAIRINGS: 

Rodimus/Megatron and Drift/Ratchet 

WARNINGS: 

It’s spooky, there is some talk regarding Drift’s traumas, and there is bloodshed/violence in a very creepy way. Please be careful and do not read if you are potentially upset by suggestive violence, blood, etc. 

IMPORTANT NOTE: 

I was unable to finish or edit this on time for Halloween; I’ll post the final version to AO3 when it’s ready, but for now, here’s what I have! Enjoy the preview! 

Rodimus was happy to let Swerve host a Human Halloween event in the bar. 

Swerve had wanted to do it for a while, but evidently had to wait for the right Earth season despite the Lost Light being absolutely nowhere near Earth. Rodimus agreed that they could use something fun and distracting to lift the spirits of the crew after a somewhat bad supply pickup had gone south and resulted in a thankfully brief dry spell as they'd had to go without their usual ship wide energon supply, resulting in the bar being shuttered for the duration until they were able to stop at Hedra Nine for a full restocking. 

Ultra Magnus had been the only one pleased at the brief closure of Swerve's bar, as it certainly cut down on his workload, but it was unfortunately Ultra Magnus that had to be convinced of the idea. Hence the emergency command meeting currently underway.

"So explain to me again the purpose of this holiday." Delivered in a flat tone, Ultra Magnus never failed to intimidate. 

As usual, Ultra Magnus loomed over the relatively small table positioned in the centre of the room, where Rodimus, Drift, and Megatron sat with some research in hand on various data pads, as well as some footage from Rewind and Swerve's collection of human media. 

Rodimus, undaunted, continued his pitch. 

"It originally started as a folk religious practice around appeasing the spirits of the dead and keeping ghosts, the spirits of deceased humans, from haunting homes and towns. Essentially. But in modern Earth context, it's all about having fun, dressing up as scary or silly characters and getting to relax a bit during a time of year that Earth people relate with darkness, bad weather, that kind of thing. It makes people happy during what were traditionally difficult times. I think we could use something interesting and fun to get the crew back into better spirits after that mess we had to deal with in the Astreus System. See? Fun can have a logical purpose: To improve crew morale. It’s… fun, Mags. People tend to enjoy it. I think it'll be fine." 

Rodimus leaned back in his chair and grinned, sure that he had made a strong case. Megatron was absorbed in a data pad featuring a collection of human myths and tales about the holiday, centred around the origins of the modern practice as it was the most relevant information, although he was interested in the older history of the celebration and where such practices may have come from. 

Megatron was surprised by the depth and complexity of the human holiday. He was still getting over some of his lingering prejudice towards organics; Reading up on their cultures and history was one way to root out what was left of his more harmful mindset. The best cure for ignorance was often simple research, after all… Orion Pax would be proud. He nearly laughed at the thought. 

But he found himself looking forward to Swerve’s little seasonal party, even if there were no seasons per se to celebrate out in open space. Rodimus had made a good point; The crew could certainly use the distraction, and Rung had advised him to try new things that had no associations with any past memories or experiences as part of something they were trying in therapy. He wasn’t exactly excited for it, but it could tolerate it. Especially with Rodimus also in attendance; Undoubtedly most of the attention would be drawn away from him, at least. 

Ultra Magnus was completely still, a telltale sign that he was considering something, running through his extensive memory storage of ship protocols and broader applicable legislation in the hopes of finding something that could possibly mitigate any poor outcomes— Rodimus had won, it would certainly help crew morale and such intentions were covered by rules regarding health and safety of passengers and crew members. Fair play.

--

The bulletin from Swerve, once approved, had been sent out to everyone on board. The event was fairly simple, a marathon of various Halloween themed human movies, followed by a costume party at the bar. Teams of three were allowed to submit group costumes for judgement by a panel led by Ultra Magnus, partially because it was the only way to get him to participate and partially because it was the only way to have a judged competition without anyone complaining of unfairness. 

The mood had immediately improved, with the Lost Light buzzing about costume design ideas and speculating on who was joining whose team and what the chances of winning might be. 

Rodimus beamed, happy for all the chatter and gossip. His crew was happy, so he was happy. And Megatron was invested as well, glad to go along with it, enjoying the literature about it. He couldn't be more excited for the event; He trusted Swerve to make it as extravagant as possible, despite the limitations of their supplies on board and what little in the way of textile fabrics they could find and pick up from smaller stop-overs at various stations operated by organics along the way prior to the day.

Rodimus had been concerned about the cost, but Drift was enamoured with the spiritual background of the holiday, and seemed all too willing to provide the spare shanix for anything they could find for the crew. 

So far, it had been going incredibly well. Rodimus was excited himself, as he couldn't wait to see everyone's final costumes, but the idea of Megatron getting a break to genuinely enjoy something with him brought warmth to his spark, making it spin even faster in its casing. 

--

 "Okay, everybody! We had a lot of interest in the costume aspect of this whole thing, but it seems only three teams actually came together to participate in the judged competition. However, most of you have turned up in costume anyway, so it all works out! The judging will go faster and you can all guzzle down some of the special drinks on the menu for tonight only. Welcome to Swerve's, and Happy Human Halloween!" 

Leave it to Swerve to kick off the night in style; The doors were thrown open and bots rushed in, claiming booths and seats at the bar, some mild squabbling already starting but quickly dialled back under the watchful eye of Ultra Magnus, who had refused to wear a costume and was fully on duty as usual from his judge's perch near a makeshift stage Perceptor and Brainstorm had thrown together from spare lab materials. 

Nobody had seen anyone's costumes prior to the night, so there was a significant amount of ooing and ahhing over the most successful looks, providing a great distraction for the costume contest participants to slip mostly unnoticed behind the stage setup, preparing for the reveal to the judging panel: Ultra Magnus, Chromedome, and Cyclonus. 

As the bar continued to fill up and the noise levels increased, Swerve put on a specially composed mix tape for the ambient music that his extensive research had stated was sure to be a success: 

Something called the "Munsters Theme" kicked off the night, and things still appeared to be moving ahead as planned, all in attendance having a good night, and the Lost Light hummed with friendly chatter. 

--

The three costume competition teams ended up being 

There was the Command Coven, consisting of Rodimus, Megatron, and Drift with witch themed costumes. Drift was more than happy to provide crystal necklaces and little wands for each of them, each designed to replicate gemstones found on Earth, with Megatron's being amethyst, Rodimus adorned in carnelian, and Drift himself wearing amazonite. 

He had chosen the colours and designs in accordance with his Spectralist beliefs, as well as something Swerve had shown him called "mood boards" from Earth social data nets, which had kept him up well past his usual recharging hours. It seemed to not have impacted him at all for how thrilled he was at the excuse to dive into human spiritual practices, although he faltered somewhat at the sight of the next team's arrival...

The Medbay had submitted a team, largely thanks to Drift constantly bothering Ratchet about it, with Ratchet himself as well as First Aid and Velocity appearing in vampire themed costumes. They had no team name because Ratchet couldn't be bothered, and was more concerned about the medbay being largely unattended during the event... Although begrudgingly, he did admit to Drift that having the central medical staff immediately on hand in the bar probably wasn't all that bad of an idea.

And the final team, the Minibot Monsters, consisted of Tailgate as a swamp monster, Rewind as a mummy, and Swerve himself, wearing the world's least convincing werewolf costume. 

Swerve was the only person with two costumes, so as not to reveal his "true" costume too early in the night; What he was wearing while manning the bar and letting people in was something inspired by Gomez from the Addams Family, although nobody else on board got the reference save for Rewind, who was suddenly upset they hadn't picked that as their group theme. Tailgate was just thrilled to have shiny scales temporarily detailed over his paint job, lending a shimmering effect to his every move. 

-

Back stage, the teams began to intermingle a bit, although mindful of not violating any of Ultra Magnus' rules about potentially spoiling the integrity of the judging process by helping other teams with costumes and so on for about fifty pages. 

Drift took in Ratchet's costume, approaching a bit too tenderly for it to be the effect of any engex he may have consumed before hand. It set off Ratchet's diagnostics coding, returning a reading of increased anxiety indicated by signs of  ever so slightly rising energon consumption levels as Drift's fuel pump started to rev at a slightly elevated rate, as well as a touch of fatigue from Drift's lack of recharge time beforehand. 

"What's wrong? Are you afraid of losing?" Ratchet teased him, but only gently, probing to see where Drift was mentally at the moment. Did dressing up have bad connotations on Rodion? Was Drift relating this to some disguise or situation from his past that was potentially upsetting? Ratchet was ready to leave at any time, stress over an unmanned medbay lingering in the back of his processor; He'd be happy to grab Drift and go if need be.

"I uh, you just did a really good job with your costumes is all. I mean I expected the cloaks and all that stuff, it looks good on you by the way! But the denta..." 

Ah. 

Ratchet shuffled a bit. "Yes, apparently Velocity found in her preparatory reading that human vampire lore emphasises pointed denta. They--" 

Drift interrupted, looking at the ground, looking anywhere but Ratchet's face. "They siphon their energon, or whatever human stuff, blood, from living people. They're siphonists. Like I used to be, way back, when I needed to get fuel, and... And they're evil." 

Immediately, Ratchet realised that of course, Drift would associate the vampire fangs with so much suffering from his own past, with cruel comments and judgements forced on him by bots who had no idea what it was like to starve or have to turn to any viable alternative to survive, including taking energon directly from the fuel lines of others. 

He raised up his hands towards Drift, testing to see if he'd be welcome for a hug. Drift looked up a bit and smiled, stepping into Ratchet's arms and accepting a brief embrace before Ratchet pulled back to look him in the eyes, hands still lingering on his upper arms. 

"Listen, Drift. If this is too much for you, we can go. I can go, you don't have to miss anything. I can take this all off and it's an easy fix; It's a minor procedure to numb and file them back down, and of course we were going to do it afterwards anyway. Velocity thought it would be more realistic if we just went ahead and altered our denta for the sake of it, but I should have thought more about how that might affect you. I--"

Drift leaned up to quickly kiss Ratchet, immediately jerking his head back with eyes wide, seemingly having not fully registered the fangs that met his until they physically pressed against one another, before giving a shakey smile. 

"No, it's okay. I just wasn't ready for it. The thought of you having to resort to... Anything like that, it makes my spark hurt. It reminds me of a lot of things I don't like about how I had to get through some hard times, you know? But I don't want you to go. I want you here. Plus... Now we match, right?" 

Leave it to Drift to try to power through something so significantly distressing to him. Ratchet appreciated the effort, but saw right through it. 

"I mean it, if this bothers you, I'm ready to get back to the medbay, undo it, and we can hit the bar again together later once things have eased up a bit, no problem. The humans might think vampires are evil, and a lot of bots might think siphonists are... Frightening, but I need you to know that they're not the same thing. People are often wrong about what they don't understand, and you only did what you had to in order to survive. And I'm glad you did it. If you hadn't, you wouldn't be here. With me, at a party that will be fun if you still want to go through with all this." 

Drift optics gradually returned to their usual brightness, his signs of anxiety slowly disappearing on Ratchet's constant scans, putting him at ease as well. 

"Thank you, Ratchet. I'll be okay once the shock wears off. I think it's a good costume choice, and you really do look good in the cloak. The black makes your white paint look brighter! And it's fun to think of all the spooky human stories... And some of our own too, I guess. Imagine, a siphonst medic! You would't have any patients, that's for sure." Drift smiled, making a point to flash his own fangs. Clearly he'd recovered from the initial shock, although Ratchet decided he might try to talk it out with him at some point when they weren’t caught up in all this. He didn't want Drift to suffer any blows to his self-esteem, or fall back into a trauma related depression, even a relatively minor one. He was glad Rung had a positive policy for booking short notice sessions, which reassured him a bit. Any problems, they could all work it out together.

"Well, I think anyone who needs a doctor badly enough is willing to go to whatever doctor happens to be around, in my experience. Siphonist or not. And are you calling my paint job dull? I'll have you know I polished my armour for this. Or First Aid did, at least. He was insistent that we represent the medical team as best as possible." 

"Seems like he's learning some things from you about professionalism, Mister No Crystals in the Medbay." 

"Hey, Ultra Magnus agreed with me. It violates... Some rule." 

"Sure it does." 

--

It was finally time for the costume contest, and 

--

"What happened? What happened? Hey! Someone else get up already!" Rodimus wasn't one to panic, but he was maybe actually slightly panicking. A little bit. 

After the Great Sword had reacted to Drift's incantation, everyone had experienced simultaneous processor reset from the energy surge, and it was taking some time for people to come around from the harsh and unexpected reboot. 

It seemed everyone in the bar had been affected by the wave, not dissimilar to an electromagnetic pulse, with bots slumped over their tables, a few leaning precariously over the bar, and others laying on top of each other where there had been only standing room left. 

Rodimus had been the first to wake, having fallen into a draped position half over Megatron and half pressed into the makeshift stage curtain, briefly tangled in his distress over waking up and feeling... Odd. 

He felt like his spark was super charged, like he had ingested far too much high grade energon and was borderline frying his own circuits. It was like his fuses had been blown, but a quick self-diagnostic came back completely normal, nothing out of the ordinary, everything working fine. 

His sensory input felt magnified somehow, like he was feeling the EM fields of everyone in the bar at a hundred fold. 

It wasn't bad. Just very, very odd. Which was never a good indicator of anything, the way things tended to go on the Lost Light.

He briefly considered paging the medbay, when he caught the passed out shaped of Ratchet and Drift together in the centre of the stage; Ratchet must have picked up on whatever was happening and had made a dive for Drift, resulting in both of them clattering to the ground on top of each other. 

Everyone he would turn to for help had also been affected; There was no 

"Megatron, wake up!" 

—-

"Ratchet, oh Primus, please, are you okay?" Drift had finally woken up, exhausted by his lack of recharge on top of the huge surge of energy that had burst forth from the Great Sword, which was connected somehow to his spark energy... He was drained, but determined to get a response out of Ratchet before he could even consider his own wellbeing.  

"Ratchet! Get up! Something's happened with the sword, and it's my fault, and I don't know what happened!" Genuine fear started to seep into his vocaliser, which was likely what finally jarred Ratchet back into awareness.

"...Drift? Are you alright?" Ratchet's voice was low and rough, still drowsy from the forced reboot. Drift knelt further down to help get a grip under Ratchet's shoulders to keep him from slumping over again, being careful of anywhere that may have been injured as he collapsed. 

"My scans are showing me you’re fine, but I think I need to run a diagnostic on myself... I feel like I haven't refuelled in Primus knows how long. My fuel tank was reasonably topped up before this, is anyone else experiencing similar symptoms...?" Ratchet was slowly regaining his bearings, relying less on Drift for balance once being sat upright, although they both remained seated with their legs tucked under them in the middle of the stage. Drift felt he could relax ever so slightly now that Ratchet was responsive enough to be engaging his medical protocols. 

"We all feel a bit strange. Me and Roddy feel overcharged almost, like having two sparks in one frame. It’s… intense, but manageable. Megatron is still out, and Roddy seems to be more charged up than I am. It might be a Matrix thing with him, we don't know. My fuel levels are good, feeling the opposite of drained right now. Our internal diagnostics are coming back normal, but that's clearly wrong. Any ideas?" 

Ratchet was slow to reply. He was never slow to reply, not when it came to medical matters.

"Ratchet?" Drift grabbed Ratchet's shoulders, preparing to brace him and lay him out gently in case he lost consciousness again. 

"Drift, I need you to listen to me carefully. I don't know what happened. I don't know what's happening now. I can't identify any apparent problems in my own self-diagnostics, aside from the erroneous fuel tank level discrepancy. I'm not leaking fuel from anywhere, I'm not burning it off any faster than usual. I'd need access to the medbay for more in-depth scans, but I don't think it's a good idea to be wandering the halls right now. We should keep this contained to the incident area as much as we can..." As he continued to speak, Ratchet looked more and more stressed, more concerned. And that concerned Drift. 

"What are you getting at, why are the halls unsafe? Do you think this is some kind of attack? It originated from my Great Sword, it was... I think it was the incantation. It had to be. Ultra Magnus made sure the threat level was at a minimum--" 

"No. I think that if we went out there, we'd be making the halls dangerous ourselves. Don't you feel that?" 

Drift felt his spark grind to a halt.

"What are you talking about? I feel fine, I feel suspiciously better than fine. Are you okay? Are you dizzy?"

"...No. I'm energy depleted. I need fuel." Ratchet leaned forward until they were pressed flush against each other, their knees touching in their kneeled position on the stage, chests touching right over their spark chambers. Drift kept his hands rested on Ratchet's shoulders, grip light, unsure of what to do. 

When suddenly, and with all the strength of a field medic frame, Ratchet leaned in and closed the rest of the distance, pushing Drift backwards to the floor so his knees lifted from their bent position and his legs splayed out under Ratchet, who was now so close to laying across the top of him that it nearly took Drift's breath away.

Ratchet whispered directly against Drift's neck cables, close enough to his audials that it made Drift's spinal strut shiver and lock up. "I need warm fuel. I need your fuel.”

Drift immediately froze. This didn't sound like Ratchet. This couldn't be Ratchet. Because Ratchet would never make him feel this vulnerable, he would never do this. Ratchet isn't a siphonist...

...Or he wasn't before whatever just happened, happened. 

"Don't do this!" Drift had intended to scream it, but it came out as a whimper that only Ratchet could hear as his breath was taken away by the pointed denta scrapping gently along the central fuel lines in the side of his neck, just above his collar plating and below the corner of his tilted helm, as Ratchet’s glossa searched for the most medically sound place to puncture the lines and begin to siphon fuel. 

Imagining Ratchet's mouth full of his energon, still hot from being cycled through his systems, Ratchet’s face swirling the fuel around his fangs and smiling at him in sick contentment the way Drift knew he himself had done to others in his past filled him with a level of dread and distress that he didn't know he was still capable of feeling. 

He tried to roll to knock Ratchet off balance, but he was now pinned beneath the medic, whose wider frame was made for detaining unruly patients and built to cope with such resistance. The moment had only caused Ratchet to get a better glimpse at his central fuel lines, Drift's neck having flexed in the process, encouraging a small thrilled hum from Ratchet that terrified Drift straight to the spark. 

He couldn't let Ratchet do this. He wouldn't let him become a siphonist. Ratchet is a good mech, a kind-hearted mech, and Drift refused to imagine what would happen if Ratchet drained him of fuel and snapped out of whatever this was and hated himself the way Drift had hated himself...

...But at the same time, they were in a room full of vulnerable and disoriented bots. Many of whom had still not fully rebooted and had no chance of putting up any defence at all. If Ratchet was under some spell, or whatever was happening, then there was no guarantee that he would be able to be restrained, or that he could restrain himself, from simply going after someone else. 

Drift realised in horror that if Ratchet didn't get his fuel fix from him, right now, he would likely just hurt someone else while in this trance-like state, focused solely on satisfying a feral hunger... Drift could at least relate, and was awake enough to consent as much as possible under the circumstances, and it didn't take all that much effort for Drift to talk himself into going limp. 

As he rested back flat against the stage floor, Ratchet briefly froze, giving Drift a flash of hope that he was coming to his senses, that his medical protocols were overriding whatever this was and that he would immediately jump off and apologise and demand another systems check before they started working out whatever was going on. 

But instead, Ratchet made some awful little low trilling noise, lowering more of the weight of his frame against Drift's chest, and whispered into his neck: "Your vents are spewing out so much heat. Your fuel will be so warm in my mouth. Listen to my voice, Drift. You know how much you mean to me. I won't hurt you, I'll never hurt you. I'm a medic. I want you to feel good, be healthy. Forever. I want you to feel the way I do." 

Drift was caught between old traumas and the trauma currently unfolding. He had no response, cleansing fluid building up behind his optics, threatening to cloud his vision and steam up his lenses from the inside from all the heat his rapidly spinning spark was generating throughout his systems. 

He vaguely became aware of some almighty commotion happening somewhere in the bar, but he didn't dare attempt to move. He couldn't have even if he tried. It was painful hearing Ratchet like this, the kind voice worn by age that he was familiar with tainted by something rough and sinister, for all the friendliness it still contained. 

"Did you read all the human myths, or just about the crystals? It seems the Earth vampires can turn another human into one by sharing blood, their energon. After I take a sip from you, would you bite into me? Or would you prefer if I clean cut one of my fuel lines for you to suck on? Would you do that for me? We match, after all.” Drift could feel Ratchet flash a wide smile into the side of his neck. 

Ratchet's voice was starting to have some kind of cognitive effect on Drift's processor, numbing him to the waves of anxiety and making the noises in the bar seem even further away, sinking him into Ratchet's grip, making it impossible to activate his own vocaliser. 

"We could be together forever, Drift. No more flitting in and out of each others lives. Security. Safety. Stability." 

With Drift completely flattened beneath him, helm lolled to the side and central fuel line finally exposing the medically ideal spot to place a bite, Ratchet was satisfied. He leaned in and sunk his pointed denta into the perfect centre of the line, immediately creating a suction and drawing a swift stream of warm energon into his mouth, a deep moan from Drift weakly rising from beneath his grasp--

--And at that moment, Rodimus with immense precision drew down a bar stool leg directly into Ratchet's helm, the metallic clang echoing through the room as Ratchet’s head was forced away from Drift’s neck, a pool of energon steaming up from the tear in the central fuel line, ripped open further by Ratchet’s pointed denta never having had the chance to loosen the bite first. 

Rodimus quickly put himself between Drift and Ratchet, kicking Ratchet in the shoulder to create more distance while avoiding harming him as much as possible before turning to face Drift. 

“Primus, Drift, we shouldn’t have left you two alone, some of the others started waking up and Megatron’s still struggling a little with the hard reboot, are you okay? Drift?” 

Drift barely registered what Rodimus was panicking about as he was only gradually coming out of whatever state Ratchet had put him in. He felt like his temperature regulator has to be malfunctioning now, or perhaps he had just lost too much heat from pushing himself too hard and venting off too much of the heated air that speedster frames tended to build up. 

Setting himself upright, he relied on Rodimus for support, immediately showing the tear in his fuel line, optics slightly foggy and looking off to the side. “I need to wrap this up… It’s not as bad as it could be, but it really is, isn’t it? What’s wrong with Ratchet, Roddy?” It was hard to hear Drift’s voice, usually so lively and firm, take a low and demure tone made rough by the damage to his neck. 

They both looked over to where Ratchet had been unceremoniously kicked on his back, Rodimus continuing to stay tensed and alert in front of Drift in case Ratchet tried to make another move.

Cautiously, Rodimus spoke up as his right hand helped Drift hold the fuel line edges together; Rodimus winced at how much it must hurt, but Drift was making no complaints as it was slowly and carefully wrapped by some previously subspaced tape. In fact, Drift seemed… Sad, more than scared. He was being too quiet, moving too little even considering his injury, and his EM field was full of exhaustion and distress. 

“What the hell happened? Ratchet, you… I didn’t hit you that hard, did I? Can you answer me? What were you doing?”  He wanted to ask why, but one thing at a time. He suspected that Ratchet didn’t know the answer to that last one, and Rodimus didn’t want to press someone who was potentially unstable and clearly dangerous at the moment. He pressed his back closer to Drift, fully ready to defend him if needed. 

Rodimus took in Ratchet’s crumpled pose, still laid out where he had been kicked back, a look of absolute shock and strain on his face as his fists curled tightly against the stage floor, steaming energon dipping from around his slightly open mouth in small pools as he ex-vented heavily. 

As Ratchet shook his helm a bit, he replied with an absolutely wrecked voice, as if it had been his vocaliser nearly ripped out instead of Drift’s. “I, Rodimus, I don’t know how long I’ll be lucid for. My fuel tank levels are registering within perfectly normal levels, but it feels like I’m being constantly drained, like I’m losing fuel from a leak that doesn’t exist—“

“So you put a leak in Drift?” Rodimus knew he shouldn’t have said anything as Ratchet’s head whipped up and stared him directly in the optics, the shattered look on his face so unfamiliar on Ratchet’s features that it startled Rodimus to see it. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My scans are coming back fine, all of them, I can’t find what’s wrong.” Real panic was seeping into Ratchet’s vocaliser, a bizarre and awful contrast to his usual calm steadiness even in the worst of situations. “You don’t understand, Rodimus, whatever energy the Great Sword released has altered my systems, perhaps everyone’s systems… Drift said you both felt overcharged, but I feel energy depleted, and it’s doing something to my processor. I feel so strange and— And Drift.” 

The entire time he spoke, without his knowledge, his glossa lightly flicked out here and there to catch some spare flecks of Drift’s energon that had settled around his mouth. It set off a sick feeling in Rodimus’ spark, as it was clear Ratchet genuinely couldn’t help it, as if his coding had gone severely wrong somewhere. It reminded him of a cyberfox licking its paws after a hunt. It was too unrefined and subtly animalistic for a bot like Ratchet. It looked wrong, it felt wrong, and he could feel a surge of concerned sadness burst forth from Drift’s EM field behind him. Evidently he’d finished wrapping his fuel line and was now focused on Ratchet. 

Ratchet noticed and finally moved, only slightly to avoid startling Rodimus into unnecessary action, as he picked up on Drift’s distressed EM signals. 

“Drift, Primus, are—“ Ratchet’s optics went wide and he jerked back oddly, not moving from his place lest Rodimus make a move, but as though he were torn so completely that he couldn’t move. “—My medical protocols demand your neck be examined. If I do it, I don’t know what I’ll do. Where’s Velocity and First Aid?” 

—-

Megatron bellowed across the bar, “They’re behaving oddly, get ready to fight them off!” 

—-

"Drift, we're medics. We know where to bite to take the most energon straight from the central fuel line the fastest. I just did it to you, and being ripped free like that can rip the cable lining and weaken the integrity of the fuel line under pressure. It ruptures and causes a major bleed. It can kill someone. It will kill someone. If at any point we start failing to restrain ourselves, you have to incapacitate us. Tie us up. Do whatever. We are officially dangerous until this is resolved. I can't say my behaviour will be predictable, or sensible."

He then turned abruptly to Rodimus and Megatron, Ultra Magnus off to his opposite side, ready to intervene if needed. 

"One of you, or both of you, I am asking you to do whatever you need to do if I go after Drift again. If I go for his central fuel lines again, he's already damaged. Another bite will weaken the line structure, its integrity will fail, and he will lose too much energon to be within safe levels. His nanites will take far too long to repair a gash that size. Please." 

Ratchet hung his head, avoiding everyone's optics. 

"I am a medic. I heal bots. I don't kill them. 

---

AND THAT’S AS FAR AS I GOT, I hope to finish this up and edit it for AO3 soon, Happy Halloween! 

[heckamech]

fre ns.... BUDDIES........ hi

Here it is: Ham Time. 

The Lost Light crew is big on movie night, we all know this. But when Jackie Chan and Spy Kids are no longer enough, it’s time for the squad to come together and make their Own Movie.

Presenting:

THE ZOMBONI: A LOST LIGHT PRODUCTION

A determined private investigator (Nightbeat) follows someone he suspects of being a zombie murderer onboard the cruise ship Lightanic. His suspicions are confirmed as passengers are discovered dead.

He teams up with the ship’s chief of security (Ultra Magnus), a helpful bartender (Swerve), a cheerful janitor (Rodimus), and an angry cowboy (Whirl) in order to find the culprit before it’s too late. But it soon becomes apparent that not everyone can be trusted.

CREDITS

Written by: Drift and Frend

Directed by: Drift and Frend

Special Effects: Brainstorm

Whirl Voiceover: Rung

Private Investigator: Nightbeat

Chief Security Officer: Ultra Magnus

Janitor: Rodimus

Cowboy: Whirl

Bartender: Swerve

Victim #1: Tailgate

Security Officer/Victim #2: Drift

Victim #3: Brainstorm

No: Cyclonus

REACTIONS

Movie nights can be pretty crazy. In this particular instance, you all are watching a Lost Light Original production. A lot of work has been put into making it, and it’s very exciting!

Rodimus: Kinda smug because he's the star. 10/10 Rodimus stars, would watch again.

 Ultra Magnus: Sighs and fidgets uncomfortably in his seat because it's kind of a trainwreck and he has Regrets™.  

 Drift: He thinks it’s a great testament to how hardworking the Lost Light crew can be, but sighs when everyone laughs at what was supposed to be a serious scene. (He co-wrote the script, after all. It kinda hurts. Friend pats his hand.)

 Whirl: Gets increasingly agitated because most of his lines were cut out and redubbed. You didn’t see them redubbing Nightbeat, did you? (This mostly being because Nightbeat actually stayed pretty close to the original plot and Whirl decidedly Did Not). Complains Very Loud. 1/10 stars. Let him speak, you cowards.

 Swerve: Nonstop commentary and very loud laughter. This right here? Cinematic masterpiece and he Will recommend it to everyone, and he Will demand that it be played at all movie nights for the foreseeable future. Just look, he’s on TV! (probably makes a themed drink based off the movie as well. maybe even shirts!)

 Nightbeat: outright refused to read the script and just did his own thing; he was gonna solve the mystery All By Himself. He points out plot holes (both in-character and as he sits watching the finished product).

 Megatron: He just. Doesn't understand what the point of the movie is but he can't stop watching. what is this. the decepticons were never like this 

 Rung: He did the voiceover for Whirl when he went off-script, and is pleasantly surprised that his name is spelled right in the credits (courtesy of human buddy!). He's one of those people that stays for the credits.

 Brainstorm: Proud of the special effects; he did very good. Good job, Brainstorm. (Did you see that explosion? Amazing! It wasn't part of the script, but still)

 Tailgate: He’s having a lot of fun with watching. He played his role of Victim #1 very well, it's just so sad he cry. (And that moment where the movie cuts to Cyclonus saying “no”... what a mood)

 Rewind: If you sit next to him, he'll quietly tell you behind-the-scenes facts every now and then.

 Cyclonus: Perplexed and a little miffed because he had made it clear he wanted no part of the movie and he’s there for a scene anyway??? 

 Getaway: Seems stoked about the whole thing, telling everyone what a great job they did, even if he's secretly salty they didn't invite him to be a part of the movie making process. Why not? He would've been a great lead.

7 THINGS YOU NEVER KNEW ABOUT ZOMBONI

Article by Max Well

- In the film, the masterfully executed plot twist is that the janitor (Rodimus) was the Zomboni all along. This was almost not the case, though, since cowboy actor Whirl’s adlibbing turned into a massive fingerpointing and scapegoating session (“Maybe we’re ALL the Zomboni! Maybe the Zomboni is the FRIENDS we made along the way, huh?!” to which Rodimus completely skipped over all the foreshadowing and retorted “SHUT UP WHIRL I’M THE ZOMBONI”) that would have ended in a real duel “cowboy style” if Magnus hadn’t broken character and intervened

 - In a blink-and-you-miss-it shot of Tailgate dying in the hallway, there is a point where all of the garish fake energon he is covered in suddenly vanishes. This is because the real janitor of the Lost Light came and cleaned up the mess in the middle of the take, and it was removed in the final cut.

- Budding actor Cyclonus stole the show with his iconic one-liner in response to Tailgate’s death, “No.” When inquired about his inspiration for the emotionally-charged line, actor Cyclonus stated that he had never agreed to participate in the film’s production in the first place, and that it had just been his response to the question, “Do you want to be in our movie?” edited in without his consent. 

- Actor Swerve was known for halting production mid-take to ask questions about his character’s motivations. (“So in the interest of believability, why am I running down this corridor again?” “Because you’re getting chased by a murderer? Is that incentive enough?” “Yes, but why this corridor?”) 

- Observant viewers will notice that throughout the film, not a single informal slang word is used. This is because Ultra Magnus took it upon himself to proofread the script once it was complete and ensure that it was professional.

- Whirl’s character underwent the most growth from the film’s conception to release, going from “angry cowboy” to “tender and compassionate cowboy.” This change is owed to Rung dubbing over the original name calling and heckling with much kinder lines.  

- Special effects coordinator Brainstorm doubled as one of the victims of the Zomboni - a kindly and ethical doctor who seems to know that the janitor may not be what he seems. All of his lines directed at Rodimus’ character - such as, “you’re looking a little under the weather, friend” - were ad-libbed, “just to add a little pizzazz.”

[honestlyvan]

I like the potential Optimus, Ultra Magnus and Megatron being Alpha Trion’s... students? Followers? Disciples? provides, though, in that it lends credibility to the idea that this is Cybertron, effectively post-Decepticon victory. Because when you think about it, Optimus getting the Matrix and Ultra Magnus being the caretaker of Alpha Trion’s wisdom leaves Megatron... what? Getting snubbed? Yet he’s the one commanding all the actual military, the Autobots and neutrals being mostly civillian stragglers with no combat training other than what they’ve gotten on the field, and a few civil servants who aren’t any more used to open combat.

Megatron is also all but stated to be the head of state. The Autobot movement are considered insurgents, and there’s counterpropaganda to discourage Autobot sympathisers. That, plus a strong presence of neutrals who think both factions are shitty and unproductive makes me feel like reconstruction might have been well on its way already before Megatron had his falling out with the others, possibly even framing them for Alpha Trion’s murder. Both Optimus and Ultra Magnus characterising Megatron as someone they believed could be a great leader implies they didn’t have any interest in taking that from him.

EDIT: the Decepticons not having any interest in the neutrals until they worked with the Autobots also supports this. Doing war crimes at your own citizens is unforgiveable but the Decepticons not being more unpopular and having many of their members openly ignorant of the worst that they were doing makes sense if the Decepticons efectively were the civil government and were controlling all the information.

[tfw-no-tennis]

mtmte liveblog issues 4&5

its delphi time babey

I'm sorry but drift & co look like such fuckin nerds on their scooter things on the cover lmaooo

oh god. seeing the first page just reminded me of how horribly confused i was for this whole little arc the first time i read it. i was like ok, who are all these new characters, and also why does everyone look so similar

anyways now i now what's going on. i love first aid

love the running continuity of rung being the literal only psychologist on cybertron (except for fr*id but that's later). no wonder everyone's fucked up they all have to share a single therapist 

ok i find it extremely funny that first aid was demoted from doctor to nurse, as if that's a thing that happens EVER - I mean it'd be one thing if first aid was a nurse practitioner (which i doubt is a position that exists here), at least that demotion would make sense, but like...the doctors i work with don't know how to do most nurse stuff (like BP, cathing, vaccinations, hell even using some of the thermometers - that's all stuff nurses/etc do), so demoting one to a nurse would be a disaster (just like promoting a really good nurse to a doctor would be a bad idea). anyways i know I'm being pedantic but it Be like that when you work in the medical field and read something that has medicine-related stuff in it

i love swerve giving ratchet the tiniest free drink ever lmaooo

is that skids being a rowdy drunk in the bg lmaoooo

unironically i love medical statistics. keep it comin

i love magnus’s giant sternal chestpiece thing. its like a bird’s sternum but without the massive pec muscles attached 

i love magnus and rodimus’s dynamic so much

oh pipes....im so sorry but this fun space adventure is going to be not so much fun for you

ratchets ideologies are certainly interesting, and i liked seeing how they changed over the course of the story

drift: why would i be SCARED of the DJD, I've got a SWORD, two swords even,

hvbhajkhfbsdjkf pipes really said ‘oi, you two - what's this, then?’ that's the most british fucking thing, that's literally something i say when I'm doing an overexaggerated british accent, oh my god,

PIPES IS SUCH A TINY DUMBASS. ILY SIR BUT WHAT ARE YOU DOING

aaaand now you're covered in dead bodies, pipes. look at your life, look at your choices

drift epic sword moments

drift confirmed for the kinda weird guy who has katanas that he uses to like, cut up fruit and water bottles in his backyard while rodimus films him

‘i thought i heard...bickering’ lmaooooo

ah, so its covid

this arc is how i feel working in healthcare lmaooo especially now that i probably have covid 

so rewind condensed the entire war into an 11 second long cringe compilation. nice

seeing the mechanical stuff past tailgate’s visor is so cool

poor tailgate, this guy is getting slammed with history from multiple sides. and like, bias is inevitable in ANY sort of recounting of events, especially controversial historical events, so poor tg just kinda has to take it all in and decide who to listen to 

that’s...not really how immunity works, guys. also, you shouldn't be exposed to so much disease with proper ppe usage

is there even such thing as ppe in the transformers universe?? there are fluid- and contact-transmitted illnesses, so there SHOULD be

is there even OSHA in this universe??????? unbelievable 

first aid, holding a giant fucking claw clamp: we haven't tried EVERYTHING............

first aid read a human wikihow article on how to jumpstart a car and took notes 

i love tailgate’s ‘mom says its my turn on the xbox’ pose 

tailgate has a point - he’s from pre-war times, where things weren't as grey so of course he would try to divide the two sides into ‘good guys’ and ‘bad guys’

CYCLONUS BE NICE DONT HIT UR FUTURE HUSBAND

go get some character development and then maybe you'll feel better

seeing the word quarantine is making me twitchy w/my possible month-long complete isolation quarantine on the horizon

drift pulling his swords on pipes and ratchet pushing down drift’s arms...lmao

poor pipes...even tho this is completely his fault, its still rough

also jesus, pharma and ratchet look so goddamn similar, reading this was so confusing the first time around 

drifts idea of subduing pipes involves turning into a cool car and also posing with his sword

also. never gonna be over drift’s massive thighs. jesus man

ooof now drift has the rona. ouch 

poor drift, his covid realization is getting overshadowed by pharma being flung around

first aid bustin thru w/the epic medical nipple clamps and some Big Boi Backup

ok that's an epic pre-beatdown speech from fort max right there, daym 

im just gonna continue on w/issue 5 now for continuity’s sake. yay!

the cover of tailgate in magnus’s autobot school is so cute

and we open with an incredible shot of fort max str8 up ripping a guy in half. i mean, to be fair, he DID just give an epic speech about how much he was gonna do that, and he certainly followed thru

yeahhhhh, fort max is not doing so well atm

when he puts that dudes head in his chest vent thing and then snaps it shut....man 

also i fucking LOVE when their faces are shaded all in black w/only the eyes/mouth fully drawn...fantastic stuff

ratchet: phew i am not equipped to deal w/this level of Fucked Up Mental Trauma. u good m8?

ratchet is already writing up a referral to rung for fort max as this is happening

drift is just laying on the ground dying like, oh hey yeahh I'm still here too 

i fucking love when punctuation is drawn in story - like here where first aid has a little ? over his head....fav

ratchet holding drifts hand ;_; 

ok tbh ambulon having switched sides 10 yrs ago is wild bc like, 10 years is barely any time for these guys, especially in a war that lasted 4 million years. that would be like a human switching sides in a war like, 3 months before it ends. probably. i sense some math bs, I'm just extrapolating here

all that mexican standoff shit is going down and first aid is just like But That's None Of My Business

ah so ambulon is an asymptomatic carrier 

and there's first aid with the save! iconic

pharma calling ratchet ‘buddy’ hbvakjdsbfhkasdf

ooooh i love that they figured it out - and i love that twist, that transforming is what triggers the start of symptoms. remember when drift turned into a cool car? yep

s/o to Ambulon Transformers for helping me in my medical terminology courses, bc now ill always remember: Leg(tm)

also this explanation makes a ton more sense (in universe, at least) than the whole ‘i guess we as medical staff have been exposed to enough Germz that we’re more immune to this or something’ theory 

ah, i love the meaningless (to me) alien robot medical jargon 

drift and ratchet hhhhhhhhh

‘I'm too wide’ fort max L O R G E

also once again drift is forgotten in favor of a bunch of other dramatic stuff happening vbhjksdfbjhskdf

godddd i love tailgates little flashbacks where we see how Important and Special he is, complete with his ‘bomb disposal’ arm label...augh its so good! 

and tailgate’s autopedia page even reflects his lies! like, did tailgate go edit that first thing upon waking up??? seriously, I'm fascinated by tailgate’s meticulous dedication to his fake life

also the fact that ultra magnus believes everything he read on autopedia is amazing lmao

ultra magnus: you think somebody would just go on the internet and tell lies? 

fuckgin love magnus’s long ass name/title placard 

tailgate hvbahjkdfbjhaskf i mean, he’s gotten the abridged version of everything else, of course he would assume that’d be the case here too...but not on magnus’s watch

magnus cant even say ‘fun’ hvukdasdbjfkjsadf i love my uptight law dad

love rung implying that upon questioning, he would easily divulge a patient’s name and maybe even information about said patient’s treatment while under him....love the disregard for patient confidentiality and hipaa in general 

not that hipaa seems to exist here, at least not in a fully realized form 

also i mean the above genuinely, i think rung’s tendency towards at least slight malpractice is very interesting 

poor red alert....super bad luck that HE was the guy to get roped up in that overlord business 

I'm glad that, at the very least, red alert was able to prove that he was Actually hearing something to rung, rather than get brushed off completely 

god magnus and tailgate’s interactions are golden 

also tg is much more sarcastic/quippy than anyone gives him credit for tbh

‘thought warfare,’ ultra magnus says with complete seriousness. god i fucking love this comic

now i can tell pharma apart from ratchet bc pharma has let his true Petty Bitch nature emerge and you can see it in his expressions

the whole ‘tarn is addicted to transforming’ thing didn't really go anywhere, right? i feel like i noticed that on my second readthru as well 

also pharma is such an interesting character given the context of him like, trying to strike a bargain w/the djd to keep them from destroying delphi, but that arrangement inevitably kinda making him lose it as the situation escalates. he’s also just really entertaining bc i feel like he kins the joker or st and probably gets into really heated arguments w/people on twitter about just abt anything

‘sound bomb’ i love this comic

another important facet of pharma’s character becomes clear around this time as well - how he’s really into ratchet. i also choose to read them as awful exes tbh, it makes their dynamic even more entertaining

‘killmaster, with the wand’ is one of my favorite running remarks lmao

also, was killmaster even a character before mtmte? or, if he was, was he an important one? it would crack me up the most if he literally didn't exist at all, but any way you spin it is still funny 

ratchet’s tiny humansona facing off against pharma is wild

‘I'm miles from anyone i truly care about’ brutal, ratchet, drift is dying like 2 floors away (im p sure)

SUDDENLY DRIFT IS HERE, ACTUALLY 

oh don't worry first aid, that sure isn't the last we’ll be seeing of pharma 

so like, did first aid save everyone by posting that data log to his wreckers fan blog or something? lmao love it 

i love the pretty fucked up reveal of ratchet having stolen pharma’s hands. like, damn dude. 

and that wraps up the delphi arc! our first true ‘arc’ of mtmte, and a fantastic one at that. short and snappy and fresh, with some very clever writing and cool new characters, and a lot of great plot threads to be picked up later. plus, we got to see the beginnings of drift and ratchet’s whole thing (and ratchet and pharmas whole thing). and the lost light gets some much needed extra medical staff, so everyone wins! 

well, we’ll see how fort max feels about this all pretty soon.....

[donnnoir]

Dallas, TX                                                                          June 30, 2019

Well Friend’s, although currently I suspect there are no readers of my crude blog.  Other than those that may have an interest from the Shadow Government’s perspective.  They always keep tabs and monitor my actions and interactions at large or singular.  An annoying fact of Life as me.  So hopefully at some point and time in the future an interested party will have numerous pages to sort through.  I am trying to get all my material under one or two roofs / forums which can and are accessible to everyone.  At least that is my hope and the intention of all this.  Granted it also allows me an outlet to vent some of my frustrations and the various events, occurrences and histories with this and more that I have Lived and experienced throughout my Life.  Now in such a spirit I am posting a electronic log entries after I arrived back in Austin TX, following the events I experienced in Southern California.  Which events culminated in my being shot twice in my left leg and subsequently ran over by an F-350 dually pick-up, running me over from toes to my head being dragged under the dual tires on the driver’s side of the vehicle.  Needless to say it was an interesting evening.  I was run over on East Anaheim St. about one hundred feet from the intersection with North Henry Ford Ave., on the south bound side of East Anaheim heading back toward Long Beach, I believe the location is still in Wilmington. With the location of my being shot some distance from there and that being approximately 325 North Lecouvreur Ave., Wilmington.  These events happened on or around the 5th of March 2018.  I was transported to St Mary’s Hospital at 1050 Linden Ave. Long Beach, CA..

The following are a series of electronic entries to an ad hoc journal at the time.  I Post this ad hoc journal in its raw form, the only editing being for the most part that of correcting some of the major spelling mistakes.  Hopefully I  have retained the jagged nature of my mind set at the time.  I freely admit that upon my return from California for the first time in my life I was showing signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.   I still have on occasions bouts associated to this PTSD.  I trust as coming events unfold and I have New Obstacles and Challenges to focus my attention and thereby forestall the elements of the Disorder.  Thus I Post this warts and all.  Without regard to its chronological or content of order. Because of this I will no doubt be covering much of the data, information and stories at a later Posting.  I will also be Posting the images of my hand written journal, as the loose leaf entries that I have adopted as my handwritten format.  Since every log or journal I have started has been stolen repeatedly.  So I now write on whatever loose leaf papers I have before me in the moment.  I hope to Post those as packaged folders Postings in their chronological order.  There is a degree of overlapping entries between this Posting and those of my handwritten entries.  Bear that in mind should you actually elect to read all of these.  Most of the entries some date and location headers.   I hope that in doing this that no seeming contradictions arise, especially since I am the source.  I welcome any inquires from any reader of my material.  Thus I submit the following:

Welcome, seems it has come to this. I am going to attempt to compose my thoughts and histories via electronic medium. My reservations must give way to practical realities. Not to mention the fact that each and every one of my previous logs / journals has been stolen from me. A immensely annoying recurring theme.

Thus I am going to try and make a virtual journal. Presumably I will augment this with the additional paper journal. Which will then be uploaded into a file of images. The hope being the combination will effectively accomplish the task. Towit that of providing a record of my life including events in the extreme. Additionally I wish to leave behind in some convoluted fashion my diverse understanding of things. By far I would consider the latter to be a far greater contribution to the brain wealth of humanity. I would like to think that should any of this writing come to light. It does so some time in the future . When the more fantastic elements can be seen in historical context. Such that what would otherwise be seen as speculative ventures into science fiction writing, will be known as simply fact. Because believe me when I say I truly wish and hope to be / will be wrong, regarding that which is to come. For a change!

Sigh… I must take a break, now. Necessity requires I consider many issues, not the least of which is where to start, and how best to proceed. Besides the fact I have not developed the requisite manual dexterity to type with my thumbs.

Monday July 2, 2018 … Killeen Texas

Sigh… damnit all to hell! I am having one of those rare days when I feel anxious, overwhelmed to the point of feeling trapped. I do not know if it is possibly PTSD related. I suppose I have to accept that as a issue with in me from now till the day I die. Regrettable not to mention humiliating for me. Granted, I suspect that the the cannabis Jade bought had a little something extra in it. So she could anesthesias more effectively giving her a reprieve from the increased infra-sound, ultrasound, microwave along with the entirety of the electromagnetic emissions I am at present enduring. I am concerned for her and her son Joey's well being. Despite her being one of the girls / operatives / victims of our government’s illegal covert initiatives know as MK Ultra. She is a bundle of contradictory issues and personalities. Your typical Golem. Her biological father is Warren Causey. He was George Bush Sr. right hand even prior to Sr becoming head of the Central Intelligence Agency. Causey was Sr's go to man for wet works and deep black bag operations. Especially if the back side had a tail which could be exploited for control of any or all parties involved. Causey is a true satanist and worse. He recently developed a rapid onset of Alzheimer’s. Not quite as sever as my own father and name sake Donald Paul Williams. But the timing of both though separate is suggestively coincidentally to events associated to me and those involved in FOXing me. I suspect brother Magnus of being petty. Grinding and hammering on old grudges. Along with becomingly increasingly punitive in operational objectives concerning breaking me to the point of my “losing” it. At which point and time my only anticipated options would be to appeal to their overview and / or full capitulation to their agendas. Thus far I have successfully thwarted their attempts. Yet it has come at an immense cost to me, across the board. Okay in anticipation that I may never acquire the journal I started last year upon my departure from Long Beach, California. A long walk beginning by The Queen Mary and which ultimately landed me in Salt Lake City, Utah. It is becoming increasingly incumbent that I reiterate elements I previously wrote down back then. You would think it would be a simple straightforward process. Naturally such is not the case, for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which are context and my desire to avoid sounding narcissistic, or worse disillusion. Yet failing to do so will ultimately end in me portraying myself as such, even more so. Besides I really hate repeating myself, sorta a pet peeve of mine.

To the uninitiated this is going to sound ludicrous and insane. However, any comprehensive primer would require volumes of esoteric information, along with accompanying commentary and should include appropriate citations. All from tomes that are closely guarded. That I am denied access to permanently and utterly. Thus it is best to proceed directly into the matter wading through the initial convolution, realizing by degrees it will work out becoming about as clear as mudd. The luciferains according to their Canon refer to me as “The Dark One”. It is an appellation pulled directly from their actual scripture as initially iterated  to Cain from lucifer, himself.

Obviously atheist may take exception to these concepts, especially the language used. There is not much I can say in response to their misgivings. Because their beliefs lack the framework from which to attach this model. Hell most individuals beliefs also in like fashion lack similar mental framework. Yet most have allowances or the tools where with the modular architecture of their minds are able to “build out” an additional wing to the mansion in their minds which houses their understanding of “reality”. At the very least they can entertain the blueprints to an “add-on” to their mansions. Similar to the operations of our minds “cognitive consistency”. Dr Richard Alan Miller is fond of noting “I would never have seen it if I hadn’t believed it”. Or by extended reference the belief that if you have enough information to postulate a coherent question, you already have enough to know the answer. You just have to convince yourself of it. The implications are profound. Stretching into metaphysics and the issues of faith preceding the miracle(s), and even magick! All topics I have and will continue to touch upon in my ramblings. But I go too far afield of my primary focus. Simply, I am The Dark One. This is both metaphoric and literal. For the few people whose sight allows them to to clearly see into the underlying spiritual realm of our world. Because all things that “are” where first created in spirit. Elsewise they would not exist or remain lifeless sterile elemental at best. There are also at worst case possibilities, but we will forego any such dialogue for the moment. Everything we see and interact with has a corresponding spiritual aspect providing impetus to the whole. Usually the spiritual aspect even resembles the physical expression, although at times the proportions differ. A fact that I know I will touch upon in other areas as topically necessitated. Nonetheless if one was to see our spirits they much resemble the physical form of our bodies, though a bit taller (note this is a foreshadowing hint, to a vastly different topic I Will Be Addressing. At times I may interject future foreshadowing hints, though sans the extensive explanations). Depending on the scope of vision applied a person may / can see many other things. For my current model I am going to stick to issues of direct correlation to what we perceive as the physical world.

Okay, yes I do know I tend to take a long round about, seemingly loquacious manner, almost tediously so in my explanations. This is due to the fact that words are nebulous, our ability to effectively communicate was fractured becoming compromised long ago. As a consequence, for clarity's sake I find this too wordy manner necessary to minimize confusion later in the discussion. By degrees we lose our way, or perpetuate our lost condition. Therefore it is by incremental degrees I am trying to more properly realign the various skewed beliefs we all hold. It is simple geometry, trigonometry or if you prefer vector math. If your initial bearing line is off by a few degrees, as you proceed further down its vector, or direction of travel where you end up will be considerably different than you meant to be. I wish to be aptly clear as to this fact early in my shared discourses.

Back to the proximate relationship of the spirit to our physical nature / condition. Also know that our spirits are gender specific. The entirety of humanity in this expressed Creation, the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve. Have migrated to this plane and place from Our Heavenly Home. That being a higher plane of existence, a organized realm of Love and Light. We, being all of us from Adam, Lilithe, and Eve till the last child of Eve is born, we are they that kept our first estate. Thereby earning both our right and place to be born here in this that by our common assent / consent / agreement we agreed would be real, thus we call it reality, simple. Wherefore, this being real by our mutual assent, means by extension that our actions here shall have real consequence to our station thereby effecting our progression. Those within Our Divine Family that rebelled and failing to reconcile back into the Family are denied participation in the progression of this estate and the subsequent assignments as to which paths we are to be assigned to in our individual journeys to progress back home.  Meaning, i.e. lucifer and the one third that fell (more properly “that were cast down”) with him. At times I will refer to lucifer as lucy or louie a small affectation I have over the years grown fond of as pet names for he who would seek dominion through his lies. Know that for my part I have always viewed our existence as an ongoing extension of the war in Heaven. Even as a toddler this was simply the nature of the world, in both a literal and metaphoric sense. Lucy is playing an end game gambit. As to our day to day offenses he for the most part cares little, seldom choosing to involve himself.  As I try to tell people; we can do bad all on our own, we don’t need the devil or louie's help. Matter of fact regrettably this particular Creation is an aberration. Most Creation’s do not have a Lucifer, who refuses to repent and reconcile, and worse yet becomes Satanish.  In so doing thereby becomes completely nonredeemable. Fit only to be cast out beyond the dark realms / dimensions. So far that not even a god could ever hope to make it back to Our Heavenly Home. Heady fanciful stuff, with a touch of discordance due to conflicting superlatives, I already know. From the presumed position of our understanding as a whole it is the best I can do with our shared mythos. The presumed contradictions fade as our understanding increases. Please accept I know little, next to nothing. What little I may grasp, has been fought hard to obtain over a tumultuous lifetime.

One of the hopeful eventualities concerning our collective situation in this Creation which I try to communicate to those that appear to show potential for understanding the following idea. Is that, Once we “eventually” progress through this Creation. As our then on going progression continues through multiple future Creations we will in all probability never encounter another such circumstance / Creation wherein any of those will again be with the added burden of a Satan / Lucifer persona to add complications to our individual, group, and familial progress. Who would threaten to usurp Creation from G-d and all of us. We can do bad all on our own. We really don’t require an objective excuse or archetype on which to pin our failings. If you are acquainted with the Book of Revelations, in its pages are the clues to understanding Lucy’s actual focus / agenda for our Creation. For we are eternal beings, Children of Divine Parentage. We live through infinite eternities, progressing and striving to Perfect Ourselves unto the Image of Our Heavenly Mother and Father. Now I sound like a some traveling revivalist preacher. Might as roll out the tent and tambourines, hahaha.

Wednesday July 4, 2018 – Killeen, Texas

Well happy 4th of July, U S of fucking A. Not to be cynical, but here we are celebrating another Independence Day in the Land of the Free. The irony is inescapable. Sadly too many individuals become distracted and lost in the perpetually shifting landscape of dysinformation. Yes the horrors these people revile against are very real and indefensible. Except in the losing of perspective, failing to see that these innumerable struggles are purposely being generated to engage the population to distraction. Usually these horrid distractions are set cross ways of social and cultural lines. This formulaic tactic is meant to ferment hostilities, hate and conflicts across the associated strata. This has been repeated throughout history to create wars, fracture our social structure, warp our values, and indoctrinate the population en mass with beliefs such as to reshape our view of reality shackling all of us to a diminished image and sense of self along with the entire human race. Once we accept this warped view as the archetypal potentiality of us all. We are guaranteed to sell ourselves and our brethren into slavery. In due course I will be discussing at length the geopolitical history within the framework of our limited knowledge of what we recorded since the flood. Rather what we have been permitted to know of said records. The fact that much as been redacted from the common brain trust passed on to us via academia. Those alabaster halls occupied by self appointed guardians of the approved versions of knowledge and information released to us vulgar unfortunate masses. So burdened, I shall pass this Holiday celebrating the antithesis of its traditions.

Continuing in the same vain as previously began prior to the day’s celebrations, in much the similarly convoluted fashion as before… I, The Dark One of Occultic Lore. I have been told; that I have done things no one in the history of the world has ever done previously. Personally I can only cite one quality as being demonstrative of such high praise. Though in all honesty I am more often than not being chastised for lacking focus, being lazy, acting the fool in the face of my enemies, or being cavalier in my affections, or placing myself at undue risk of life and limb, and the list goes on and on ad nauseaium.  This from the select few who know and understand who and what I am.  Those who may actually care about me, and would see me fulfill that which I have been foreordained to do whilst sojourning here. The totality of our circumstance here, now at this moment, we soon shall enter perhaps the most critical and precarious point of our history and that of this Creation.  I am all too well aware of this along with that which shall soon come to pass shortly.  This awareness, I experience across multiple vectors while being cognizant of a sea of permeations which ultimately stream toward a specific Crux in Our Familial Aggregation (I am trying to develop appropriate nomenclature – wherein I avoid certain more readily common labels or descriptors and/or appellations. Whose usage has been subverted into the double speak practiced by the various satanic and blood occultic families which run the world. Who have ritually (via trauma) conditioned and indoctrinated their acolytes, golems / victims to hear and respond to accordingly, never in a positive manner. Wherefore it is incumbent upon me whenever possible to avoid affirming these, even to the point of reinventing the ascribed nomenclature.) within this Creation. As a consequence I must stumble through idiomatic constructs, ungainly though they be. Believe me if you knew and understood the actualities ascribed to words and the double or multiple meanings applied to them within the Families. The evils, the pain, the denigration of the individuals / victims usually by those nearest them; ultimately by extension it eventually infects and corrupts societies unto the world at large.  You would weep an endless river of tears unto filling the seas, if you could see this in your minds eye properly.  As long as this perniciously malicious spiritual / familial / multi-generational / social / cultural pathogenic practice continues, our struggles will end in naught. Hence into this morass I must seek to keep my appointed task. How best to explain this? I have spent the majority of my life in the haze of denial.  Avoiding my differences.  Putting off my preparations for that which is to come.

Since approximately twenty four plus months prior to Operation Jade Helm our covert Intelligence apparati, including elements of the ruling shadow government began a concerted effort at Foxing me. The on set of Operation Jade Helm and its scope marked an exponential increase in expanded efforts against me.  Now, let me make clear Operation Jade Helm’s purpose was not solely to target me, there where many targets across the greater portion of the United States of America.  Death dealers and various squads of assassins executed / murdered an increasing number of American Citizens, most had been identified for some time to be exterminated.  Impunity seems to have become the operational by word.  The extremes demonstrated continuously since that time defy all reason. Defining the architects of this action as being criminals is almost quaint.  This level of criminal insanity goes beyond the point of being treasonous. With the majority of resource allocation comes from “military Intelligence” which then utilizes other military resources and supplies.  Thus it is that we have been duped into financing our own demise.

For purposes pursuant to their agendas, they have labeled me a domestic terrorist.  Thereby presumably justifying illegal exercises and persecution of my person.  Rationalizing by extension similar acts against my family and anyone I may care about and or Love. Death for them would be preferable to the horrors their personages have been and are being subjected. I know I sound ludicrously paranoid with delusions of grandeur in the extreme. Hahaha….  gosh how I wish, hope and pray such were the case. I make this record in defense of myself and my actions. Naturally I fear all my good intentions with their accompanying actions are for naught. I realize that upon my death as allotted to the sons of man, as to the first part, my character will be maligned in the worst manner possible.  A issue I will address at length later in this on going exposition of myself and my misadventures as they may be.

Thursday July 5, 2018.  Killeen Texas

Despite my misgivings it seems I survived all the pops and bangs of our nosiest of American Holidays. A joyous circumstance to be certain. From now till my last day of my allotted life as unto the children of men, my life hangs in the balance. The ante to live my life as it were.

My current accommodation over the past almost six weeks has been with an old flame and friend Jade Causey – Chamlee, and her 18 year old son Joey, whose given name was Freddie. Bless their souls for extending to my worn out arse a place to stay and recover. Regrettably my physical recovery is taking much longer than I anticipated. I am fully aware my expectations regarding the time necessary for a complete recovery was / were unreasonable. But I need to set the bar high to keep from being complacent. Now had my situation been inclusive of adequate financial resources I would be at least relatively close to my timetable. I would have had access to better medical, dietary, living and therapies. Hell my injuries would have been properly tended to at the hospital in my initial admittance. Instead I continued to be the object of curiosity and experimentation. With little consideration to trying to give me appropriate medical care. I have come to know what to expect, due largely to my younger brother's general attitude. Wherein he rationalizing what him and others do to me, as simply a matter of effect associated to the who and what I am. It is rationalized that if  I, Donn am this special chosen person than he/I should be able to survive everything, whatever it may be.  Because if he/I don’t than obviously he/I am not that special and thus not protected from on High.  Horrific logic used to rationalizing a growing list of atrocities committed against my person. A ugly fact of my reality, one I anticipated. What issues make this whole fucked up process unacceptable, malicious, acutely painful and unforgivingly egress is the manner by which they have targeted and used others. Especially my younger brother, father, son, Tiffany, Revaka, Heather, Angie and numerous others. They have been tortured, abused and treated as disposable commodities. All are scared and precious, some are very unique with abilities reaching into arenas not generally accepted or understood in today’s world view. Yet these individuals are denigrated, abused in some of the most deviantly sordid manners. Most are ultimately destroyed, first robbing them of their minds, bodies and in some final insult of their very souls. As it appears that they are being harvested for physical vehicles to have demons placed in their bodies. Yeah, I suppose I could say it in some sort of more politically correct parlance as “aliens” from a lower resonating dimensional reality / realm. Somehow I find that by doing so it fails to communicate the malicious evil inherent in the process. I find the old nomenclature to communicate the Truer meaning. Though some eras of our past carry their own obvious failings magnified exponentially by ignorance while fueled by misguided zealotry. They were not called the Dark Ages for nothing. Similarly different cultures, societies, periods, places and times have fallen to various abysses of Darkness. We have this false mental image of life on Our Earth proceeding in some linar fashion from primitive man (including Adam, for those of a theological inclination) struggling out of caves. Fighting against their own primitive brain / mind which was trapped in a diminished brain pan capacity from questing for fire against ignorance and superstitions. With us being the cumulative beneficiaries of this on going process. Peoples of those ancient times could not have been as intelligent as those today. Therefore they could not have grasped the concepts we do. Some of the most ridiculous fallacies of logic ever presumed to rationalizing and justify conduct or beliefs. Matter of fact the inverse is actually True. But what the fuck could I possibly know!

Sadly my frustrations are rearing their collective heads as it were in my writing. I wish I had been more diligent in securing my journal I started last year upon my departure from Long Beach towards Utah. I was more focused recording relavent issues in a contemporaneous fashion. Not to mention a considerable investment in explanations dealing with a variety of associated topics. Grrrrr… all I did then was walk and write. I may soon be in a recurrence of such, shortly. I can no longer abide where I am. All the more so under these conditions. Deep in my mind I am aware of happenings which require my attention. Not to mention my friend’s household is not psychologically conducive to my state of being. At least not in a healthy way, good intentions not with standing. My largest obstacle to my leaving believe it or not, is my need for acceptable footwear. Flip-flops aren’t going to cut it. Hell they are wholly inadequate to even walk just up the street a block or two. I must admit the sidewalks and streets of California were well suited for walking.

Monday July 9, 2018.  – Killeen, Texas

As Pooh would be apt to say, “Oh bother”. I feel for the most part Tigger. Bouncing all about spinning, twisting, flipping… as well on my head as my tail. I am most acutely wanting to find my focus once again. My communication skills seem heavily compromised. Not that I was ever able to write as effectively as the great Nobel Laureates. Generally speaking I could at least maintain some linear cohesion in my writing.  Physically, emotionally, spiritually and mentally I am shaken.  Much as if my being was trapped in the tremors of advance Parkinson’s. In similar fashion my expressed thoughts and experiences lack focus, my abilities at lucidly articulating my larger life occurrences is choppy at best. Failure is NOT an option! No matter how I feel or how events are or may effect me, I must regain my composure and find my center. While reacquiring my skills of teaching and sharing what I have learned.  Please excuse me if I don’t edit the foregoing entries. As convoluted and murky as they may be, their relevance contemporaneously can not be diminished. Hopefully they will in due course provide a benchmark to juxtaposition future writings and notes thereby effecting a glimpse into my state of being at the time of writing.  Grrrrr…….

They have done a very good job of isolating me. All the more so, as I try to come to terms with the potential cost to those I would seek commerce with across all levels of our socioeconomic strata.  If what I endured while being the object of a Foxing protocol by our shadow government’s covert intelligence community are any indication. Anyone who associates with me, either at mine or their initiation is subject to become targeted for retribution as punishment to me. Too high a cost to blindly impart with out consideration to finding possible means of mitigation. Or at the very least terms whereby I am ultra selective with whom I interact. Along with the rationale for said interactions. Soon enough our social dependency will require I abandon all such pretext or attempts at shielding anyone from consequence. I fear that time shall be upon us/me far too soon. Perhaps I am again being exceedingly naive. My efforts are most probably for naught. An on the at large canvas of the bigger picture my presumption at damage control will only result in a larger area and impact of effect upon our society as a whole. Not that I am some savior or prophet, far from it actually. In the grander scale of things, I might best be referred to as a “wild card”.  Meaning that in any analysis of the interaction of variables, one may with a degree of certainty predict the outcome of any issue, contest, conflict even war. However should certain individuals or a very small dynamic group of individuals enter the forum. Suddenly the landscape of the matter shifts radically to the point that the original outcome no longer applies or is meaningful. We have numerous examples of such occurrences throughout our histories. Of salient import to us here in America is The Battle of Thermopylae, and the 300 Spartans. We all learned about continents in school. Did you ever notice that Europe and Asia were counted as separate despite being one land mass. The reason is that Western Culture and Asian (Oriental) Cultures being vastly different it was traditionally ascribed to them being two separate continents. We may naively presume to ridicule such a blatant indulgence as arrogance. Yet there are fundamental reasons for this error being valid. We as the heirs of Western Culture, need to understand the mythical / legendary impact of these distinctions upon our mameic memory, especially those of us of the West. From Greece to Rome, then following our Angelo – Dutch (Iberian) roots it is transmitted to us. The importance and permanent impact of the actions and sacrifice of Leonidas and 300 Free Spartans against over a 1,000,000 servile basically slaves to a potentate deemed quasi divine, carved out a legacy of Freedom which stands even today. An Epic “wild card”. There are many others, most are lost to us today. With the occasional exception that survives in our Epics, our Mythologies, our Legends. Most such stories are the blending of factual events with older religious or semi religious traditions. Which aliteration was a common and accepted means of teaching the lessons of both convanents in a factual and metaphoric means. Much the way Jesus Christ taught using parables, allegories composed to have layers of meaning dependent upon the degree of understanding had by the student. So a natural continuation of this is to be inclusive of many historical events, along with the trans literal substitution of the individuals to those of prophecy or the the Divine or Angelic intercession of some ancient history. These depending on circumstance would be iterated and reiterated in verbal traditions to be celebrated in the retelling, usually in association to particular annual festivals. Such as the case with the Saga of the Norse Kings. A subject I hope to have the opportunity to entertain at length later in my writings, scribblings. The vast majority of my ideas, concepts, models and histories can generally be attributed to greater minds than mine. As has been said before, the reason I / we can see so far is that we stand on the shoulders of giants, those that have come before us. Yes I paraphrase taking a degree of liberty. More particularly to hopefully retain its original meaning.

Funny I have been much as I am, the entirety of my life. Before I commence an in-depth sharing of many of the somewhat unique occurrences and events that have brought me to this proposition in time. I wish to clarify and reiterate some postulates. Elsewise a portion of my own records and logs may well be used against me. Principally by interests who would wish to call my lucidity and grasp of reality into question, in the hopes of indicting or coloring my character via my words. No doubt they shall do so nonetheless. I only wish that my original is sufficiently vetted in the sane understanding of reality has to be a defense to my honor and mental facilities. Thus, again – I am No prophet! Nor am I an Alien. Hahaha… Nor am I some savior! As far as religion – I will say as was told to me by what would be termed alien contactees, or more specifically those that I felt and believed we’re genuine. Of the many I personally met back in the 1970s. According to these individuals as to the subject of religion and the Bible when broached to the various aliens these contactees interacted. All the aliens responded that yes the Bible was more or less correct and that it was wholly applicable to us, our Creation, and Our G-d. I know not at all what they say on the popular shows in the media today. Hmmm,…. As to my personal religious beliefs and inclinations, I am Mormon by conversation and have been excommunicated for many more years than I care to mention. By the way my excommunication was due wholly to personal moral matters not issues of doctrine or beliefs of Faith. So if somewhere in my upfront acknowledgements, you find me wanting of naïve. Fine, do or do Not as is in you, or as is your want. I make no apologies, nor seek to compromise in some misguided attempt to achieve an accord or consensus. Rather quite to the contrary, I share, present, seeking dialogue broader than an account of the happenings surrounding my life. Simply because I am appalled by the amount of lies and disinformation being used to indoctrinate the populace. Add to this the lack of corrected and broader views from the dreadfully homogenous perspective droning from damn near every sector. The present modalities disgust me, breaking my heart such that I would to weep day and night for Our collective Family. Yet better spent are my efforts in defense of the Truth and an improved accounting of our histories and circumstances. In pursuit of same I find I must submit my private life and experiences to general scrutiny. The majority of which I have never shared with anyone prior to the last six to eight years. I have desired to live a rather conventional life, for the most part. Realizing that soon enough I will forever be denied the Joy of such.

To this end and the accompanying process I submit some of the earliest memories and events of my life and childhood. One of my earliest, if not the earliest is being in my crib prior to the age of two. My father was working for numerous government and governmental contractors at the time. Naturally I don’t recall those details. Our family had just moved to Southern California. We were living with my mother’s sister somewhere in East Los Angeles. Their home was the typical Spanish Colonial. Anyone familiar with the style and form of such. Know that hallways usually converge into a common room, you cross to the hallway leading to the room you have as your destination. In this pass through common room is where my crib was stationed. Probably the best location for it and me. So the various women could occupy my attention should I become fussy. An many times this common room was an area where the women would congregate as my recollection is. Well across this room was a pantry closet, with selves and full of the sundry items found in such for the time. In the coming and goings of my family and relatives there were numerous occasions that would find me unattended, alone in my crib. It was during one such interlude that the commencement of a reoccurring vision / dream began. I having been left alone to my own devices (parenting back in the day). When the door to the aforementioned pantry slowly opened wide. A beautiful female Golem, her physique had the appearance of red bricks. Yet the contours of her form were singularly female. Rather she had distinct curves with aquiline sculptured features. Most hauntingly she had these striking blue eyes. She never spoke a word, her eyes spoke volumes to my initially shocked mind. As the sounds of returning relatives approached, she gracefully returned from whence she came. On the first couple of occasions I witnessed this I raised a bit of a commotion. I was not yet verbal, and in all honesty I was a late talker. Well the relatives thought I might have seen a rat. So they dutifully opened the pantry to inspection. The pantry was then as it always was, with neither a rat or exquisite Lady Golem. This parade continued off and on for the majority of the our short time residing at my aunt’s house. Usually the Lady Golem had those blue blue eyes, though green and grey versions are among the visits. Each and every time she would come to the side of my crib, moving her head, or tilting (cocking) it just so. Always her eyes full of questions and disbelief. Her eyes seemed to express; You? You are the one sent? Hmmm… You don’t look like much! Look more like a little wet rodent, but who knows?. This was more or less the sentiment expressed in her eyes. Following my first encounters I became accustomed to her visits and would actually miss her on the rare occasions of absence. Needless to say from early childhood I saw the “world” differently than others around me. I also learned to accept this altered perception without fear, understanding its validity within the accepted context of what is “actual” or the “concrete” reality of our existence.

If you may recall back in the haze of school days. During various lectures the teacher's would sometimes use what is commonly referred to as an over head projector. Depending on what was being taught, it was also common practice to layer over lays. These would either complete the image or at times super impose other images as needed. Sometimes even as multiple layers of over laid transparencies. Some of you more contemporaneously educated individuals may never have seen such primitive presentations, having known only power point. For those so blessed what I describe next may be Greek to you. For the dinosaur amongst us most should have some recollection. This model is the closest I can use to illustrate how the world appeared to me growing up as a child. Usually I would see what could best be described as up to two transparencies overlapping the “real world” in general. I could even lift these overlays to get a clearer view of what was being presented before me. At times these would both be at in the foreground of “reality”, other times both would be in the background, while at other times it would be split one in front and one in back. Yet there were numerous other configurations, sometimes completely unrelated to the happenings around me (foreshadowing alert). Gradually this ocular affect of the world began to diminish till it no longer was within my field of vision. By the time I was around sixteen to seventeen years of age this effect was effectively gone. Since then I have experienced this only a handful of times. I usually take a different approach, I will address momentarily. One of the proximate results almost immediately of perceiving my world in this manner is that I usually know the scope and degree that anyone is lying. As an adult it is not quite as prominent as in my childhood. Though there have been exceptions. As a direct consequence my earliest life lesson was in due course the hypocrisy of the adults around me. Everyone would profess such devotion to “the necessity” or importance of always “speaking the Truth”. Yet I would be punished to no end for pointing out the hypocrisy of the fact the adults more often than not lied as suited them. I learned to keep such to myself. Something I still do to this day. I tend to filter or make allowances far too much now as an adult. Invariably leading to greater complications. Besides transparencies certain images or objects would “float” across my field of vision in similar transparency manner. Some of which I could not decipher any context or meaning at the time or since. To begin to place elements of this visual experience I need to explain tangent events of recent.

The advent of the Internet and the information highway is as with most such paradigms, both a blessing and a curse. Dependent largely upon the nature and supposed inclination of man. We are all no doubt familiar with the media platforms of Facebook and YouTube. Like everyone else to some degree I have had occasion to surf around doing research or simply for mindless pleasure. Back prior to Jade Helm, when my Old Lady (though she was substantially younger) Tiffany and I were keeping house in Austin, Texas. I noticed a YouTube video regarding the Apollo 20 mission. Oh by the way according to my histories the Apollo lunar missions went up to 20. I wanted to see what was been discussed along with what twists and turns the disinformation specialist spin their distractions. Which if you can determine it sometimes conclude what they are trying to hide or if their direction of spin is a “z” vector you can sight 180 degrees opposite to determine the landscape they don’t wish you to see. You may consider all this a large investment of mental energies, it is just how my mind works at times automatically. Back to the Apollo 20 video. In the video there was some general discussion of aliens, their nature and origins. During this open dialogue, there was a series of various old clips. I presume were some how removed from the archives of NASA. Many of the older non-defined clips I was quite familiar with the images. Not because I have ever seen them as photos, images, clips or video. At the time I was floored, since previous to that moment I was unacquainted with their context or related meaning. These objects I use to see in the exact same configuration and involved in the exact motions approximately forty years earlier as I was growing up. Matter of fact judging from the age of the imagery I would have to conclude I was witnessing them contemporaneously as a child. Without the context of outer space or NASA I had presumed I was watching some complex interactions of some sort of strange protozoal life from. I even remotely as concerned they had some how become infected to my cornea, so prevalent we’re the objects across my vision. So striking was their imposition upon my sight that more than four decades later their association was immediate and most assuredly certain. One less mystery to worry about. Yet the implications are troubling profoundly. Both of myself and the world at large, considering how maliciously the world's population has been lied to and manipulated. The ends of which are too shocking and horrible to ever discuss. Although in previous conversations at moments of weakness I have divulged a greater portion than may have been prudent.

Wednesday July 11, 2018.  – Killeen, Texas

You may right so wish to ascribe or diagnosis me as having a form of delusions inclusive of all types of hysteria, grandeur, psychosis with severe religious obsessions. For what passes for psychiatry today within the public ledger domain, you may be correct. I would offer in defense a extensive lifetime containing a ongoing accounts of a similar or even greater note. Although I am not a Moses, peoples of another time would recognize me as being touched by The All Mighty, as it were. I will at least own any such appellation. Am I some righteous man deserving of beautification unto sainthood, I would argue Not. At best I have tried to be a descent man, who speaks the Truth as much as possible. I am burdened by an additional commitment.

Back in my youth, being around nine years old. I had a singularly profound series of visions / dreams. I repeatedly dreamt my death, accompanied by the various permeations associated to reaching same. The process took several days (nights) between three to five. Being so young I didn’t think to take particular note of the days my dreams were thus occupied. They obviously had a unique feel with a equally sensational intensity, they still abide with me today. I distinctly recall a voice of sorts coming to me following the last night of witnessing this panorama of my life's end (as are the days accorded to the sons of man). Now this voice which came unto me, I presume it was within the precincts of my mind. Not that it would have mattered greatly since I was alone when it came unto me. Nor did I think to ask from whence or whom spoke. I knew and could feel the light of our Divine Home as I heard the intent along with the presumed words. It was a simple dialogue, stating; “this is how it ends, this is what you have come to do. You need not do it. You have the right to choose. However if you are to complete this task. You must choose to do so now.”. Being a precocious and arrogant child, I immediately presumed that if I had been sent to do such, than the obvious was that I was the best candidate to accomplish the prescribed task. Armed with such infallible logic, I whole heartedly accepted my calling understanding it would come at great cost. Now granted, an understanding of the true scope or magnitude or the enormity of the cost or suffering I fully lacked. I have spent my life preparing. I have come to know that even at the prescribed time I will lack of my own what is necessary. I shall present to the task my all, trusting in Our G-d to shore me up to complete that which I would do. Subsequent to acceptance of this appointment I am to keep in the near future, my sight / vision increased. The frequency and quantity began increasing dreams, visions, revelations, transparencies along with my general perceptions increased. I now openly own the fact that I see the world through the eyes of the mystic. Only recently was my sight dampened. A heart breaking topic the occasion of which surrounds losing my Love Tiffany. The subject of which shall also be laid upon the alter for examination by the modern day augers. Find what fault if you will, I care little. Only know that matter and its accompanying are for later. I must at present attempt to continue in this established vain of thought recounting events long past in my short life. Besides the notations contemporaneous to me and my circumstances or any of the other tripe I have need to spew forth. Believe this, if I could accomplish my foreordained task without sharing, discussing or placing ultimately for public review any of this – such would be my desire. Painfully I have had to come to terms with the ugly reality I must prostrate myself to assure I am able to do what needs be done. Onward thru the fog, as it were.

Without going into specifics too much, early on I displayed another aptitude. Sometime around first to second grade. My Dear sweet mother recognized I somehow had a hand in the going ons of the other children that back then composed the group of children who had commenced to being around. Now my mother was blessed with a keen intellect. Which included the wisdom to not over think somethings. Instead wherever possible if there was a direct and simple solution to apply one's efforts to the solution. Thereby allowing life to continue on as meant. Almost elegant in its simplicity, usually quite effective in solving any problem, a quaint provincial version of Occum's Razor. Consequently the solution was simple, as she noted; “son, I don’t know what you are doing. But it is wrong. Apparently you need my help understanding that.”. There after I regularly got my hide tanned. Until sometime around the age of seven plus the realization that just because you could do something; does not mean you should. And that everyone is entitled to make their own choices. Afterwards the occasion necessitating my tanning ceased as a consequence to those particular actions. By no means did I fail to earn other occasions of corporal punishment as befits a young boy trying to find his wings, so to speak.

Growing up making my way through our education system of public schooling. I never cracked a book. Now one should not presume schools and childhood were smooth sailing. Quite to the contrary, in second grade my school in southern California labeled me “retarded”. Lacking a separate facilities or classes you were simply shoved to the back of the class with similarly challenged children. Nor did they have to test the child or give notice to the parents. Following a few weeks at the back of the class I began to demonstrate “odd” behavior. Which my always observant mother was quick to question. She went to the school and raised holy hell. In actuality it was more of a racially motivated issue. My parents being divorced, the school only saw my Hispanic mother. Being profoundly dyslexic, their initial assessment was that I was a Mexican, and you know you can not teach their kind. I was going to a all white school at time. Not to mention kindergarten in Watts. During the riots in 1965. I had to have police escorts to school. While I still have very distinct memories of the entire family sleeping in the living room with all the doors and windows blocked and barricaded against the rioting blacks. A sort of difficult time growing up. Believe me I know what racism is like. I am not going to hold my tin cup up on that lame ass subject. The fact that there are those in this country that hold onto this issues as the reasons for all their troubles. Or that there are groups and individuals who exploit this history for their enrichment. All this does is allows an ever expanding rifts in our society. The age old axiom of divide and conquer. Yet we all seem oblivious to this, instead we rush to our own deaths.

Thursday July 12, 2018,. – Killeen, Texas

Aaagh, fuck, damnit…. I fucking swear. Why do I even try to help anyone. Generally they hold to their own practices of appeasing the least common denominators by which they live. What can I say. As gracious as my hostess and her son may be. I doubt if I can tolerate much more of their dysfunctionality sans any self realization or objectivity. And they wonder about Joey meeting someone (female). I can’t imagine the woman who would find any of this manner or lack of is appealing. I try to maintain perspective because I do recognize the roots of most of the antisocial behavior. Even if it expresses its self differently than one may anticipate. I just don’t have the tolerance I usually do. In my current condition of convalescing from my injuries, makes me subject to the vagaries that define the lives of normal people. Due to the obvious singular quality of my life I have had to come to terms with the fact that I do not process anything in like manner as my peers. An before everyone thinks I am trying to sound all superior or some such, please note that I am continually making stupid mistakes principally due to my own naivety. We all have this aspect wherein we judge our circumstance and that of others from the pigeonhole perspective. Everyone else's view though differing from each other falls within a given area, or a few degrees of each other. Mine falls a extreme distance outside of what could be considered the norm. Nonetheless being very human I continue in the belief I perceive “reality” much as the other person from a similar understanding and values system. Invariably this attitude finds opportunity to smack me in my face by its differences. Each and every time I am recalled that, oh I knew better because I am fully aware of the differences and should have factored accordingly. Even now at this more venerable point in my life I find one of my biggest failings is naive belief in the character of my fellow man. Yet if my assertions as to my last day as are allotted to the sons of man be True. For the greater part I will be doing so for the entirety of Our Familial Aggregation. Even for those who seek only to cause me and those I Love and care about, harm or maliciousness. Because that is the way of things in our Creation. Soon enough the vile evil shall reveal itself, the kid gloves shall come off and life will never be this peaceful again. If it be the will of he who sent me I will seek to balance many scales of injustice. Till then I must endure and prepare as best I can.

Well enough complaining about friends who do their best given the circumstances. I appreciate all they have done on my behalf. Especially since to a large degree they grasp what potentially may be the cost. Even if in some small ways they may have been influenced by the same malicious or “Bees”, that seek to be the cause of my failure. For such is the nature of things in the abyss. Especially considering the length of time I have elected to spend wrapped in the confines of twisting throughout what we commonly refer to as “reality”. I generally feel more comfortable surrounded by its miasma and ickor than anywhere else. As much as it may appear to be a contradiction it ultimately is fact. Sigh!!!

For the time being I guess I will change the temporal focus of my entries. I can seldom stay focused on any particular time frame for an extended period. Doing so usually causes me to shift to the associated memories which become very visceral in nature. Soon it begins to become a tad overwhelming. All the more so once framed in relation to the present context. I sincerely hope that suffices and is remotely coherent. I am usually deconstructing my conceptual models and ideas into a form more acceptable to being understood. Sometimes I become lost in the process to the point I know what I mean despite the fact that the words and or syntax are nonsense. In conversation I sometimes have to stop and ask if what I have postulated or presented in the dialogue makes sense. I know it all made sense and sounded good in my head. Aaah but I can’t always presume to have effectively communicated the same.

Saturday July 14, 2018.  – Killeen, Texas

Well here it is the weekend, somewhere in Who-ville are working stiffs cheering at the arrival of the ritual with its time off. It has been interminably long since I have have lived a life so constrained as to include the simple Joy of a defined weekend of days off. Hell I am usually engrossed in my vocation daily. With my ever prevalent purpose always driving me. For the most part I have become unfit to be amongst civil company. Yes I am conversant. I am genial enough when in mixed groups. I tend to empathic of those around me. I genuinely give a damn as to the well being of others. Even so, the inescapable Truth is that the darkness is too imbued into my being. Because of the darkness of my spirit, I have become rolled into the ubiquitous abyss of our “reality”. Though it does not effect me quite the same as others its taint has woven into my fibers. Not being much of a liar I lack the necessary tools to hide it from general view.

Wednesday July 18, 2018  - Killeen, Texas

Well damn, I sometimes really get fucking frustrated.  At one level I am perpetually detached from the day to day focus and obsessions of everyone around me. I can’t bring my mind to focus on the general ideological concepts propagated by the geopolitical theater. Which resembles an episode of the moppet show as far as I what it appears. Are the offenses and injuries less or non-existent to my sympathies or moral indignation; not in the least. They still represent injustices and crimes which need to be effectively dealt with and hopefully the scales will balance. Even so, I just can not seem to get all worked up over these slight daily travesties. All the more so since I tend to view all these for what they are within the larger perspectives and plans of globalist / occultic families. Typical divide and conquer, or simple distractions from their primary objectives. I can appreciate everyone’s sentiments and attitudes that the scenarios of what is to come are not perceived as real or likely. Hell even I given enough distance and time begin to feel as though none of it is possibly factual. Except for the fact that I have lived a life associated to these eventualities. Even when I was in the thick of things all those involved would tell me bold faced lies as to what was occurring. As if to make me question the obvious, because the obvious Truth of the matter was outside any social norms. I guess there are those for a convenient lie is preferred to Truth too extreme to accept. I have been at this life, spending the majority of my existence living in the abyss. Which is everywhere, it co-exists with whatever social or cultural conventions occupying our realities of the moment.  It is ubiquitous yet invisible to all but those who have had the misfortune to have grown up in its mists, or the uninitiated. Due to my unique occular abilities I am sort of self initiated. It took me a little while to come to understand the meaning of this subset of our world. I have always seemed to rub against this sub culture, even as a child. A odd fact which has taken me many years to come to terms with it. Even then it was a process of educating myself to be able to grasp the entirety of the concepts. Though outrageous beyond belief, it is nonetheless part of a larger pool of knowledge I have fought long and hard to achieve. We are a phenomenal expression of life, even across the multiverse. For all our uniqueness, we are seemingly determined to trivialize who and what we are. More importantly the processes and manner whereby we are to accomplish our purpose “here”.  Truly phenomenal!!!

Yet I digress. I am simply getting on my soapbox, whipping the horse, so to speak. Grrrrr…

How best to convey some of the basics back into the discussions and open forums in our sea of opinions. A perplexing problem one that has vexed my soul for almost three decades. I suppose the real source of my reservations has principally revolved around my own reluctance to be centrist to any reintroduction in a general dialogue. Much to my consternation it is plain that to accomplish this and thereby facilitate me being able to keep my appointment in the future, I must find the where with all and means to personally become directly a part of our social dialogues. I can freely admit to my own megalomania. I try not to buy into it myself. I shan’t feed such feelings or Mali-adpted inclinations. What ever a person's tendencies, we fail our own interests in doing so. To the point of it becoming a all consuming psychosis. Our histories are replete with the villains who are consumed by base desires at the cost of all else. Not that such is my fear. Rather I prefer to do what I can from a position far from the limelight. We don’t always get to choose how best to accomplish our goals. My non-object oriented way of thinking I suppose. Aaagh, this is an area I would deeply desire some assistance. Not to mention the realities of presently being impoverished. I had best get used to my condition, I fear I shan’t know any other for some time to come. I guess I need to find the way and means to broadcast my ugly mug on to the internet. I guess I will start some YouTube type of series. I need to really get my act together!

Amazingly as we and our solar-system has traversed the apogee of its elliptical orbit with its sister star. This having occurred back in December 2012. We are now accelerating towards our sister star on the side closest to our Galactic Center. We will soon be re-entering the flows of Magick. They are part of the natural order of things. Think of it as a higher order of physics. We conveniently suppose a posture of superiority over some earlier more organic beliefs or systems of interactions within our realities. Although witchcraft, paganism, shamanism, and various other practices have been collectively maligned for associated practices related to satanistic practices (which Are very evil). In many such cases we have throughen the baby out with the bathwater. I am not trying to condemn nor make excuses, only to ask for a broader open review of these strangely different beliefs and practices.  Many times they are simply corrupted versions of our Judaeo-christian thought, beliefs and practices. Sometimes I even find missing pages of our religious histories amongst these. An to borrow a quote;  “We are too hasty when we set down our ancestors in the gross for fools for the monstrous inconsistencies (as they seem to us) involved in their creed of witchcraft.” - C. Lamb.

Friday July 19, 2018.  – Killeen, Texas

Now as to my disjointed quaint manner of writing, I am recalled of yet another quote from Webster’s,  “Prolix, Diffuse. A prolix writer delights in circumlocution, extended detail, and trifling particulars. A diffuse writer is fond of amplifying, and abounds in epithets, figures, illustrations. Diffuseness often arises from an exuberance of imagination; prolixity is generally connected with a want of it.” [1913 Webster].  As to which, my confused manner may be likened, I leave such determination to those who due to some pathological compulsions decide to continue on through the disjointed tediousness of my log.  Excuse my quoting, it but appears the best and most eloquent descriptive means external to my own critiques. Wherein Webster provides what I believe is a more accurate description of my loquacious manner and style of communication. Bleck, ugh…

On to more relevant matters. As I continue to play my game of catching up to the current state of affairs in my existence. Jumping back to around August last year, at the time I elected to take my leave of the Long Beach / Wilmington area of the LA Basin. The majority of occurrences I previously wrote down in a contemporaneous log as I walked out of LA ultimately reaching Salt Lake City, Utah. With a brief momentary stay in Las Vegas, Nevada. My mind aches at the memories from that time. Regardless, there may in the retelling be wisdom or beneficial information for myself or others. Sorry if some of this has a choppy feel to it. There are mountains of unresolved emotional context and histories, which continue to elicit extremes within me. I hate sounding apologetic from the get go. Not that any of the vacillating diminishes the importance of the material or what I endured.

In July of last year, my younger brother was arrested and placed in presumably Twin Towers downtown Los Angeles. It was involving drugs and a handgun. I saw him and the P.O.S. , earlier that night. I already knew there were going to be problems. Additionally I had been indirectly informed my situation was about to become difficult. No more niceness regarding my treatment, operational dictums were changed. Initially I was was acutely aware my younger brother was not in police custody. I figured he was being held some where on or around the federal facilities of Terminal Island in the Port of Long Beach. Later parts of my sight of his circumstances were confirmed to me, though the exact location never has been (foreshadowing). Sometime during the second week of his presumed incarceration. He digitally appeared in the system with the appropriate arrest date, and information. To this day I am not convinced of the terms and conditions accompanying this purely “staged” event. No doubt there were days he was in the Twin Towers facility. Anything else is highly suspect at best if not solely manipulated data for the purposes of the Op. Nonetheless, I was sorely put upon. Due to the determinate fact that whatever had previously as well as on going to date are the proximate results of his being “my brother”. I was aware my brother was not my brother. I later would describe the fact as, “my brother was murdered on the mesas of New Mexico 4 (5) years prior”. I freely declared the fact, even with my younger brother present. At the time of his arrest I had invested two years trying to awaken and heal his soul. During this ordeal, he was on goingly conditioned (subject to various satanic trauma assisted by ultra high technologies deployed by our Shadow Government for the purposes of mind control). I can not escape a degree of culpability. Many may seek succor in the belief that I was not responsible, nor the individual inflicting these horrors to my younger brother. I acknowledge the physical reality as being so. However the moral reality is that, We are our Brother's keeper. An for myself it has a immense literal quality. We are all part of Our Larger Familial Aggregation, what we do, say or do not effects all. While in my particular case, he is my younger brother – same Mother and Father. I have known what to expect from the future all my life. I have even attempted to convey this knowledge in abstract to my brothers. Granted I did Not know that in recent times the evil practitioners of these vile satanistic rites had made a huge technical breakthrough. It use to be, if an individual attained adulthood free of these practices or influences, then they would die free of its chains. Obviously a person could freely elect to cultivate any base desires or perverse inclinations. By “choice” being the operative mandate, those chained to the MPD / DID minds of victims of Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA) are forever robbed of any choice in the matter. Not even I can “set” them free or the chains forged in their infancy and childhoods. I can only unlock the gates and offer them the means to heal. The process is long and painful, requiring more years than anyone can live to hopefully heal. Sadly as each victim is considered chattel to the perspective heads of each “family”, who is in turn property of another. Hence there are functionally twelve Satanic Patriarchs seated at the heads of their “family”. Under Satanic Dogma they consider themselves “gods” of their worlds. According to their beliefs you exist as titled property, if not than you are of no consequence thereby you do Not exist. The worth of you and yours is less than the trash sent to the dump.

Sunday July 22, 2018 – Killeen, Texas

Continuing with similar point of fact as discussed, it may all sound or would be considered linear, a straightforward affair. Appearing almost orderly, locked in some strange perverse dance. When it is anything but. Take into consideration the matter of succession. You might be inclined to infer that being Patriarchal, it is a matter of patrialinacal father to son. The reality is far from such Familial Sensibilities. Simply put, upon the death of the head of any household. He, who inherits is the male gains control of his clan by right of arms, or force. Basically if you are not yet feared enough to demand your seat as the heir to the estate. The one who rules does so because he has murdered and killed all the opposition by blood rite according to Antediluvian Law. Meaning you not only kill your opposition, the action is inclusive of all males of immediate consanguinal association. The wholesale murder also removes any potential blood retribution by those who possess an immediate claim to do so. Secondly it demonstrates to clan members at large the vicious response dissent will meet. Terror then substitutes conditioned context within their trauma-based mindset vicariously confirming that male's natural right to head that Family’s Branch of the Larger Familial Group. If you can remotely rationale order from such chaotic slaughter. You more than likely were raised under such paradigms, or your values are perversely twisted and I recommend you seek professional help from any school of thought practicing a highly structured value system, preferably based on some well established benevolent religion. Notice I qualify said using the word benevolent. Cause if you use the most liberal definition to the concepts of religion you could quietly slip satanism or luciferinism in as established religions. The distinctions are sufficient as to invite debate. One I feel is much a waste of time for all parties. Generally I ascribe it principally to a matter of semantics shackled to vastly differing modalities of operations defining values. Our time can be better spent educating ourselves up and out of overly cerebral arguments designed to trap us in artificial concepts posing as reality. A overwrought process favored by Academia in defense of entrenched theories dressed in the ideology we refer to as the “Scientific Model”.  Yes, I have great disdain for what passes for education and schools of higher learning. They have long since been co-oped into the problems they were meant to free us from being slaves. I will tuck that soapbox away now, thank you for your indulgence.

What is even more incredible is the fact that this insanity is governed by their own set laws and rules. They even have a court system with defined jurisprudence. Not any sort you or I could consider properly legal. Rather it is more a system to maintain the “status quo” based on traditions, precedence, along with a strange quasi religious tones from Antediluvian Laws. Even known lies are acceptable if left uncontested but those who have standing and recognized Familial context. Elsewise the stated lie will stand as fact, enforceable to the fullest extent to which the system can accommodate.

Now if you followed that loose explanation, allow me to attempt to give an overview of some of the semi-societal interactive relationship between myself and these psychopaths. Especially above the standing rank and file victims constituting the entirety of the Families. I have a singularly unique interactive connection to them, their Families, their politics, traditions, religious dogma, technologies of the Shadow Government, including possible contingencies for what is to come. It is a chaotic and confusing dynamic paradox. Perpetually in a state of change, in recent times there has been much difference of opinion concerning how to acknowledge or interact with me. Technically I am a nonentity, because I exist outside the direct consanguineous relationship, nor am I amenable to joining their point of view. I remain in opposition to them, their practices, beliefs to the extent of being fundamentally adversarial to “them”. It is worth noting I have been at this so long that everyone I know or deal with daily belongs to this subset of our society. Almost all my friends, associates, girlfriends or anyone else comes from some blood occultic families. Some even to what capacity they are able seek to support me in my efforts. I am alive today because some evil bastards simply decided not to do as they were instructed. Knowing full well the consequences for siding with me. Try to understand these individuals have lived corrupt malignant lives, they hate themselves but are forbidden to take their own lives. There is virtual nothing they can do to truly cause those over them to flip out or take offense. Yet they do recognize that my stumbling about is upsetting. Having run around everywhere doing what I do. I have always done so without a net, so to speak. It is a source of boarder line amazement, more particularly they think I am “bat-shit” crazy! Nonetheless I am still here. You may know people who collect body art, fashionably tattoos these days. I sometimes joke of my own collection of scars and injuries to my body. Thankfully I heal exceptionally well. Most of my scars heal to the point of being almost unnoticeable, if you did not know my histories. It is an exhausting hobby, painful too! A frequent refrain I hear while being admitted to the ER or ICU has been, “Mr Williams, you are very lucky to be alive”.  “Yeah Doc I hear that allot. Do the best you can.”.  It has become somewhat of a ongoing joke, amongst friends and family. These days those groups have become ultra thin. Another reason I make this record of events in my life including improved contemporaneous writings. We can all hope for such. Believe me if it was up to me, no one would know much if anything about me, or my life. I have been, or more correctly I have allowed myself to be forced into a dreadfully unpleasant set of circumstances, as I have whined concerning previously.

Okay Sherman set the way-back machine to the 80’s and 90’ of the last century. Seeing patterns across the country in the minds of crazy ass bitches, now I do Not mean that in a bad way. I have a immense affinity for beautiful crazy ladies. Now as I was saying, the imagery within their minds was too consistent to be coincidence. The language of our sub- conscience is imagery, archetypal, motifs, iconography, mythical, dreams, visions, will of the wisps and whimsy. I believe we all “see” much more of one another than we choose to accept. The largest hurdle to understanding is this compulsion to read or understand what we “see” before the picture is finished assembling in our minds. This tendency has been increasingly pushed into smaller and smaller bits. Which as a negative exponential inverse function has become more and more confusing as to be nigh meaningless with each subsequent reduction. Hence at a time when we should be more connected to everyone. We find increased feelings of isolation and alienation. No matter how much we communicate with our neighbors next door or abroad we have less consensus or feelings of commonality. We sequester these feeling with their accompanying anxieties, less we inadvertently offend anyone. Like what the Fuck! It is part and parcel of the Adult World. Being offended or offending others is how things get done. Usually for the best interests of everyone. Granted we should strive to be engaging to achieve our goals, short of violence or intimidation. Yet as any honest government would gladly concede. Once negotiations by normal means come to an impasse then comes negotiations by “other means”. The debased conduct of sordid persons is best met with our best foot forward, right up their ass! Like most animals, immediacy tends to be the most effective in correcting Mali-adpted conduct. Back to the horse I rode up on, hahaha.

At any rate, over the years I began to solve the underlying issues. I actually came to my own work arounds prior to fully grasping the centralized source or the impact of its implications. Years later I did begin to hear limited bits of information over the internet. Although it did take me a while before I started to correlate the “conspiracy theory” data with what I was “seeing” in women throughout the country.  Largely because few had any real coherent information. Eventually, information concerning Project MK Ultra and our government's Psy-Ops programs sufficiently surfaced to flesh out the details. As a child, young teenager I was familiar with the government’s LSD experiments for a variety of reasons, mind control being one aspect. Frankly I can not believe there are people today who do not know or refuse to believe that our government conducted such experimentation on the populace. It was just common knowledge in the circles I travel. If you read the Program Outline for MK Ultra it has an extensive list of lines of “study” information was to be explored, accumulated with a focus of deriving paradigms of control on individuals, groups, countries, cultures, and from that to the world at Large. The Globalist, New World Order, G-7, Trilateral Commission, Illuminati the individuals and their constantly shifting panorama of institutions and foundations are continually sifting beliefs and cultures in an multi-generational game of Three Card Molly. Degree by degree all the world’s various societies and Cultures have been manipulated via global misdirection with large quantities of restructuring of values and beliefs. Till everyone on Earth thinks good is bad; and bad is good. I should think we have all heard these arguments before, usually framed as the delusions of conspiracy theorist. All rather convenient as a means explaining away any descent or even an open fair discussion. Our social structure has drifted far from where we should be. Starting in 2020, everything is going to change and never be this pleasant or nice again. Well at least not till after the Second Coming. Hahaha, despite sounding …...

[pamphletstoinspire]

THE BOOK OF ECCLESIASTES- From The Douay-Rheims Bible - Latin Vulgate

Chapter 9

INTRODUCTION

This Book is called Ecclesiastes, or the preacher, (in Hebrew, Coheleth) because in it Solomon, as an excellent preacher, setteth forth the vanity of the things of this world, to withdraw the hearts and affections of men from such empty toys. Ch. --- Coheleth is a feminine noun, to indicate the elegance of the discourse. It is very difficult to discriminate the objections of free-thinkers from the real sentiments of the author. It is most generally supposed that Solomon wrote this after his repentance; but this is very uncertain. S. Jerom (in C. xii. 12.) informs us that the collectors of the sacred books had some scruple about admitting this; and Luther speaks of it with great disrespect: (Coll. conviv.) but the Church has always maintained its authority. See Conc. v. Act. 4. Philast. 132. C. --- It refutes the false notions of worldlings, concerning felicity; and shews that it consists in the service of God and fruition. W.

The additional Notes in this Edition of the New Testament will be marked with the letter A. Such as are taken from various Interpreters and Commentators, will be marked as in the Old Testament. B. Bristow, C. Calmet, Ch. Challoner, D. Du Hamel, E. Estius, J. Jansenius, M. Menochius, Po. Polus, P. Pastorini, T. Tirinus, V. Bible de Vence, W. Worthington, Wi. Witham. — The names of other authors, who may be occasionally consulted, will be given at full length.

Verses are in English and Latin. HAYDOCK CATHOLIC BIBLE COMMENTARY

This Catholic commentary on the Old Testament, following the Douay-Rheims Bible text, was originally compiled by Catholic priest and biblical scholar Rev. George Leo Haydock (1774-1849). This transcription is based on Haydock's notes as they appear in the 1859 edition of Haydock's Catholic Family Bible and Commentary printed by Edward Dunigan and Brother, New York, New York.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

Changes made to the original text for this transcription include the following:

Greek letters. The original text sometimes includes Greek expressions spelled out in Greek letters. In this transcription, those expressions have been transliterated from Greek letters to English letters, put in italics, and underlined. The following substitution scheme has been used: A for Alpha; B for Beta; G for Gamma; D for Delta; E for Epsilon; Z for Zeta; E for Eta; Th for Theta; I for Iota; K for Kappa; L for Lamda; M for Mu; N for Nu; X for Xi; O for Omicron; P for Pi; R for Rho; S for Sigma; T for Tau; U for Upsilon; Ph for Phi; Ch for Chi; Ps for Psi; O for Omega. For example, where the name, Jesus, is spelled out in the original text in Greek letters, Iota-eta-sigma-omicron-upsilon-sigma, it is transliterated in this transcription as, Iesous. Greek diacritical marks have not been represented in this transcription.

Footnotes. The original text indicates footnotes with special characters, including the astrisk (*) and printers' marks, such as the dagger mark, the double dagger mark, the section mark, the parallels mark, and the paragraph mark. In this transcription all these special characters have been replaced by numbers in square brackets, such as [1], [2], [3], etc.

Accent marks. The original text contains some English letters represented with accent marks. In this transcription, those letters have been rendered in this transcription without their accent marks.

Other special characters.

Solid horizontal lines of various lengths that appear in the original text have been represented as a series of consecutive hyphens of approximately the same length, such as ---.

Ligatures, single characters containing two letters united, in the original text in some Latin expressions have been represented in this transcription as separate letters. The ligature formed by uniting A and E is represented as Ae, that of a and e as ae, that of O and E as Oe, and that of o and e as oe.

Monetary sums in the original text represented with a preceding British pound sterling symbol (a stylized L, transected by a short horizontal line) are represented in this transcription with a following pound symbol, l.

The half symbol (1/2) and three-quarters symbol (3/4) in the original text have been represented in this transcription with their decimal equivalent, (.5) and (.75) respectively.

Unreadable text. Places where the transcriber's copy of the original text is unreadable have been indicated in this transcription by an empty set of square brackets, [].

Chapter 9

Man knows not certainty that he is in God's grace. After death no more work or merit.

[1] All these things have I considered in my heart, that I might carefully understand them: there are just men and wise men, and their works are in the hand of God: and yet man knoweth not whether he be worthy of love, or hatred:

Omnia haec tractavi in corde meo, ut curiose intelligerem. Sunt justi atque sapientes, et opera eorum in manu Dei; et tamen nescit homo utrum amore an odio dignus sit.

[2] But all things are kept uncertain for the time to come, because all things equally happen to the just and to the wicked, to the good and to the evil, to the clean and to the unclean, to him that offereth victims, and to him that despiseth sacrifices. As the good is, so also is the sinner: as the perjured, so he also that sweareth truth.

Sed omnia in futurum servantur incerta, eo quod universa aeque eveniant justo et impio, bono et malo, mundo et immundo, immolanti victimas et sacrificia contemnenti. Sicut bonus, sic et peccator; ut perjurus, ita et ille qui verum dejerat.

[3] This is a very great evil among all things that are done under the sun, that the same things happen to all men: whereby also the hearts of the children of men are filled with evil, and with contempt while they live, and afterwards they shall be brought down to hell.

Hoc est pessimum inter omnia quae sub sole fiunt : quia eadem cunctis eveniunt. Unde et corda filiorum hominum implentur malitia et contemptu in vita sua, et post haec ad inferos deducentur.

[4] There is no man that liveth always, or that hopeth for this: a living dog is better than a dead lion.

Nemo est qui semper vivat, et qui hujus rei habeat fiduciam; melior est canis vivus leone mortuo.

[5] For the living know that they shall die, but the dead know nothing more, neither have they a reward any more: for the memory of them is forgotten.

Viventes enim sciunt se esse morituros; mortui vero nihil noverunt amplius, nec habent ultra mercedem, quia oblivioni tradita est memoria eorum.

[6] Their love also, and their hatred, and their envy are all perished, neither have they any part in this world, and in the work that is done under the sun.

Amor quoque, et odium, et invidiae simul perierunt; nec habent partem in hoc saeculo, et in opere quod sub sole geritur.

[7] Go then, and eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with gladness: because thy works please God.

Vade ergo, et comede in laetitia panem tuum, et bibe cum gaudio vinum tuum, quia Deo placent opera tua.

[8] At all times let thy garments be white, and let not oil depart from thy head.

Omni tempore sint vestimenta tua candida, et oleum de capite tuo non deficiat.

[9] Live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest, all the days of thy unsteady life, which are given to thee under the sun, all the time of thy vanity: for this is thy portion in life, and in thy labour wherewith thou labourest under the sun.

Perfruere vinum cum uxore quam diligis, cunctis diebus vitae instabilitatis tuae, qui dati sunt tibi sub sole omni tempore vanitatis tuae : haec est enim pars in vita et in labore tuo quo laboras sub sole.

[10] Whatsoever thy hand is able to do, do it earnestly: for neither work, nor reason, nor wisdom, nor knowledge shall be in hell, whither thou art hastening.

Quodcumque facere potest manus tua, instanter operare, quia nec opus, nec ratio, nec sapientia, nec scientia erunt apud inferos, quo tu properas.

[11] I turned me to another thing, and I saw that under the sun, the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the learned, nor favour to the skillful: but time and chance in all.

Verti me ad aliud, et vidi sub sole nec velocium esse cursum, nec fortium bellum, nec sapientium panem, nec doctorum divitias, nec artificum gratiam; sed tempus casumque in omnibus.

[12] Man knoweth not his own end: but as fishes are taken with the hook, and as birds are caught with the snare, so men are taken in the evil time, when it shall suddenly come upon them.

Nescit homo finem suum; sed sicut pisces capiuntur hamo, et sicut aves laqueo comprehenduntur, sic capiuntur homines in tempore malo, cum eis extemplo supervenerit.

[13] This wisdom also I have seen under the sun, and it seemed to me to be very great:

Hanc quoque sub sole vidi sapientiam, et probavi maximam :

[14] A little city, and few men in it: there came against it a great king, and invested it, and built bulwarks round about it, and the siege was perfect.

civitas parva, et pauci in ea viri; venit contra eam rex magnus, et vallavit eam, exstruxitque munitiones per gyrum, et perfecta est obsidio.

[15] Now there was found in it a man poor and wise, and he delivered the city by his wisdom, and no man afterward remembered that poor man.

Inventusque est in ea vir pauper et sapiens, et liberavit urbem per sapientiam suam; et nullus deinceps recordatus est hominis illius pauperis.

[16] And I said that wisdom is better than strength: how then is the wisdom of the poor man slighted, and his words not heard?

Et dicebam ego meliorem esse sapientiam fortitudine. Quomodo ergo sapientia pauperis contempta est, et verba ejus non sunt audita?

[17] The words of the wise are heard in silence, more than the cry of a prince among fools.

Verba sapientium audiuntur in silentio, plus quam clamor principis inter stultos.

[18] Better is wisdom, than weapons of war: and he that shall offend in one, shall lose many good things.

Melior est sapientia quam arma bellica; et qui in uno peccaverit, multa bona perdet.

Commentary:

Ver. 1. Of God. He seems to treat both alike, so that the just themselves cannot say whether their sufferings be a punishment or a trial. S. Jer. C. --- Knoweth not certainly, and in an ordinary manner. W. --- Hatred. Heb. and Sept. "yet love and hatred man knoweth not." H. --- Prosperity or adversity proves nothing. C. --- Mortals cannot tell whether their afflictions tend to their greater improvement, like Job's, or they are in punishment of sin, like those of Pharao, and of the Egyptians. This they shall know after death. W. --- Yet the wicked know already that they are displeasing to God. Salmeron in 2 Cor. xii. "The just and...their works are in the hand of God, even love and hatred; men know not," &c. Dieu. Amama.

Ver. 2. But. Heb. joins this with the preceding not, "by all that is before them. All things come alike to all, there is one event to," &c. Prot. H. --- The pagans distinguished real goods and evils from those which were only apparent, like prosperity and adversity, which are determined only by the good or bad use. S. Jer. --- Thus religion looks upon virtue and vice in the former light; and riches, poverty, &c. in the latter. It may be difficult to decide, whether, under adversity, the just have supported themselves better by virtue, or the wicked by vanity. God will manifest the truth. C. --- Perjured. Heb. and Sept. "swearer, so he that fears an oath." H.

Ver. 3. Evil. People hence take occasion to indulge in vice, (C. viii. 14.) though the conduct of God be irreproachable. C. --- Shall. Heb. "they go to the dead." H. --- Many think that these are the sentiments of the impious.

Ver. 4. There. Even those who have had the vanity to claim divine honours, never could persuade themselves that they would escape death. But the just forms a different conclusion from the wicked. He looks upon his life only as a preparation for the other, (Heb. xi. 13. Eph. ii. 19.) while libertines make haste to enjoy the fleeting pleasure. Is. xxii. 13. To the former death seems desirable, (C. iv. 2. and vi. 3.) to the latter it is a subject of consternation; and he prefers the vilest creature living, to the most noble when dead. C. --- Heb. "for whosoever is chosen (yebuchar. Marg. yechubar, "is united") to all the living, has hope; for a," &c. H. --- Moderns generally follow the marginal reading of the Masorets. C. --- "For who shall live for ever?" Sym. "Who partakes with all the living? There is hope." Sept. H. --- During life alone the sinner may amend. C. ii. 3. The Gentiles are preferred before the Jews. W.

Ver. 5. Know nothing more, viz. As to the transactions of this world, in which they have now no part, unless it be revealed to them; neither have they any knowledge or power now of doing any thing to secure their eternal state, (if they have not taken care of it in their lifetime) nor can they now procure themselves any good, as the living always may do, by the grace of God. Ch.

Ver. 7. God. Be grateful to him, and make a good use of his benefits, (S. Jer. exp. 2.) or these are the words of libertines. Boss.  S. Jer. 1. explicat. C.

Ver. 8. White. As in times of joy, and among people of quality. C. x. 17. Prov. xxxi. 23. --- Head. Our Saviour reproaches the Pharisees for neglecting this. Lu. vii. 45.

Ver. 9. Wife. Some translate, "the woman," or harlot; as if the wicked still spoke.

Ver. 10. Earnestly. Live in delights, or perform many good works. C. ii. 5. Our Lord seems to allude to this passage. What thou dost, do quickly. Jo. xiii. 27.

Ver. 11. All. Thus it appears to the inattentive, and to the wicked. For Solomon frequently inculcates that Providence directs all wisely. Human industry is not always attended with success. Deut. xxix. 19. This is a fresh proof of the vanity of all things. C.

Ver. 12. With. Heb. adds, "evil." Net, (Mont.) or hook. H. --- Them. They may use precautions; but, without God's aid, they will not succeed. Ps. cxxvi. 1. C.

Ver. 14. And the siege, &c. Heb. has only "great bulwarks over or against it." H.

Ver. 15. Afterward, is not in Heb. The poor man was unnoticed before. C. --- Vulg. insinuates that he met with no return of gratitude, which is but too common; (H.) and this shews the vanity of the world.

Ver. 16. Heard? Eccli. xiii. 28. Men are so unjust as to despise wisdom, if it be in a poor man. The prudence of an individual has often saved cities, as was the case at Abela, and Bethulia; (2 K. xx. 22. C.) and Syracuse was defended a long time by Archimedes against the whole Roman army. Plut. in Marcel.

Ver. 17. Fools. Though the wise often meet with contempt, it is only among fools, who form the majority. C. --- Vain declaimers in the Church shew their own folly, as well as that of their hearers. S. Jer.

Ver. 18. Things. A woman saved Abela; and Achan almost ruined Israel. Want of prudence in a general is often fatal. Virtues are connected, as well as vices. C. - For one transgression, many acts of virtue are lost. S. Jer.