#i have a normal amount of feelings regarding this fictional woman and her arms in the 2nd cap

[mortalscience]

ten caps per episode - Law and Order Criminal Intent - s02e02 - Bright Boy

Regarding a test that tests social adjustment. Eames: I remember this. We had to take it the last year of high school. Goren: So did we. Eames: How’d you do? Goren: I had to go to my counselor's office and have a talk with the school shrink. Eames chuckles. Goren: How about you? Eames: Me? I was so well adjusted, they elected me prom queen. Goren looks surprised, smiles.

[elderflower2000]

Neteyam x (f)reader.

ummmmm hi! I would like to say a huge thank you to everyone who liked my first ever fan fiction!! I’m not sure if it was actually good or if all my Neteyam girlies are just STARVING for content.

(also, I write these on my phone so I apologise for rubbish formatting)

- - - - - - - -

Lo’ak challenges you to a race climbing one of the hallelujah mountains. Things do not go to plan, Neteyam has to step in to so you don’t die.

- - - - - - - -

Splashes of water drip down upon your brow, the Hallelujah Mountains floating high above you as your arms ache violently from trying to pull yourself up on a thin vine.

“Just admit that you’re tired!” Lo’ak shouts at you from above, Lo’ak looks at you with glee knowing that he has already won the bet which was construed just an hour earlier. The pair of you had been messing around while supposedly doing chores when Lo’ak challenged you to a race but no ordinary race.

“I bet I can climb to that point faster than you can.” Lo’ak had said in which you scoffed.

“Lo’ak, you overestimate my desire to win.” You had said so confidentially but now here you were Lo’ak standing on the safety of the ledge, you struggling to pull yourself up the vine any further. Your muscles ache violently as you could feel your grip getting looser on the vine.

“Hey, Are you okay?” Lo’ak asks you from above as his concern starts to grow, you were normally so fast, so strong and agile. The younger Sully brother had never seen you struggle once but now you were barely able to pull yourself up the vine just 5 metres more.

“I’m fine!” You snap harshly at Lo’ak as your grip tightens around the vine but the sweat on your palms makes it feel impossible to get a sturdy grip. Lo’ak looks down nervously not knowing if he should step in and save you or spare your pride. He didn’t have time to decide as the mixture of sweat and water dripping from the mountains causing your grip to finally falter. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You shout the sky people swear word Neteyam had taught you. You dangle from the very end of the vine, your feet dangling dangerously free while your hands grip tightly at the minimal amount of vine left.

“Shit!” Lo’ak shouted from above as he made the high-pitched throat noise to call his Ikran. “Dude! Hold on!” The situation wasn’t looking hopeful and as you look down seeing nothing but open sky you start to feel panic rise within you.

*Neteyam POV*

“Tuk, Where is (y/n)? She was supposed to be doing chores with Lo’ak but no one has seen them.” Neteyam asks his baby sister who had an incredibly guilty look her her face. “Just tell me Tuk otherwise I’ll tell Mom what really happened to her arrows” Neteyam was no stranger to using threats against his siblings when it came to your safety.

“Her and Lo’ak are racing to the highest point on the mountain!” Tuk shouts at her eldest brother “Please don’t tell Mom it was me, she will kill me.” The baby of the family said to her brother but Neteyam frowned.

“That shxawng!” Neteyam spat in regards to his brother. How could he have done that to his brother? Putting the woman he loved in such peril made the future leaders blood boil. Neteyam called his Ikran running towards it linking the bond before mentally commanding it to fly.

*your pov*

“For fuck sake Lo’ak! Help me!” You snap harshly as one of your hands slipped from the vine. Lo’ak looks around helpless as he can’t lower himself onto the vine in case it might snap. Lo’ak only real choice was to call for his Ikran but it must’ve been unable to hear him this high into the mountain.

“Lo’ak do something I’m going to sl-“ You weren’t able to finish your sentence as your hand slipped from the vine. You watched as Lo’ak roared your name reaching out a hand which would could not catch you. As you plummet to certain death you feel a certain clarity, you would be with Ewya soon and there would be nothing to fear. No! You hadn’t had enough time yet, not enough time to play with friends, not enough time to tell your mother how much you really loved her, not enough time to tell Neteyam just how much you really loved him. You were not ready to die but it seemed that the great mother had different plans for you.

*Neteyam’s pov*

I could see her, dangling from a vine. I was about to call out, call her an idiot, perhaps even make fun of her but then her hand slipped and my girl went plummeting towards Pandora’s earth.

“(y/n)!” I roared feeling nothing but pure madness and drive to save her. I push my Ikran into a full dive hoping to get under her but she was falling too fast. I push myself further down trying to get closer to her. If I could just grab a limb I could pull her to me.

I push my Ikran to descend faster and that’s when she reaches out her arm, our hands interlink and I violently pull her onto my Ikran.

*your pov*

He’d done it, your Neteyam had arrived just at the right time seeing you fall. He’d pushed his Ikran so hard that he almost perished with you but now you sat up his Ikran arms wrapped around his waist.

He hasn’t uttered a single word to you but as soon as his feet were on solid ground he pulled you towards him “Do you know how much you scared me?! I thought you were going to die!” He snapped running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry! It was an accident I never intended to fall!” You say to him but Neteyam still feels the great shock of seeing you, the love of his life, his mate, his soul bond, his EVERYTHING falling straight down towards her death.

“It does not matter that you didn’t intend it to happen! It’s that it happened! You could’ve die (y/n) and I would’ve been left here without you! How could I have lived a life without you?” He sounded defeated taking a seat on the floor.

Your heart falters taking a seat next to him. “My Neteyam, I am sorry. I did not think of your feelings how risking my life may affect you. I have been reckless and I am sorry my love.” You say and Neteyam smiled softly at your pet name for him.

“My (y/n), please never scare me life that again.” Neteyam spoke in soft whispers as you pressed your foreheads together.

“I promise.” You say taking his hand in yours. You both sit in silence just enjoying the moments of silence.

“Yo! You okay (y/n)?” Lo’ak casually says walking in on the intimate moment.

“You schxwang!” Neteyam roars standing up and immediately punching his brother straight in the nose “Never put my mate in that situation ever again!” He continued to shouted as Lo’ak rolled around the floor clutching his nose.

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile as you took Neteyam’s hand and guided him out his home to go and complete both your chores for the day leaving Lo’ak to his nose.

[spn-is-baee]

Lydia’s Legacy

Author: Me

Info: This is a story i am working on that’s none important and I wanna post the first chapter draft here to see what tips I can receive. Overall the story is based off a horribly vivid dream I had regarding a young witch and the coven elders/supremes.  

So, here’s my chapter one. 

Lydia rode the train from Amber Court to Lilac Lane. She didn’t know why but her familiar brought a note addressed back to here. The familiar sat around her neck, judgingly. She felt powerful with her partner around her neck; Dermon, the familiar, was large and a powerful serpent. He protected Lydia from danger or led her to new and exciting adventures her coven may disapprove of. This time it was more frightening.

Traveling wasn’t Lydia's favorite, but when Dermon brought a note from an anonymous source simply stating “Only you can,” it definitely sparked some interest into the young girl's mind. Though she knows she mustn’t travel without some kind of communication, she goes without those means. She feels the aura radiating off the note; the feeling of plea and desperation. Something about it should be secret. 

Hours on the train and still two stops to make. If it wasn’t forbidden in her coven she’d teleport to this place, she’d lose her means of power for life and be banished to mortal worlds. Something about this trip was anxiety ridden. Something was going to get her in trouble with the coven but she couldn’t figure out what. She had found a small pamphlet on her coven. This place wasn’t like others. Her coven was a large community of maybe upwards of 15,000 witches and warlocks. Her father and mother are high leveled witches working alongside the elders in top secret bunkers where only they would know where. Being in this coven meant giving up a normal mortal life and swearing your soul to the god and goddess of Wicca. This swearing gives people powers they couldn’t ever imagine, but there are laws and if broken there are some EXTREME consequences to ignorance. 

Lydia had scraps with the Elders, for mostly using small spells to attack her bullies or using her familiar to put fear into those who crossed her. Familiars must also be summoned with certain precautions. Most of which Lydia ignored. Her parents have begged the Elders multiple times that they’d get her under control and was only given minor slaps on the wrist. Lydia promised them the last sixteen times she’d stop doing such reckless things, but where’s the fun in being a good witch?

Watching out the window, one stop away from her destination. She wondered what her parents may think of her disappearance. The trees sag as the air blows by them from the train. Leaves thrashing around when picked up off the ground. The sky was dark though, maybe a storm was coming that Lydia wasn’t informed of? She ignores that thought and her eyes wander to a figure in the middle of a field they pass now. It gave such strong negative energy which caused Lydia to peer out the window closer, she watches as this figure raises its small petite hands. The fingers of this decrepit hand form and move into a spell, only used by outlawed or banned witches who avoided power removal.

This spell sent off a powerful blast of energy coming straight for Lydia's part of the train. Dermon slithers off her into his humanoid figure to cover Lydia as this energy crashes into the steel car. Lydia braces herself while being held protectively by Dermon. The energy tho wasn’t to destroy the car but it seeped through the cracks of the car and made their way to Dermon and Lydia. 

She moves past Dermon, his long arms reach for her to keep her from this entity. They grasp her arm and pull her to him, “S~stay.” 

“What is it?” Lydia’s smaller frame turns toward him, her face full of worry and wonder.

“S~something that s~shouldn’t be here,” Dermon hates to admit it but he didn’t know what it is, but something within him said to keep her away. His only job was to protect her and he couldn’t mess that up. 

“Dermon, let me see it.” She looks curious and strict, she wanted answers and if risking her life meant to figure it out, she would take the chance every time. Dermon simply shackles his head in disapproval. 

“Absolutely not, Mis~stress,” Lydia was annoyed with this answer and cast a simple protection spell over herself. She pushes Dermon gently to the side and goes toward this energy swirling around, “Lydia, no.”

She didn’t listen and continued to reach out to this entity. Almost instantaneously the energy hits her hand and swallows her whole.  The entity becomes black in color and Dermon rushes to get her out but is blasted backward into the adjacent wall. A groan escapes his lips and now he begins panicking. He knew he had no power to save Lydia, he may have just lost the only person he cared about. 

Lydia watches her familiar from inside the entity. She felt her heart drop with fear as her friend was thrown away from her. “What do you want from me?” She pleads.

No response. 

Suddenly a rush of power surges through her. Something she has never felt before. Her head flies back as her eyes light with a purple hue. Her body felt such pain right when she realized the power intensity. She lets out a scream so bloodcurdling, she thought her voice box may explode from the stress. Dermon hears her cries and yells for the entity to stop, though he knew they wouldn’t yield. 

As fast as it happened and as fast as they tried to move, the entity disappears without a trace. Lydia was unaware of her body being lifted into the air, her body felt paralyized. Once the entity dissipated her body fell to the floor of the train. Dermon rushes to her side.

“Lydia? Please respond to me, my s~sweet,” His voice cracked in fear, he loved Lydia so much and couldn’t bear being masterless. 

“I’m fine, Dermon. I’m alive.” Her voice was weak and she moved as though her bones were as stiff as stone, “Don’t sweat about me, I saw the entity throw you. Are you alright?”

“Miss~s, I am fine. I didn’t get engulfed by such a negative force. Are you feeling well? Shall we go return home?”

“No, I think the note had to do with whatever just happened.” 

“That’s ridiculous~ss,” Dermon looked at Lydia with anger, but Lydia saw fear in his eyes. 

“Dermon, who sent me that letter, you know it and won’t tell me?” Lydia sits up, her thick thighs bring her body up. She waits for Dermon's response but instead a horn and the abrupt stop of the train pulls her attention. She grabs her bag and races for the door, Dermon simply follows her out. She reaches a hand out back away from her toward Dermon. She doesn’t look to him, only creates this sad gesture to ask him silently to go back to his serpent form. He sighs but obliges to her request. He gently grabs her hand and kisses it gently as he turns back into his dangerous form. Slithering himself up and around her neck to rest while they travel.

Lydia's alternative style clashes with the cottage-core vibes of the village she arrives in. It evokes looks from everyone, not one of menace but curiosity. Most smile and move about their day. These witches were a part of her coven of course, though she knows the different separations of the powers happens. Her family's power relies on the energies and darker arts. Those from these more light and flower-ish communities are nature reliant. She always wanted her powers to be based on nature, but those who receive can’t choose. 

Her eyes caught those of another young witch, her age. The young woman's skin tan, not from the sun. She was naturally glowing a carmel color off her cheek bones. The girl's hair was bobbed and blonde. The ladies eyes were a fierce and electric blue. Lydia glazed at the outfit, Her shoes were elegant loafers that were perfectly rounded to fit her feet. The socks she wore were cuffed and edged with lace. The dress reached right below her knees, and the color of a dark denim. underneath this denim dress sat a puffy armed shirt in white to collide with her socks more flowingly. The girl smiled shyly at Lydia with a small look of flirtation. Lydia had never been one to initiate a pick up line, but this girl drew her in. 

She walked up to the girl with a small amount of confidence. Right when she stops in front of the girl, a small feline crosses between the two. All black, usually a sign of negative forthcoming, but Lydia never saw it as that. 

“Apologies for my familiar. He happens to be protective over me.” Her voice was soft and created this warm happiness in Lydia’s heart. Something she wasn’t used to. 

“No worries, darling. Very handsome familiar you have,” Lydia's longer hair falls in her face a bit as she gives a smug smirk toward the girl. She pushes the hair back and sees the girl give her a once over. Lydia follows the girl's eyes down her own body seeing her outfit. She felt straight out of a fan-fiction with her black ripped jeans, more rough ripped than most she sees on morals. Hers are self created. Then her over-sized black sweater hung low on her body as one shoulder slid down her arm to flash her very bright red bralette. 

Their coven community was very mortal styled. They weren’t in the 1800’s so they kept up with the style choices of modern times. Elders believed being dressed similar to morals created a safer hiding when they built up their communities. This helped keep moral witch hunters at bay.  

“Your style is very dark core, huh?” The girl laughed softly as Lydia seemed distressed over her outfit choices now, “You’re cute,” the honesty and bravery intrigued Lydia. 

“What’s your name?” Lydia stands up straighter and smiles at the girl warmingly. 

“My parents are kind of a wild card when it comes to name. I have what most people would refer to as ‘quirky,’” the girl giggles and looks around a minute almost as if to summon courage, “I’m Persephone, most call me Steph because it’s less flashy,” she seemed embarrassed by her name. It was perfect for her, she embodied the overall presence of the goddess. The story of Persephone and how she reacts or acts about things almost aline so far with what Lydia had seen so far. 

“I’m Lydia, keep my digits cutie,” Lydia hands the girl a slip of paper and winks. Steph smiles and nods. 

“I will, Lydia,” Steph turns and walks away disappearing from Lydia’s vision. She watched her leave with curiosity, something about that girl made her heart beat faster. 

“Don’t go around giving random people things~ss, Lyd,” the serpent hissed at her. 

“Quiet,” She silenced Dermon with one simple word. Had he hurt her enough to make her hate him now?

[ionfyr-newepirion-blog]

Puppetry

By Ion Fyr

©2019 Ion Fyr

ISBN: 978-1-7331291-1-4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means with out explicit permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real or imagined people or events is purely coincidental.

I wish to thank M, K and R for their support.

Published by Jon Rodebaugh

Ion.Fyr@gmail.com 

I

Londbridge, Terra, the year 247 of the World Commercial Congress.

The vast and populous city stretched from the coast inland for a great distance, its boundaries clear along the southern rim, where the depopulated agricultural land was a deep green against the grey of the city. Arcologies reached skyward like geometrically formed mountains. They stretched up through the brownish-orange fog, to the bottoms of intermittent, low hanging clouds. The wind off the sea to the west pushed the ground-hugging smog inland, where it flowed over the plastic and concrete housing blocks of the low-slung slums and wards.

Crude, steel rectangular blocks—massive airships—plied unseen lanes in the air. Some were a kilometer long, many were far less than that. They were cargo ships of the air, haulers of raw materials and finished products and everything in between. There were passenger transports and the occasional Corporate-emblazoned Skyship. Among them was a car shaped like a scarab of ancient Kemet.

The car was a low profile, sleek oblong of metal and synthetics. It’s skin was somewhat dark and greener than iridescent and there were no windscreens visible from the exterior. Unlike many, far less expensive vehicles with protruding nacelles, in this case the gravity-repelling Naskovich drives were enclosed in four slightly visible hips, two on the front sides and two on the back, otherwise it was featureless. It settled into the local traffic lanes at a lower altitude as soon as it crossed the perimeter fence separating urban squalor from automated farmland.

Inside was a man, lit only by the glow of dimmed wraparound screens showing the view outside mingled with telemetric data and a map overlay. He was of Mediterranean complexion, tanned by the sun, having thick black hair reaching his collarbone and a matching beard which he unconsciously stroked. He was bare-chested and muscular, and wore linen pants and sandals. It would seem he was ill prepared for the climate of northwestern Europa throughout most of the year.

Connect-device -car6 | Course-plot -new -1605 Attilastrass/178th Ward/Londbridge District -efficient | Velocity -LocalityLegal

Force-thinking, for those with wireless internal drives, was a simple process once one got used to it. It amounted to running code with one’s brain. Preprogrammed commands and related implanted hardware augmentation allowed wireless interaction with the ubiquitous Network. 

Wireless worked effectively to a hundred meters, beyond that without a wired network connection or light-node semaphoric line of sight coms, one was out of luck. The wired part of the network spanned much of Eurasia and the Sint—the subcontinent embedded in the south of Asia, and the northern half of the Farad, the southern continent.

Luc knew he was already connected to the the car, but it didn’t hurt to initiate the connection to “car6” again. 

Change-IdentCert -car6 | New-IdentCert “12hA126334w6”

A little sloppy. More important on the way out. He should have changed the vehicle’s identification before coming into range of the city’s cameras. The slop in the air will do something to obscure their visuals, though. He was going to church.

The Attican Universal Church on Attilastrasse was largely a tourist attraction these days. Once it’s gothic architecture drew supplicants and worshipers from all over Europa. Now, hardly anyone believed the the ancient Neoplatonic version of the gods. Not even in backwater Hellas.

He already missed the white and blue visual textures of Hellas. 

The car chimed warmly at his arrival. Luc slipped his feet into his sandals. Looked first left, then right, and found his holstered pistol. He clipped it to his belt, in the small of his back. He then looked around. He was not a believer, by any means, but him entering an ancient sacred space without a shirt would have horrified his mother. 

Luc didn’t have a shirt. 

Instead, he pulled a barely used leather jacket from an under-seat compartment and slipped his arms into the stiff sleeves, the leather rustling like new. He had worn it once before on a trip north in the winter. He dimly remembered he had a shirt back then, too.

It was black, vat-leather and remained unzipped. It was almost too tight to zip anyway. From a different under-seat compartment, he shifted some detritus and pulled out two loaded magazines for his pistol, slipping these into his pocket. He also found a breather, one that would cover his nose and mouth and allow normal breathing under the toxic haze. For good measure he put on his sunglasses, which formed seal around the edges, protecting his eyes against the air as well. The sun was not even visible at the street level here, but that wasn’t the point.

With a fluid motion the car slowed to landing velocity and the four landing legs unfurled themselves just as the car settled to the ground.

Luc opened the gull-wing door and set foot on the damp pavement outside. Despite the smog-cover, the bright lights did their part in illuminating the street. There were other vehicles parked without regard for orientation or pedestrian traffic. Even beyond the 100 meters of practical visibility, one could still make out the multi-hued urban glow.

Surface traffic on the road had ceased a century ago, at least by passenger-carrying surface vehicles. There was a crunch of debris underfoot, forming heaps in some spots.

He could feel cool air on his chest, along with a slight chemical sting. While standing, the jacket just barely covered his pistol.

Luc scanned the street. There was at least one (albeit damaged) camera to the left, two indeterminate ones to the right. Six vehicles sat on the street, perched on their legs like giant plastic beetles, mostly shit economy rides.

The ancient architecture of the temple, or church, had been damaged considerably during the Wars of Consolidation over two hundred fifty years ago. Sometime after the half-destroyed structure was refurbished and stabilized in an unfortunately clashing architectural style. Its collapsing roof was now supported by cylindrical steel columns and a monstrosity of a replacement wall.

He pulled open the right side of a set of double doors and entered the tall building. Luc’s footsteps, the soft flap of his sandals on the cold stone floor, echoed. The building’s shattered acoustics still reflected the sounds from the left side.

The interior was thick with sandalwood incense, even detectable through his breather, and despite the efforts of the building’s atmosphere scrubbers. There were perhaps a dozen ancient, gilded, life-size bronze statues representing the Olympian gods. Each was enclosed in a plasti-glass cube, to prevent unwanted touching (or theft.)

At the fore of the temple was a massive stone sculpture of Zeus. On the floor in front of the king of the gods was a smoking bowl of some intentionally antiquated looking ceramic. There were only two other individuals in the place, a man and a woman. They were not together. The man crouched close to the incense bowl and was old. He looked Hellic. The woman was younger and was sketching with a stylus on an open scroll, its screen unfurled from its cylindrical shaft, it’s bluish glow reflected off her features.

Luc walked down the center of the building, imagining what it would have looked like when it was built hundreds of years ago. He did not like the aesthetics of mingling late Industrial Age girders with ancient wood ceiling beams. He scowled faintly at the the plasti-glass enclosures. They were eyesores and were smudged by hundreds, maybe thousands of tourists pushing their grubby fingers and noses against them, hoping to gain a better view or wondering if the gilded bronze was actually gold.

He walked toward Aphrodite and stood, admiring the beautifully sculpted figure. He waited.

A few minutes later—late—footsteps approached. Commando boots on the worn marble of the floor, echoing more boldly than his sandals, expressing the strength of her approach.

Luc turned slowly, his right hand on his hip, near the butt of his pistol, more out of paranoid habit than anything else. He knew who he was expecting, and could tell by her stride it was her.

“Lucretius, welcome back.” The girl was exuberant. Pretty, Luc thought. Vandalian emigre, north Farad complexion, from the other side of the Mediterranean. Black hair in two braids, one dyed a glowing pink. Leather head to toe, a jacket longer than the one he wore, matching pants with lots of pockets, boots.

“Hey, Nosrit, I haven’t spoken Standard for three years. Forgive me.” The words were spoken slowly, with concentration on the correct pronunciation. 

“That’s ok. You look the same. Still no shirt. Aren’t you cold?”

“You look...older.” No longer a child. “So, Muskrat tells me there is a problem with some twat in Tanic Park?”

“Yeah, I’m just supposed to give you the contact data.” She slipped him an external, a little black wafer of data, a few millimeters square. Not wireless.

“I will look into this. Tell Muskrat I will contact him.”

Back in the car, Luc wired into the external. Data cascaded through him through the intermediary encrypted wireless node. There was a mafioso wannabe thug pressing his people. 

Tanic Park was a poor community in the shadow of Dogtown Arcology, a mix of peoples from all over, some from outside the WCC. They were too poor to merit protections from MetSec. Londbridge Metropolitan Security was at best a hinderance, if not an outright threat. Only their drones patrolled Tanic, and then only in some areas. Nets strung across streets kept them out of certain others.

In the lawless, refuse-filled streets, an economy developed. In the polished halls of Dogtown Arc people lived in a heaven of sorts. The unaware upper echelons of Londbridge went about their shallow lives oblivious to places like this. Luc was fully aware that arcology life was far from perfect. He just resented their compliant, obedient comfort. 

Here it was far from that polished existence, though from most places in the Park residents could see the looming monolith of the Arc. Automation brought riches to some, but there was no work for the majority of the residents of Tanic Park. No work. No money. Amidst the untold wealth, in the shadow of gilded statues, people starved. And starving, they fell prey to petty thugs with balls and uppity ambitions. 

Marcus Dusselberg was a small time gangster with such ambition. Somehow, he had gotten himself a military grade assault bot, one of those things that were like cement blocks propped on two legs, bristling with guns and sensors. His muscle.

Out of retirement, I guess, Luc thought. Dank Londbridge was not where he wanted to be, but his friends were here. Family.II

Muskrat was a skinny man with a badly shaved head and an unflattering mustache. He had jacks—five of them—but the gossip was that only one of them did anything. The rest were cosmetic. He smelled of booze and cheap cologne, which he used to cover the smell of the booze, as if any of that mattered in the Park. 

The warehouse where they met—the address coming from the data chip—was spartan and bleak. Muskrat’s battered breather was under his chin. Luc kept his on. The air here was shit.

“Mr. Lucretius, thank you for coming,” he began, sniveling.

“What do you want, Muskrat? You call me back here to deal with some shit who you don’t have the balls to fight back against?” Brethmanic Standard was coming back easily.

“Luc, these are your people. They asked me to send for you.”

I did come all of this way. Luc thought, still not sure what he was doing back. He knew he always would have come back to help his people—that wasn’t the problem. What was the problem? What led to Muskrat being left in charge?

“This man threatens the community with a robot?” Knowing the answer. The 1500 kilometer flight was not spent idle. I did some thinking and some research.

“Military. Bought surplus from some Aquacorp off-load.” Muskrat stuttered. 

Who named themselves after extinct animals? Wolf or bear he could see, but Muskrat?

“When I left, Muskrat, I left you in charge. I had faith that you’d look after the community. I know it is hard. I did it myself for years. It’s five fucking blocks, man. What the fuck are you doing? How do you lose that to some petty shit gangster?”

“Mr Lucretius, you didn’t leave us with any weight. We are light. Only boys and girls and old women.” An attempt to swagger. It’s not about being a man or not, not in any literal sense.

Nosrit will be experienced enough in a couple years. She’s got it. But what is it? Enthusiasm. Drive.

“I mean no disrespect,” Muskrat held himself back, stepped back.

“Ok. So the shit has a mech, a mec, a meh?” How do you spell robot warrior from future, from entertainment fiction? Luc laughed out loud at his own joke, disquieting Muskrat who stepped back again another half a meter.

“I need a truck that can fly 300 kg and handle urban-use projectiles thrown at it. I’ll do the ops and code myself.” Luc’s mind was spinning, churning. “Truck needs to be stripped and off-net, Can Nosrit drive?”

She couldn’t. She didn’t have to, though.

The code was not complex. Once the identity of the vehicle was wiped and also, once the net was wiped of any hint of Luc, Muskrat and Nosrit, Luc was somewhat satisfied. The absence of information would eventually appear on the State servers like shadows from unseen objects, but for now they would be invisible.

The truck was a bulbous monstrosity. It sat on its landing legs like an egg with parasite-like nacelles. The ass-end opened with two curved doors. It will do the job.

Nosrit was there. She hadn’t had the three lateral piercings across the bridge of her nose when he had seen her last, years ago, and he hadn’t even noticed them in the church on Attilastrasse. Six steel balls lined up between her eyes that weren’t there three years ago. Community. She was going to drive. 

Connect-device -ShittyTransportVehicle | Course-plot “Londbridge Metropolitan Security/Floor 67”

“Remember, girl, ditch this thing after we are done. It will go fast. And by that I mean, our activities will,” he added, “This piece of shit won’t go fast.”

Nosrit giggled a little, then pulled herself back into adulthood and tried to look serious.

The truck dropped up into the local traffic lanes. Nosrit looked nervous. Luc had confidence, both in her and the plan. Even though he hadn’t seen or talked to her in several years, he had kept tabs on his community. He still knew every one of them, remotely pushed them in beneficial ways. I need to be here. Gods, I hate Londbridge.

There was a grating buzz when the truck/car/cargo transport pod—however you render it—arrived at the destination. 

The plasti-glass windscreen, through decades of abrasions, showed floor 67 of Londbridge MetSec HQ. 

Luc turned it, so that the aft end was facing the building.

“There will be a slight impact. Are you strapped in?”

She was. He accelerated in reverse, crashing the truck through the window panel. Glass rained down into the street below. The bulk of it flew into the 67th floor of the building.

“Open the doors.”

Nosrit unbuckled and moved to the back of the truck. The doors butterflied out and open. The truck was still hovering, the Naskovich drives keeping it aloft, though the ass-end was two meters into the building.

“Stay here...” Luc drew his pistol. He was shirtless, jacket less, and his breather hung around his neck, its rubber pulling at his beard. He cranked up the intensity of his goggles. The ambient light was exaggerated, revealing the contents of the room.

It was storage. Dozens of anthromorphs—humanoid robots—designed to be controlled wirelessly by remote human operators, stood in ranks. Somewhere, outside of this space, this storage place, were the wireless repeaters that allowed humans to control them well outside the range of even most standard military wireless tech.

Don’t have time for that. Put it on the wish list. Luc could probably crowdsource a solution to make up for that anyway. 20 million cred for a mesh-network!? They’re all scamming each other. Focus now, Luc. Small fish to fry this time. Luc dropped out of thoughts and back into the contours of the meat-sac realm.

Luc quickly, and with purpose, walked to the nearest one and abruptly ripped a wire out of the back of its head. Contact point. Wireless connection. Stupid design.

He pushed it and it made a loud crash as it landed on its back. It was armored and harden. It would be unharmed. The dim red glow of its internal mechanisms didn’t even flicker. 

They were made of some hardened version of plasti-glass, classified stuff. The material itself was transparent. Anthromorphs, after construction, after the biomechanical servos and structure were in place, were cloaked in counter-projectile armor. The gaps in the armor glowed red, a design feature intended to create an effect—especially since their interiors glowed red all along. 

Just gave us something to aim at, idiots. 

Luc took it by the feet. Only seconds had passed.

It was heavy, but he was strong. Nosrit added her slight weight to the pulling as he got to the truck, which shifted slightly, either from their movement or from some fluctuation in the Naskovich field, maybe even from the wind.

Glass dropped out of the gape as they accelerated out of the building, dropping with stomach-churning speed, into the lower-city murk. They returned via a circuitous route.

Nosrit was driving, which really only consisted of issuing commands to the vehicle’s otherwise autonomous navigation system. She had no visible wireless nodes, but that didn’t mean anything. Neither did Luc.

III

The truck rested on its reinforced, weight-handling legs in the same warehouse where Luc had recently met Muskrat. 

“They didn’t even see you?”

“They probably did. Someone probably did. The truck needs to be destroyed.”

The anthromorph was heavy. It took all three of them to get it upright. Nosrit had enthusiasm and contributed more to the effort than Muskrat.

There would be a brief microsecond, after replugging the coms cable, when the thing could call home, recontact MetSec servers, looking for its proper master.

Luc had the code waiting though. It would reroute the anthromorph’s command and control to him, as well as block out every other user.

“Do it,” he ordered. 

Muskrat reconnected the wireless controls with strands of wires looped over his forearms. Luc streamed his override package the same instant.

The thing stood more erect, coming to life. The red glow from its biomech insides increased. Was there a biological component?

Luc could feel it, feel its extremities, feel it like a second body. It was powerful.

It was unarmed.

“I will need a weapon, Muskrat.”

It took a day, but Muskrat found an old energy gun, rifle shaped, glass rods in the place of a barrel. It was sticky and covered in grime, like it had spent decades in a shed or storage locker. They charged it up to around 80%. The battery wouldn’t take more than that. Luc and Nosrit spray-painted the anthromorph a matte black, masking its eyes. Every other part of it was black. Some loose oversized robe was gathered and the sleeves slit from wrist to armpit and this tent was draped over the thing, giving it the appearance of an oversized streetfella, if one didn’t look too closely. The gun would be noticed, especially by other streetfellas.

Luc, in control of the MecSec commando anthromorph, took the weapon into his symbiotic arms. The bio-feedback was precise and intense. This will do, he laughed, high on the feed back with the mech, or was it meh?

 IV

Dusselberg was in a low, two story building in Tanic Park, in a very precise location that Luc had scoped out years ago. Five blocks, he thought. Someone—not him—had long ago hollowed out much of the second story and connected a series of flats, which had then been reinforced, fortified and hardened.

Luc being Luc drove there himself in his own car. Nosrit and the anthromorph sat behind him. She looked at the anthromorph like she’d look at a set-up date, some guy her parents wanted her to hook up with. No, she thought, repelled them. I am not that girl.

The car could seat eight comfortably and, honestly, could probably sleep at least six. It was spacious. The anthromorph had the gun across it’s lap as it sat, approximating a human sitting posture. It was a tight fit. The thing was two and a half meters tall, big enough to be imposing, but just small enough to move in normal human environments, hallways of buildings.

Word had it that the mech belonging to Dusselberg was in the cellar beneath the housing block. Luc maneuvered between the gaps in the nets that the locals had  put up to impede MetSec security drones. The things weren’t good with nets. Tended to get caught—nacelles tangled. Gutterpunks would then strip them of essentials.

The block, Luc remembered, was in a camera-free dead-zone. That meant no cameras for Dusselberg. No cameras for him either.

Why was he bringing Nosrit? Maybe she could drive if he was injured, though that was unlikely. He liked the company. It also gave her valuable trade experience. Someday she might run her own missions, look out for her community, the community.

He set the car down in the street outside the block. First the anthromorph stepped out. Luc was sure of that as soon as it did. Shit would unleash. He was right.

A trio of hired thuggery stood outside the main entrance to the block—some cross-sections of streets from two hundred years ago—becoming suddenly alert to the MetSec anthromorph stepping out of Luc’s car, despite the streetfella “disguise” they had come up with.

It was never easy to switch back and forth between moving his own body and piloting the anthromorph, but he managed to slide out of the car behind the thing, loosely holding his pistol in his hand.

The anthromorph fired at the men. A pink-blue beam crackled and arced from the thing’s gun at them like a lightning bolt. They fell, smoldering on the way down, bodies filigreed along the path of the current. The door behind them now hung from its hinges. Their bodies were entangled on the stoop.

The speed of the anthromorph was better than a human’s. Luc force-thought its actions, seeing what its eyes saw, superimposed on his own vision. The door was flung aside and the bodies were stepped on, stepped over.

Dusselberg must have been alerted, because a stream of heavy caliber projectiles sliced through the floor of the building’s atrium from below.

The mech was awake.

Ratty carpet fibers drifted in the wake of the bullets strafing up from the basement. The projectiles would land miles away at that angle, probably killing people somewhere else in the city. Luc rolled the anthromorph to the side and leaned against the car. Nosrit was watching the screens inside. Why did I bring her?

The anthromorph fired down, through the floor. This was not going to work. New plan.

He called the anthromorph back to the car. He and it hung out the opened door. Nosrit flew them to the roof of the building, while the surplus mech extricated itself from the cellar, using a freight elevator in the rear of the building, by the loading dock.

The roof of the building had an open-ended car shelter, big enough for two or three cars. Nosrit set Luc’s car down in the open though, near the small shed that contained the building’s roof-access stairs. The second floor had reinforced windows.

The anthromorph, followed by a appreciably clumsy Luc, dropped to the roof’s surface as soon as they were close. Controlling the anthromorph made Luc’s equilibrium sketchy.

The plasti-glass-armored commando android fired at the shed, turning the door and most of the housing into metal and plastic slag.

In the hallway below, down the aging, crumbling stairs, they faced the mech. It had come up—Luc wasn’t sure if it was moving under its own automated volition or if Dusselberg was controlling it. It didn’t matter. Luc swung himself back into the stairwell as the thing sprayed the hallway with high-velocity ammunition, shattering the wall at the far end, over the entrance. It had to hunch down, keeping its girder-like legs bent, with its weapons-bristling, block-like head scrapping the ceiling.

Luc looked at the MetSec anthromorph next to him, shielding it by moving it back from the fire in the doorway of the stairwell. It was dizzying controlling it and his own body at the same time. The android had taken some hits. Luc could feel them. One to the hip. Three to the torso. The armor took most of the impact, however. There was no loss of function.

The anthromorph swung out, just as the mech was reaching their location two meters from the entry to the stairwell. Its lightning beam strafed the hallway, blacking the walls, searing them and the mech’s metal block-head.

Ammunition stored within—its magazine deep within its steel bulk—erupted in a fizzing explosion, held in by its own armor plating. Sensors, cameras were thrown out, burned out by the fire within, ejected violently by the internal pressure. The smell of electricity and smoldering plastic filled the hallway.

It listed to the side, the servos in its right leg cutting out. It broke through the wall while still sparking from an inferno inside. Magnesium-white fire flared from its empty camera sockets, sparks falling into the smoldering carpet.

Luc looked at the doors on the other side of the hallway, the side with the reinforced external windows. Dusselberg was in there.

The doors were more than likely reinforced. Luc force-thought the anthromorph to fire at the wall between them. By this point the hallway was full of smoke. A lick of flame ate at the wall around where the mech fell through.

Lighting ripped through the opposite wall. Luc was glad for his breather, now on his nose and mouth, though he should have worn the goggles also. He squinted against the heat and the searing light of the energy weapon born by the anthromorph.V

The space on the other side of the wall was open and, at some point, had been gutted, opening a large space that had once been five or six flats. Dusselberg hadn’t been here long. He also had little taste in furnishings.

He sat in a swivel desk chair surrounded by monitors, a scrawny little man. He was armed. He had his own energy gun, not as big as the anthromorph’s, but just as effective. That gun’s beam practically cut the anthromorph in half, and would have cut Luc in half had he not rolled to the ground. 

Luc fired a half dozen shots at Dusselberg from behind a wheeled tool chest. The anthromorph was dead, its connection to Luc’s mind broken. Its servos still tried to get it upright with a futility that approached that of an animal struggling to live.

Luc fired a few more shots from the pistol. His ears rang now from the cover fire. It was a distraction while he pulled the energy weapon from the anthromorph’s hands. Back behind the tool chest, Luc checked the power level remaining in the energy gun. 

It had plenty. The thing was made for combat. He could hear movement. Dusselberg was trying to flee. 

“Luc?” said Nosrit, sticking her head in through the hole in the wall. 

“Stay down! Out!” He yelled.

She pulled her head out, back into the hallway as Dusselberg’s beam burned an arc across the wall. The distraction served well, however, as Luc took the opportunity to burn a gaping hole in Dusselberg’s chest. The man fell to the bare floor, smoking and oozing. His own smaller weapon sliding from his hands. Some of the wall behind him burned as well. Nosrit peaked in again hesitantly, then smiled when she saw that Luc was intact.

“Welcome back, Lucretius,” laughed Nosrit.

Out of retirement, I guess.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Fictober18 Day 9

Original Fiction

Prompt:“You shouldn’t have come here.”

9 days in a row. I’m doing my best!!!

 “You shouldn’t have come here.” 

I muttered to myself as I stood in the open doorway. It wasn’t as if I had stepped into a shady place, like a back alley, or an abandoned warehouse or a gang’s hideout. It was just a normal living room, sparsely decorated with pictures of flowers and a single blue rug. I had bought those decorations myself, and briefly wondered if they would still be considered my property or if it would be thought of as taking back a gift. 

I knew this place well; after all, it was my fiancé Noah’s apartment. 

We initially had plans to eat dinner here, but he called me and said he had to work late, and not to bother. I unfortunately had made the decision to come by and make his favorite, bacon cheeseburgers and green bean casserole for him as a surprise. I thought that after all the stress of wedding planning this week on top of working late, he would probably appreciate a nice cooked meal.

Obviously this would lead to such a clichéd outcome, I probably should have anticipated it.

 I had been surprised as I walked up that the lights in the living room window were on, Noah was fairly strict about not wasting electricity. I made a mental note to mention it to him next time he bugged me for forgetting to turn out a light on my way out of a room. Chuckling to myself, I used the spare key to let myself in.  

Only to discover my fiancé and a strange woman engaged in amorous activities. 

 I was now more annoyed than ever that the living room light had been left on. I would have been much happier not seeing this scene in decent lighting. As I stared at the couple silently, who were currently desperately trying to cover up their nudity while shouting in surprise, I couldn’t help but wonder: 

What should I do with the dinner supplies in the bags I was carrying? 

After all, although I liked bacon cheeseburgers, I wasn’t really a big fan of green bean casserole. I only ever made it because Noah liked it. So should I leave the ingredients here? I hated to waste the food, but I felt he really didn’t deserve extra groceries as a reward for cheating on me.

 Did I have any friends who like green bean casserole? 

“Maria?! What are you doing here?” Noah was shouting, breaking my concentration. 

I thought over his question and statement carefully.  “I came here to cook you dinner as a surprise. This was obviously effective as a surprise, although not effective in terms of making you dinner, which will probably not happen now. Actually you probably already ate… unless you were going to have a post-coitus meal?” 

 It would probably be uncomfortable to do such activities on a full stomach. I looked around and didn’t see any signs of food. Perhaps they were going to order out? In that case maybe it would be more convenient to leave the green beans with them. I felt strongly that I should keep the cheeseburger ingredients. They were more expensive and I was hungry, after all.  

“This isn’t what it looks like, I swear!” Was he still shouting? He seemed much noisier than normal.  

“It looks like you were engaging in sexual intercourse… I am confused as to what else you can do naked while rolling around on the floor.” I wrinkled my brow. “By the way, that’s pretty dirty. I vacuumed that carpet a month ago. I’m pretty sure you haven’t cleaned it since then. Make sure you shower after you complete your activities.”  

They both stared at me silently. I let out a sigh of relief. That was much more comfortable than the screeching and shouting. I looked around the apartment, thinking about the objects I left behind over the course of the five years that we dated. How long should I wait before sending someone over to pack these up? I really wanted to make sure I at least got my cappuccino maker back. It was expensive.  

Noah stepped forward, a kitten blanket wrapped around his lower half. Ugh. That was my blanket. I mentally crossed it off the list of objects that I wanted back. He could keep it. 

“Maria… I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but we can work this out…”

“I’m thinking about the distribution of communal property.” I sighed. “Obviously now is not the right time for me to pack up my personal items, as it would cut into your date with this young lady, but if it is convenient I will send a friend over on Saturday to pick up my things.”

“Wait…”

“Oh, you must be worried that after these years you can’t remember what object are mine, right? It’s fine, I will email you a list of objects to pack up. If something seems to be in error. You may feel free to write me back.” 

“That’s not what…!”

I walked into the kitchen and unplugged the cappuccino maker. Carrying it under my arm, I returned and gave them a polite smile. 

“I will take this with me however, in case negotiations break down. I do not want to part with this particular item. I trust you have no objections.” 

Even if he did I was still walking out with it. After all, he would likely not be willing to chase me down the street while naked. 

“Maria, let’s talk this out, we’re getting married…”

I stared at him in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry. We’ve miscommunicated. I thought there was a common understanding that me catching you having intercourse with another person was an automatic cancellation of the affianced relationship.” I shook my head. “That was my assumption. In that case I will make it clear.” Looking him in the eye clearly, I stated slowly. “We are not engaged anymore. We are not dating anymore. You will not call me, text me or communicate with me or my friends unless you have concerns regarding the distribution of property. I will let my friends and family know that the wedding is off, and you will be responsible for your side. Any wedding gifts that you have received should be returned.” 

I stepped back towards the door, clutching my cappuccino maker. “If you have questions…” I thought it over. “Too bad. I don’t wish to talk to you anymore.” 

“…” He was staring at me, his mouth open in shock. 

“One last thing.” At my words, he perked up, and stepped closer with an excited expression. Was he expecting me to say something positive to him? 

“You may have the green bean casserole ingredients.” I graciously put down one of the grocery bags. “Please refrigerate them appropriately if you do not plan on making it tonight.”  

With that I left the apartment.   

“Wait, that can’t be right, you left something out.” 

My friend Rose stared at me, as she bit into the bacon cheeseburger I had made for her after coming to her house after leaving Noah’s apartment. I thought it over. 

“No, I’m fairly certain that I have accurately described all the events that happened while catching my fiancé cheating.” I also took a bite of my cheeseburger, nodding in appreciation. The new seasoning I had tried out was very tasty. 

“Seriously? You’re a freaking black belt! Why didn’t you beat him up?!” 

“It seemed unfair to take advantage of the situation. I doubt he would be able to put up a fight given his mental shock and nudity. Plus I don’t wish to be charged with assault.”  

She covered her face in her hands, groaning loudly. “Are you going to be okay?” She looked up, and I smiled as I saw the concern in her eyes. “I mean, you’re really calm right now, but it can’t be that easy to get over your fiancé cheating.”  

I spoke around another bite of cheeseburger. “I am very upset, but in the end, he did me a favor. I would much rather break up with him now then divorce him in 5 years for a similar issue.” I shrugged. “Plus, I really must examine my own feelings. I might not care about him as deeply as I thought, given my reaction to his infidelity. My initial emotion to catching him was honestly not anger or sadness, but mild relief.” 

“Really?”

“Really, I think this will be a better start for me.”

She sighed with relief, leaning back in her chair. “Well, that’s good. But if you need to talk to someone… or need someone to hide a body…I’m there for you.” 

Did I just hear something slightly disturbing slipped in among the sweet comforting words of my friend? I must have misheard right? Shaking my head, I chuckled to myself. 

“Oh, but he’s definitely dying in tonight’s update.” 

Rose laughed. “Please make it terrifyingly painful.” 

“Deal.” I thought it over to myself. I made a funny web comic based loosely off of my life and the interactions between myself and my friends. Noah had obviously been a recurring character. I had already planned out a funny bit on trying to pick out cake for the wedding, but obviously this would need to be redrawn. As I planned more and more gruesome and ridiculous ways to kill off Noah in my comic, Rose finally asked a question. 

“So does this mean you’ll finally meet up with that online friend of yours?”

I looked up, confused. “You mean Atlas? We haven’t talked in months.”

“Not since he confessed to liking you and asked to meet up.” She grinned. “You turned him down then, right?”

I nodded. “Of course, I had a fiancé, after all. Once he wanted to be something more than friends I couldn’t lead him on.” 

“What about now?” 

I thought it over. Atlas and I had been friends online for about 3 years now. We had met on a forum for online artists. He mostly wrote fan fiction, but we each appreciated the other’s work. We had talked daily, having a surprising amount of things in common, but… when he asked to take things further, I had distanced myself. I thought it over, surprised at the warm feeling I had at the thought of him. 

“I’m not sure, though. I just broke up with my fiancé.” I stood up, and gave her a sad smile. “Let me sort out my feelings, and then I’ll consider it again.” 

“That sounds fair.” She stood up and gave me a hug. “Take the time you need… wait until I tell that brat he’s got a chance. He owes me big time… are you leaving now?”

Again, I felt I heard her mutter something under her breath that didn’t make sense, but in the end, I ignored it, focusing on her question instead.

“Yes, I have an early shift at the store tomorrow. Will I see you there as well?” I worked at the local bookstore, while Rose worked in the café.  

“Nope, tomorrow’s my day off, but Brandon will be there.” She grinned. 

“Ok.” I was unclear why she was reporting which of her co-workers would be there, but appreciated it nonetheless. 

“Matchmaking plans phase one… start!” she was muttering again.

“What was that?” 

She quickly arranged an innocent expression. “Nothing! See you tomorrow!”

 “I thought…” Wasn’t tomorrow her day off? Why would I see her?

“Bye!” She pushed me through the door, barely giving me time to grab my cappuccino maker on the way out.

I stood outside her house, mildly shocked in the change in her behavior before looking down at my appliance in my arms. 

“I guess it’s just you and me now.” 

With that, I made my way home. Somehow, despite the terrible direction this day had gone, I couldn’t help but feel that something new and exciting was about to start. 

[matheuspedroh45-blog]

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[ganymedesclock]

I know you stay 90% out of ships so you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to. If Keith and Lance were to, sometime in the future, pursue a romantic relationship, under what circumstances could you see Lance being optimistic and Keith being pessimistic about whether it will work and vice versa?

....This is kind of an interesting question.

I think it’d depend a lot on the nature of their situation and what they went through. Mentalities are pretty fluid things, and Keith and Lance are both growing and changing individually as people.

As far as Lance is concerned

I mean, we’ve seen it suggested many times that as far as Lance is concerned, his only real romantic prospects are women, so, my personal two cents is if Lance was attracted to a guy, it’d be... a bit of an exercise in self-discovery for him. Not something he’d considered or conceptualized before. So that might motivate him to be a little sheepish and a little awkward- especially since, with his vlog, it feels a lot like Lance sort of tries to borrow from action movie ladykiller stereotypes vs. how he actually behaves about a crush.

Lance, smitten, is inclined to gush about the other person full-tilt; while I personally am skeptical his crush on Allura is going to go anywhere, it still stands that Lance in love runs at the mouth about how fantastic and pretty and wonderful his crush is, but tries to bluff over it by painting himself more as the receptacle of adoration than one who adores but is not necessarily adored himself. 

And it’s a bad stereotype, and it’s not who Lance is, but it’s who Lance sort of pretends to be a little bit in an area that’s rather vulnerable to him. And Lance potentially acknowledging and exploring crushes on men might damage that script, or just, force him to rethink in general what a romantic relationship means to him and how he wants to explore it, because... frankly all of Lance’s ladykiller talk is just. talk. He packages it in things like the “particle barrier” joke but in practice, when people have shown interest in Lance, he’s actually a very sweet person. He just believes that the one way to be romantic is to be a stereotypical action hero when he’d honestly get a lot further just being himself.

So if Lance has a crush on Keith, and realizes that’s what it is, I can see him kind of panicking because he’s not sure how to proceed- the stereotypical old school action movies he’s pulling off of usually don’t feature same sex attraction anywhere. And Keith is not. exactly. a stereotypical romantic anything. 

Honestly, I feel like that’s, if anything, a really interesting thread to explore that I don’t think gets done very often- I feel like a lot of times people ship Lance with other male characters with the idea that Lance is clearly comfortably bi, pan, or ply without any sort of reservations, knows this perfectly well, and maybe even prefers to hit on men when we’ve seen that Lance in love in general is actually a little sheepish and a little awkward, hence his reliance on what appears to be drawing from fictional heroes to buff up his confidence.

I think it’s pretty likely that Lance is gonna have feelings he doesn’t totally know what to do with, and he might’ve had sort of distant hero crushes in the past that he might not have realized were crushes (Canonically Lance did look up to Shiro in the Garrison, who is a handsome older man and I doubt it ever went, or would go anywhere, but I could see a take on Lance who doesn’t quite realize he’s attracted to men to not quite separate hero worship from a hero crush.)

I talked about this art from Lauren Montgomery before and how each sign has one character who appears to be there as a sort of support, and the two characters holding the sign, in the case of Keith-Hunk and Pidge-Allura, have both had meaningful interactions about the subject in question. Hunk with Keith in s2e9, where Hunk is the main person who helped Keith come to terms with being half-galra; and Allura with Pidge in s1e4 where Allura was the one who tried to encourage Pidge to be honest with her about Pidge’s gender because she really wanted to connect with Pidge over that.

And we see both Hunk and Allura have their arm around their sign buddy and seem more confident and encouraging, and Shiro’s positioned the same way towards Lance, who, much like Keith, doesn’t really look like he totally wants to be there.

So because of this, it’s led me to wonder if we’re going to get interactions between Lance and Shiro on the topic of sexuality, with Shiro taking a sort of mentoring role and helping encourage Lance and help him figure things out. Especially when it’s been stated by interviews that part of Lance’s arc is finding someone that he does click with romantically, that would seem to suggest that Lance is going to do a certain amount of introspection with how he relates to other characters.

Because the writers have made a significant issue of carefully showing that everyone Lance flirts with appears to be women, when that’s pretty obviously not a writing hangup- they had no qualms showing Blaytz flirting with a male galra servant. It’d be easy to insert androgynous or masculine aliens into groups Lance is flirting with, but they’ve specifically chosen not to and with this picture, and again- the fact that Lance looks just as nervous as Keith, when we know canonically Keith’s relationship with the “race” issue is something he very recently found out about himself- makes me wonder if we’re going to see Lance discovering and exploring this about himself within the context of the show.

And that’d be valuable insight for him, whether or not he ends up in an “endgame” relationship with a woman! We have canon sources of Lance himself saying he’s not ready for a real relationship at this point and the implication there is there’s some growing and self-discovery to do. It could be Lance is a biromantic ace who assumes that having a romantic relationship with someone has to be a sexual one as well. 

(Of course, this would also imply Shiro is some flavor of Not Straight himself and much more confident/established in that)

Concerning Keith

Keith, I don’t think would really have much concern about sexuality. We haven’t really seen him express obvious attraction in anybody, though in s1e6 he does seem to regard Rolo with interest and some have interpreted that as Keith checking him out- if that is the case, then it stands that attraction for Keith is a very quiet affair. If he experiences it for anyone, he probably knows it and doesn’t worry too much where his concept of being attracted to other people falls re: what is considered “normal”. If he likes guys, he likes guys. If he likes girls, he likes girls. If he likes NB people, that’s how it is, and any configuration therein is just how it is.

It could be a certain amount of social obliviousness combined with his own no-frills practical thinking means that Keith has pretty much no idea what’s the standard romantic “script”, and no desire to cultivate or pursue it at this point.

Because we’ve yet to see Keith dealing with an obvious crush, we thus have to kind of hypothesize here: would Keith’s insecurity and fear of rejection make him nervously want to “do it right” and thus seek other people’s advice when courting with someone, or would it be more like him to just be actively, bluntly honest about his feelings and not worry too much? I could see either, and, as I said before, it would depend a lot on where Keith is in his head.

Keith’s greatest demon would, I think, be the persistent, nagging suspicion that he doesn’t mean as much to other people as they do to him. That maybe if he really cares about this person he should let them pursue someone else they’ll be happier with instead of trying to ‘selfishly’ keep them to himself.

I think this would hit big time with someone like Lance who’s a social butterfly because people really do like Lance, a lot. He is legitimately charming and a sweet person. I can see Keith not really being jealous as much as- kind of getting lost in overthinking does he actually have a place here?

I have less to say about Keith but that’s because Keith is more straightforwards to me in this situation. 

[minervacasterly]

Fact vs Fiction: Queen Victoria's view on pregnancy. her relationship with Prince Albert and the general Victorian view on motherhood and childbirth, and medicine:

Tonight was the season one finale of ITV/ PBS’ Victoria in the United States. Well done, and sorely missed. I can’t wait for season 2! Victoria’s attitude towards pregnancy has often been criticized and thought of as un-motherly, not to mention how she described her first children, especially her firstborn, Princess Victoria (future German Empress). Some have attributed it to Post-Partum Depression while others see it as normal, and something that women can relate to.

I have never been pregnant but most of my friends have, including my cousins and I have seen how they’ve reacted. And I have to say, reactions vary. It has to do with biology and the person’s environment. The series showed a young Victoria who didn’t like being confined to the royal palace because she wanted to be free, and didn’t want to be seen as a brood mare. However, as the first English Queen Regnant, people were right to be worried. Childbirth was more dangerous back then and the Queen’s body, as much as Victoria wished to think of it as her own, was seen as something sacred, that should be protected no matter what.

There was the whole scandal regarding her uncle, Ernest Augustus, King of Hanover and Duke of Cumberland, having a hand in the assassination attempt against Victoria. Nothing was ever proven and the official story is that this was nothing more than malicious rumors spread by his enemies. Prince Albert doesn’t believe this and neither does Queen Victoria but she has no choice but to abide by what a jury of her would-be-assassin’s peers have determined, and the lack of evidence against uncle.

Coming back to Victoria’s pregnancies, here’s a good summary of how Victoria viewed pregnancy by historian, Amy Licence, also exploring the Queen’s relationship with her husband, Prince Albert and the birth control methods that were used -or frowned upon- at the time of her union with her cousin: “Despite her reputation for demure staidness and her famous refusal to be amused, Queen Victoria was a passionate woman. Her name has become something of a byword for sexual repression but her love life with adored husband, Albert, was far from the prudery that her era has been assumed to typify. The day after her wedding, the twenty-year-old queen wrote to her confidant and Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, that ‘it was a gratifying and bewildering experience … his excessive love and affection gave me feelings of heavenly love and happiness. He clasped me in his arms and we kissed each other again and again.’ Her three-day honeymoon at Windsor Castle left her the ‘happiest being that ever existed’ and she had Albert design and install a bedside switch to activate mechanical locks on the bedroom door, so that their impromptu love-making sessions would not be interrupted. However, when it came to the consequences, or what she called the ‘shadow side’ of love, pregnancy and birth, Victoria was less enthusiastic … Victoria conceived within days of her wedding. It seems likely that neither she nor Albert had any idea about how this could have been prevented. There was a certain amount of material published on birth control by the time of their marriage, such as Richard Carlile’s 1828 Every Woman’s Book, which recommended coitus interruptus as well as the sponges that French and Italian women were reputed to wear on their wrists, so as to literally have them to hand. It was possible to purchase sponges and ‘gentleman’s nightcaps’ (condoms), cervical caps and an early American form of the femidom, or female condom, made from eel skin. Some upper-class women also practiced ‘irrigation’, which involved the rinsing out of the vagina using a syringe, although the instructions, given in Every Woman’s Book, made the process seem arduous and cumbersome. Social activist Annie Besant worked to raise public knowledge about the various options available to married couples, publishing the instructive The Fruits of Philosophy. This led to Besant’s arrest and trial for obscenity. Initially convicted, the verdict was overturned on appeal and huge numbers of the book were sold. Victoria would not have begun to suspect her pregnancy until certain physical signs began to appear and, even then, she would have been cautious about diagnosis … The late summer and autumn of 1840, spent waiting in seclusion, proved frustrating for Victoria. As she later wrote to her daughter, it had all happened too quickly and denied her the opportunity to enjoy being married: ‘What made me so miserable was … to have the first two years of my married life utterly spoiled by this occupation.’ She felt as if motherhood had ‘tried [her] sorely; one feels so pinned down, one’s wings clipped, only half oneself. In September, when she was seven months pregnant, she made Albert a member of the Privy Council and issued him with a set of duplicate keys to her official boxes, so he could take over when she was incapacitated. It was a symbolic act, recognizing her inability to act as queen during her numerous pregnancies and the tension of power this created between husband and wife. Victoria would have sought advice from her doctors as soon as she suspected her condition but physical examinations of any sort were shunned. Even the placing of a stethoscope on a woman’s belly to monitor the fetal heartbeat was considered indecent. As a result, many nineteenth-century women suffered ‘the extremity of danger and pain rather than waive those scruples of delicacy which prevent their maladies from being fully exposed’. It has been estimated that in the 1870s, married women spent an average of twelve years pregnant and breastfeeding, having borne around five live children, although many had suffered miscarriages and stillbirths. Like Victoria, 80 percent delivered within twelve months of the wedding ceremony, while only 12 in 1,000 gave birth in less than seven months, having been pregnant at the altar. Many endured multiple pregnancies, equaling the queen in having nine children under the age of fifteen, which made her feel ‘more like a rabbit or a guinea pig than anything else’. Labour conditions improved for Victoria for the delivery of her son Leopold in 1853, when she was administered with chloroform for the first time, inhaling every ten minutes from a cloth soaked in the liquid. After her experience, this form of pain relief became widely used among her subjects. Still, Victoria disliked the process of bearing children, writing retrospectively about the ‘humiliation to the delicate feelings of a poor woman, above all a young one … especially with those nasty doctors’. She also found the condition ‘quite disgusting’ in others, particularly ‘those ladies who are always enceinte’ and responded to the impending birth of her grandchild by claiming ‘the horrid news has upset us dreadfully’. It may also have been the case, with her aunt Charlotte in mind, that Victoria feared her coming ordeal; Mrs Panton certainly believed that ‘these times are looked forward to with dread by all young wife’. This attitude, coupled with her dislike of breastfeeding and small children, has led some historians to conclude that she suffered from prenatal and postnatal depression although this is underpinned by the assumption that all women must enjoy motherhood and any deviation from this model requires a medical explanation. Perhaps readers should take Victoria at her word, as her view remained unchanging, that the ‘shadow side’ of love had got in the way of her marriage.

Victoria was not alone. The fear of birth was common to many women of the time, victims of a social prudery that denied them the opportunity for proper examination, control over and knowledge about their condition. This led to an understandable dislike of pregnancy, even a sense of morbidity, and a rejection of the act which could result in conception.” *

You also have to take into account that Victoria's views on how to prevent pregnancy, coming from the Baroness, date all the way back to ancient history. Thanks to efforts by the scientific community to map the entire human genome, we know more about human anatomy, especially female anatomy than our ancestors ever did. As a result, access to things such as birth control, and preventive care are easier, especially in developed countries. But every body is different and complications could still occur.

Victoria's mission, besides making the monarchy more popular, and thus ensuring the continuation of such institution, was to provide it with heirs. One child wasn't enough and despite England already having been ruled successfully by female monarchs like Elizabeth I and Anne I; people -including Victoria- would have preferred a male heir. And Victoria knew that she needed to have more than one son, in order to secure the throne for her dynasty. There had been so many Princes of Wales who never became Kings of England because they died, and thus their younger siblings took their place. Victoria became Queen thanks to many of her grandfather -George III of England- eldest sons not having male heirs, or (in the case of her predecessor, her uncle William IV) having a daughter who died in childbirth.

It was appropriate that the last episode had one of the grooms quote Shakespeare from his play 'Richard II', "uneasy lies the head that wears the crown." Indeed, uneasy lay the head that wore a crown, especially for Queen Regnants.

*Source: Royal Babies: 1066-2013 by Amy Licence. She also wrote a good book on the Tudors, that explores women's experiences in that era, it is titled "In Bed with the Tudors".