#it is vastly superior in every way as far as he's concerned

[sezja]

Sanaii's dads!

In order: R'enze, R'azit, and Zephyr.

[owl-with-a-pen]

The 21st century was abundant with challenges; indeed, Brainy was starting to believe it had yet to crawl its way out from the dark ages.

The technology was a joke, buckling under his own vastly superior interface every time he tried to connect with something mentally. Until he’d made the necessary adjustments to his own internal network – a task he was not looking forward to - the old-fashioned way was the only method these so-called computers seemed to respond to.

Being here was… uncomfortable to say the least. Though the hardware in these backwards machines was easy enough to decipher, the information they held within was wholly alien to him. Social media, dating profiles, in-app purchases; the state of the internet had been reduced to a shallow caricature of its true potential. The only data this generation seemed to care about were the gigs on their mobile telephone devices – crude little rectangles that weren’t even capable of hosting a low-level hologram.

It was all necessary, of course. His discomfort paled in comparison to the enormity of their mission here. Mon-El had been predictably frosty since learning the truth about he and Imra’s… omittance of certain crucial details surrounding their arrival in this century, though Brainy knew it wouldn’t last. He’d calculated the odds - another few days, and Mon-El would have well and truly thawed.

Despite how important their being here was, it didn’t mean he had to like this century by any means. He’d been accessing all he could on the history of this time since Supergirl’s mission to Fort Rozz had gone sour, adding any and all significant events to his thought tracks on the slim chance he might be caught off guard again. He did not want to suffer the same humiliation as before. Being usurped by this Winn Schott on a technicality was nothing short of mortifying. Besides, how was he meant to have known about some ancient probe, anyway? How was he meant to know anything about how this backwards, primitive, exhausting time period operated?

But that was in the past. Winn had proven himself marginally more useful than Brainy had initially calculated, and though his teammates may have suspected he was avoiding the DEO for that reason, the truth was far less convoluted.

In all honesty, the DEO was a loud and chaotic hive of a building, flocked with soldiers who paraded themselves about this self-proclaimed masterpiece of modernity as though the technology there wasn’t outright laughable. Nothing responded to him as it should, in fact, nothing responded to him at all. It made his skin crawl being so isolated within his own network, to be so far removed from everything he had once relied on as indisputable fact. Imra and Mon-El had certainly noticed his discomfort, because they made no objection to his many transparent excuses to remain inside the ship.

Another recent and far more concerning discovery of the 21st century… were the people. Brainy had at first considered them a positive. After all, the likelihood of anyone recognising him for the stain that was his family name in this century was incredibly low. As far as the history books recorded, Brainiac had not visited Earth to date.

What they had failed to state was that the humans of the 21st century were not yet accustomed to sharing their planet with the outer universe.

Human/alien relations were not sturdy by any means, leading to an alarming trend in the acquisition of image inducer technology. Brainy was no stranger to such gadgets, they were sold as cheap toys where he was from, although there was little need for them in the 31st century. Perhaps on an occasion where the Legion were needed for a covert mission, although even those were usually operated by the espionage squad.

But to use an image inducer out of personal safety on an every-day basis? It sounded downright archaic.

Brainy had learned the hard way how humans took to his less-than normal appearance the first time he had ventured out on his own. Though Supergirl and her friends took no alarm to his natural visage, outside of the DEO, people were far less understanding.

A quick review of recent marketing trends had led to his own acquisition. Though there were changes to this century he was willing to make for the greater good - for Imra - he did not wish to do anything that might destabilise the already rocky relationship mankind had with their alien compatriots. Progress was around the corner, and Brainy very much wanted to keep it that way.

And so, not only was he to make nice with the technology here, but he was also made to adhere it to his own flesh.

The first chance he got, Brainy found himself alone in his quarters, fiddling impatiently with his newly acquired children’s toy.

He stared nervously at his reflection in the holographic mirror, making miniscule hand gestures across his face as he adjusted the inducer’s settings for human features. Even in this century, image inducers were a small but clever gadget, working on a psychic wavelength that affected the viewer’s perception of the user’s chosen presented image. Fortunately, that also made it the perfect tool for Brainy to connect with his own interface.

The device had, ironically, been designed first by L-Corp, a technology giant once owned by the notorious Lex Luthor - a name that had made it all the way to the 31st century in more than one sense of the word. Since Luthor’s incarceration, the company had been acquired by his sister. Lena. Brainy had heard Kara mention her name in passing already, enough that he understood her as an ally in this time. Though, a quick but thorough check of recent news articles circulating her endeavours showed that not everyone was on her side.

He could certainly relate to that.

From his research, he was confident that Lena’s mind was every bit as brilliant as her brother’s, perhaps more-so considering her pursuits towards good over ill. Though image inducers were still in a local testing phase, the plan was to release them worldwide within six months. No matter how Brainy felt about that, he couldn’t deny the results. The image inducer had done exactly as is had described.

Stood before him was a Querl Dox he no longer recognised.

It was still inarguably him, for his physical features had only been hidden behind a thin veil of human toned hair and skin. It was easier that way for human minds to adjust to the telepathic suggestion, and certainly made it simpler for Brainy to digest.

It was odd to say the least, and the longer he stared dumbfounded at his new reflection, the more he began to notice not what had been changed - but what was missing.

Silently, Brainy drew a hand across his forehead, watching the resultant frown lines that appeared across his freshly unblemished skin.

His inhibitors. Of course. How strange; he'd nearly forgotten what he looked like without them. It had been so long since…

No.

A shudder passed down Brainy’s spine. That was not something he was allowed to indulge. His appearance was his strength, his inhibitors his courage. To think of it as anything else was illogical. Wrong.

Besides, he’d dismissed the notion of dreaming a long time ago.

And yet, in that moment of vulnerability, he felt his mind relax, allowing a single thought to surface. One that he’d kept buried for far too long.

As Brainy continued to stare into the soft glow of his reflection, he watched as his image inducer latched onto that one renegade thought, spinning it into reality.

His human toned flesh was human no longer. Instead, it blossomed with green pigment, surfacing in blotches through his pores. The black hair he had decided upon was already lightening again, abstaining from its leeched colouring by halting a few shades short of pure white. Instead, after a few moments, it fell about his shoulders in a soft, free flowing blond, curling inward at odd ends, no longer coarse in appearance, but rather smooth and velvety.

His forehead remained bare, reinstated with the deep and healthy green of his people.

Brainy didn’t dare breathe, holding himself so still that his eyes began to burn.  

He couldn’t see his inhibitors, he couldn’t see them, and with that realisation, his chest swelled with an emotion that was hard to describe. It felt light and airy, rising to his head with a giddy thrill.

But the image inducer could only do so much. Invisible or not, he could still feel them beneath the illusion, a hum of energy in his ears he’d long ago taught himself to drown out.

They were heavy. It wasn’t something he thought about often, but they were. They pinched and irritated his skin, causing undue strain at his neck - yet more discomforts he’d learned to live with over the years. Because so long as they were there, he knew he posed no danger to anyone.

They would all be safe.

Don’t you want that, Querl?

Brainy flinched hard, revulsion twisting his stomach. With that, the image dispelled, and the next time he blinked his eyes open, he was blue again.

His inhibitors glowed hot on his face, as though spiting him for what he’d just done.

What had he just done…?

Brainy shook himself, jerking a hand to the side of his jaw, eager to continue his original preset. He ignored the tremor in his wrist, the telltale churn of nausea in his gut, and focused solely on finishing what he’d set out to achieve.

It was a silly toy, he reminded himself. Nothing more. It would help him present as human when necessary. That was all.  

He could not allow himself the comfort of such an absurd illusion again.

Besides, the feeling would pass, just like every intense emotion that had come before it – it would be curbed and then controlled.

And then, this uncomfortable sensation would go away.

Brainy made another hasty gesture, pre-emptively deleting the Coluan preset from the inducer’s memory file. It would not be needed.

Once he was satisfied with his human visage, he saved the settings for future use, waving away his holo-mirror with a certain level of relief.

Now that the trivial had been dealt with, he could sink his twelfth level mind into matters that were sure to take some of those nerves away.

After all, he still had a mission he needed to complete.  

[mmmmalo]

For anyone still under the impression that June Egbert is just a product of the Toblerone wishes with no particular relevance to Homestuck proper, here's an argument to the contrary: that June (or whatever you like to call her) was already here, woven into John's relationship with the idea of Dad.

Act 1 has a certain preoccupation with the ideal forms of things, John having multiple instances of saying X isn't a REAL X unless it has this or that characteristic. "A fire BELONGS in a fireplace, categorically." One of those outbursts touches upon masculinity, with John saying a gentleman without a monocle is a piss-poor excuse for such. Along such a paradigm, you might gather that something like John saying the beaglepuss sucks as a disguise or trying (and failing) to integrate Dad's pipe into the façade communicates that John is kind of grasping at this ideal of masculinity exemplified by Dad and getting frustrated that he can't seem to measure up to it (or that masculinity feels "fake" on him).

This sort of dynamic is more blatant with Dave, who talks openly about how he isn't a "hero", not really, measuring himself against the impossible standards set by his Bro. But as much was already implicit in Act 1.

Later it gets established that John has some kind of fear of heights: the first ogres appear after John experiences vertigo from almost falling off the stairs, and again after getting launched by the pogo hammer. (Just as Karkat suspected he was given a planet covered in his own blood as a form of harassment, Sburb placed John's house on that needle plateau because of this fear of heights; the game generally manifests adversaries in response to fear). The phobia becomes relevant to Dad stuff after the ogre fight is over, when John is hesitating to jump down into Dad's room: it isn't just that John's nervous about entering the room for the first time, the descent itself makes John anxious. Furthermore, this juxtaposition serves to establish that the fear of heights and anxieties around Dad are related somehow, if not outright synonymous. The two are associated again at the beginning of Act 5 Act 2, when dream!John tries to jump over a canyon to reach Dad, but awakens mid-leap. The formal reason John awakens is Vriska of course, but if we ignore her we're left with John approaching Dad and immediately experiencing vertigo. (The name "June" comes from Vriska contacting John shortly after this dream, incidentally)

This comes up again when John finds Dad's wallet and gets overwhelmed by the prospect of Manhood and the responsibilities it entails -- next thing you know John is flying around in Dad's car, having fun... and after the scene is interrupted by Seek the Highblood, we return to find John crashing the car (another fall from the sky!) and talking with Vriska about dread surrounding societal expectations, and the possibility of rejecting them to pursue something different for yourself. John came into the scene worried (if quietly) about the expectations surrounding manhood, so the Vriska conversation serves to makes those kind of concerns more vivid.

The car crash is itself kind of a metaphor for that conversation's trajectory... in Act 6 we see something analogous play out among the Dersites who have gotten into dapper-wear: one Dersite sits on a hat, panics about ruining it, and then begins to wonder if perhaps a crumpled hat could have a value of its own, aesthetically. (Dirk expresses this sort of counter-assessment more bombastically: "...the next best thing. By which you mean, the vastly superior thing.") Dad Crocker swoops in to condemn the crumpled hat, but the Dersite's tentative revaluation of an apparent failure mode is something the scene shares with Vriska, who initially regards her ambivalence towards murder as a symptom of personal failure, unbefitting her caste. John enters that conversation with a crumpled car, and from context we can guess John's revaluation concerns "failing" to be a man in the way Dad is, and how maybe that doesn't need to be considered a failure.

As laid out so far, I guess none of this quite necessitates trans-Egbert, since people can come at "anxiety and reservations at the prospect of embodying masculine ideals" from a number of angles... but there are other considerations which make me think wrestling with self-deprecating thoughts like "I'm a failed man" are maybe comorbid with a budding sense of being a girl, in Egbert's case.

Foremost, I think it helps to recognize that Dad's car can function as a symbol of John's body. To sketch a case for that:

1a. Death often means transformation: the trolls die in questcocoons to reach the godtiers, suggesting that death stands between the caterpillar and the butterfly, their too solid flesh dissolved into a goo.

1b. A command in Act 1 implores John to "retrieve arms from MAGIC CHEST". John complies twofold: we see some fake arms retrieved from the toy chest, held up by John's real arms which have been "retrieved" from John's ostensibly armless torso.

2. This dual usage of chest is deployed in part 3 of Openbound, in service of building a dysphoria metaphor (among other things). The segment reintroduces us to Fiduspawn, a game in which one creature hatches from another, a host creature, killing the host in the process (fans of the Alien films may recognize this as derivative of the "chestburster", fans of Homestuck may recognize this as analogous to godtiering). Damara (who Rufioh refers to as "doll") becomes the host plush, who is accused of locking away Rufioh's "happy thought" (Tinkerbull) in her "chest". Rufioh's beef with Damara serves to illustrate an adversarial relationship with one's own body, the ways in which the body itself seems to function as a barrier to some happiness. The carnal imprisonment of euphoria (the "happy thought") represents dysphoria. The conversation between Kanaya and Porrim which follows has analogous content and offers a potential resolution to such a conflict, with Kanaya coming to distinguish her body from the reproductive duties assigned to her body by her caste's place in society, and knowing that she is not "bound" to the Matriorb by any will but her own...

3. But the paradigm of Fiduspawn reminds us that the act of actually ripping the happy thought out of your chest has suicidal overtones, when taken literally. And Aradiabot notwithstanding, the inner ghosts the kids give up are often green: Dirkbot tears out his uranium heart and explodes, Rose peels pink bricks off the green core of an island and wonders aloud if her existence is a mistake, and (returning to our main topic!) John tries to retrieve the green package from Dad's car. The retrieval of the box comes to represents the birth of the self from its shell, the now broken body, a gesture which overlaps with the pursuit of death.

So we can infer that Dad is akin to Damara here, having locked the desired object (the box, the "happy thought") within a container that we can identify with John's own body. Thus Vriska's talk of perhaps rejecting her assigned role in society proceeds naturally from the wreckage of Dad's car: insofar as the car functions as an emblem of the masculine expectations imposed upon John, the car's wreckage suggests the possibility of liberation from those expectations, liberation from your own body. John is "sick to death of cake" -- cake is a Life symbol imposed by Dad, in visceral excess, accumulating as every birthday marches John towards Manhood. The possibility of living as a girl does not seem to have occurred to John yet, life and masculinity seem inextricable and absolute. The first time John sees Dad's car totaled (after Rose drops it), the symbol of self-as-corpse is surrounded by yellow bands of caution tape. The Authority Regulator who placed the tape will later declare himself to be THE LAW, and we should take his word for it: the scene's function is to declare that the crumpled car, the "dead" and therefore feminized body, is forbidden to John. No surprise then that as John marches to her death, in defiance of the Law's prohibition, she-whose-name-does-not-yet-suit-her is met with impressions of several maps that actually align with their territories: troll movies whose titles are their contents in full, a rocket encoded by the sound PCHOOOOO. John wants that for herself, I think. And as @lscholar once pointed out, it’s worth noting that John's pursuit of this unity (this pursuit of "death") is interrupted by Dave, who in saving John's life repeatedly emphasizes their status as "bros" -- masculinity being, again, inextricable from life within John’s symbol system.

...and that's the short of it. A more detailed account might get into the association of Vriska and other blue girls with the feminized corpse, or read into Equius self-consciously roleplaying as a cat girl between John’s joyride and crash, or perhaps try to apply this car-body framework to the appearances of Dad's car in the Epilogues. And I haven’t even touched upon clowns...but I'll call it here for now.

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 11; the rewatch edition

I have found a bit more enthusiasm for this one on the rewatch, so here goes!

- din snapping ‘I’m trying my best here!’ in a vaguely annoyed tone as his entire ship is going up in flames around him because he mostly doesn’t get angry as much as sulky... the height of cinema 

- I love frog husband’s clothes, because they’re in a very similar style and colour scheme to frog lady’s but also incorporate the knitwear we see on the people of trask, so it both underlines his belonging with her and implies that he’s been on this moon for quite a while, they may have been apart for some time  

especially his scarf is a darling detail and there’s a bit of contrast in texture to it next to his wife’s, it’s nice. he’s wearing a similar kind of vest to what we see on the fishermen later, too 

- I think my favourite part of this entire episode (well second after din cradling the baby against him after nearly drowning) is just the design and Vibe of the planet and especially this harbour

for one I LOVE that it’s shown that even in the middle of the day it’s dark enough that the electric lights are still on when it’s overcast (it reminds me a bit of norway during the winter, actually, when dawn just never quite breaks and then slinks off in embarrassment before it’s even noon). and there’s also the... sails? nets? hanging around looking almost like flags, which are very Aesthetic but god knows what they’re for. maybe for drying fish on in the summer? 

I think the building in the distance behind frog husband’s back here is a lighthouse? or it could be one of those towers for loading you see when they scout out the empire ship too, I suppose!

and one for my strange obsession with Texture on this show: these fabric-covered crates!!! they look exactly as dingy and moldy as you’d expect them to be in this climate, I wonder what they’re for (& I vaguely want to touch them) 

- from the sound of it din’s vibroknife is uh ‘on’ when he pokes the squid thing, and he also goes for the tentacle the furthest away from the baby <3

proof the calamari flan have been scratched up a bit during all that time in din’s pockets! (the attention to detail in this show sometimes istg) 

- this is 100% me reading too much into things again, call the overthinking police I’ll do my time meekly lol, but the boat looks a little bit like the mudhorn signet from this angle: 

again din keeps his hand on or sooo close to his blaster in this entire scene, he knows this is sketch as all hell 

a) once again I want to praise the effects team for how GOOD the aliens look in this episode holy shit and b) the hell is this dude wearing on the straps of his overalls tho 

- the dude mando (axe woves) uses his little... wrist launcher thing to shoot with to finish two off the fishermen, so my theory that they can be loaded with other things than the whistling birds for slightly less effective use (maybe without the level of honing we’ve seen din’s be able to do?) is looking good!

- din actually has quite good form when diving into the water, I’m guessing he can swim at least tolerably when not in full armour, being stabbed at from all directions, having just had his son eaten by a sea monster and also being trapped in with said sea monster (I’m a strong swimmer and I can tell you that there’s a reason they make you swim with clothes on from time to time to see how hard it is, it sucks. with metal plates strapped all over you as well? yeah good luck) people don’t tend to hit the water that gracefully without some kind of training in my experience lol. might be some of the training with the jet pack has carried over too, considering he throws himself off that cliff in chapter 12 with similar confidence?

it’s interesting that they’re once again showing us a threat where the armour doesn’t help and even hinders him. we’re so used to the ways it can make him near-invincible, but it can also drag him down (literally, in this case. aha ha ha. well if I’m not here for my own entertainment then what am I here for honestly)

- din’s voice sounding like he’s just on the verge of crying as he cradles the baby (and the sound he makes as he realizes the baby’s alive) is my kryptonite, turns out. fucking breaks my heart into tiny pieces every time, I would die for this man and he wouldn’t let me

- in support of din’s paranoia: so far this season we haven’t been able to go five minutes without someone talking about peeling the precious beskar off a mandalorian corpse, I can see why his mind was primed to move in one particular way there

- I think the fabric of din’s cape has been treated with something that makes it waterproof; the water seems to pearl on top of it rather than soak in! can you imagine how heavy it would get if it did absorb water tho christ

(a bit hard to see at this size but that’s what it looked like to me close up anyway! could also be that it’s wool and that’s why it looks that way but I prefer an elaborate sci-fi explanation here, because it doesn’t look particularly weighed down afterwards) might also explain why he doesn’t seem worried about it catching on fire when he uses the jetpack haha, maybe this is something the mandos do with fabric they’re going to use for a long time 

I also enjoy part of the gambeson/undersuit thing poking up from under the shoulder pauldron and cape; I think this is about as disheveled as we’ve seen him since immediately post-mudhorn 

- the sound mixing in this scene, where din’s breathing is layered a bit over everything else so you almost feel like you’re in the helmet with him listening to what the others are saying........ oh my GOD, it embeds you so deeply in his POV but so subtly 

- not to be biased or anything... but din and the armorer’s armour design is so vastly superior to these guys it shouldn’t even be a competition lol 

din looks like an honest to god knight in shining armour except also sci-fi western and the armorer looks like a fucking war goddess from a time beyond memory; the clone wars mandos look like high end cosplayers (eh maybe it’s just my dislike for the boobplates that has me so 😒 lol. also a lot of dudes were very shitty about that whole thing and I don’t say anything but the ‘vaguely-concerned will remember this’ telltale message pops up in the corner every time) 

moment of saltiness over: I do like the differentiation between their individual character designs 

the differences in body type and helmet design is nice! they look like a unified team, but with individuality. I suspect the ladies have those belts and their armour plates on the hips instead of the front of the thighs to emphasize the ‘female’ silhouette, which. okay fine whatever

- bo katan looks very pointedly down at the baby after saying ‘a group of religious zealots who want to return to the ancient ways’ which makes me VERY nervous for reasons I can’t quite articulate

- the mournful guitar version of the mando theme as din watches the sunset...... hmmmmngh (this might be some Symbolism happening to us folks strap in for the identity crisis he still hasn’t processed) 

- I Cannot get over din being so unimpressed by and uninterested in bo katan’s ‘retake mandalore’ sales pitch from literally the first moment dfhasdkjfhsad sorry lady kryze this man just does not do main quest shit, he’s all side quests all the time and that’s why I love him  

- as someone who after chapter 8 wrote a whole-ass fic that was wholly & exclusively about din telling the baby he’ll always come back for him... some of the shit he’s been saying this season does feel like it’s been written to mercilessly victimize me, personally and specifically 

- guessing this structure in the background is the traffic control tower! doesn’t really matter, I just thought it was neat

- this part of the soundtrack is called ‘ship o hoj, mandalorians!’, which I found incredibly charming haha (it’s ‘ship ahoy’ except how you write it in swedish, good one herr göranson)  

- bo katan is vague about who exactly the new mand’alor would be if they took back mandalore to begin with, she doesn’t specify she is planning to be the ruler until she’s already got din on the ship and in no position to refuse to help. gotta respect the grift at least lol  

I do love her voice, though, it reminds me a bit of jennifer hale as shepard

- “I need to get back to my ship, with the foundling” your honor I uh love him so fucking much 

- frog lady stroking the baby’s back a bit as she holds her hand behind him to make sure he doesn’t fall backwards while playing with the tadpole ;___________;

and also frog husband and frog lady reaching out to hold hands and frog smooching as din and yodito leave ;____________________________________________;

- when din says the exasperated “mon calamari. unbelievable” line, the baby makes that little blowing a raspberry sound he does as if to agree ‘uh-huh unbelu -- unbelly -- unbelievable dad smh’ and it is very very adorable 

- there’s quite a bit of Stuff in the concept art that didn’t make it in this time around; I wonder if maybe they cut some stuff for pacing or whatever and that’s why this episode is so short? water leaking into the cockpit of the razor crest, something that looked a bit like whaling going on on the docks and more spaceships taking off (maybe there were originally meant to be some smaller ships defending the big empire one?), there’s quite a bit here  

[madamlaydebug]

The Seven Functions of the Pyramid

1. Power generator and distributor

2. Preservation

3. Transportation

4. Energy balance

5. Prophesy

6. Resurrection

7. Divine unity

The ancient Egyptian/Ethiopian empire used a certain form of electricity that was generated and distributed by pyramids. It is different than modern electricity in that the modern type is a low form of electricity that requires transmission wires.

All the substances of the universe have a range or spectrum of frequencies. You are familiar with the most common spectrum - that of light. Scientists have named the extremes that they know of this, calling them infrared and ultraviolet. That means if you look at the seven colors of the rainbow, starting with red then orange then yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet, then the light spectrum starts from below red (infrared) and goes all the way to beyond violet (ultraviolet).

Similarly the other forms of matter also have a range. Solid matter comes in a range of solidity, from soft solids like lead to very hard ones like diamond. Liquids also have a range, starting with thin liquids like pure alcohol or substances such as benzene, to thick liquids like gels. This is true for all the seven forms of matter through the gases to the ether, light, electricity, and magnetism.

Modern generated electricity is a lower-spectrum type, barely above static electricity (the type that makes your clothes cling). The ancients used a higher form of electricity that did not require wires for transmission. It was transmitted directly in the ether (i.e. in space) the same way radio waves are transmitted. It was transmitted to the temples, which served, among other things, as receiving stations. So the temples had antennas used to receive the transmission. These antennas can still be seen today erected in front of some of the temples. Modern people call them obelisks. There is one near you in Central park, New York that was stolen by Americans from one of the temples, and many more that were stolen by Europeans, perhaps the most famous one being the one called Cleopatra's needle.

Now, the ancients had great reverence for technology. To them it was a gift of nature coming directly from the Gods - the 144 Chiefs of the Black nation. So they did not treat it as casually as modern people do. Today everyone in western countries has access to electricity, including batteries, and they use it casually. There is no reverence whatsoever for this gift of the Gods. The ancients used it only when necessary, including it in the appropriate rituals, and only for projects that were for the benefit of the general society rather than individuals. Other than that they went about their business the usual way, using ordinary hand tools.

For this reason modern archeologists claim that the ancients did not have the knowledge of high technology such as electricity because they see the ancient Egyptians going about their business using hand tools and physical labor most of the time. Yet, there are many instances where they have seen the manufacture of certain implements such as stone coffins that were obviously made using some kind of high-speed machinery. They dismiss these instances as exceptions, and so never mention them in their studies and reports. There are many sculptures and other pieces of art found that are made of very hard stones such as diorite, including vases with very thin walls, narrow necks and wide bottoms. When they look at them, it's quite obvious that they could not possibly have been made by hand. They were certainly made using some kind of rotary machine that required electricity. These are the kinds of items that they bury in the basements of their museums because they do not fit their theories and explanation concerning the level of ancient technology.

The ancients understood the concept of balance in all its aspects. They understood that balance is necessary in all things, including the use of technology. Even though electricity is to be used to make life much easier, it is not supposed to be exploited to the point where it replaces all other uses, especially the uses of hand tools and physical labor. Such behavior leads to a deterioration of the human body. It discourages the exercising of our muscles using natural activities. Our muscles need natural activities in order for our bodies to remain in a state of good health. It does not help the body to replace natural activities with artificial activities such as weightlifting and gymnasium exercises. The everyday activities of the ancients, such as farming, washing clothes by hand, milling grains, making wine, rowing boats etc ensured that their bodies never went lacking for natural exercise and the muscular fitness and balance required for good health and long life. That's the reason they kept their ancient ways even in the midst of technology that was vastly superior to that of the modern day.

Every person had to reach a certain level of initiation before he could use it. The technology was not given for free or for money as it is today. It was earned by knowledge and understanding obtained in the rituals associated with it. They understood that all technology has a higher purpose above that of merely making life easy - it lends to the overall balance of the forces of nature. Without this balance, the life of a society will degenerate to one of two extremes; the extreme of greed, where the gifts of nature are used solely for the satisfaction of physical desires with no spiritual value whatsoever. This is what we see with the way the light-skinned people use technology today. The other extreme is that of over-technologization, which leads to over-intellectualization - i.e. giving up the heart for the sake of the head. This is the case with the extraterrestrial races today, who have given up all emotional life for the sake of the intellect, to the point where they have lost all capacity to love or to empathize.

These two extremes illustrate the end result of the unbalanced use of the gifts of nature.

Knowing this, the ancients were able to keep using high technology for thousands of years without the harmful effects we see today such as the ecological disaster that is being foisted upon mother earth by the light-skinned races, or the genetic deterioration that comes as a result of losing one's capacity to feel emotions, such as is being experienced by the extraterrestrial races.

The pyramids were also used for the preservation of life forms, or the function that has been attributed to Noah's ark. Periodically, it becomes necessary to preserve life forms on earth, both of animals and plants, so that they may continue after certain events that devastate the earth during its periodic cleansing. I will talk more about this function and events at some other time.

Pyramids are also used for space travel. This requires the manufacture of a monolithic pyramid. This is a large pyramid (much larger than the Great Pyramid) that is made of a single stone. The stone is obtained in space from among the debris of large rocks that orbits alongside the planets, that are called asteroids.

When our first ancestors came to earth from Sirius, they used twelve such pyramids, each one occupied by 12,000 men and women.

They landed the pyramids at twelve different locations on our earth, that were the energy nodal points of that time. The pyramids remained there for a long time in the far, far distant past, trillions of years ago. Such pyramids are always used when large groups of people leave to settle a new planet. We will see their use again here on our earth in the near future.

Pyramids are also used to balance the earth's energies. They are placed at the 12 primary nodes of the earth where space energies enter our planet. Every inhabitable planet receives energies from other stars in space that are essential for human and other life. These energies must be balanced as they enter the nodal points, otherwise they could upset the earth's magnetic shield. The earth's magnetic shield is crucial for keeping out things in space that could cause harm to the planet, such as large meteors and harmful rays. Our earth and other planets in our solar system are still bombarded by such things because our solar system is still evolving. They will cease when the entire solar system reaches a state of perfect stability, where all its energies are in perfect harmony with the energies received from outer space.

The Great Pyramid also acts as a prophetic 'book of stone'. It's constructed in such a way that it tells the future story of the age we are in. Every King or Queen who rules the earth builds a stone pyramid as part of their ordination. In its construction, they 'write' the future of their 25,000-year reign. They do not write it in Hieroglyphs, but in the sizes and types of stones used, and the way they are placed, as well as the way the chambers are constructed. A person who is initiated into its mysteries can read the future events of the earth from it.

It is also used as a resurrection 'machine'. I've already described the two facets of resurrection for which the Great Pyramid of Giza is used.

Lastly, and most important, the Pyramid is used to facilitate divine unity during rituals. This is a function that belongs to the 24 Elders.

[writersindigestion]

taken | edward nygma x reader

“beware of the snakes.”

reader gender: female

word count: 2464

warnings: drugs, violence, suicidal ideation, abuse

notes: i mean, y’all wanted him back, didn’t ya?

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE

Vaguely, she remembered someone handing her a doggy bag, and being driven to the precinct, where she was promptly handcuffed to a cot. She was vastly unimpressed with this treatment, and made it a point to everyone who so much as walked into the med bay. “What the fuck is this? Shouldn’t I be at, I don’t know… A real hospital?” [Y/N] inquired unhappily, rattling her cuffs around - just to annoy her caretakers, of course.

Unfortunately, Dr. Thompkins was the one watching over her, for the most part, and she was very close to smacking her patient for being so insufferable.“You’re under 48-hour suicide watch. They brought you here, because they thought this was the best place to keep you safe, as well as the people around you,” Lee explained, peeling off a pair of thick, plastic gloves with practiced monotony.

[Y/N] tried to cross her arms, but was restricted by the metal cuffs. A discontented scowl made its across her face, she settled again for making as much noise as physically possible with her restraints. “Yeah, yeah - I get it,” She deadpanned, staring blankly ahead of her, “Aren’t they better prepared to deal with suicidal patients at, I don’t know… A real hospital?”

Lee wasn’t pleased, “The order came from a higher authority - I had nothing to do with it. Evidently, my medical opinion doesn’t matter.” She scrutinized her patient for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

The detained woman stopped rattling just long enough to think past her own indignance. A higher authority? It was obvious who that was, regardless of how vague the title. What did he gain from her being at the precinct? What did she lose by being at the precinct? “What higher authority? Why do they want me here?” She was starting to sound like a paranoid addict - which, she was, but that didn’t mean she had to admit it. “I’m terrible. Thank you for asking. How are you? Why am I here?”

Dr. Thompkins’ face grew more serious, and she pulled a stool up next to the bed. “I’m just fine, [Y/N],” She replied, her brow knotted tightly together, “It’s not really my place to question orders - I do it anyways, but that doesn’t mean I get answers.” The doctor gazed over the other woman, observing her anxious, unfocused expression and jittery movements. She was suicidal - that much seemed obvious, but what was going on beneath, if anything? “You are here, because you seemed very intent on killing yourself not even a few hours ago, to the point where you were fighting the cops and were tased. You are here, because we need to watch over you, and make sure you are safe. Do you understand, or are you worried about something else?”

[Y/N] gritted her teeth at the inquisition, goosebumps rising along her limbs. What did he want? What was his plan? What did he gain from this? She shouldn’t say anything. It wasn’t secure here - or anywhere, really. She shouldn’t say anything. She should say nothing. Not anything, not anything, nothing. Words flew from her lips before she could stop them, “Something else.”

Lee leaned closer to her patient, resting a careful, tender hand on top of the other woman’s. Clearly, there was something wrong, and her charge did not feel safe enough to say what that was. She gripped lightly, trying to draw her attention. “The door is closed - are you afraid of someone seeing you? Or is it something else?”

A short silence. “Something else.”

“The handcuffs are in place to keep you here, so we can watch you, and to help make sure you won’t hurt yourself,” She explained, “Are they too tight? Or is it something else?”

“Something else.”

The doctor searched for more things that could be wrong, running over the situation in her head. She blinked, her eyes catching sight of a small pendant around [Y/N]’s neck - a tiny, no-nonsense heart that rested easily near her sternum. Extending from another cord was a shiny cross. Briefly, she checked the area for burns from the earlier tasing.  “... Is it your girlfriend? She tried to see you, but we couldn’t get clearance. We sent Chrysanthemum home, and will be calling periodically to check on her. Is that worrying you? Or is it something else?”

The patient’s fingers curled into a fist, her nails digging into her palms. “... Yes.”

“I can try to get her clearance again, if you want to see her. It will probably go through if I make a case for you. Is that what you want?”

Her answer was immediate, “No. Keep her away.”

Dr. Thompkins was obviously troubled with her vehement demand, and tried once again to wrap her mind around it. What higher authority? Why do they want me here? “Is someone trying to hurt you? Is someone trying to hurt Chryss?”

[YN]’s tongue wrestled with itself, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the thing that was screaming at her temporal lobe. She wanted to tell her. It would be so easy. Who would it put in danger? Her lover? Her doctor? Her old coworkers? Herself, least importantly?

Lee didn’t need a response. She pulled her phone from her pocket, swiftly selecting a number and waiting to hear the series of rings - or better yet, an actual reply. No one would pick up.

She called three times to find no answer.

A door opened to their right, an alert-looking officer striding in. “Dr. Thompkins,” He called, an urgent look on his face, “They need you out there. I was sent in to watch the patient.”

The medical professional glanced between her coworker and her charge, concern creating valleys across her smooth face. She leaned in towards the other woman, giving her hand a squeeze. “I’ll be right back. Yell if you need anything.”

[Y/N]’s heart dropped, a renewed sense of dread washing over her like a tidal wave. As Lee rose from her seat to leave the room, she made a grab for her arm, but the cuffs ceased her movements. She nearly whimpered to see the door swing closed behind the doctor. Her attention redirected to the nameless man she was placed in the care of, a snarl painting itself onto her visage. “Don’t you fucking try anything, cocksucker.”

The man’s mind was adrift with conflict, with confusion, but he had been given orders, and it was his duty as a cop to fulfill them. His face steeled, and he crossed the room to her side, smothering a scream with his palm as he fumbled with a syringe. He tried to keep quiet, tried to keep his trap shut, but it wasn’t in his nature to cause distress in an otherwise harmless person. “I’m really sorry about this,” The officer stuttered, his hand making its way towards the meaty part of her thigh, where he inserted the needle

She did not immediately quiet, like he’d seen in movies and tv, but his ‘superiors’ had warned him about this. He simply kept his hand pressed to her mouth, his free arm stopping her from struggling too much. After only about a minute and a half, he felt the woman in his grasp slowly decompress, and fall lax. The man removed his hands from her personage, taking a step back to observe. It was incredibly unnerving - her eyes were open, though half lidded, and it was easy to pretend she was awake.

Except she still was, barely.

A gurgle rose up from [Y/N]’s throat, and her head lolled to the side, lips parted just slightly. The cop panicked, reaching forward to cover her mouth again. Briefly, he felt her fingers start to curl around his wrist, and he relented.

[Y/N] was fading fast, and had she the mental capacity to feel afraid, she would, but the strongest part of her knew that something had to be done. She had things she needed to say, topics she needed to address - there was a very, very tiny allotment of seconds in which to speak. Operating her tongue had been getting increasingly hard over the past few months, but never before had she been so thoroughly tranquilized that she literally couldn’t talk. Finally, with her mouth stuffed full of rubik's cubes, and her muscles full of cotton balls, she managed to slur out, “He’s gonna hurt me.”

The officer almost screamed himself, hearing the words that she had to say. He panicked four times over, trying to shake the woman awake. A door opened behind them, and his voice lowered to a frantic whisper, “Who? Who?” But she was too far gone this time, her eyes glazed over to meet the figure that entered into the room.

[Y/N] woke up probably twelve hours later, her body wrapped in slimey, icy tendrils and her hair wrenched back. She screamed, squirming away from the tentacles that swarmed her figure, but they only pulled her tighter.

The foreign limbs were scaly and had the strength of 1,000 men, tugging her deeper into their coils with every passing second - no matter how hard she struggled. And they grasped around her throat, coveting every fragile, raspy breath that she tried to draw.

Minutes passed by, though they seemed like hours, and she couldn’t help but feel that her life should have ended several moments before. She was choking, she was unable to breathe, but she still lived, she still struggled. It was just another nightmare that she couldn’t wake from.

Except she was awake - sort of.

Eventually, it occurred to her that someone was speaking - a nearby voice, a cruel, smooth tone. She knew who it was, but who was it? Her consciousness would not allow her to access that part of her memory. The voice continued, rattling on about things she could not comprehend, and all she could do was listen as the tendrils fell away from her body.

“Are you coherent now? Nod if you understand.”

[Y/N] wasn’t sure what coherent meant, still seeing the tails of snakes in the corners of the room. She nodded anyways, breathing heavily against the soft fabric below her. It didn’t feel like her bed.

The other person hummed, a vague sound of disbelief. “If you could see yourself right now, you’d understand why I doubt your coherency very much. It’ll just be a few minutes now.”

None of their words quite held in her perforated headspace, just as they failed to before. She watched the bodies of reptiles creep about the floorboards, her eyes trailing behind each creature. One of them moved close to the bed, winding up the leg of a rustic-looking chair and across the lap of a long, thin man who sat with his ankle atop the opposite knee. The woman almost cried to see the snake disappear behind his figure, and desperately waited for it to return. They almost felt like friends now. She wondered what its name was.

How strange that something so sinister had become an emblem of consistency in her otherwise tumultuous life?

She ran her tongue around the cottony caverns of her mouth, staring just past Edward onto the ornate wallpaper behind him. Her voice was croaky as she spoke, “Am I allowed to ask why I’m here?”

He’d been reading a newspaper, which he folded carefully and placed on the bedside table. His hands clasped together, a quirky little grin etched onto his cheeks. “You may ask whatever you wish - you’re a guest in the mayor’s house, after all.”

[Y/N] narrowed her eyes, the wallpaper still holding her rapt attention. “Why am I here, then?”

“You’re on suicide watch, and the precinct no longer felt that they could care for you,” Ed started, idly checking his watch, “You should be thankful. This was the best alternative.”

She was quickly becoming annoyed, and made a move to sit up before realizing that she’d been strapped - on her stomach, spread-eagle - to the bed she lay on. This distracted her from his vague explanation, if only briefly. “Does the mayor normally let his guests be held captive by his employees?”

“You misunderstand - you’re technically being hospitalized.”

“Yes, because you are the best ‘medical professional’ to watch over a suicidal woman,” [Y/N] deadpanned, “What do you mean by alternative? Where else would I have gone? A real behavioral center? A real hospital?”

“Well, they did mean to send you to Arkham-”

“Arkham?” The female shrieked, lifting her upper body off the mattress to the best of her ability, “I’m not a fucking criminal, Nygma. They would never send me there. I’m not insane, either, unlike your sorry ass.”

Edward’s face cinched dangerously, and he uncrossed his legs, leaning closer to impose on [Y/N]’s space. “You’d do good to watch where you throw words like that - you just might hurt someone’s feelings,” He warned, “And if I remember correctly - you disrupted public peace, assaulted a police officer, and resisted arrest. This town cares little for the mentally unstable, and they’d think little of you as well.”

“You and I both know that’s not true. I want to see a lawyer. There’s no legal way for you to keep me here,” She rattled, grasping at straws that she knew would only be ripped away from her.

“No self-respecting lawyer in Gotham would represent you against the mayor,” Ed countered, “They think of him as a saint for sheltering a poor, suicidal woman rather than letting her rot in the asylum. They think of him as an advocate.”

Frantically, she looked for an argument - as if her fate wasn’t already sealed. Just as she was about to open her mouth, the head of a snake crawled out of his sleeve, its body extending gracefully to the bed. She was immediately entranced by the movement, watching intently as it moved towards her.

The reptile slithered up to her face, greeting [Y/N] with a familiar smile, and she smiled in return, her lips parting over her teeth. It responded by pushing past her gums, pressing down her throat until she swallowed it whole.

Edward watched in amazement as the woman before him choked and gagged on nothing, a deep chuckle rising up from his chest. “Ketamine is a hell of a drug, isn’t it? A perfectly safe tranquilizer - given that you don’t mind the hallucinations upon waking.” He reached forward to wipe the drool from the side of her cheek, and she visibly cringed away from him.

The female breathed heavily, tears welling up in her sinuses as she tried to recover. “You’re the fucking devil, Edward,” She droned, unable to find the energy needed to curse him out like she really wanted to.

[waywardfangirl]

I was incredibly fortunate to get to write for the wonderful @fight-surrender in the Carry On Secret Snowflake exchange, and she gave some of the best prompts I've seen. I ended up choosing to write a meet-cute (a meet-ugly, really) that takes place on the beach and centers around Simon's new fixation on the supposed dangers lurking below the waves.

I have to give a giant thank you to @foolofabookwyrm and @caitybuglove23 for being excellent betas, cheerleaders, and for helping me get the fic formatted and posted when my computer stopped working - you guys are the best! 💜💜💜

You can read the fic below, or on AO3!

Simon

 

I've always wanted to go to the beach. Growing up in care, I never had the opportunity to, but now that Penny and I are done with university and enjoying weekends without the threat of homework hanging over our heads, I finally can. Of course, we don't live close to the beach, so our day trip took some planning, but it gave me time to look up all the best places to eat, and it gave Penny time to watch every possible documentary about the ocean. I watched a lot of them with her, and while I know I probably won't see all of the tropical fish that swam across our TV screen, I'm still really excited to see the ocean. 

 

Unfortunately, I also happened to be in the room while Penny watched some show called “Predators from the Deep”, or something along those lines, so my excitement is also tinged with trepidation (or outright fear) of some of the things lurking under the waves.

“Sharks aren’t anything to worry about, Simon! They don’t want to attack you, and the likelihood of even seeing a shark here is extremely low.”

 

“It’s not the sharks I’m worried about, Pen! It’s all of the other stuff, all those little parasites, and the poisonous things, and the spiny ones.” The documentary was filled with shadowy shots of spiked balls and spotted tentacles just waiting to attack some unsuspecting wader.

 

“Don’t eat any of it then,” she replies, hardly even paying attention to me as she smooths out her blanket and sets up the umbrella.

 

“What?”

 

“You said you were worried about the poisonous things, so just don’t eat anything you find in the ocean.”

 

“They can hurt me even if I don’t eat them! What about that one octopus?”

 

“That was venomous, not poisonous, there’s a difference.” She squirts sunscreen into her palms and then slaps them lightly onto my cheeks, not allowing me time to squirm away.

 

“Whatever, venomous then, there are still things to be scared of in there!”

 

Penny ducks under the arm I have flung out to point at the ocean with, and grabs two waters from our cooler.

 

“You’ll be fine Simon, I promise.” She shoves a bottle into my hands. “Rub in your sun cream, and let’s walk by the edge of the water, alright? You’ll like it, we can find shells!” She starts off, picking her way through the sand and looking back only once to make sure that I’m following her.

 

It turns out that the water feels quite nice, even soothing. The sounds of the waves and the feel of cool water splashing my ankles combine to make me feel safe. They make me forget about the horrors lurking off-shore.

Penny has a handful of shells and has started handing me others to put in the pocket of my swim shorts. I’ve found a few shells of my own too, but I stopped paying such close attention to the ground about ten minutes ago, when I noticed a man about our own age playing in the waves with his younger siblings.

 

He has dark hair, originally falling around his face but now wet with seawater and slicked back to emphasize his widow’s peak. He’s still too far away for me to tell what color his eyes are, but as Penny and I walk closer I’m able to make out more of his facial expressions. He seems to be putting on sneers for show and occasionally gives bright smiles for the younger kids swarming him. He’s wearing one of those long-sleeved swim shirts, but it’s clinging tight to his body. He looks like he could be a footballer with all of the muscles I can see, even at this distance.

 

I’ve been trying not to stare too openly at him, but I can’t really help it - there’s just something about him that keeps drawing me in.It’s almost as if I’m under some sort of spell or thrall. Right now though, I’m extremely glad I’ve been so captivated by him, because I seem to be the only person on the beach who realizes the danger we’re all in.

 

Curling around the man’s left ankle are the tentacles of an octopus, surely about to stick its fangs into him and inject him with its venom (or whatever it is octopuses do to kill people).

 

"Octopus!" I yell. I’m at a loss for any other words, but I’m desperately trying to warn Penny as I sprint off to rescue him.

 

"Ooh, where?" She doesn't sound nearly concerned enough for the looming threat of death hanging over us all, but I'll talk to her about taking proper safety precautions later. Right now, I have to go save the life of the prettiest person I've ever seen.

 

"Octopus! Octopus!" I can't seem to make any other phrases come out of my mouth, but eventually the man looks up to see me barreling towards him, flailing my arms and yelling at the top of my lungs. He raises an eyebrow at me, staying far too calm considering the mortal peril he's in, and glances behind him to see who else I could possibly be talking to.

 

Unfortunately, that means he's not paying attention enough to sidestep me when the combination of my momentum and adrenalin send me toppling into him. We both splash down into the small waves lapping at the sand and I scramble to extricate myself from his long limbs as quickly as possible, crawling down to examine his ankles and prepared to risk my own life if I have to pull the octopus off of him.

 

"What are you doing? " His voice is lovely and posh, the vowels round and smooth and expensive.

 

"Saving your life, mate, you're welcome by the way," I grunt as I make another unsuccessful grab for the tentacles.

 

"From what? All you've done so far is endanger me, pushing me down and holding me in the water." He pauses. "If this is your attempt at murder by drowning, I think I pity you. First, you caused a scene by yelling the whole way down the beach before you assaulted me, and now you're not even bothering to hold my head under this truly pathetic amount of water. You're an absolute disaster."

 

"I told you—" (why are these tentacles so hard to grab,) "I'm not trying to kill you, I'm trying to save you."

 

"Save me from what, exactly?"

 

Ha! I've got you now, evil cephalopod!

 

"This!"

 

I hold the octopus up in triumph, feeling the water drip onto my sodden hair.

 

"From… a clump of seaweed?"

 

"What? No. No, it's an octopus."

 

Slowly, I lower the mass in my hand down to eye level, and immediately I feel my cheeks flame in embarrassment.

 

"Oh. Right. Sorry, then."

 

I try to push back from him and stand up, but my hand won't release the seaweed (it really did look like an octopus!). When I try to move a wave hits me, washing the sand out from under my foot and making me flounder for a few moments, only compounding my embarrassment. When I finally look up at the man I accidentally assaulted, he seems entirely unbothered by anything. He's lounging back on his elbows, somehow managing to look down his nose at me even though I'm sitting up fully now, and it's simply unfair how defined his abs are, even under his shirt.

 

"Do you make a habit of doing things like this?"

 

His eyes are too intense for me to look at any longer, they're a grey color that seems to be shifting to reflect the ocean behind me, and I have to busy myself with peeling the green fronds of seaweed away from my fingers.

 

"Like what?"

 

"Attacking strangers or playing the hero, take your pick."

 

"Sorry. I thought it was an octopus and I didn't want you to die," I mumble. This prick should be grateful, where does he get off being so smug anyway?

 

"Why on earth would I have died from an octopus touching me?"

 

"Because they're one of the most deadly creatures on earth!"

 

"What? No they're not. Not the ones around here, anyway. The blue ringed octopus is incredibly deadly, but it lives in the Pacific Ocean."

 

"But, couldn't they-"

 

He levels me with a look that could probably set me on fire.

 

"Mordelia!" One of the children comes running over from where they fled when I tackled their brother. She looks to be about twelve or thirteen, and while she isn't quite as dark and villainous looking as her brother she still has his same air of superiority. "Does this gentleman need to be worried about being attacked, maimed, or killed by any octopuses while swimming today?"

 

This kid - Mordelia, I guess - levels me with the most condescending look I have ever seen, and just scoffs . Actually scoffs at me, like I'm an imbecile. (Although, I still have seaweed stuck to me, so she may be onto something there.)

 

"No. Most accounts of cephalopod attacks can't be proven, and the few that have been entirely substantiated occurred in vastly different habitats or under circumstances that this beach couldn't support."

 

With that, she turns and runs back to the rest of her family, leaving me with only a parting eye roll.

 

"She's going through a marine biology phase."

 

It's the first thing the dark haired man has said to me in a casual manner, and I startle a bit. 

 

"Did you also have a marine biology phase?"

 

I think my question catches him off-guard, and I smirk.

 

"Perhaps," he answers after a beat. "But Mordelia's has been going on for three years now, so we think it may actually stick. Mine dried up after only a few months."

 

He smiles at me for the first time since I knocked him over, and it's almost painful how handsome he is, sprawled out elegantly on the beach like he's in an ad for expensive watches or cologne or something, and I can't believe I tackled him because of some stupid seaweed.

 

"I had a dinosaur phase," I confess, smiling back at him.

 

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" I reach down to help him up, and I'm shocked at how cold his fingers are, and how much I want to warm them up in my own. It's too bad I made such a horrible first impression, I would otherwise be sorely tempted to ask him out on a date. "What's your name, by the way? You've already attacked me, had we been in cars we would have exchanged names and proofs of insurance by now."

 

I’m such a mess. I didn't even think to ask what his name was.

 

"Simon. I'm Simon."

 

I go to shake his hand, and then realize that we're still holding hands, and I feel my cheeks grow redder still.

 

"Hello Simon, I'm Baz. It's nice to meet you, although the next time we meet I sincerely hope you can refrain from throwing yourself quite so bodily at me before we've even said hello."

 

"Yeah, umm, I'm sorry, really, I-" My brain catches up with my mouth. "Wait, did you say next time? "

 

His mouth curls up into a grin, and he gives my hand a squeeze as I try to figure out how I messed up so badly and things still worked out so well.

 

"Of course. For our first date, perhaps we can go to the aquarium and you can see what an octopus really looks like."

[what-a-messsss]

2x3 rewatch

I keep forgetting that Brach is still in S2.  Oops.  Also, I apparently went to check something in S6 last time I watched something, so it started at 6x2 instead of 2x3 and I yelled.  But anyway, on with this mess.  “Death Came in Like Thunder” apparently.  It sure did.

Ah yes, let us not forget that Branch is MANLEH.  This shall be proven to us by him murdering his cousin, Trunk, with big ax.  Chop chop, Branch, kill Trunk.  But oh no, must also show that he is People Smart, so must also lose because this makes him likable.  And many white people clap.  Yaaaay.  But be sure to say, “I let him win, Ferg,” while your competitor is right next to you, so he almost surely heard you.  Good good.

Oh Ferg.  Could you look more gormless if you tried?  (I mean, probably not, since presumably that was the goal of the actor, so he would have been trying.  But still.)  Bb.

Heh, nice thematic cut to Walt also chopping wood.  And YAY, Henry’s gorgeous truck (and gorgeous self).  I’m just going to take a moment to appreciate the fact that Henry rolls up and just helps himself to some of Walt’s thermos of coffee.  Because of course he does.  But I do so love these touches that they put in that do underline the fact that they are married have been besties for going on 40 years.  Also, I love this jacket of Henry’s.  The woven top, jean jacket sort of one?  Yeah, top 5 costume pieces of his for me.  (Also on that list, all basically tied with each other, basically any pants he wears.  I am reminded, when they cut back out to a full body shot.  Because I am very shallow, and he is very pretty.)

Haaaaaa.  And of course Cady talked to Henry before she talked to Walt.  Walt is a butthead.  And, yeah yeah, she just found out that he’d been lying to her for over a year, but that just proves my point that Walt is a butthead.  And we’re back to this whole idea that she left her phone, which just... ugh.  No.  But Henry’s face when he says that she said that she is safe, and he’s so worried, but still willing to respect her boundaries.

“She is an adult, Walt.”  “She’s my daughter.”  For fuck’s sake, you jackass, your ADULT daughter; that’s the whole flipping point!  Also, that little emphasis on my daughter, pfft.  If you didn’t want to feel like she preferred her cool dad to you, maybe try being less of an AAAAAAASSHOLE.  And, like, respecting her.  Even a weensy little bit.

“Etta Place”  I don’t remember if we find out why that’s the ‘assumed name’ that Cady chose, but I’m intrigued.  Wait, I just googled.  Looooool.  She spent years with Butch and Sundance.  Nice.

Walt is such a soft touch with teens.  *snack crackle pop* that kneecap back into place.  Vic starts this scene saying, “The 911 operator,” though, which is interesting, because I was kind of under the impression that Ruby was the main dispatcher, so it would be kind of heartening if she actually had back up with that.  ...Or maybe they’re just far enough out that a cell call made would be picked up by a tower farther out and have to be routed back in to the station/them.  I have no idea how that actually works.  Another rabbit hole for me to totally not go down.  Hopefully.  Shit.  They’ve apparently upped the fine for trespass since the show, though, because it’s $750 (or 6 months in jail) now and Walt says it’s $500.

And once again, we see Vic actually wearing gloves while investigating a suspicious death, and Walt just squinting into the distance helpfully.  I suppose “things got bad” in Basque country around WWII, but there has been friction there that dates back before the Spanish Civil War, or even the Carlist Wars the previous century.  It did get gnarly with the dictatorship of Franco, and the formation of the ETA in retaliation, though, so yeah.  (Francisco Franco is also on the list of people who anybody with a time machine should go back and beat the shit out of.)

Shit, I forgot about the animal death.

Knock knock, no answer.  Better just wander in without a warrant.  I know that the guy who they know lives there is dead, but still, no fricking warrant; I suppose the worry of a poisoning could count as probably cause?  

Gods, but there are moments when I do absolutely adore Vic, and they are usually when she’s taking the piss out of Walt.  “Reclusive bachelor chic; you and Marco have the same decorator.”  Looool.  But also, sad, because Martha has only been gone for a little over a year, and Walt is not the kind of person who would, like, change stuff and get rid of her things, so that’s kind of odd.  Maybe Henry and/or Cady went though and put away some of her things to try to help Walt move on?  But damn, the ‘excuse you’ look on Walt’s face when she does say it, pffft.

AND AGAIN, Vic wearing gloves, Walt with his bare ass hands picking up the picture of Picasso’s Guernica; can you at least *pretend* you’re a cop, *some* of the time, buddy?

Lol at the barrabilak; they are pretty well by the Rocky Mountains, so it’s probably not all that surprising that Walt’s had some “Rocky Mountain oysters” before.

I had forgotten that Vic had four brothers.  But her comment about Sal going off to look after the sheep and how if someone had told her that one of her brothers were dead she “wouldn’t care about any damn sheep,” I don’t know.  It kind of annoys me.  It’s totally in character for her, which is good, but I think it’s part of what can annoy me about her character.  Different people grieve differently, but also, I know she’s only been in Wyoming for a year or two, tops, but how is it so hard to fathom that someone one would be concerned about their livelihood, even in the face of personal tragedy?  Just, seeing beyond her own very narrow experience doesn’t seem like something she’s very good at.  It would be one thing if she’d framed it as “this is suspicious, and here’s why I think so as a cop,” but it was, “I wouldn’t react that way personally, so it’s sus.”  

Sure, be suspicious because there’s a suspicious death and family members are always suspects until ruled out, but approach it like a cop.  Or at least think about it from more angles than just your own, not terribly similar experience.  You’re a white city cop who can’t (or won’t) adjust to being in BF rural-ville, but these are immigrant shepherds whose family come from a homeland where the cops were just as likely to kill you as answer questions, and you’re side-eying a guy for going to make sure that their meal ticket doesn’t get obliterated?

I need to keep reminding myself that I really did want to like Vic.  I really did.  She just... they don’t make it easy for me.  Maybe she’s serving as an avatar for audience who don’t know about some of the culture stuff, and the audience get answers from her ignorance?  But honestly, I wish they’d picked a different way to handle that, if that’s what they were trying to do.  Her response to Henry being salty about Thanksgiving still really pisses me off.  Because it was shitty and racist, and... do we really need a character basically rolling their eyes and saying, “It was so long ago, why don’t you just get over it,” about something that is intrinsically tied to the genocide of so many people?  Why are Indigenous people just supposed to “get over it” but “Remember the Alamo” and “Southern Pride,” and shit?  Fuck’s sake.  Honestly, that might have been the moment when they lost me on her character.  She has moments where she’s awesome, but they never really address her being fucking racist or give her a chance to grow into a better person.  Which sucks a lot.  Fuck.  Ok, that was a lot.  Sorry.  Back to the actual ep.

AH, nice of you to beam in from the campaign trail, Brancheroo!

Uh, so I paused it to look at pic in the newspaper, and then being me, started to look at the articles surrounding the pic.  And the one with the headline “Fans Injured At Local Game” is actually about the Stewart case?  From 1x3?  I’m guessing that somebody went to the trouble of writing up an article for that for some S1 ep after it and they just plugged it in because when not paused, you might catch “Sheriff Longmire” there and that’s all they need.  Especially since the text starts to repeat after the first paragraph.  (I am the worst pedantic little shit.)  Ooooor, maybe even though it’s S2, it’s hardly been any time since 1x3?  The date on the newspaper is March 31, 2012, so there’s a timeline hint. 

Awwwwww, once Walt points out the bird, Ferg knows exactly what it is.  Occasional twitcher, are we, my lad?  “A red-tip meadowlark,” indeed.  Oh bb; Ferg’s face when he sees Walt looking at the pic of him with Branch in the paper.

“You go too fast, you miss the little things.”  Every once in a while, he actually sort of mentors Ferg.  I wish he did more of that, especially since we see later how capable Ferg can be.

Go suck an egg, Branch.  Why does she get all the “good” assignments?  Maybe because she was actually on the job when they found the body, not campaigning.

OPE.  Lizzie’s gift.  Yeah, I’d probably choke on that coffee if I were you, too, girl.  Better hope that there wasn’t perishable food stuffs in that gift, because that has been in there for a whiiiiiile, hasn’t it.  Wait, was Ferg in the office when Lizzie dropped off the gift?  Because his face said more than just “Did somebody give Vic a present?”  Suuuuper subtle with that whole pushing the drawer closed with your foot there, Vic.  Pfffft.

“Cyrano Caballero”  How daaaare that skeeve take Cyrano’s name in vain?!?!  (I have a thing about Cyrano de Bergerac.  It’s quite possibly my favourite play, and I adore the character, and have exactly 0 chill about it at all.  I find Brian Hooker’s translation of “The Ballade of the duel at the Hotel Bourgogne Between de Bergerac and a Boeotian” with “Then, as I end the refrian, thrust home,” vastly superior to any other translation that I’ve heard or read, though for the rest of it, I will grant that there are others to be preferred.  But that version of his Ballade is exquisite, and I will not be swayed.  Holy shit, FOCUS.  That is so very much not the point.)  It’s not even a throw away line in this ep, it’s just a random, very well chosen, if utterly appallingly insulting, company name.  It’s actually incredibly clever for what the business is, and if it didn’t make me so stomping mad, I would applaud whoever came up with it heartily.

Vic’s face listening to this jackass’ spiel is a thing of beauty.  “A good woman goes a long way of easing the obvious stresses of your daily life,” the jackass says, cutting his eyes at Vic when he says “obvious stresses,” and I caaaackle.

What is it about this guys’ horrible glasses that just makes him so much more hate-able?  I’m not entirely sure, but kudos to whatever costumer put those on him, because they are perfect.  In the ‘I want to punch him’ way of perfection.

And after all of that about Walt’s “lady friend,” Vic brings Lizzie’s present.  Womp womp.  That went super well.  Yuuuup, run while you can.

Poor Ferg.  Branch manipulates him, Vic ignores him, Walt shuts him down...  Poor guy just can’t get a break.

I actually kind of like this motel manager--the one who “doesn’t judge people” and is a stickler for warrants?  At least somebody in this county cares about warrants.  Also, those doors are actually really pretty.  Nice colour, and the carved scrollwork designs are nice.

What an odd shot: the one when they’re coming out of Walt’s office after talking to Skeevy McGrossFace and Rosa.  It’s a weird sort of shaky-cam stepping back, just preceding Branch walking, and then turns to follow him when he sit’s on his desk.  But it’s a really different style of shot than I can remember, so much so that it’s a bit jarring, especially after the series of nearly stationary close ups that we just had.  Weird. [18:42-18-50]

Cady!  I haven’t made much note of her costuming before this, but it seems notable that’s she’s only in monocromatics.  Especially next to Fales in muted tones, but still some colour, and surrounded by the colourful grafitti of the alley where her mother was stabbed.  Nice way of setting her apart from everything.

SHEEPIES!  Ooooo, that wagon is so cool.  Ah dang, the way that Sal corrects Walt’s pronunciation of his brother’s name is so gloriously passive aggressive.  Good for you, my dude.  Names are important, and people should have the respect to make the effort to get them right.

Aaaaaand Walt, the definition of Do, Don’t Tell, just shoves the guy to keep him from drinking the possibly dangerous water, rather than, like, using his words.  Walt’s gonna Walt.

Iiiiiiiii am a mess, truly.  It cuts to an architectural model and I start giggling like a 6th grader, because I know it’s going to be a Jacob scene.  He’s not even on screen yet, ffs.  HANDS.  I’m fine.  Totally fine.  (That’s totally a lie.  I just rewound to the beginning of the scene because I kept giggling too much to pay attention.  What the hell.)  First time we’ve seen one of the chips, which at this point must be a marketing mock-up, since nothing is built yet.  And he actually types, not just doing the hunt-and-peck thing that is sometimes easier on a tablet.

Looking at the weaving that is up on his wall (maybe a rug?) I’m hoping that the prop people actually did buy from Northern Cheyenne artisans.  They apparently did most of their filming in New Mexico, so I hope they made the effort to get the patterns right, and buy from the actual tribe they’re supposed to be portraying, I guess?  And now I’m distracted by the fact that the random hanging light behind Jacob is at a weird angle?  

Look, ever since I realized that the “Hey,” that Jacob does is apparently just A (thanks to it also happening in That Damned Xmas Movie) I am endlessly amused (and charmed) whenever Jacob does it.  I don’t know why it makes me so happy, but it does.  (This is legitimately embarrassing.  How much trouble I am having focusing.  Beyond my normal focus issues, which, as shown above, are already impressive.  Because thiiiiirst.)

“My boys at the lumber yard did just throw you a campaign rally.”  I love how Jacob is basically apparently not just his secret angel-investor, but also a sneaky campaign manager.  Did Branch just think shit like the rally just happened?  He’s not fricking Ferris Bueller; somebody organizes those.  And apparently it’s either Jacob himself, or someone who Jacob appointed to do so.

“I thought you were just a casino developer.”  You have noooo clue, Brancheroo.  “I prefer to remain a silent partner.  White people get nervous when Indians start taking back their land.”  Oooooope.  Especially interesting because there are previsions for the Tribal Council to purchase land to be Tribal land (Section 6 of Article IX of the Tribal Constitution), but this seems more along the lines of personal acquisition.  Though maybe not, because “on the board” doesn’t necessarily equate to being the owner.

The set up of Jacob’s office is so interesting.  Functionally for the show, it’s probably for better shooting angles, so that we can see more of Jacob behind the desk while Branch is sitting in front of it, but from an in-the-verse decorating standpoint, bit’s fascinating.  He has this focal wall with the gorgeous wall hanging, flanked by floor to ceiling window, but instead of having his desk centered on that wall and directly facing the bulk of the room, it’s at an almost 45 degree angle on a huge rug, and it’s so unexpected.  I kind of love it, and want to analyze it for days.  Also worth noting is that pride of place is given to the  Hotamétaneo’o headdress which is on a stand centered in front of the wall hanging.

How fucking tired must Jacob be.  He’s used to Walt... Walting, but then Branch comes in, who he is literally spending his own money to support in his bid for sheriff, and he pulls the same shit of assuming that he’s behind Bad Shit.  And then Branch frames it as “bad P.R,” so he’s there to “discuss it with [him] privately.”  And then basically threatens him with Walt.  I swear.  ...there is something a little amusing about Walt being used as the stick in the carrot and a stick method of negotiating.  He certainly is enough of a blunt object most of the time.

Oh fuck you so much, Branch.  Playing the “can’t give you details about an ongoing investigation” card as though you have some professional or moral leg to stand on after basically blackmailing Jacob with Walt’s vendetta is just such shit.  You don’t get to look down your nose at Jacob’s quid pro quo pragmatism when you were the one who came to him for financial backing.  You sanctimonious little shitheel.  If you didn’t want to deal with Jacob, you shouldn’t have taken his $100k.  He’s a business man, and you’re an investment, and not a quixotic one.

“He’s probably the only person to have died from [hemlock] since Socrates.”  And then Walt’s incredulous look and her, “Alright, I googled it,” were subtle comedic gold.

Ooooooo, that was a nice little shot.  Not quite foreshadowing, but showing Branch’s suspicions and sort of inviting the audience to share them.  Walt says his bit about the Army poisoning “Indian wells” to kill them off and get their land, and then we see Branch fiddling with the Four Arrows chip and narrow his eyes considering and slip the chip into his pocket, looking suspicious.  It’s a really neat little moment of visual storytelling, no lines, literally three seconds long, just sort of snuck in there, but super effective.  Really nicely done.

And again, Cady is in monochromatics.  And, shit, just gave Fales Henry’s name.  Aaaaaand right after, she realizes that the junkie was killed and realizes that it had to have been one of her dads (or so she thinks).

Sal’s monologue in the cell is a good emotional payoff that plays off of Vic’s comments towards the beginning of the episode.  I see the narrative worth of her making them, and how the structure of the episode benefits from it; but seeing those writing elements from the outside of the show doesn’t make me able to like her as a character who said them in-universe.  And then the threat Sal makes of vengeance on someone who killed one he loves also underscores the stuff with Cady’s investigation into her mother’s death very well.  As much as I gripe about the writing *cough S6 cough finale cough* there really is some damn good writing in this show, and I don’t show enough appreciation for it.

Huh, and now there’s a sort of inverse of that weird shot preceding Branch from earlier, but this one is much more effective and less off-putting.  This one [33:00] precedes Walt as he walks back into his office, still a medium close up, but it’s much steadier, and the way it is framed, it does quite a bit to convey his mindset, and he walks out of the shot and we see the three deputies following him in like baffled ducklings, making the shot serve another purpose, too.  Which honestly makes that earlier shaky follow shot of Branch even weirder, because this one was so much better.

And then Walt has his creepy little speech about how someone would want to watch the light go out of their eyes and not caring if you get caught.  I do appreciate that when he’s talking about the psychology of killing with poison he doesn’t just call it a “woman’s method” which media so often does.  It might have been the writers keeping who the killer was abstruse, but it was still more gender neutral.  Especially since according to The U. S. Department of Justice's report on Homicide Trends in the United States (1980 to 2008) of all poison killers in that time period, 60.5 percent were male and 39.5 percent female.  (Table 5 on page 10.)  So that long held idea that even Sherlock Holmes was written to have that poison is “of course” a woman’s weapon is pretty crap.

Awwww, the good old days when Walt paid attention to animals.  ...I am still bizarrely salty about the fact that he never named his horse.  What a good pupper!  

And then we have a classic example of Sneaky!Walt, which always takes people quite by surprise, because he’s usually as subtle as Miley Cyrus.

Also because when he does this, it tends to be pretty fucked up, in a Make Someone Think They’re About To Die way.  And then he does His Thing, where he just lays out all of his suppositions, with no proof, only the terror of her thinking that she’s been poisoned and you’re withholding medical intervention to get her to confess.  And is, irritatingly, correct about his theories.  But I’m pretty sure this qualifies as coercing a confession?  She thinks she’s fucking dying.  Even Vic looks at him like it’s fucked up, and her moral compass where he’s concerned is... skewed.

They way this reveal was played out, (”How’d they find her so fast?”  “Hard to say...”) is somewhat ambiguous as to whether it’s supposed to be that Branch went there to tell Jacob or not, but I kind of doubt it?  I kind of figure that the meeting that Jacob was having when Branch rambled in was already with Rosa signing the paperwork.  Jacob is smart.  So, HAH.  Little good your “can’t comment on an ongoing investigation” schtick did.

And then the news that someone in law enforcement has been asking after Henry.

“Lizzie was waiting for you here tonight.  You should talk to her, Walt.  She seems to think she is in a relationship with you.”  ....omgs.  The tone.  I mean, yes, the blisteringly glorious SASS, but how does one not read that as incredibly shippy?  Howwwww?

“You are an honest man, Walt.  I would like you to stay that way.”  Oh Henry.  When did you decide that you weren’t?  Was it when you hired Hector?  Or was there something before?  ...I feel like there were things before that.  Hello darkness my old friend.

“It is not your job to protect me.”  “It is my job...”  THOSE WERE THE DAYS.  Those were the fucking daaaaaays.  And the emotions on Henry’s face after Walt says, “That was my right,” as though Henry cheated him of something.  I am so deep in OT3 feels I cannot even see daylight here.  The feels of them having been an OT3 and then Walt pulling this shit, and Henry having to defend his own “right” to avenge Martha?  It wrecks me.  “A good woman was murdered.  A bad man is dead.  End of story.”  

[ihatetaxes99]

THE YAKUZA AND THE PHOENIX - A BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA FANFICTION

"See, the problem with people like you," Commented the cool, sanitised yet utterly terrifying voice of Kai Chisaki as he kneeled down just in the very corner of the hero's peripheral vision. "Is that you relied far too much on that disgusting disease that plagues every last vein in your Godforsaken body. Maybe if you had just thought ahead a little… Has this illness robbed you of your senses, too? Left you as useless as a newborn? Not that it matters. It's far too late by now for any part of you to begin thinking about what could have been. I mean, just take a look around." He raised one hand to adjust his mask, while using the other to gesture to the scene around the two, one filled with flame and destruction. "If you had thought to bring police, tried to corner me with rifles, well you might have had some sort of success. I'm not stupid enough to resist against live bullets. But no. Your sickening Quirk has left you with such delusions that you thought you could stand to take me on alone."

The young woman's eyes filled with nothing but pure steel as she looked up at him. There was no fear to be found in the glare she delivered the man known as Overhaul, in spite of the terror bubbling in the pits of her stomach, constantly threatening to rise to the top. But she would not let it. Not in front of this Chisaki bastard, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he had won.

"No words?" The man sighed, poking her lightly in the head as if to provoke a reaction. "Like a kid who doesn't get their way. Stubborn to the end. What a pain you are. The worst kinds of people are the ones who don't realize they're infected. They have no true redemption in their future. It's kind of weird when you think about it. What a shame… Not that it's any of my concern. I'm more interested in just why you and your ridiculous headgear have been following me around all day. Do you have an answer for that?" He grabbed her by the back of the hair, and pulled her face up to look at his. "I'd prefer an answer as soon as possible, so I can minimise the amount of contact made with your disgusting body."

There was only one way the woman knew she could respond to this and that way landed directly on the suspected Yakuza's forehead. "Why would I tell you anything, asshole? You won't get anything out of the Phoenix."

The man actually audibly growled, like a feral wolf, as he slammed her head into the asphalt. She felt her nose break as blood streamed from it onto the road. It was probably one of the lesser injuries she had incurred that day. Chisaki got to his feet and produced a spotless handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his face of the hero's saliva. "How childish." His voice was full of pure, deep contempt. "How filthy. Were you never taught manners? Are you mentally deficient? Hmph. Not that I should expect any more from a hero who calls themselves the Phoenix. How cliché." With that, he returned to his kneeling position over her limp body, she practically felt his shadow drop over her as the smell of burning embers filled her nose. Were those sirens she heard? They were faint, but what else could they be? Were they coming in her direction? One ear was completely busted up, so she couldn't tell. Looking up to the man who supposedly went by Overhaul, her peripheral vision severely limited by her complete and total lack of a right eye, she found her mind drifting away to the beginning of the day. When things had seemed oh so simple. When she still had all her limbs and when life had generally been more preferable when contrasted against her current predicament.

When had it all gone so wrong?

---------------------

"So, all I have to do is follow the bugger?" Twenty-three year old Misa Kawajiri enquired into her phone as she took small, meticulous sips from her large Coke, sitting atop a rooftop in the very heart of the city, occasionally reaching into the bag next to her to dig out a fry or two and jam them into her mouth. This was the life, no doubt about it. The young woman, who went by the heroic moniker of the Phoenix, was elated whenever she was sent on surveillance patrols by her agency. Most other pro heroes would consider such work to be beneath them, it mostly consisted of hounding tax evaders, low-rent rank-and-file grunts and conmen, there was almost certainly never a tang of excitement to be found. This was the reason most heroes preferred more interesting work and it was the reason why Kawajiri adored such jobs. For her, it was a chance to slow down, chill out and enjoy life at a bit of a slower pace than usual. She definitely was not above having time to unwind and take things at a more reasonable pace. Of course, today's surveillance was already beginning to sound more interesting. It had started out with monitoring some basement-dwelling Otaku who shared anti-hero sentiments on internet forums, so not exactly a thrill ride there, as evidenced by the fact that Misa had left halfway through to get herself a McDonald's. But her new target, as assigned to her by her employers at the agency…

"His name's Kai Chisaki." Rang the cool, clerical voice of Phoenix's supervisor. "Mid to late twenties, germaphobe. He isn't often seen out and about, instead residing largely in the Shie Hassaikai's compound."

"Hassaiaki?" The hero of the sky's ears perked up at that. "He's Yakuza?"

"As far as we know, yes. We can't trace back any records of a family, except for Kazama Chisaki, his uncle, who was also associated with the organization before his death, although not as a full member."

"Interesting…" The girl pondered. "So, why are we following him, then? The Hassaikai have a good reputation, right?" Her words were slightly muffled as she jammed more fries in her mouth at that moment than was probably reasonable.

"That they do, Phoenix. They're underground. There have been search warrants on the premises before, but nothing suspicious was turned up. They're a Yakuza group in name only right now, nothing worth worrying about. But Chisaki? He's different. You're going to be following him for reasons unrelated to his activity within the clan."

"Oh?" Misa cupped her free ear with her hand so that she could better hear the man on the other end of the phone.

"In short, we have reasons to believe he's been peddling Trigger behind the backs of his bosses. Obviously, I don't need to tell you about that."

She nodded, although that was a tad redundant, considering the voice on the other end could not see her. The experimental drug known for its Quirk-bolstering properties was nothing to trifle with, and it had only grown more popular in recent time. "Why do you think he's doing so?"

"Money, probably. Who knows with these criminal types? The point remains that we have reason to believe he's out and about today. I've sent you an image of him on your phone. Follow him, see what he's up to. When a hermit like him comes out of the woodwork, it can never be good. Not for anybody." And with that, her superior hung up, leaving Misa to her own thoughts. In being left this way, she dug her knees up tucked under her chin and sulked for a bit, confident that nobody could see her act in such a childish manner, taking the odd glance at the image. He was a shockingly handsome young fellow, with sharp yellow eyes, ruffled brown hair and a suit, he looked the part of any well-meaning businessman. The only weird aspect was the steampunk-esque plague doctor mask clamped around his mouth. She shrugged it off as probably having something to do with his Quirk, whatever that was.

"This sucks." She groaned as she reached for her helmet, which mostly served as a fancy shell to hold the visor that shielded her eyes from the wind. "I don't wanna have to pursue Yakuza drug dealers, it's just no good. Give me a fat, tinfoil hat loser ranting about conspiracies any day. Surveillance is supposed to be a break from the hard stuff. But nooo, it just has to be more of it, doesn't it?" She sighed, the air whistling over her lips, as she tossed aside her empty bag. Stretching upwards, allowing her skintight suit to hug her body, she felt her wings extend from her body. It was always a glorious sensation to be felt, the pure rush of it all. She adored it beyond belief, the best part of the job. With a cheeky grin, the young hero spread her arms…

… And let herself fall from the building's roof.

---------------------

Filthy. The very lot of them, surrounded by filth and dirt and all manner of unpleasantries. It was enough to break young Kai Chisaki out in hives, it truly was. Absolutely repulsive. How horrendous to have to walk amongst the common people, all of them no doubt inflicted with that despicable illness. As he made his way down the crowded high street, bumping into the occasional commuter, he felt the irresistible urge to lift up the sleeve of his green coat and scratch at the lumps on his arm. Urgh. The very lot of them, disgusting. He was rapidly remembering why he vastly preferred to remain indoors. And yet, he had to do this. He couldn't entrust mere goons with carrying out the mission, not even the Eight Precepts of Death. This had to be done by him and him alone. He felt the cold metal rub against his stomach from the inside pocket of his coat. What depraved things that guns were. Alas, they were a necessary evil, and still far better than Quirks. As he walked, he had no clue of the eyes following him as he did so. Misa Kawajiri worked fast and had found him in mere minutes. Was he aware of this, he would almost have applauded her.

Key word: Almost.

"He's carrying some sort of briefcase..." The girl noted to herself as she watched him. Luckily, his mask made him very distinctive for anyone who may be looking for him, so she had not had much trouble. "Is that relevant to whatever he's up to?" The questions were racing through her head in spite of her better judgement. She couldn't help but wonder about the good-looking, well-dressed young fellow with Yakuza ties. It was all so odd to her, and new. She didn't often run into anything so… exciting, was probably the word. And normally, Phoenix abhorred exciting. But something about it just seemed alluring. Maybe it was more the man than the danger, who really knew? Certainly not her.

…

DAMN.

Wrapped up in her own little thoughts, Kawajiri had lost Chisaki. He had seeped into the crowd. That wasn't good, not good at all. Not even wasting a second, Misa once again extended her wings and took off into the air, in search of the fellow she was shadowing. Stupid Misa, she cursed herself. How had she been so stupid? She really needed to focus more. Her eyes scanned the surroundings as she flew over an alleyway that served as a gap between two buildings.

And in that very alleyway, Kai Chisaki now stood, facing a triage. They were common street thugs, Overhaul had done his research. Nothing big, they were unheard of, just worthless druggies with not a thing to their names and a whole heap of desperation for power, power that they had no clue what to do with. In other words, the perfect suckers to lure in.

"Gentlemen." The distinguished Yakuza bowed. The goons showed no such respect in return. Was it really so hard to show the baseline politeness required of a person? These kinds of people pissed him off the most. Fortunately, the mask obstructed his grimace as he set the silver case on the ground and entered in a combination. A few seconds passed and then it clicked open. "Here's your bloody Trigger. Ten vials, enough to give the three of you a bolster in your path- In your Quirks for up to forty-eight hours. If you have any questions, I would advise you ask now."

The thugs all shared looks with one another. They appeared satisfied at the very least, yet the one in the middle, a big guy with muscles to rival All Might- Well, the former All Might- seemed incredulous to some degree. 

"So, what yer tellin' us, Chisaki-"

"I would prefer if you called me Overhaul."

"-Right. Sorry." His accent was just thick enough to get under the Yakuza's skin. "Yer sayin' that we don' hafta pay for any of this?"

To this, Kai shrugged. "Consider it a first-time buyer's guarantee. If you want more later down the line, that's when you'll have to start paying me. Otherwise, take it." He kicked the briefcase, sending it sliding towards the men. "It's all yours." For a moment, it seemed like the huge guy was about to protest, but at looking at the vials, his greed got the better of him, and he allowed a wide grin to overcome his face, no doubt imagining what his improved Quirk would be like. Disgusting animal.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya, Mr. Overhaul." He gloated as he picked up the case, his cronies hovering around him as they sneaked looks at the drug. Now was probably the best time to strike, while they were blinded by their own pathetic delusions of grandeur.

"Likewise." Chisaki responded, reaching into his coat, as if trying to find a cigarette. "Say, you three, have you ever wondered what society would be like without Quirks? How far we could have advanced by now if we hadn't had to restart everything to accommodate the idea of superpowers?" The men stared at him like he was mad, which was to be expected. "It's just something I've been thinking about." He admitted as he pulled the gun from his coat and aimed it squarely at the large man's head. "Let's test it out. You'll survive, of course."

"What the fuck?" The scumbag growled as he dropped the case in shock. "You pullin' a gun on us? Guess what, you skinny prick? It's three on one. Shoulda thought about that before pullin' a betrayal!"

"Probably." Kai noted nonchalantly as he took aim and fired.

The bullet ricocheted up against a wall in the alley as the metallic weapon was knocked from his hand by a kick. And not a kick from one of the steroided-up goons. No, one aimed from above.

"Looks like I caught you boys in the act." Phoenix grinned as she stood, legs firmly apart, eying up Kai. "Trying to betray the dudes you're selling drugs to really isn't a great idea, I must add." 

…

Filthy…

Sickening….

"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE??!!" Kai Chisaki screamed, his voice carrying high up into the sky as he stared down the hero, his pupils small and mad in their sockets. "HOW DARE YOU TOUCH ME??!! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU??!!" He was completely enraged, sweat pouring from his forehead as he grasped at his hair. "DISGUSTING, DISGUSTING, DISGUSTING!!" He appeared to be on the receiving end of a full-on breakdown. All this over being kicked in the hand? No, it couldn't just be that. Already, the receivers of the Trigger had fled, stolen briefcase in hand. It really had been their lucky day.

"Woah, calm down, Chisaki-"

"Who gave you the right to call me that?!" He demanded, his voice slightly softer now. "And do you have any idea how difficult those bullets were to manufacture? I simply cannot afford to waste them!" Turning his back on Kawajiri, he picked up the gun, examining it for damages, and then wiped it clean with his white surgical gloves.

"Hey, creep! Stay right where you are!" Misa was petrified. She truly was. Something about this guy just was not right at all. She had been told he was a major germaphobe, but was it this bad? Enough to push him into insanity at a moment's touch? "You're under arrest for possession distribution of illegal narcotics." She was basically reading off the rulebook, saying what she was supposed to say in such situations. But nothing about this felt normal. Why was he so focused on the gun? "Stand down and await for police transport."

"You think I would heed such commands from a filthy piece of scum like yourself?" Suddenly, Kai was cool, clinical, yet again as he calmly pointed the gun in her direction. Phoenix nearly felt her heart stop. "Maybe you'll make a better test subject." His finger tightened on the trigger of the handgun. Misa had no time to think, no time to plan.

She simply ran forwards, charging the villain as he steadied his aim. Another loud bang echoed from the gun. She felt it tear her suit as it whizzed past her, but she managed to just barely evade it. Now, she was too full of adrenaline to stop, as she ploughed towards Chisaki. As she drew closer, she reached out, grabbing for his arm… She had to restrain him and fast.

"DON'T LAY YOUR FILTH-ENCRUSTED FINGERS ON ME FOR EVEN A SECOND!!" Overhaul yelled, back to unconcealed rage, as he slammed his hand down onto the ground. From nowhere, burst large columns of rock from beneath the concrete, sending the heroine flying back a few inches and separating the two. 

"Woah..." Was this his Quirk? She hadn't seen anything like it before. The rock wall stretched all the way up, totally shielding the Yakuza from her. It twisted up into the blue sky, as far as the eye could see. And then, she heard his voice, once again calm, from the other side.

"You made me use my Quirk." The man stated. "I hate this thing, but you left me with no other option. For that, I truly do feel some sort of hatred for you. So, I suppose I really feel no guilt in using you as my little guinea pig." Then, he fell silent again, as Phoenix paced around, trying to look for some sort of opening in the wall. Suddenly, she heard a rush of wind behind her and snapped around her head just fast enough to see Overhaul rushing at her. Now, Kawajiri had no clue just what his Quirk did yet, but she figured letting him touch her was a bad idea, so she took off into the air, hovering out of his reach.

"So, a flight Quirk, eh?" Chisaki sighed. His hair was ruffled, the purple fur on his coat torn in places and his bleach white tie flicking wildly with the motion from his rapid movements. "I must admit, I've never been great with moving targets." Once again, the pistol was out, pointed at her. No, she shouldn't panic. Judging from earlier, whatever bullets he loaded the thing with were very precious and so, he wouldn't waste them unless he knew there was a guaranteed chance of hitting her. She was safe for now.

She realized she had been foolish to think that even as the spiked column of rock dug itself up from the ground and impaled her right through the stomach, sending her back, right out of the alley and into the streets outside. She heard a scream as she slammed into a car, feeling the metal crunch behind her. Her vision was hazy, like that of a drunk, but she could still make out the suited villain walking slowly towards her as civilians fled the area. Well, all except for one man, who clearly realized that Kai was up to no good and tried to charge him. Without even looking in his direction, his gaze fixed on Misa, Overhaul's arm made contact with the brave man's chest and he exploded into nothingness.

"What the hell?!" Phoenix yelled. She felt like throwing up at the man's remains splattered the asphalt So this Quirk… It could erect pillars of rock, reduce humans to nothing, what was it exactly? She couldn't even think straight in her current state to try to decipher the answer.

"Isn't it kind of weird how people always try to act the hero? I've noticed that. I swear, this world has been poisoned beyond belief. Can I even cure it? Is that possible?" She felt cold metal as the bastard jammed the gun into her gaping mouth. "All I know is that I can try my very best. Starting here. You'll be my first patient, my girl. The first to be cured."

"Bite me." She hissed as she aimed a kick at his side, which somehow connected, winding the Yakuza just long enough for Misa to stagger to her feet. It felt like she had multiple broken ribs. Those could wait. "I think I get your shtick now. You think Quirks are disgusting or something, right? Yeah, just like any of those Creature Rejection Clan nutjobs. But you think you can bring an end to them, right?" She coughed up some blood onto her fist as she held Chisaki's gaze. "Well, think again, dickwad. You really think that you're some great saviour. I dunno what you have planned, but it sure as hell won't be anything that won't see you crushed like the pathetic little man you are!" And with that, she took flight again, aiming a kick at his head.

Before she even knew it, another column had travelled right through her left eye with a fleshy squealtch, blood coating the rock as she hurtled backwards, her fall stopped by a large vehicle that the rock pinned her to.

"Jesus… That it?" She spat, as Kai approached her yet again, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Then, he stepped backwards. Then again. Then, he spun around and started walking away. Misa was completely taken aback. "What?! You just leaving, you limp-dicked bastard? That ain't how a saviour acts, is it? Running away from a fight?" Her attempts at provocation did nothing to stop him and when the young woman tilted her head just a little, she saw why.

"Ah-" She started, before the oil tanker she had been pinned to exploded. The shockwave could be felt for blocks to come, glass shattered from the skyscrapers above as the world was thrown upside down. Everything went white for Misa Kawajiri, then black.

---------------------

Damn. That really had escalated quickly. And now, the pro hero lay, amongst the rubble, with one eye, a busted ear, no legs and a stump of an arm. The Yakuza stood above her. 

"I'll be willing to overlook your blatant lack of manners." Overhaul growled as he resumed his kneeling position. "In fact, I'll let you be saved. I'll be the one to save you. Isn't that something? A sickening power-infected freak like you, given a second chance by a humble Yakuza. And after everything you've done to me. You have been one hell of an annoyance. But, I guess you'll have started to make it up to me if Eri's little bullets end up working." The girl felt metal press into her side. Why was he so eager to shoot her? It must have something to do with whatever he was planning. The last thing Misa Kawajiri heard was the crack of a gunshot, the last thing she felt was the pain of the bullet entering her body, and then, she fell still. A second or two passed before Kai hovered his hand over her head.

"All going well, you have been deprived of your filthy Quirk." He noted, more to himself as the hero was now deeply unconscious. "Now, just to fix you up." He pushed his hand down on her and the woman's body blew apart in a spectacular show of blood and gore. Just a few seconds later, it reassembled, all limbs, eyes and anything else re-attached. With a satisfied nod, the man got to his feet.

"You'll live peacefully for the rest of your days." He told her, turning his back on her and walking away from the destruction that lay sprawled out like the play area of a particularly deranged and angry child, as if it had just been another day at the office, adjusting his tie. "No Quirk, no heroics, no excitement. I hope you're cut out for a desk job, Phoenix. It's all you have in your future. You're welcome."

[shyanonimousunicorn]

The sly foxes Telemanus. The healthiest family wise house in RR.

In my last post (  Why the Bellona house is better than Augustus.) i did point out the Telemanus are the best Gold house in regards of actual connection, love, healthy relationships and raising of normal funcioning people ( normal as normal they can in Gold society and survive, otherwise they’ll all end like Julian au Bellona no matter their huge size).  But what makes House Telemanus so vastly different and far superior than giant power-wise houses like Augustus, Arcos, Bellona and Raa? Well perhaps we should turn our gaze towards the house leader - Kavax au Telemanus.  Kavax for once is the only father without a favourite child, as it should be. Every house we’ve met in bigger or lesser degree has favorites, House Augustus bringing this to the extreme. Kavax however never expressed such feelings. His heart is as big if not even bigger than his huge frame, he shows openly kindness, fondness and support for his children and their descions and never shy’s away from expressing it. Other houses and Golds usually view them with fear of their size but often comment about Kavax’s “madness”. How he and Daxo “let” a fox take desicions and he talks boldly about magic in a world where nobody believes in it. I say its a sign of a person who doesn’t want to appeal to society, likes to be on the peculiar side and is not concerned at all with people’s opinion.  However what makes Kavax not simply peculiar but actually weird is the way he raises his children. Nero acts towards his children like investments and puppets who should make him proud or they aren’t worthy to live, he is sexist, he is power-hungry. Golds desire their children to be the next Alexander the Great, Hercules, Achilles, they even put them in an institute with houses named after Gods as if saying you should be a demi-god, go and prove you can fight, cheat and succeed with do not let morals hold you back. Kavax knows what it is expected from Gold children yet he raises his children and Mustang telling them tales not of war-lords, powerful bloodthirsty kings or cunning success, but of real or mythological figures of people who show kindness, compassion and love, about figures who fight for justice, not for gains. He refuses to kill his children’s humanity so they can become better Golds, he hopes to create better Golds by teaching them how to be human. And this doesn’t work just on his children, it works on the Archgovernor’s own daughter. The Sovereign of the Republic is what it is today thankfully of her early friendship with Pax and then being raised in Kavax’s household. I don’t dare to imagine the pain and heartbreak she would have gotten had she stayed with her own father and how awful this would have showed in her characther ( I guess we can thank Adrius on this one, he deserved to be raised there too). But enough on Kavax, for the kindest giant in the bear-crested house was Pax. Best friend of Mustang and constant supporter of Darrow, Pax’s differed hugely by other Golds by not holding any grudges. He and Darrow fought, basically outing themselves on the battle field but the moment Pax saw the other side of Darrow, he became his biggest fan. No butts, no if’s, he gave his utter and complete loyalty and devotion. I believe we can only dream of friends as the Telemanus ( or Sevro and Victra). As Darrow said, whenever Pax told a story it was hard to tell who were the bad and who were the good guys, for Pax almost everybody has a good quality or trait. It seems it is Darrow’s fate to have a Telemanus at his side when fighting, for Thraxa took her little brother’s place and hasn’t left Darrow even in his worst moments. Fiersome loyalty and supportive friendship is something we see in everybody from this house. Even in the scheming, genius tyrant that was Daxo. As Mustang commented: this man could have ruled words if only he wished for it. However Daxo, despite his cold calculative mind and huge ambitions never allowed to harm those closest to him,to step on others for his blind ambition, the people he deemed worthy of friendship and the ones he called family. Virginia au Augustus was never a maiden in distress yet her own personal knight saved her life more than once. Not because she asked for it, but because that is friendship for somebody from Bear’s team ( despite their love for foxes, their crest is actually the befitting bear). This is what makes the Telemanus far superior from any other house. Don’t get me wrong, other houses also love and express their affection but not nearly as well or healthy as this house.  In later posts I will look at the houses from symbolical and aesthetical point of view and delve deeper in the meaning of their crests, colors and family sayings.

[whumping-newbie]

A Taste of Retribution

Ok so technically there is no Michał here. I’m sorry, but context is key and here is more for you @givemethatwhump @shameless-whumper @straight-to-the-pain @justplainwhump

POV: ???

Warnings: just mentions of torture, threats.

30 days.

That’s how long it has been. That’s how long ago we let that slippery traitor return to his superior. That’s how long ago he gave his word to us, to me, that he would release Alek from that awful place.

30 days that I’ve had to wait, to patiently see if anything is any different. To observe whether or not he has kept his promise, or betrayed us any more than he already has.

Anyone that swears fealty to the General is a gruesome traitor who just doesn’t care about us here.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the things that Michał Jełen had said. The fact that he knew so much about Alek, about us is highly suspicious - on top of the fact that he gave us Alek’s name. Not even his alias, his real name.

Alek must truly be suffering if he gave up his identity to a stranger like that. I knew him, he is not one to give in easily. He wouldn’t. Honestly, I wish that I could have killed Michał Jełen back then. Cut him up and leave his body somewhere for the soldiers to find, so that they could see that we can play just as dirty as them. Leave them questioning his integrity, leave them wondering how much he told us before we killed him.

How many cracks we can infiltrate.

“We can’t wait any longer.”

Tomasz was leaning over his desk, his hands on his forehead, his black curls were hanging over his eyes and he did not seem to care. He was tired, probably hadn’t slept for two days, just like me - except that my hatred was keeping me awake far more effectively than caffeine is for Tomasz. I was sat on my bunk, facing him as he sat at the table he had occupied as his desk, before standing up as I spoke to him.

He didn’t look up at me, “what do you propose we do? Storm the castle?” the irritation in his voice shone through as he stopped reading whatever it was he had been looking at, still not looking at me, “you’d have us go in there when we are vastly outnumbered just to kill one man and rescue another? That’s suicide.”

“He betrayed us,” I spat, clenching my fists as I stood beside him, trying to keep the fearsome anger within, but achieving little success in that regard.

“How would you know?” he asked, finally turning to me, “the last time I checked, none of our men have been compromised, and no other safe houses have been discovered.”

“Why do you trust him so much? Because he span some sob story about some girls that he wants to help? If he truly cared about them, he’d have gotten Alek out by now, and you know it.”

Tomasz raised his hands, almost in surrender, except he wasn’t surrendering to my argument, “listen. I know you’re upset about Alek -”

“Upset?” I felt my voice crack at the word. Upset didn’t come close, no where near the level of cold, hard, passionate anger that I truly feel “I’m furious that you aren’t taking this seriously. That man is going to sell us out -”

“Do you not perhaps think he was telling the truth?” he raised his voice to drown out my voice, but I am not letting him get away with that.

“No, no I do not. I don’t trust him. I want him hurt, I want him dead, which is what he deserves after putting Alek through all that suffering!”

Tomasz pushed his chair back and stood up, turning around to face me properly. He isn’t any taller than me, making the assertion of dominance being purely through our words rather than our physical intimidation tactics. Besides, even if it was a match-up based on physical ability, he would be on the floor already. He knows this, too, that I can take him on with ease in a fight.

But even through my burning red hatred, I don’t want to fight with my allies.

I have to pick my battles on that front.

Save my strength for my enemies.

“Let’s just assume he was telling the truth, alright? Assume he is just a guard looking out for some girls. Assume he isn’t Alek’s torturer. Why would he come here, alone, seeking us out with a name that only Alek could have given him if Alek trusted him?” I took several deep breaths as he spoke, in and out through my gritted teeth as he asked me his rhetorical questions. Of course leave it to Tomasz to give someone the benefit of the doubt, “you know him far better than I do, and you know that he wouldn’t give up his real name for anything, not when it puts you in danger. And as far as I have been able to see, those girls do exist in that castle. I believe him.”

I took another moment to process what he was saying to me. It’s true, I know Alek more than most, and the fact that we share a name does put me in danger by association.

But it doesn’t stop the fact that Tomasz is trying to tell me to be patient with waiting for him to be released. I remember what that treacherous snake said to me about him. He’s in a bad way. The only times I’ve touched him is to take him to his cell, and he’s getting worse. The… the guy that tortures him… he’s my superior. I can’t directly disobey him without suffering alongside your friend.

The way his voice sounded as he said it back then was almost sincere. The way he made that god-awful excuse about how the only time he has touched him is to take him back to his cell. He’s a good liar, I’ll give him that. If anything, it’s all the more reason to not trust him anymore.

“Have you considered the probability that it could have just been a trap? Trying to lull us into a false sense of security?” I asked him, the conviction returning to my voice without being overtly hostile.

“I have considered the possibility, and as far as I am concerned, he has done nothing so far to tarnish the little trust we have given him. It’s been a month, if he has truly betrayed us, it would have happened by now,” Tomasz seemed so damn sure of himself, it was sickening, “there have been no changes in the way that this Emil has been operating. We would have seen something.”

“I think you’re far too trusting.”

“I think you need to just remember exactly what we do. We aren’t an army, here. Did you somehow forget that we’re trying to get people out rather than kill people?”

I shrugged, “we kill those who deserve it, if I remember correctly.”

“You kill those who deserve it, and only when necessary,” he pointed his finger at me accusingly, before slamming his hand down onto his desk, directly on top of the map. The map he was working on concealing the hidden secrets of this group within. He gestured emphatically to the area around which we are currently concealed, pointing at various spots in the nearby vicinity as he made his next point, “if you kill too many soldiers, they realise where we are concentrated, and they send more. How well do you think we can keep operating in this city if you keep killing soldiers? If you continue like this, you will cause more problems instead of solving them. How do you expect us to be able to help people if we have to abandon this city? People are coming to us for help every day, and you know they are.”

“And how do you expect us to help them if we wind up in prison with Alek?” I countered, “all because you sat here and waited for that bastard to return, and he brought soldiers? A noble death, but a pointless one. You’re the one that wants to keep helping people. How are you going to do that when you’re dead?”

He nodded his head, “you could be right, you could be wrong. However, my priority is helping get this next group out of the city. I’m going to Nadmorzem. There’s a house we can use there now that most of the soldiers have abandoned the town. I’ll be back in about three days. Do not do anything rash, do you understand?”

I stared at him for a few seconds, turning my glare away from the steely gaze he was shooting me. The way his expression proved that he was just as stubborn as me. I pulled my arms up to my chest, folding them, before answering his very direct, very simple question.

“Yes.”

It’s a shame I’m a terrible liar. I’m going to give that slippery little snake exactly what he deserves.

Let’s see just how well he’ll be able to hurt others without his hands.

[sunniebelle]

Quickly Sinking Rose- Chapter 1

Nine x Rose

Summary: With the death of her father still heavily on her mind, the Doctor takes Rose on a new adventure to a rainforest planet. Unfortunately, his jeopardy- friendly companion gets in over her head when she gets separated from the Doctor and a massive predator decides that Rose is on the menu. Will the Doctor reach her in time?

A03, TSP

"Now then, Rose Tyler, outside those doors is Monteverde. The planet, Monteverde, not the earth's rainforest, Monteverde. You'll love it. A fantastic place! A whole planet that is..." the Doctor's excited explanation of where they had just landed abruptly halted as he turned his steel-blue eyed gaze away from the monitor and onto his companion, seeing her stare blankly off into space.

Impatience and irritation, at the fact that he was being ignored, warred with a desire to comfort his grieving companion, and he tamped his irritation down quickly. After all, it had only been a few days since Rose had watched her father die...twice.

The Doctor had kept them mostly inside the TARDIS since then, trying to be sensitive to her loss and let her have time to grieve. However, the TARDIS had informed him that morning that she was continuing to have nightmares nearly every night. Though he had subtly tried to get her to talk about them, Rose consistently tried to pretend nothing was wrong.

He had decided a new adventure was in order, a distraction for her from what she had lost and a distraction for him from his quickly intensifying emotions. Namely his emotions concerning his jeopardy-friendly, pink and yellow and very beautiful, brave, clever, and fantastic human companion, whom he very much wanted to take into his arms and kiss until she was breathless and...

Oi! Knock it off! No way are you going down that road, he mentally chastised himself. Very dangerous road, that is, with a steep cliff at the end.

"Rose?" the Doctor questioned as he placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. She jumped slightly at the contact, as though she had been in deep contemplation. He could see the shimmering moisture in her eyes that told him she was trying to hold back tears, a look of pain desperately trying to be masked in her beautiful amber-brown eyes. It made his hearts hurt to know that he was partially the cause of that pain.

She visibly shook her head. "Sorry. What were you saying, Doctor?"

He briefly wondered if taking her into another adventure was a good idea, especially when she seemed so distracted today. He quickly brushed the thought aside, feeling a bit selfish because he wanted to show her this planet.

"I was saying that this planet is a tropical rainforest. Literally, the entire planet is one enormous rainforest. Oh, and there are some variety of plants that are poisonous to the touch, so be careful not to touch anything unless I tell you it's safe."

When she nodded, he said, "The TARDIS has provided you with some clothes choices that are appropriate for the climate."

She nodded again and turned to walk from the console room. He watched her until she disappeared from sight and felt the TARDIS's hum in his mind change to one of worry for Rose.

"I know. Me too, old girl. I think she just needs time," yet, he could only hope he was right. If Rose wound up wanting to go home, he knew it would destroy him.

He turned back to the console to make repairs that weren't really needed, wondering all the while how one pink and yellow human could have worked her way so permanently into his life and hearts.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Rose walked down the corridor trying not to let her mind wander too far. Every time she did, it only brought back painful memories from the week before. Her thoughts lately were constantly plagued with memories of witnessing her father's death at the hands of a hit-and-run driver, then the Doctor's death by Reapers because of a stupid and thoughtless choice she made, followed quickly by watching her father sacrifice himself to fix her mistakes and save the world. Her turmoil over the events of that day had been haunting her sleep, causing her to have vivid nightmares and her thoughts to wander to dark places during the day.

After her thoughtless actions that day, Rose had been utterly shocked when the Doctor had let her stay aboard the TARDIS rather than take her home. Rose's heart had soared when she had heard the Doctor declare to that idiot Adam that he only took the best as his companions and that she was his best. Yet, after the events and words exchanged between them last week, she had begun to doubt that the Doctor saw her as that anymore.

Rose was no longer his best. She was the cause of bringing the Reapers, of creating a Paradox...and of causing the Doctor's death. Rose feared that she had all but proven the Doctor right, that she was just another stupid ape and figured that all it would take was one more mistake, no matter how large or small, to make him want to dump her back on Earth for good.

She forced all of these morose thoughts aside as she looked over the TARDIS's clothing choices. She selected a pair of beige cotton trousers, a white tank top and an indigo blue long sleeve shirt, all lightweight and breathable items, but would still protect her skin. She put on a good pair of thick walking socks and her favorite trainers. She then wove her hair into a tight French braid, not wanting any loose hair to snag on branches.

Finally ready, she walked back toward the console room and saw the Doctor sitting on the jump seat, his leather-clad arms crossed and staring at the green-tinged rotor that stretched to the ceiling.

"Ready?" he asked her, without turning around. She had grown used to his ability to sense when she approached, what with his superior Time Lord senses and all.

"Whenever you are," she said, plastering a smile on her face as he stood and turned toward her. His eyes skimmed over her outfit and landed on her face, studying her eyes. She knew he could see right through her façade, but she couldn't let her guard down for fear of giving him one more reason to take her home.

"What's in there, then?" she asked, satisfying her curiosity for the contents of the pack sitting on the jump seat and trying to keep him from asking about her emotional state.

"Snacks, water canteens, sunblock, raincoats and pith helmets—since this is a rainforest, after all—and rope," he said, though his eyes were still studying her.

"I get all the rest of that stuff, but why the rope?" she asked.

"To keep you from wanderin' off," he said with a smirk. She couldn't hold back her grin and it warmed the Doctor's hearts to see her give him the first tongue-in-teeth grin since the Reapers incident.

"Shut up," she said, giving his arm a playful smack. The Doctor slung the pack onto his back as he chuckled.

He held out his hand and she took it readily, their fingers linking together like puzzle pieces, a perfect fit. She enjoyed the feeling of safety and security that came from this simple gesture of their friendship. She didn't allow herself to imagine what it would feel like if one day that hand were no longer there to hold. That was a dark, lonely path she would rather not dwell on.

"Right, on to the next adventure!" the Doctor said, his enthusiasm contagious.

As they stepped outside the TARDIS doors, she felt her senses being overwhelmed as she tried to take everything in at once. Almost instantly the heat and humidity were stifling, making her grateful for the lightweight and breathable clothing she had on and that her hair was up off her neck.

Everything had a faint orange-ish glow that the Doctor said was caused by the light from the planet's twin suns—each massive and bright orange, located at opposite sides of the planet's equator—reflecting off the moisture in the air.

The trees towered so high above her that she had to tilt her head back, almost uncomfortably, to see the tops, which left her feeling slightly dizzy and very much amazed. The trees themselves looked slightly fuzzy, due to the moss that covered their trunks like a thick blanket. The thin, rope-like vines that hung from the tree limbs swayed gracefully in the breeze, making it look like the trees were waving at them, welcoming the two foreigners to this magical world.

The plants around them varied in shades of yellow-green to a deep, almost black, green. Flowers, many of which were the size of her head, were dressed in a multitude of brilliant colors, gracing her eyes with a rainbow of lovely colors. Her nose caught the wonderfully rich, earthy and flowery scents wafting in the wind and she breathed deeply, reveling in them.

As they walked through the jungle the sounds, which seemed to come from every direction, were almost deafening. The hum of insects and pattering of animals scurrying along the ground, the musical calls of various birds and the loud, frightening calls of primate-like animals. In the distance a loud predatory call, sounding somewhat like that of a tiger sent a shiver up her spine.

Rose loved that in these past few minutes, all thoughts of the horrors of the previous week had fled her mind. The sights, sounds and smells were a balm to her bruised and aching heart.

"What is this planet called again?" she asked, her eyes huge and her voice telling of her awed wonder at the beauty around her.

The Doctor looked down at her and then back at the scenery, as though looking at it through new eyes—through her eyes. He loved watching her expressions and joy at seeing new places, trying to see things as she did.

"Monteverde," he said.

"As in the Earth's Costa Rican rainforest?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Yes and no. The entire planet is a rainforest, not just one specific area as it is on Earth. Also, the variety of flora and fauna is vastly different because of the twin suns providing a different climate. Although, some of earth's rainforest foliage was descended from here, hence the name," he explained.

"Really?" she asked, slightly surprised.

He smiled and answered with a simple, "Yep."

A few paces further, a large purple butterfly-like insect floated in front of Rose's face, flitting in mid-air as though it was curious about who these pale creatures were. Completely captivated by the beautiful sight, Rose stopped and stared, causing the Doctor to stop as well and smile at the look of wonder on her face—he was as entranced by her as she was by the insect.

The beautiful creature was as large as her whole hand, from wrist to fingertip, with a body resembling that of a dragonfly and the wings of a butterfly. A moment later it flew away and they continued on their way. Rose's eyes and ears took in everything she could and the Doctor felt proud that his choice of planet could please his companion so much.

He started in on a lecture, Rose listening intently as he explained the history of the planet and pointing out interesting plants, animals and insects. He mentioned that this planet was basically a reserve for harboring rainforest wildlife that was endangered or extinct in other areas of the universe; therefore, it was uninhabited except for scientists who studied the plants and animals, and rangers that worked to keep poachers away. She couldn't help but laugh heartily when he proudly told her of the rare type of banana that he had helped to bring out of extinction by relocating here, from a dying planet half-way across the galaxy.

As he talked, she let her hand fall from his to turn in a circle and look all around her. The Doctor's hand felt empty and he had a strong desire to take her hand again. He instead continued his lecture as he walked on, trusting that she was following.

A few minutes later Rose stooped to inspect an interesting plant that caught her eye, but remembering the Doctor's warning about touching anything, she kept her hands firmly on her knees. The plant looked like a fern, although this plant was bright yellow with dark green spots on the bottom side of the leaves. She thought it was beautiful and asked the Doctor what kind of plant it was.

When she received no answer she looked up and then quickly stood to her feet, looking all around her. "Doctor?" she called out when she didn't see him or hear his voice.

She had been so captivated by the beauty of the plant, she had not noticed the fading sound of the Doctor's voice as he walked on, thinking she was still beside him. She walked in the direction they had been headed, hoping it wouldn't be long before the Doctor would notice her absence and come looking for her.

She was grateful for the generous amount of light filtering through the trees, illuminating the trail and helping to dispel her worries. She kept her mind focused on finding the Doctor and not on the beauty around her, knowing that when she caught up with him she could question him about the plants she had seen.

Within another few minutes she came upon a split in the trail, causing her to stop and her heart to pick up its pace a bit. She was suddenly kicking herself for getting separated from the Doctor, knowing that one mistake like this could be all it would take to make him kick her off the TARDIS.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep calming breath. When she opened her eyes she looked for clues as to which path he may have taken. As she was studying the ground, her peripheral vision caught movement and she looked up with a smile on her face expecting to see the Doctor.

The smile froze, then faded from her face, her body going rigid as the air caught in her throat.

A few hundred paces in front of her was an enormous jungle cat, its hungry-looking, captivating yellow eyes boring straight into hers.

Notes: This was my very first DW fic! I just finished the second chapter today, so I wanted to post this one on Tumblr first. 

[transhumanitynet]

Messaging Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence (METI) – A Local Search

Abstract: This paper examines the feasibility of an amateur approach to METI using cheaply available lasers and optics. We suggest a novel variation in the search methodology, concentrating on contacting any interstellar extraterrestrial probes that may be present in the solar system. Specifically, the Lunar poles and Lagrange points L4 and L5. It is assumed that such a probe incorporates advanced artificial intelligence (AI) at or beyond human level. Additionally, that it is able to communicate in all major languages and common communications protocols. The paper is written in non-technical language with sufficient information to act as a “how to” source for technically knowledgeable people.

Note: Any portion of this may be reproduced and used in any manner provided attributions “Dirk Bruere” and the organization “Zero State” are included.  Other more technical versions of this are available.

[ DOWNLOAD PDF ]

Historical Introduction

On 16 November 1974 The radio telescope at Arecibo sent a brief message to the M13 star cluster some 25,000 light years distant. It comprised some 210 bytes of data sent at a bitrate of 10 bits per second and a power of around one megawatt. The (colored) pictorial representation is shown here. It is probably the best known attempt at contacting extraterrestrial intelligence (ETI), even though it was not serious, was not the first and by no means the last.

The first was a Morse code message sent from the USSR to Venus in 1962 which was even shorter. It is known in Russian as the Radio Message “MIR, LENIN, SSSR”.

Latterly, in 2016 on 10 October 2016, at 20:00 UTC the Cebreros (DSA2) deep-space tracking station of the European Space Agency sent a radio signal towards Polaris, the Pole Star, which is approximately 434 light years from Earth. The message consisted of a single 27,653,733 byte, 866 second transmission. Again, it was not a serious contact attempt, and was rather more a work of performance art by Paul Quast.

A few, more serious, attempts have been made in the intervening years i, targeted at more plausible planetary systems but none for any sustained period of time.

So, enter METI ii or “Messaging Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence” who aim to start a serious and comprehensive program of signaling various star systems some time in 2018 if they can raise the estimated $1million per year needed to run the program. For once, judging by their website, they intend to do it properly with a great deal of effort going into the communications protocols of the messages themselves.

Laser Communication

And that is where we were until June 2017 and a paper iii written by Michael Hippke examining the possible role of using the gravitational lensing effect of our sun to amplify laser signals across interstellar distances. The surprising conclusion was that using optical wavelength lasers and mirrors of only one-meter diameter, data could potentially be transferred at a megabit per second rates using around one Watt of power over 4 light years. This, to put it mildly, is spectacular especially since the receiving technology is potentially within our ability, assuming we could locate a telescope some 600 astronomical units (AU) from the sun. Unfortunately, our most distant spacecraft is Voyager 1 at about 140AU. He also showed in a previous paper that the data rate drops to bits per second per watt using a 39-meter receiving telescope and no lensing.

However, if we turn that around and assume that ETI has superior technology to us and can implement suitable receivers, then to contact them we need only very modest laser transmitters. Ones that are well within the budget of hobbyists and amateur astronomers. The advantage of using lasers is more apparent, especially for amateurs, when we consider beam divergence. Lasers can quite easily achieve divergences of less than one milli-radian (mrad) which corresponds to one meter per kilometer. To achieve that with microwaves at (say) 6GHz would necessitate a transmitter dish of approximately 65 meters diameter. A very expensive piece of radio astronomy kit. This also means that power levels can be significantly less than would be needed for radio communication. Nevertheless, there are serious caveats. These mostly concern the location and type of transmitter. For example, to limit beam spread Hippke assumes a one-meter diameter mirror and a beam spread of considerably less than a milliradian, so we are going to assume a rather larger receiver at the ETI end in order to minimize beam requirements at our end.

A much more serious problem is that the mirrors have to be aligned with each other. Specifically, the transmitter should be relatively stationary in space, and not on a rotating planet which is in turn circling its sun. If the latter is the case, the receiver will probably only align at fixed intervals lasting no more than a few tens of milliseconds unless very precise aiming technology is used.

However, there is a more interesting search regime far better suited to low budget than attempting interstellar communications.

Exploratory Scenario

This is a METI search that will be primarily focused on contact with self-replicating Von Neumann (VN) style interstellar probes iv. There are strong arguments that over a time scale of the order of thousands to a few million years, these are the best way of exploring the galaxy by any intelligent technology-oriented species. Once one of these devices arrives in a solar system it sets about creating sufficient infrastructure to both report back to its home system (as well as possible siblings) and create a replica of itself for onward launch to multiple other stars. Reasonably conservative capabilities are as follows:

They are very likely to outlive the species that sent them

They would almost certainly embody an artificial intelligence (AI) at or beyond Human level capability

They would be self-repairing and possibly have a lifetime in the tens of millions of years, barring accidents

They could exist around just about every star in the galaxy within ten million years

Using the kind of technology we might reasonably expect to appear sometime in the next century or two, such as placing observatories at the gravitational focal point of our sun, some 600AU out, we could view details on nearby extra-solar planets. And anyone out there could do the same to us. As a consequence, Earth has likely been an interesting place to view for the past 300 million years or so with its oxygen atmosphere and vegetation. And vastly more interesting in the past 10,000 years since rectangular shapes started appearing in the form of cities and fields. Rectangles generally do not occur naturally. Then in the past 300 years, the atmosphere started to show signs of industrial pollution followed 200 years later by radio and TV signals, intense radar pulses and the unmistakable sign of nuclear bombs whose output peaked at around 1% of the total output power of our sun.

If ETI exists, or has existed, within a few thousand light years there is a strong possibility that their probes are already here, and have been for a considerable length of time. This leads to a number of massively simplifying assumptions, again quite reasonable given the scenario above. These are:

Since we are now searching within our solar system power levels can be vastly reduced.

Message transit times, in both directions, are no more than a few hours maximum and possible only seconds.

Any intelligent VN probe that has been examining Earth will have been monitoring our technological development and radio/TV output. As a consequence, it will almost certainly understand all the major languages both written and spoken as well as our communications protocols.

We need to consider beaming our messages at likely locations within our own solar systems. For example, where would we place intelligent probes to wait out the ages and watch developments on Earth? Among strong possibilities are the Lunar poles, Lunar caverns which we now know exist v and the Lagrange points vi associated with Earth’s orbit, particularly L4 and L5, where position can be held with little expenditure of energy. We intend to beam laser messages to these points as part of the Zero State program.

But what messages? People have given much thought to creating a communications system that can be decoded by ETI, as mentioned above with METI. However, we contend that the answer is simple – we use English, and code in simple ASCII.

What has been lacking from Earth is a specific invitation to communicate or visit. It is this that forms the core of our project.

How Far Can We Be Seen?

Suppose we want to do the crudest communication system possible – a laser doing Morse Code. To the unaided Human eye, how far away could we see the beam? This depends on several factors:

Beam Divergence

Beam power

Wavelength

Eye sensitivity

Taking these in turn…

The power we will assume to be one Watt since this level of power is quite economical, and the wavelength to be either 532nm or 520nm, the latter being a pure diode output, not frequency doubled.

It is also the approximate wavelength where the eye peaks in sensitivity, and in our project is partly chosen for this reason. We could have gone for high power infrared in the tens of watts, or maybe towards the blue/violent end of the spectrum. However, green is not only easier and safer to work with, being highly visible, but is quite photogenic. From a safety point of view you seriously do not want an invisible beam of blinding intensity sweeping about. That would also be more difficult to aim and focus.

So we have an intensity of approximately one Watt per square meter at a distance of one kilometer, with the intensity dropping off as the square of the distance. At 2 km we have 0.25W per square meter, and so on.

Finally, what is the maximum sensitivity of the dark adapted Human eye? It appears to be about 100 photons per secondvii, but for the sake of argument we shall assume a level ten times lower, or 1000 photons per second in a dark adapted eye whose aperture is 100 square millimeters. That gives us a minimum intensity requirement of 10^7 photons per square meter per second. With each green photon carrying an energy of approximately 3.5e-19 Joules we get a required power density of 3.5e-12 Watts.

So, how far can our 1W green laser with a divergence of 1 mRad travel before we hit that value? The answer is a little over 500,000km – further than the Earth-Moon separation. By the time the beam gets there it will be illuminating a circle some 500km in diameter. If we are looking back from the Moon via a modest telescope such a beam would appear as a bright flickering point of monochromatic light. Even a 100mm diameter telescope would improve visibility by more than 100 times.

If we wish to improve the numbers there are certain things we can do. If we increase the power, it scales linearly in intensity at a given distance. If we increase the collimation to (say) 0.5mRad the intensity quadruples, but the illuminated area decreases 75% as the spot size halves.

Proof of Principle Equipment – Stage 1

The setup described below is an absolute minimum and has been put together simply to illustrate how easy it can be, and how cheap.

WARNING! – The lasers described should be treated like a loaded firearms with the safety off. Anyone around it should have eye protection goggles when it is operating or being worked on. If it sweeps across your eyes it will cause instant permanent blindness. It can also start fires. These are Class 4viii. You should also assume they will cause eye damage out to 1km if the beam is not expanded.

The basic equipment list is relatively straightforward – example sources are UK but may be obtained cheaply elsewhere:

• A computer with a USB interface • A terminal emulator program such as Realtermix or similar • A USB to TTL converter cable x • A battery based stabilized power supply for the laser module • High power laser module 1 Watt or greater xi • A telescopic rifle sight (scope) • A GOTO telescope • Various Weaver rail fittings and adapters • A low power sighting laser • Laser safety goggles

Less straightforward is any metalwork or optical interfacing of the laser module, however, the use of a scope with integral Weaver rails simplifies things considerably. The scope needs an attachment to the GOTO telescope, and the rest of the equipment attaches to the scope.

The next problem is that of holding the telescopic sight on target, which is where a motorized equatorial mount, or GOTO mount is required. Both will compensate for the rotation of the Earth and hold on a previously acquired target with accuracy much better than the assumed mrad (for scale, the diameter of the full moon in the sky is about 9 mrad) A GOTO telescope is fully computerized and will automatically move to designated targets either by name or celestial coordinates.

The first step is to securely attach the laser module co-axially to the telescopic sight so that you can see through the scope where the beam strikes. To do this you need a deserted area where you can aim the beam at a target some 100 meters distant and adjust optics and mechanical attachment so that the beam is aligned and parallel to the cross-hairs.

At this point you can examine the beam quality. With modules such as the above it will not be around spot. More likely it will be an image of the emission diode structure. Not ideal, but good enough for now.

The pictures below show the scope, sighting laser and Class 4 laser complete with a DIN rail that is used to attach all this to the telescope. In this instance, it is mounted on a camera tripod for alignment work.

Illustration 1: Left Side of the Lasers and Optics

  Illustration 2: Right Side of the Lasers and Optics

  Illustration 3: Front view of the Lasers and Optics

Proof of Principle Equipment – Stage 2

So, how do we improve upon this? Well, the answer is obvious. Rather than relying on the beam straight from the laser passing through the supplied focusing lens we use custom optics to expand and collimate the beam. This at once gives us better control over the divergence and by expanding the beam makes it somewhat safer by reducing areal power density.

Next, we add a receiver to the telescope eyepiece.

This consists of a bandpass optical filter centered at the wavelength of the laser transmitter. Again, this assumes that any VN probe is quite capable of transmitting on the received wavelength at a power level comparable to, or greater than, our own. The necessary electronics, including a high sensitivity photodiode, is not prohibitively expensive.

Final equipment and Message Format

The above describes a minimal setup both from a cost and capability point of view. A more suitable laser system would be one using a far higher power, and a receiving telescope with a mirror at least 200mm diameter (8” reflector).

The choice of lasers is wide, but if we limit the choice to minimize atmospheric absorption and costly optics that leaves visible and near infrared (NIR).

One possibility stands out. That is a Q-switched Nd:YAG laserxii, with around a 200W continuous,

1MW pulsed, output at 1064nm normally used as an industrial cutter. The output can if necessary be frequency doubled to 532nm green but with loss of power.

This should be able to communicate with its equivalent to a distance beyond the orbit of Jupiter.

Such systems typically cost under $15k, although the optics, beam guides and alignment equipment will add significantly to this price. Needless to say, such a beam in free space is spectacularly dangerous if mishandled.

Additional requirements will include an electric generator or power source in the kilowatt region, water cooling and a trailer if the equipment has to be moved to an open air site before use.

All together we intend to budget around $30,000 for the hardware. Location is as yet undecided, although a strong possibility is Provo, Utah in the USA given its clear skies and weather. Britain is a poor second in this respect. Plus, we may locate it at the TransHumanist Housexiii available to Zero State House Adar. However, much depends on location and local laws.

The message format with Q-switched pulses would be somewhat different from the existing setup. The coding would be provided by the timing between the pulses, or by the timing between successive pulse trains. Again, data rate would be low because we are not attempting to communicate anything complex. Just attract attention.

Zero State seeks collaboration from like-minded engineers and scientists, and sponsorship for this project, which after initial hardware costs are met should incur very low running costs.

Ethical Considerations

On 13 February 2015, scientists (including Geoffrey Marcy, Seth Shostak, Frank Drake, Elon Musk and David Brin) at a convention of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, discussed Active SETI and whether transmitting a message to possible intelligent extraterrestrials in the Cosmos was a good idea; one result was a statement, (which was not signed by Seth Shostak or Frank Drake), that a “worldwide scientific, political and humanitarian discussion must occur before any message is sent” xiv . We believe that this is not, and should not be the case for local METI. We should issue the invitation to communicate now. It is beyond reasonable doubt that if any ETI capable of receiving these messages lies within our solar system or a few tens of light years, then they already know of our existence.

References: 

i https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_interstellar_radio_messages ii http://meti.org/mission iii https://arxiv.org/abs/1706.05570 iv Journal of the British Interplanetary Society, Vol.33, pp. 251-264 1980 v https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lunar_lava_tube vi https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lagrangian_point vii S. Hecht, S. Schlaer and M.H. Pirenne, “Energy, Quanta and vision.” Journal of the Optical Society of America, 38, 196-208 (1942) viii http://www.lasersafetyfacts.com/4/ ix https://sourceforge.net/projects/realterm/ x https://www.maplin.co.uk/p/usb-to-ttl-serial-cable-cable-n74de xi http://odicforce.com/epages/05c54fb6-7778-4d36-adc0-0098b2af7c4e.sf/en_GB/?ObjectPath=/Shops/05c54fb6- 7778-4d36-adc0-0098b2af7c4e/Products/OFL365-5-TTL xii https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nd:YAG_laser xiii https://hpluspedia.org/wiki/Transhuman_House xiv https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_interstellar_radio_messages

Messaging Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence (METI) – A Local Search was originally published on transhumanity.net

[capnjay21]

the importance of being idle, 12/12

A/N: aloha! I posted this on AO3 a little while ago, but it has yet to make it onto tumblr. I wanted to say thank you so much to everybody who stuck along for the ride, it wouldn’t have been anymore than a oneshot without you! I’ll ramble a little more at the end, but here it is.

Rating: M

Catch up on: AO3 | tumblr

the importance of being idle get-out-of-my-apartment-(no-really-get-out)-you’re-hot-but-I-got-shit-to-do rock ‘n roll AU. Captain Swan.

Neither the fragrant dispensable hand soap, the superior quality of microwavable goods nor the silent as smoke bathroom door could make living in the Blackbeard’s Revenge tour bus a salvageable experience.

  Admittedly, she’d only been there for just over twenty-four hours.

  But it still fucking sucked.

  After watching the Jolly Rogers drive away, she’d had little else to do except move her camera equipment and her small suitcase onto the other bus. Of course, the only free bunk happened to be right next to Blackbeard’s, but at least she wasn’t ousting any back-line equipment. If she was going to be here for the next month and a half, she would keep her head down and stay out of trouble, collect her money and go.

  And try not to think too hard about the band that had driven away.

  She spent the entire day in her bunk, alternating between attempting to read and adjusting settings needlessly on her camera, ignoring any offhand remarks sent her way. Blackbeard’s Revenge clearly had their own rhythm, the radio flipped onto some postseason baseball game while they alternated between relaxing and trying to coax a rise out of Emma. There were only so many ‘and how goes our forlorn freelancer, darling?’ she could take before she took a leaf out of Tina and Killian’s book and socked one of them in the jaw, but their every jibe strengthened her resolve. The only small mercy she could think of was the lack of Neal, since he had his own car he’d been using for that leg of the tour.

 Eventually, the men dozed off and Emma was left in peace, scrolling idly through her phone. She didn’t text Killian. Her immediate instinct was to wait and see if he texted her first, but remembered too late that they never actually got to a point where they’d exchanged numbers — she only had his because of the note he’d left in her apartment that very first night. Along with his shirt.

 (The shirt she had, in a moment of weakness, decided to throw on.

 She’d brought it on the tour under the pretext of giving it back to him, and it had sat at the bottom of her suitcase until she could find the right moment — which now, of course, had obviously passed her by. It felt oddly symbolic of her entire relationship with Killian, to her chagrin.)

 August had messaged her a string of salsa dancing women emojis, assuring her she’d pull through the other side. In response, she’d merely sent him a tired looking selfie with the book she’d secretly swiped from his bunk; Pinocchio. His reply was scandalised.

 I knew there was a reason you said no to my fairytales. ‘Finding your own destiny’ my ass.

<b>that’s not v gentlemanly </b>

  They’d bantered for a few minutes before she let the phone lie, a dull ache settling in the centre of her chest. She missed him. She missed all of them.

 And before she let the rattling of the bus on the highway lull her into an afternoon nap, she couldn’t stop feeling the phantom scratch of stubble against her temple as a kiss was laid there, a murmur of sweet dreams, Emma, carrying her away.

 ***

 BR had managed to recruit some local band last minute to open for them that night in New York, a city where no shortage of musicians lurked waiting for a chance like that to come along. They’d been okay, the style leaning a little too far into pop-punk for Emma’s liking, but dutifully she took photos and acted much the same as she had on every other night. It was a job, now. Nothing more. Take photos, go to bed. No lingering backstage, no welcome distractions, no banter as the venue was set up — all she cared about was her finger over the shutter release and the thought of getting back to her bunk, Killian’s shirt folded neatly underneath her pillow.

 She’d gone back to the bus immediately after the gig. Even with that vestige of him surrounding her, it had been a restless night’s sleep.

 They were performing just one more show in New York, and the next morning Emma couldn’t help but let her thoughts stray to the fact that it would be the last time she worked with Neal. If it weren’t for the fact that it left her alone with Blackbeard’s Revenge she would’ve been more relieved, but as it stood Neal was both a buffer and an inconvenience. They both knew it in their unspoken, mutual agreement; this would be the last time they saw each other. There was no use prolonging their association — the past was firmly in the past, Emma had closure. She didn’t know what Neal had, but it sure as fuck wasn’t anything that concerned her, and there was something decidedly liberating about finally setting fire to that chapter of her life, and letting it go up in smoke.

 While most of her freedom to decide had been taken from her over the past day, it felt good to still be able to make some choices.

 As the hours ticked by into the early afternoon, Emma was flicking through the photos she’d already taken from the last month or so, Blackbeard and Isaac playing cards in the seating area, with Pan listening to music as he lay back in his bunk. Jefferson had disappeared a few hours ago. It was a bitch to get into the city from the parking lot they’d been assigned near Newark, but the bassist seemed to be the only one interested in giving it a try. Emma couldn’t bring herself to give it a go, and it was highly likely the other three had already been before. The precarious peace, however, didn’t last long.

 The door at the back of the bus swung open, sunlight beaming through and making Emma blink against the sudden brightness. Assuming it would be Jefferson returning, Emma didn’t spare it a glance — he was easily the most tolerable of the lot of them, but that didn’t make him any less complicit in the reason she was there.

 “Ah,” Blackbeard greeted loudly, and Emma reached for her headphones. The least she could do was drown him out. “Jones. You’re late.”

 Her head shot up so fast her neck cracked.

 To her utter disbelief, Killian Jones stood silhouetted in the doorframe.

 It took mere milliseconds for his eyes to find hers, a vivid blue like the glow of a lighthouse scattered on the waves. Although rationally she knew it had scarcely been a day and a half, it felt like far too long since she’d seen him, and she wrenched her gaze away to try and take in the rest of him — somewhat dishevelled in appearance and, if she wasn’t mistaken, wearing the same rumpled clothes as the day before. With his raven hair sticking up at odd angles on the back of his head, he looked as if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.

 “Apologies,” Killian was saying to Blackbeard, “this place isn’t exactly convenient to reach.” Blackbeard waved a dismissive hand, before turning back to his game.

 Before Emma could even fire off a query about why he was there, Killian cut her off.

 “Pack your stuff, Swan,” he said, “we’re going.”

 She didn’t move.

 “What’re you doing here?”

 Killian let out an exaggerated huff. “What does it look like? I’m attempting a dashing rescue.”

 “And they say romance is dead,” Isaac hummed in amusement from his spot on the sofa opposite Blackbeard. Emma ignored him.

 She didn’t get why everyone was being so goddamn calm.

 As if sensing her hesitation, Blackbeard quirked an eyebrow in her direction. “You’re welcome to stay, Miss Swan, if you so desire.” The look he gave her could be described as leery at best. “But he has come all this way, and even I don’t advocate for that sort of cruelty.”

 “Time is rather of the essence, love. Cab’s out front.”

 Killian was watching her earnestly, and she followed the movement of his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. He was nervous, by now she could read his posture like a map, and something about it suggested to her that his sense of urgency had little to do with a taxi fare.

 What the hell was going on?

 Cautiously, she reached for her bag, gaze darting between the man in the doorway and those sprawled on the sofas. “You’re saying I’m allowed to just walk out of here?”

 Blackbeard spread his hands. “Of course.”

 “No invoices in the post?”

 “Not even for your pilfering of my vastly expensive soap.”

 Emma wasn’t about to wait around for them to change their minds.

 She gathered her stuff as quickly as she could, shoving any loose items around the bunk back into her suitcase before carefully disassembling her camera and safely packing away all of the components. After she descended the ladder and made a quick check of the sheets for anything she hadn’t seen, she threw one last look over her shoulder at the three members of Blackbeard’s Revenge. Malcolm was still lying on his bed, eyes closed with his headphones on, not having even acknowledged the turn of events. Isaac and Charles’ attentions had returned to their game.

 Emma opened her mouth to try and check one final time that she was in the clear.

 “Call,” Charles said mildly, “you really do have the worst luck, Heller.”

 “I’m sure my luck will improve once you stop using those two extra aces.”

 They weren’t even the slightest bit interested, and she owed them nothing. So, after throwing them the proverbial middle finger, she merely stepped out of the bus and into the early afternoon sun. Killian’s hand was at the small of her back, guiding her to the entrance of the parking lot where two cabs were already waiting. From their brief distance, she could see August, Robin and Smee in one, Tina in the other, with piles of their equipment stuffed in between.

 “Killian —?” she started.

 “Sorry to press you, love,” he smiled widely at her, before throwing a furtive look back at the bus, “I’m merely eager not to tempt fate.”

 “What the hell is going on?”

 “You’re going home,” he said firmly, and the heat from his hand just erred on the side of scorching through her sweater. “That’s all that matters.”

 “But how —?”

 They’d reached the taxis, and all too suddenly the door had swung open to the first and she realised there was an empty seat beside August. Killian brushed a hand over her hip just briefly before he retreated to the other, dropping into the backseat beside Tina. Emma, entirely baffled but not too fond of questioning her good fortune just yet, saw she had no other choice but to buckle in. When she entered the cab it was to a few scattered cheers and August squeezing her hand affectionately.

 She may have no goddamn clue what was happening, but it felt good to be back.

 ***

 The Jolly Rogers were going to get signed.

 The moment the door to the cab had shut, August, Smee and Robin were practically tripping over each other in order to relay the good news, an energy thrumming through them that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. Apparently, they’d had some incredibly busy twenty-four hours.

 From Jefferson’s mansion in Connecticut, it had taken around eight hours of straight driving to get them back to Storybrooke, Merida testing the speed limit at any moment she could — it was a race against time, they’d decided, to see if they could make something of the exposure from the national tour before the news that Blackbeard’s Revenge had dropped them hit the press. There was no telling just how Gold Records would spin the news, and just how much of an effect it might have on any potential labels interested in signing them.

 As it turned out, somebody had been waiting for them. Eric Triton had never been the bitter sort, he had confessed to them, but if his time with Blackbeard’s Revenge had taught him anything it was that he far favoured the reward that came with nurturing a band who actually cared about music to playing whatever it took to top the charts. After his departure from Blackbeard and company he had turned his attention to producing, eventually partnering up with the Poseidon Music Group after a providential meeting with the CEO’s daughter on a beach, and had made it his business to constantly be scouting for new talent ever since.

 Apparently he had attended their gig at Warehouse 4, the one Emma herself had skipped what felt like a hundred years ago, and he was one of the calls that had Smee’s phone vibrating for days afterwards. You could imagine his exasperation when Blackbeard’s Revenge got to them first.

 It was why, he’d told them, he almost felt glad that they’d been dropped from the tour — it gave him a second shot. The moment one of his contacts had alerted him to the disagreement at Jefferson’s mansion he had started camping as near as he dared to the town line, predicting correctly that they would be racing back to Storybrooke as soon as possible. He accosted them as they stormed into town, and the next thing they knew they had an invitation to play before Poseidon himself next week. Which was only a formality, of course. The deal was as good as done.

 “Have you guys slept at all?” Emma gaped, and the dark rings around their eyes spoke volumes.

 All three of them were giddy, exhausted but exhilarated, and constantly iterating just how glad they were that she was able to share in their good news, but not one of them would say a second word on just how they managed to wrangle her out from Blackbeard’s grasp, insisting that it wasn’t their story to tell. Emma had an inkling of just whose it was, but her curiosity only compounded the longer she sat sandwiched between August and the door of the cab.

 It was a couple hundred bucks for the fare, something she insisted on covering once her cheque from Blackbeard’s Revenge came through, but mercifully they wouldn’t be paying for all the way back to Maine. The taxis dropped them off in New Haven, at a trucker stop they'd agreed to meet Merida and her coach at. The driver was offering the trip pro bono out of something she denied was affection, but it did mean they had to work around her schedule — hence why they were cramming most of their equipment between them in the taxis.

 “We don’t have anywhere to live,” Robin had pointed out, “and we didn’t have time to find a motel. We haven’t stopped moving since we left you!”

 It was here that Emma was finally able to approach Killian. While the others milled around outside, perched atop amps and keeping an eye on the flow of traffic for Merida’s coach in the early evening, Emma watched him slip away and head into a diner, not wholly unlike the one they were abandoned at all those weeks before.

 A fluorescent green light blinked in and out of life overhead, and a buzzer went off somewhere behind the counter as she entered — loud enough to draw Killian’s gaze instinctively. He had just finished buying sustenance by the look of it, and once his eyes landed on her a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He held out a paper bag towards her.

 “Onion ring?”

 Emma took one of the proffered items. “I thought you hated onion rings.”

 “You don’t,” he pointed out.

 For a moment they chewed in silence, her on an onion ring and he on what looked like a carrot stick, before wordlessly moving back outside. Behind them, the neon light from inside the diner shimmered, casting fluorescent shadows against the crunch of gravel underfoot. From twenty or so feet away Emma watched August stand, take ten paces in one direction, then turn and walk back. Everybody was waiting for something, some new start. Anticipation tickled through the air.

 “I heard about your record deal,” she found herself saying, “congratulations.” Although a little stilted in its delivery, the sentiment was earnest. She was still wrapping her head around things but she couldn’t be more proud of the Jolly Rogers.

 “Well, nothing’s set in stone yet,” Killian demurred, but she could see the pleased flush working its way up from his collar. “We were just lucky to come across the one person in the industry who might hate Blackbeard more than we do.”

 Lord knew Eric had every reason, if what Emma had heard was true.

 “Still, it’s exciting.”

 “It is,” he agreed.

 A few pregnant seconds passed, and Emma waited for him to volunteer the information he must know she was eager to find out — just how the hell she was there, and not back in a tiny bunk on Blackbeard’s bus resigned to another evening of ignoring their jibes as best she could.

 “Killian…” she began.

 “Carrot stick?”

 Emma waved the bag away, along with his futile attempt to divert attention. “How is it that I just walked out of there?”

 Killian shrugged, making every effort to appear nonchalant. He almost succeeded. “Does it matter?”

 “Of course it does,” she insisted. His and the others’ reluctance to discuss it only had her anxiety climbing higher and higher, wondering just what stipulations Blackbeard had latched onto her release. “If you’ve traded your soul to Hades for me then I want to know about it so I can —”

Thank you? Knock the living daylights out of you?

 “—make it right.”

 The corner of Killian’s mouth quirked upwards, the static light of the diner casting his eyes in an electric blue. Alive, aware. Watching her as closely as he always had. “You’d climb down to hell for me, would you, Swan?”

 “If I had to,” she replied neutrally. A fierce truth rang with every word.

 “Well, you needn’t worry,” Killian continued brazenly. He finished his final carrot stick as she waited for a response, crumpling up the packet in his palm and letting it drop into the trash can beside them. “My soul is safe and sound. We merely offered to cover the cost of your termination fee and Blackbeard was amenable.”

 The declaration caught her off guard; the termination fee was five thousand dollars, that had been non-negotiable. If the Jolly Rogers had that sort of money lying around they would have already offered to foot the bill — she may not have known them long, but she knew that much. They were great people who cared about her wellbeing, and she couldn’t imagine August at the very least permitting the act of driving away from her if they had the means to release her. It was why she spoke her next words with a cautious, amused confidence.

 “You guys couldn’t string enough cents for a cardboard box, no less five thousand dollars.”

 “That’s the thing about commerce, darling. Money is easy enough to acquire if you have something of value to trade for it.”

 He had his guitar, of that she was certain — by the edge of the curb she could see Robin leaning against the familiar case. Killian was avoiding looking at her, reaching a finger behind to scratch at the shell of his ear. Emma’s heart steadily began to beat a rhythm against her ribcage. To her spinning mind, it sounded a lot like Lavender Rose.

 “And what was that?”

 “Why the Jolly Roger, of course.”

 For a moment Emma blinked, lips parted, not entirely sure what he was referring to. For a petrifying fraction of a second she imagined Blackbeard had insisted the band break up for her to be let go, but belatedly shook the thought when she remembered Eric Triton and the record deal that supposedly awaited them in Storybrooke.

 His gaze dropped and she followed it, before suddenly realising the silver chain she could usually see peeking through the collar of his shirt had vanished.

This, here, is the Jolly Roger.

 His watch.

 Killian was still speaking, but her eyes were fixed on the absence of the accessory.

 “Did I forget to mention the casing was overlain with sterling silver? An ivory clock face, seventeen jewels — and all natural sapphires, not synthetic, mind. Fetches about eight thousand dollars at retail. One of only fifty novelty Peter Pan watches made in 1955, I believe.”

 Emma didn’t care about that, not about sapphires or rubies or silver.

 He’d said, he’d told her; that watch was the last thing he owned of his father’s.

 “Cruella Feinberg gave me a fair price back in Storybrooke when I went to her. I could’ve probably gotten more if I hadn’t rushed it, but I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to track the BR bus after New York.”

 He seemed to notice that she hadn’t so much as murmured a response, and squeaked out the remainder of his explanation. “I, ehm… I was in something of a rush.”

 Emma couldn’t wrap her mind around it. This sodding impossible man had found time in between trying to negotiate a deal that would decide the future of his entire career to trade away his most valuable possession, for a girl who had barely been able to tell him that she liked the song he wrote. For her. She was stunned. Fucking mortified. Beyond moved.

 Despite your best efforts, Swan, I was utterly charmed by you.

 Thank you, she had said, when he’d first shown her the watch. Somehow it didn’t feel like enough now.

 She became more aware of the way he was angled towards her, hanging on her every breath. Fuck, she had to say something. She had to say something.

 “You sold your watch for me?”

 She thought he might turn away, cower from everything she was asking of him — that after all that, she needed to be sure. She needed to hear it, just one more time. She wanted the beat of Lavender Rose thumping through her, the scent of rusted strings on his shirt. He’d already done so much, but she couldn’t let him get away without saying it, not with her heels slammed into the earth the way they were.

 Tell me, she begged.

 Killian’s vibrant blue gaze met her head on, like he knew — he probably did.

 “Aye,” he said.

 Emma wasn’t sure which of them moved first — she thought it was her, she hoped it was her — but after several long seconds her hands wound their way around his shoulders and he was dipping his head to meet her. When their lips connected, she sighed; at once familiar, she knew these lips by now. She knew the way he kissed, as he undoubtedly knew hers, she knew the way his hand would curl at her waist to scratch against the leather of her jacket. She knew the way his mouth would part, the way he would breathe unevenly through his nose against the skin of her cheek to avoid breaking away.

 She knew his heart.

 He would let her pull away, if she wanted to. After everything he would let her let him go.

 Not that she would.

 Killian’s right hand rose to brush reverently against her cheek and at once they parted. A flicker of what she knew to be trepidation flashed in his eyes, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Something inside of her crumpled, and it felt like only really then that she understood just how many times she had let him down. Knowingly and unknowingly both.

 I’m sorry, she wanted to say.

 “I can’t believe you did that,” she said instead.

 Killian’s shoulders lifted in the barest shrug, his finger tracing a line behind her ear to wind its way around her hair.

 “I’m done dwelling on the past.”

 To his evident delight Emma tugged him back down to her, this time for longer than before. It was only when they broke apart to the whoops and crows of three other, equally delighted, people, that she realised just how not-alone she and Killian were. The other three Jolly Rogers watched from their spot at the side of the road with matching shit-eating grins.

 Emma raised an eyebrow at Killian, whose arm had moved around to tuck her closer into his side. “I’ll never be able to get ten minutes alone with you, will I?”

 “I could do with a break.” At Emma’s look of disbelief, he shrugged. “What did I say about refraining from kissing me after you’ve had onion rings? I can barely stomach you.”

 Merida’s bus pulled into the parking lot to the chorus of Killian’s yelp, with Emma leaving him clutching at his side as she walked back over to the others.

 ***

 "Swan?"

 The hoarse whisper hovered just over the low rumbling of the bus, barely loud enough to rouse anybody from sleep —but then, Emma hadn't been sleeping. She had a feeling Killian hadn't been either.

 When his face popped up over the edge of her bunk, eyes bright in the dim light, it all but confirmed it. He looked abut as wired as she felt, and she met his gaze warmly. He beamed.

 "Mind if I —?" The guitarist gestured to the slim line of space between her and the railing at the edge of the bed, and in response Emma shuffled away to allow him a little more room. As quietly as he could, Killian hauled himself up the ladder and slid in beside her. "Christ," he muttered," these beds weren't made for two — ow." He knocked his head on the tip of the ladder and scowled, while Emma stifled a laugh.

 A glance at her watch informed her it was nearly two in the morning. It also made her stomach twist both pleasantly and anxiously all over again when she thought about watches. The accessory had played crucial roles in some of the worst and best moments of her life now.

 Killian, meanwhile, had righted himself as best he could, slinging his right arm over her hip and tugging her closer. Emma did not resist, and even nudged her leg between his.

 "Hello," Killian murmured, just before their lips met gently.

 Emma smoothed her hand up his chest, stopping once it reached the curve of his shoulder. "I'm sorry you sold the watch." She wanted to be a little more articulate than she had been when he'd first told her — it was important to her that he knew that.

 "I'm not," Killian replied with the barest shrug. At Emma's disbelieving look he carried on, rubbing a hand down her back. "Honestly, Emma. It was just a piece of jewellery."

 "You said it was the last thing you had left of your father."

 For a moment he was silent, eyes dropping down to her fingers tracing patterns into the front of his shirt. "My father was not always a decent man," he said finally, although it was clear the words had been difficult for him to get out. "I'm sure he'd be happy to see it go to a deserving cause." Before she could reply he hastened to continue, murmuring her name to cut her off.

 As she watched him expectantly, he breathed out an uncertain laugh. "I, erm… forgive me, I have to know. You're not going to get off this bus and change your mind, are you?"

 His hand had frozen on her lower back, almost frightful of her response. With his mouth twisted in a wince and his body tensing, he appeared so much like somebody bracing for an impact that she laughed and knocked her forehead into his chest.

 She could feel his smile into the crown of her head, but he worked on putting some space between them all the same. "I'm serious," he said, although the mirth in his eyes somewhat belied it, "I'm not sure I could make it through another of your unpredictable tides."

 After a moment the laughter subsided, she let herself watch him, truly take him in a way she hadn't done for some time. His eyes appeared a deep navy in the low light, his left eyebrow raised in that barest approximation of hope she had come to see there, lips parted just so like he was waiting for her permission to breathe. Emma touched a hand to his cheek and his eyelids fluttered shut, leaning into the movement. He would let her back away, even now. Even with her in his arms he was offering her that one final chance, and she felt affection surge for him all the more because of it.

 "I'm not changing my mind," she promised.

 Killian's eyes flew open, watching her carefully.

 "I want to see where this thing goes. I'm not saying I'm not terrified, because I am." Like standing at the edge of this unknown precipice, a jump she'd come so close to so many times before with this man — but now she was ready. "I'm petrified."

 "I can feel you shaking," he hummed quietly, pressing a kiss to where her neck met her shoulders. "Trust me."

 "I do," she murmured. "I want this future with you, and that's what scares me. Does that," she paused, pulling his face back up to meet her eyes, "does that sound crazy?"

 Killian shook his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, which quickly morphed into something more confident.

 "It sounds like music to this pirate's ears."

 Emma laughed, a loud, happy thing, and Killian did his best to hush her by drawing her into a kiss. For a few moments they just lay there, chuckling silently and trading affection, the slant of his lips against her own a welcome feeling. It was just as she felt his hand sliding lower across her back, sending a shot of excitement through as his eyes met hers, his intent clear, that she remembered exactly where they were.

 And that they weren't entirely alone.

 "Guys, that was adorable, but I swear to God if you have sex on this bus I will never forgive you."

 Tina's voice pierced the silence like bursting a balloon — Killian instinctively shot back from Emma, which only led to him smacking his head onto the railing behind him at the edge of the bunk. Emma immediately snorted with laughter, which only increased as he rubbed the back of his head and sent a reproachful look in her direction.

 "We'll turn you into Merida."

 Robin's voice, too, floated down from further up the bus. Emma was grateful for the dark as she felt her face begin to heat up — it was hard enough laying herself bare in front of Killian, let alone his three best friends. Because she was certain, as much as she could be, that August would also be awake. The damn guy didn't miss a thing.

 Tina made a noise of agreement. "Merida specifically said she wouldn't tolerate any funny business."

 "Yet somehow," Killian bit back, "she tolerates you lot just fine." After a moment he clearly has no interest in ending, he reluctantly sat up on her bunk and shuffled back towards the ladder. Emma's hand on his leg served as her only protest, and Killian lifted it to place a kiss on the back of it. "I guess I'll have to wait to finally show you a good time, Swan," he winked, "and have you remember it."

 Bizarrely, she found herself thinking of one of the post-its he had given her in Storybrooke so long ago. She'd very much like to know how it felt to hear him scream.

 "I guess you will," she replied, making her intent clear.

 She could tell Killian just resisted letting out a low whistle, before dropping down the ladder.

 "Much better," Robin assured them. "No 'good times' should be had on the bus. Only terrible, not good times."

 "August, stop reading," Tina urged, "I know you're doing it. Nobody can have fun on the bus!"

 A barely distinguishable rustle came across from August's bunk. "Don't bring me into this."

 As the teasing escalated into a sock skirmish (thus determined, claimed Robin, by August's tendency to use socks as missiles when disturbed) Emma forgot about her embarrassment. They were good at that, the Jolly Rogers. Helping her forget. Making her feel comfortable even when the only place she had ever felt safe was a hundred miles away. They had driven for hours through the night so that they could get to her, had defended her even when her opponent had been one of their closest friends, had cared for her. Without strings. Unashamedly. Wholly.

 Mary Margaret would always be her sister, or as close to a sister as Emma would ever get. But these guys?

 They were her family. The one she had chosen for herself.

 And the one she would continue to choose, every fucking chance she got.

 ***

 "You ready?" She had asked, a week later, as Killian wiped his palm on the edge of his jeans. To try and get rid of the sweat, she knew, it was practically rolling off of him in waves.

 "As we'll ever be."

 Emma squinted through the viewfinder on her camera, using Tina fiddling with the height of the microphone as her focus point. Beside her, Killian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, anxiety driving from him. At the other end of the room, Poseidon himself, his executive assistant and Eric Triton were just settling themselves into three large chairs. With their high backs and elaborate deorations around the arms, thrones was the first word that popped into Emma's head when she'd seen them. Imposing, powerful. Intimidating as hell.

 Part of the reason Killian was reminding himself to breathe in and out.

 "You heard what Eric said," she assured him, "this is just a formality. It's practically a done deal."

 Killian looked at her sharply. "Not if he doesn't like us."

 "He will."

 The activity in the room was slowly beginning to wind down, each party slowly running out of ways to delay the inevitable. Emma gave him a gentle shove.

 "Now get lost so I can take some decent photos, yeah?"

 This time when Killian smiled down at her, she could tell he meant it. It was one of those goofy, wide smiles she had found he couldn't keep back when she was around. It had a somewhat irritating habit of making her stomach drop pleasantly. He smoothed a hand down her back.

 "Such glowing words of encouragement," he mused, leaning to brush his lips against hers.

 "Why bother?" she smirked once he pulled away. "It's not like my lack of encouragement ever held you back."

 In response he patted his hand against her, and gave her one last amused glance over his shoulder before heading over to the others. His strat, perched primly against the wall, was soon lifted and slung over his shoulder, as he exchanged a few quiet words with Tina and August. Robin was settling himself down onto the stool behind his kit, and Tina then hummed a few quiet tests into the microphone.

 Emma, meanwhile, took a few preparatory shots. After deciding the look Killian had sent her was altogether too deliberate, she stretched her arm behind her back — true enough, her fingers grazed something stuck there. Tugging it free, she realised it was a post-it. Some things never changed.

 Wish me luck. 

—K x. 

 When their eyes met again, she shook her head with a smile. He didn't need luck.

 Soon enough, the low murmur of noise in the room slowly sunk into silence, Eric no longer murmuring into Poseidon's ear and the huge man instead surveying the group of musicians in front of him. Despite herself, Emma felt her pulse begin to thump a little bit quicker, glancing between the two sides of the room.

 The twang of August's bass lurched from one of the amps, before fizzling out into nothing as he rushed to still the string.

 Poseidon shifted in his seat. Emma's finger hovered over the shutter button. Killian cleared his throat.

 Robin lifted his drumsticks to eye-level, pausing before clacking them together —

 One, two —

 Three, four —

The shutter clicked. The room exploded with sound.

 And that was it.

And that’s it, folks! An epilogue will follow sometime in the near future because  there are a few loose ends I’d like to tie up and I will always love my jolly rogers. almost as much as I love all of you! thank you so so much for your endless support + patience with my gaps between updates, I’ve loved being able to tell this story in the way I always wanted to.I hope you all liked how it ended, and maybe I’ll see you next time on another project! 

peace & love / over & out!

-jay x

[incomplete-nano-stash]

Welcome to Technasia Ch 15

              In the grand scheme of the world stage, there were two great nations, two superpowers who attempted to co-exist on the same continent with varying degrees of success. The Kingdom of Litigia and the Nation of Technasia, vastly different in philosophy and outlook on existence, would from time to time come to blows with each other, but had changed very little in terms of their borders and relationship for nearly a half-millennium.

              Sometime in the recent century, however, a new region cropped up on the two great nations’ continent, in an area that neither nation had settled, or even remembered existed. These places had harsh conditions, wilderness, and were generally considered uninhabitable, but yet creatures made it their home. This was the Darklands, the abandoned realms filled with abandoned people, many dying or sickly, some unreasonably violent, and some just simply outcast from their home societies.

              Passage to the Darklands had always been difficult from either nation, but especially from Technasia. Due to the general attitude of “protect our citizens at all cost,” border checkpoints would almost never let travelers through, out of concern for their health and safety. This had until ten years ago been absolutely “never,” but for the efforts of Princess Giana Killaine, who was attempting to solve the riddle of how to cure a plague which spread throughout the forgotten regions. Her regular excursions to the Darklands on humanitarian missions had led the previous Queen, and later Queen Guerrania, to declare the border open only to Princesses and those assisting them for official business.

              This loophole was a matter Princess Ramia was well aware of as she led the group to the Technasian border with the Darklands. Tuck peered out of the coach windows nervously, as Firnian and Thaylen cuddled on the opposite side.

              Tuck tried to take her mind off of the dangerous mission she had embarked on by engaging the Litigian defectors in small talk. “So how long have you two been together?”

              Thaylen sighed and smiled wider. “About two years. I first met Firnian when she assumed her father’s title, there was a ball held by the House of Moethran to commemorate the occasion. My father sent me because he felt it wasn’t important enough for him to attend, and Guent wanted nothing to do with it.”

              Firnian chuckled. “I think you said his exact words amounted to he’d rather eat his own cock than attend my ball. Which would’ve been one hell of a show.”

              Tuck self-consciously chuckled. “I can imagine. So how did you meet?”               Firnian sighed, just like Thaylen did. “I had my choice of dance partners as one of the official acts of the ball. Every other man at the event just dripped with misogyny. Several of them had giggler-equipped servant girls with them. At least one asked me for a three-way with himself and his favorite concubine, an offer that, while tempting … yeah, no.”

              Thaylen picked up the story. “I was the next one in line. After I proved to Firnian that I was far different than the other men, more than just because I was a Prince, she chose me as her dance partner.”

              Tuck laid a cheek on her closed hand, her elbow idly propping her arm up on the rail of the coach. “How was the dancing?”

              Firnian subconsciously snuggled closer to Thaylen. “Beyond anything I’d imagined. Thaylen charmed me with his personality, dazzled me with his moves, wowed me with his intelligence, and completely left me wanting more of him, as the days continued. I would send numerous missives a day to him, begging to see him again, telling him of my dreams about him.”

              Princess Ramia smirked. “So when did you find out about … things?”

              Tuck turned to the other Princess. “They might not be comfortable about that sort of discussion, you know. I’m okay if you keep that private.”

              “Well I imagine it’s an open secret with them, they’ve been sharing a bed at the Central Palace.”

              Firnian shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Thaylen, though clearly embarrassed, attempted to break the tension. “It’s all right, Tuck. To answer your question, I told her about it the next time I saw her. Our relationship through our missives had escalated, in a passionate manner, and at our next opportunity we took a retreat away from our families to be together. The first night of that retreat she learned my truth.”

              Tuck nodded, feeling guilty about hearing Thaylen’s story. Princess Ramia, though, had no such qualms. “I imagine it makes things far different in the boudoir than with typical couples, am I right?”

              Firnian smirked. “I’ll have you know, on a scale of one to ten, Thaylen ranks approximately a trillion on the sex scale.” She crossed her arms, exuding cocky pride at the assessment. Thaylen simply kept a neutral expression on his face, allowing the statement to sink in with the others in the vehicle.

              Princess Ramia blushed. Tuck was amazed by the reaction, as she had never known the Princess of Law to show any kind of crack in her professional demeanor, and it bemused her all the same. The conversation lagged, no one wanting to intrude on Firnian’s moment of pride.

              The silence was finally broken by one of the escorts pounding on the side of the coach. “Your Highnesses, we’re approaching the border checkpoint.”

              Princess Ramia nodded. “Very good, thank you.” The escort returned to his place in the procession. Princess Ramia shifted her attention back to the other occupants. “I think you should probably know what to expect, if you haven’t been there before. I know you haven’t, Tuck, but what about you two?”

              Firnian and Thaylen both shook their heads. “We always usually go through intermediaries,” Firnian admitted.

              “All right then. I happened to accompany Giana on one of her last trips before the assassination, and it wasn’t pretty. If you have any sensitivity to suffering, now would be a good time to get out because suffering is pretty much the name of the game in the Darklands.”

              Tuck sighed. “And yet somehow a successful assassin union is based there.”

              “Not too surprising if you ask me,” Princess Ramia retorted. “This location we’re going to, the one where your ‘catering’ service is based out of? It’s deep in an area where we know there are a lot of plague sufferers, so no one who wants to remain healthy usually wants to go there.” She picked up a bag off of the floor. ���Here, when we get there, you’ll want these.”

              Tuck took the bag and opened it. It was full of surgical masks, made from antibacterial fabric. She raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t take you for the type to keep lost tech, Ramia.”

              Princess Ramia sighed. “I didn’t. This bag was Giana’s, I was keeping it for her as a favor.”

              Tuck nodded solemnly, taking four masks out of the bag and stuffing them into her satchel. Thaylen and Firnian took a handful each, before Tuck handed the bag back to Princess Ramia.

              “Another thing to keep in mind is that the Darklands Assassin Guild typically only accepts people who were already violent offenders either in Technasia or Litigia. It’s unlikely they would ever send an assassin to their home nation, but it’s happened before. I’m pretty sure our assassin from the other day is a Litigian, but don’t quote me on that.” Princess Ramia pulled out her notebook, flipping through the pages. “We were finally able to open his mouth without killing him, and got a good look at his teeth and his fingerprints, but they don’t match anything in my files.”

              Tuck was already unhooking the hand from her metal arm. “Should we be ready for a fight?”

              “Don’t go looking for one, but be ready to defend yourself,” Princess Ramia responded. Tuck nodded and reached back into her satchel, pulling out what appeared to be a spear head, which she attached to her arm.

              The procession arrived at the checkpoint, slowing and stopping at the feet of a guard standing in the middle of the road. He waved his hand at the driver. “What business have you here?”

              The driver called out. “Transport for two Princesses plus assistants into the Darklands.”

              The guard on the ground walked around to the side of the coach, over to the window, and looked inside. The eyes of Princess Ramia greeted him.

              “Ah, Your Highness, good to see you again.” The guard looked around in the coach. “Where is Princess Giana today?”

              Princess Ramia sighed and lowered her head. “I’m afraid she’s passed away, Lonny, I’m sorry.”

              Lonny took his helmet off to pay his respects, then looked back into the coach at Princess Ramia. “Your driver mentioned another Princess with you?”               Princess Ramia motioned toward Tuck. “May I present Princess Imogen Inperia. You can check with your superiors.”

              Lonny nodded, pulling out his hand slate and whipping a missive off. “And are you two the assistants?”

              Thaylen nodded respectfully. “Were accompanying Princess Imogen. Time is of the utmost importance.”

              Lonny nodded. “All right.” He opened a file on his hand slate, looking at the pictures of wanted fugitives. Firnian’s picture appeared, with a message about her status as a refugee. It also referenced Tuck as her sponsor. “All right, everything looks in order here.”

              The hand slate made a loud, uncomfortable noise, urging Lonny to open up a new missive. He read it carefully, then looked up at Princess Ramia.

              “I’m sorry, Your Highness, you’ve been called back to the Central Palace by Queen Guerrania.” He motioned to the entire party in the coach. “All of you.”

              Princess Ramia appeared put out. “Why is that? Why would she?” She took the hand slate from Lonny, looking at the missive. Her face scrunched into a grumpier expression as she continued reading.

              Tuck felt the situation deteriorating. She brought a hand up and tapped the driver on the thigh. “Go!” she whispered.

              The driver gave Tuck an uncomfortable look, then did as he was told by his Princess and urged his horses forward, though the security barricade. Lonny yelled. Princess Ramia was thrown back into the seat between Firnian and Thaylen. After a second’s recovery, Princess Ramia leaned forward toward Tuck. “What the hell was that?!”

              “Something was fishy about the amount of scrutiny we were getting.” Tuck motioned for Lonny’s hand slate, which Princess Ramia handed to the younger Princess. Tuck read over the missive.

              “Looked to me like a standard royal missive,” Princess Ramia mentioned. “Had the Queen’s seal as a watermark.”

              Tuck fiddled with the controls on the hand slate, searching through information embedded with the missive, until she found what she was looking for. “Ah, here it is. You were saying you can use the numbers as a locator for Thaylen’s caterer, check this out.”

              Tuck turned the hand slate around. Highlighted in the long stream of data on the slate’s face was one number: 580257.

              Princess Ramia nodded. “So it was fake.”

              “About as fake as the aluminum in those Litigian cogs.” She handed the hand slate back to Princess Ramia. “I think it’s a safe bet that the Darklands Assassins know we’re coming. Worse yet, I’d bet they’ve had someone from within Technasia tip them off to our trip.”

[davidrmaas]

Shadow or Substance?

SYNOPSIS:  The types and “shadows” of the old covenant find their substance in the Son, according to the book of Hebrews.

The epistle to the Hebrews develops its exhortation to persevere on the theme of fulfillment, what God has accomplished in His Son, Jesus Christ. God's past incomplete word has been superseded by the complete one "spoken" in His Son.

This letter was likely sent to a congregation with a significant complement of Jewish believers; most likely, it was in or near the city of Rome. The church had experienced persecution and was facing the possibility of renewed persecution (Hebrews 2:15, 10:32-34, 12:4, 13:24-25).

Consequently, some members began to withdraw from the assembly and contemplated a return to the synagogue. Returning to Judaism was one way to avoid persecution. Unlike Christianity, Judaism had legal standing in the Roman Empire. The government exempted Jews from certain requirements imposed on other groups. This included participation in the imperial cult (Hebrews 10:24-31).

In its early years, Christianity was perceived by Rome to be a Jewish sect. However, beginning in the middle of the 60s A.D., the Roman government began to view Christianity as a new and distinct religion. Eventually, it lost any legal protections it might have enjoyed previously. Following the destruction of the Jewish Temple in A.D. 70, the divide between church and synagogue became much more pronounced and scattered congregations found themselves on Rome’s radar screen.

The concern of the author of Hebrews was not theological but pastoral. His purpose was to prevent members of this assembly from leaving the faith and he strongly urged them to faithfulness and not to return to their former lives under Judaism (Hebrews 2:1-3, 3:6, 12-14, 4:1, 11-13, 6:1-12, 10:26-31, 35-39, 12:3-17, 13:9).

The book of Hebrews opens with a paragraph that sets the tone of the Letter.  It begins, “in many parts and many ways long ago God spoke to the fathers in the prophets; upon these last of days he spoke to us in a Son.” God did speak in the past but only partially, here a little, there a little. But with the advent of Jesus, He now speaks with finality in His Son (Hebrews 1:1-4).

God’s earlier word was true but promissory and incomplete. It prepared the way for His final and ultimate revelation in the Son. In this thematic passage, the author introduces angels and begins the first of a series of comparisons by which he contrasts what God has done in the past with what He is now doing in the Son.

Thus, the Son “became superior to the angels by as much as going beyond them, he inherited a more excellent name.” The purpose in the first chapter is not to digress into a discussion about the nature of Christ or angels, but to demonstrate the superiority of the Son over them.

The comparison of Chapter 1 leads to the first exhortation of the Letter, “If the word spoken through angels became firm and every transgression and disobedience received a just recompense, how shall we escape if we neglect” the superior word spoken in the Son? The author refers to a Jewish tradition that the Law or Torah was mediated to Moses by angels (Hebrews 2:1-4).

The purpose is not to disparage angels or the Law, but to point out the far greater danger of ignoring the vastly superior revelation now available in the Son. The author is arguing from the lesser to the greater.

Angels are God’s ministers and glorious. The Law was given by God and is just and excellent. Yet the word spoken through the Son is vastly superior to any word given through angels. Rejecting the superior revelation in Jesus will result in far greater punishment than disobedience to the Torah.

The Author next compares the Son to Moses, to Aaron, the Son’s Melchizedek priesthood to the Levitical priesthood, his sacrifice to the repeated sacrifices of the Tabernacle, and the Old Covenant to the New. In each case, he does not disparage the Old but demonstrates the clear superiority of what God has done in the New, in the Son (Hebrews 3:1-6, 5:1-10, 7:1-27, 9:26).

A dire warning against forsaking the Son follows each contrast. The comparison with angels ends with a warning not to “drift away” from the word spoken in the Son. The comparison to Moses produces a warning against being hardened through the deceitfulness of sin and unbelief (Hebrews 2:1-4, 3:1-4:16).

The initial description of his superior priesthood is followed by a dire warning against “falling away” and, thereby, going beyond the pale by once again publicly crucifying the Son and holding him up for public ridicule (Hebrews 6:1-8).

The more detailed exposition about the priesthood of Jesus, his superior sacrifice, and the New Covenant inaugurated by him is followed by a fourth warning against the dreadful fate that awaits those who desert the superior faith found in the Son:

(Hebrews 10:25-31) – “Anyone having set aside a law of Moses…dies. Of how much sorer punishment do you suppose he shall be accounted worthy, who has trampled underfoot the Son of God and esteemed the blood of the covenant a profane thing…”

The Law was incomplete and not without shortcomings. The fact that a new priesthood of a different order was necessary indicated the need for a change of law – “For the priesthood being changed, there is made of necessity a change also of the law”). There is a setting aside of the former commandment because of “its weakness and un-profitableness, for the Law was unable to perfect anyone” (Hebrews 7:11-22).

Jesus became the “guarantee of a better covenant”; he is the mediator of a “better covenant legislated on better promises.” If the first covenant had been complete or “faultless” there would have been no need for a second (Hebrews 8:7-13).

The Old Covenant with its system of sacrifices and offerings was ordained by God and the priests who served in the Tabernacle did render divine service, but only as “glimpse and shadow of the heavenly realities”, “copies” or “patterns” of the heavenly and real things (Hebrews 8:5, 9:9-10, 9:23).

In contrast, Jesus did not enter into the “copy” but into the very presence of God, “for the law having a shadow of the good things to come, not the very image of the things, can never with the same sacrifices year by year, which they offer continually, make perfect those who draw near” (Hebrews 9:24, 10:1).

In the case of this congregation, the temptation was not to revert to a grossly sinful or pagan life but to regress to the synagogue, to re-embrace the “shadow” of the Heavenly Reality revealed in Jesus. But this would amount to a rejection of God’s appointed high priest and the now open way of salvation, a retreat to the Old Regime already made obsolete by the New and vastly superior covenant established by the Son.

The underlying theme is one found throughout the New Testament: fulfillment. The Old has been superseded by the New. The Old was partial, consisting of shadows and types. The substance is found in the New. It is in Christ, not the Torah, Temple, or a Territory that “all the promises of God are Yea, and in him Amen!” (2 Corinthians 1:20).

Jesus is the interpretive key that unlocks the Hebrew scriptures, not vice versa. God defeated Sin, Satan, and Death, not on the altar of the Jerusalem Temple, but on Calvary outside the Temple and the city of Jerusalem.

As Paul wrote, we are “filled full in him who is the head of all principality and authority, in whom we have also been circumcised with a circumcision not made by hand…having been buried together with him in our baptism, we also have been raised together through our faith in the energizing of God, who raised him from among the dead.”

Though we were “dead in our offenses and by the uncircumcision of our flesh, he has brought us to life together with him, having in grace forgiven us all our offences, having blotted out the handwriting against us by the decrees…and having taken away the same nailing it up to the cross…Let no one, therefore, be disqualifying you in eating and in drinking, or in respect of feast, or new moon, or Sabbath, which are a shadow of the things to come, whereas the substance is of the Christ” (Colossians 2:9-17).

There is nothing inherently wrong with using Hebrew names, worshipping on Saturday, being circumcised, or keeping a kosher diet. Such things are matters of indifference to one’s standing before God. One does not sin by refusing to eat pork or to work on the Sabbath.

Where a line is crossed is when we begin to teach or believe that such things are still necessary to be full members of God’s covenant community, when we compel others to adopt Jewish customs and lifestyles, when we find it necessary to make the vastly superior revelation found in Jesus Christ conform to the partial revelations of the past, when reverting to the shadow becomes necessary for the completion or understanding of Christian faith.

If the fulfillment of God’s redemptive plan has arrived in the person of Jesus Christ, why return and embrace the shadows that he casts? In the final analysis, doing so is not a fuller revelation but regression to that which was always partial, fragmentary, and promissory, and not without fault.

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(Originally posted on disciplesglobal.org)