#miniature recording device

[izyrec]

Discover Limitless Possibilities with this Mini Voice Recorder

You could need to slide once to start recording. With the help of the iZYREC application, one can sync his smartphone with the voice recorder and listen to previous recordings, transfer the files to another device, or reorganize how the files appear with ease. You can also start and stop recording at any time using the app.

[surielstea]

Strings Attached

Based on this request.

Pairing: Helion x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader has had a crush on Helion for awhile now but feels inadequate when compared to the partners he brings to bed.

Warnings: fluff | Suggestive | Slight angst

3.3k words

The giggling in the room next to mine has me fighting back from hurling my guts out.

Helion was with yet another female tonight— perhaps multiple based on the sound emitting through the walls. Some part of me felt anger, everyone who was interested in the male seemed to get the chance to roll in the sheets with the High Lord while I sat in my room alone, trying to ignore the obnoxious thudding of the headboard against the connecting wall.

I put a sound shield over his room for him, he seemed to forget half the time which left me restless and annoyed.

Finally, at peace with the quiet, I release a soft sigh and my head comes down onto my pillow. The brunette that he led into his room tonight was particularly gorgeous, with long dark locks and beautiful caramel-colored skin. She was from the Summer court, cousin to the Day court. She looked like she'd been bathed in the sun, like not a single cloud had ever settled over her.

I was from the night court.

Born in the hewn city and fleeing the court entirely when Amarantha was defeated after those long years Under the Mountain.

It was noticeable I didn't belong in this court, this palace, the libraries, or the shops. I'd get looks of all sorts from strangers or other court members who thought it best for me to return to where I came from.

Helion made me his second in command after a few years of serving as his emissary. I've been with him for nearly a decade now and my feelings towards the high lord have yet to fizzle away. He's my best friend, yet I couldn't help imagining something more than just being on the sidelines, I wanted to be looked at the way he gazed at potential partners, wanted to be touched, and loved the way the females rave about as they're leaving the palace.

In between thoughts I manage to slip into a gentle sleep, a light slumber that I could easily be startled from. The large bed felt empty like I was drowning in it, like I needed someone next to me to make sure I didn't fall through the mattress.

________

I was standing at my workbench, bright light shining down onto my most recent invention. I peered through my magnifying glass at the inner mechanics, making sure all the gears shifted with each other as they spun. I've been fiddling with the small device for a while now but haven't been able to get it just right. "Let's try this again," I mumble before pressing the button atop the small cube. It makes a quiet beep and my brows shoot up. "Testing," I say into the microphone of the cube.

"You're so smart, starlight." A familiar voice makes me jump and I whirl around to face the High Lord. "You'd make the perfect high lady for this place." He hums and I flush, taking my eyes away from the handsome male and back to my invention. He walks over to me, the warmth of his skin radiating onto me. "What is it?" He tilts his head as he peers over my shoulder.

"A recording device," I say, glancing at him— which I realize was a bad idea because, Cauldron, he was so close. "If it works, we'll be able to start recording audio to put in our libraries for people who can't read,"  I explain and a soft smile curves his full lips.

"Genius." He hums. "It's not finished yet." I wave him off and press the button atop the recording device and set it down.

"Did you need something?" I turned to him fully, he wasn't wearing his crown or any golden jewelry, just glowing dark skin contrasted with his clean white robe. "I can't pester my favorite emissary?" He arches a brow, and my heartbeat quickens.

"I'm your only emissary." I remind him, cleaning up my workspace as he toys with a pair of miniature tweezers, his calloused hands seemingly too large to even hold the tool. "That doesn't mean you can't be my favorite." He mumbles, concentrating on picking up an even smaller screw from the desk with the tweezers.

"Helion," I pluck the tool from his hands and he pouts dramatically at me. "I was only going to ask if you'd like to join me for dinner, but you seem busy." He knocks on the wood as a farewell and takes a few steps away. "Wait," I look to him. "I could eat." I shrug and a wide smile spreads over his sharp features. "Follow me then."

Helion leads me down the halls of the palace, I still marveled at the beauty of this place despite living here for nearly a decade now. The high ceilings held up by large pillars, the floor-to-ceiling windows putting the Court outside on display in a decoration of its own, the crystal clear lake that spreads on the right side of the residence reflects the moonlight right onto the white palace, making it reflect and shimmer like a sun.

"Amilia?" Helion calls as we enter the long dining hall lit by golden chandeliers and tall, skinny candles. "Yes, my lord?" A kitchen maid scuffs into the room with bright green eyes and large voluminous curls. "I have a guest joining me for dinner, we'll need the table set for three." He informs and the maid bows her head with a soft smile. "Right away Lord Helion." She turns on her heel and shuffles towards the kitchen. "Thank you!" The male hums as she disappears behind the swinging doors.

"Three plates?" I ask curiously, coming up to his side. "Not just us?" I say and he looks at me with raised brows. "I have another courtier coming to meet with me from the Dawn court, but I'd be happy to cancel so it's just us." He offers and I shake my head, hair swishing with the movement. "That's alright, I won't disrupt your schedule." I brushed him off, even if a buried part of me felt disappointed. It's been some time since I had some alone time with Helion, he always seemed to be busy as High Lord— or spell cleaver.

I walked over to the table and took up the seat I always sat in, directly beside the head of the table, where Helion planted himself. A maid came over and poured both of us glasses of white wine. I thank her and she nods before skittering away.

The doors to the dining hall open and both Helion and I look up to spot a butler accompanying a gorgeous female clad in lilac and rose-colored robes that draped over her full frame in long sweeping motions. Her deep brown hair was combed up into an intricate style, and the golden bangles at her wrists clanked against each other as she walked in like she owned the place. "Lady Basu." Helion stands with a polite tone. "Please, my lord; call me Imara." She begs of him in a delicate voice. Is she the courtier from Dawn?

"Then you can call me Helion." The Lord gives her a seductive smile. I was going to need more wine.

Dinner was utterly delicious if it weren't for my need to hold back gags every time the two in front of me obnoxiously flirted, I watched as she noticeably stared at him while wrapping her perfect lips around her fork. They weren't even discussing anything pertaining to the courts, perhaps I was blinded by jealousy but what was the point of this female being here if she wasn't going to mention where her court lies with alliances?

"Amilia?" I call the maid, neither of them notice but the female shuffles over to me with an inquisitive expression. "Can I have some more wine?" I ask her. She nods her head and pours the pitcher until my glass is full again. "You know what, I think I'll just take this." I reach for the decanter and her brows raise slightly but she allows me to have the pitcher before I put it down onto the table. Helion looks at me with creased brows but I don't say anything.

"Are you enjoying the food Imara?" The high lord hums. "I've had better things in my mouth." She teased and I nearly choked. "Is that right?" Helion's reply only makes me drink deeper from the goblet, chugging down the rest of the liquid until I'm refilling the glass again.

The flirting grows so insufferable that I have to take a deep breath to control myself from yelling at them to keep it in their pants or take it to the bedroom. So instead I stand up, grabbing my wine glass, my chair loudly scraping against the floor.

"You okay?" Helion looks to me concerned. "Fine, just tired." I brush him off. "I think I might turn in early," I add and he only nods. "Sweet dreams, starlight." He hums. "Good to meet you Imari," I give her a wave. "You as well." She smiles at me even though she's been glaring at me all meal like I was a threat, as if Helion would ever choose me over some drop-dead gorgeous female offering herself so openly to him.

Helion's fingers intertwined with mine and I look at him curiously, his warm hand somehow heating the entirety of my body right down to my very bones. "Get good rest, alright?" He smiles sadly and I get the feeling that he wasn't originally going to say that, that he’s holding back.

"I should be the one telling you that." I joke as I drop his hand but he doesn't laugh, instead, he looks at me with something tender and wanting, that gaze that makes butterflies awaken in my stomach. I ignore it, giving him a nod before spinning on my heel and walking towards the doors, thanking the cooks and maids on my way out without another word.

______

My hangover was pounding into my skull as I stood at the kitchen counter, peeling an orange as my negligent breakfast. Luckily the morning was quiet, the bird’s song flowing in through the open windows, goldfinches perched on the aspen trees outside.

I hum along to the familiar tune with a gentle smile at the tranquility of it, everything going so smoothly until the smell of ginger and honey floats into the room and I know Helion has entered.

"Starlight," He grins widely as he approaches, his hands behind his back like he's hiding something. I narrow my eyes at him skeptically, wondering what it was he kept tucked away from my vision. "How are you so awake?" I sighed with a slow blink. "It's daytime," He looks to the window. "Should I not be awake?" He arches a brow. I shake my head and return to peeling the rind from my fruit.

"Have a good night?" I tilt my head. "Eh," He shrugs and I scoff, a small smile forming on my lips at his dissatisfaction, something like precedence blooming in my chest.

"I have something for you." He bounces slightly on his heels and I look at him unamused, my migraine slowly fizzling away as he gazes at me. "Do you now?" I tilt my head and he nods, pulling his hands from behind his back and revealing a small black box meant for jewelry. "I felt bad last night, you seemed upset so I got you these at the markets this morning." He explains before cracking open the lid of the velvet box and revealing a stunning pair of earrings. A clear sunstone gem framed by gold plates, the stone dangling from a golden clasp.

My brows raised as I looked between him and the expensive gift. "Helion I can't take this," I shake my head. "Sure you can." He urges me. "You can’t just give me things because I'm the slightest bit upset." I sigh, taking the box from him. "Sure I can." He reiterates and a small smile forms over my features. "Thank you," I say, taking the earrings out of their box right then and there before sliding them into my earlobes.

He smiles and tucks my hair behind my pointed ears. The male grins cheekily and I look at him, with stained cheeks. "What?" I cross my arms over my chest. "You're the most beautiful female I've ever seen." He states proudly. I chuckle and tear my gaze away from him, his expression falls. "I'm serious, you are." He nods his head and I only shake my head and continue to peel the tangerine.

"No, I am not." I toss the rind in the trash, trying to ignore the fact that the air in the room has gotten noticeably thicker. "Do you think I'd lie about such things?" He seems genuine which only makes me want to laugh more.

"You lie to me all the time." I shrug and he looks at me like I've gone crazy. "Nonsense, name a time." He commands and I roll my eyes. "Just yesterday you told me I'd make the perfect high lady for the day court." I remind and he twists his lips to the side. "That doesn't sound like me." He shakes his head. I deadpan at him before removing the small invention I've been working on from the pocket of my dress and pressing the button on the bottom.

"Testing," My voice emits from it, louder than planned and all too close to the microphone. "You're so smart starlight," another voice sounds from the speakers of the cube. "You'd make the perfect high lady for this place." It quoted and I glared at him before turning off the invention and putting it back into my pocket. "It works!" He says excitedly and I glare at him.

"Alright fine, so I did say that but still; I didn't lie." He argues and I huff out a grumble of curses. "I'm a truthful male." He drones as I return to picking the spongey white excess along with the fruit of my orange. "No, you're a flirt," I grumble. "Can't I be both?" He shrugs and I shake my head. "No, not if you're telling me I'm the most beautiful girl you've ever seen whilst bedding females ten times prettier than me." I defend and his jaw falls slack, slightly taken aback at my prepared remark. "But they're not prettier than you." He admits and I avoid his gaze that seemed to be analyzing every move I made.

"Stop lying." I grit out and he releases a sigh, his arms coming to either side of my waist, trapping me between his muscular frame and the counter.

"I'm not. You're out of my league." He says breathlessly as if he couldn't believe it. I turn to look at him, my brows pulled tensely. "Then why can't I be one of them?" I utter and he blinks. "One of what?" He asks, his dark brows quirking together. "One of the females you take to bed, if I'm. So beautiful then why haven't you shown it?"

The look on his face was pure shock, his ears perked up at the sound of vulnerability coming from me. I begin to grow embarrassed at what I just confessed.

"Starlight," He sighs, looking down at me with remorseful eyes. "Those partners mean nothing, there's no emotion. I'm simply admiring an art piece, there's no strings attached." He explains and I wait for him to tell me whatever art I am isn't good enough.

"I don't want that with you." He confesses and I swore my heart stopped.

I look up at him with tears welling in my eyes. I wasn't ready to confess and didn't have the confrontation skills to tell him how I truly felt. I swallow thickly and nod. "I understand," I mutter, dipping my head down. His large hand comes up to cup my cheek, tilting my head back and forcing my gaze back to his. "I want the strings attached, with you, is what I mean." He explains and I blink a few times to make sure the make that stands in front of me is real.

"What are you saying?" I need clarification, what does that make us, what can I bear to him without showing my soul in its entirety?

"I'm saying that I want you, for a lot longer than just a night." His hand slips from my cheek to curl around the back of my neck, his thumb stroking along my jaw. "Helion," I warn and his eyes are soft, this is real, he wants this as much as I do. "I know it's unprofessional but—" He begins to argue and I lunge upward, slinging my arms over his shoulders and planting my lips onto his.

He stumbles back, his other hand coming to my hips as he immediately kisses me back. I smile against the feel of it. Gods, he tasted like honey. I pull him closer, his chest pressing into mine as I balance on my toes just so I can reach up to him. He hums against my lips before pulling back with a knowing smile. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," I admit and his eyes gleam with pure affection.

"I have some idea." He reassured me before dipping down again and this time taking my mouth entirely, my lower back pressed against the counter behind me, his hands dipped down, sliding along every inch of my body until finding purchase at my thighs and hoisting me up onto the counter, my legs immediately wrapping around his torso as he pried my mouth open with his tongue and I allow him to explore every inch, I've dreamed of this, fantasized of this. Every male I've ever been with never amounted to what could've been with Helion, and now I have it and I was never going to give it up.

My hands go into his hair, dragging through the black locks as he presses his wanting hips into mine. I begin to work at the top of his robes, dipping it off his shoulder. He backs away with a restrained movement. "We can wait." He pants out. "We can go slow," he reassured, staring at me with every ounce of self-discipline he possessed. "I don't want to wait," I shake my head. "I need you now," I add and a smile curves his lips— then a soft gasp releases from his lips, looking at the center of my chest with creased brows.

A sudden sort of devotion overwhelms my body and I look down, spotting a golden string, sprouting from my abdomen and tethering directly to his. "Mate," I mumble, the only thought racing through my head. My body heats at the realization and when he pulls me into a kiss this time it's pure adoration, in every movement he holds utmost love and respect.

"You're my mate," I mumble into his mouth and he nods with a smirk on his lips. "Wait—" I say and he immediately rears back. I turn to look beside me, the freshly peeled orange untouched on its plate. I pick the fruit up and split it into two. "Eat." I hold the tangerine out toward him. His expression turns into something tender and he takes the fruit, taking no time to consume the citrusy fruit, handing me the other half and beckoning me to eat too. I smile and peel one slice off and pop it into my mouth.

A sudden smell of arousal takes over the space and as soon as I swallow down the slice his lips are on mine, his hands pulling me closer, kissing me deeper, harder. He tasted of citrus and that fact fueled every nerve in my body. Mates, we're mated. His tongue enters my mouth again and the mating frenzy seems to take him full throttle. He winnows us into his quarters, carrying me towards his bed.

Something told me we wouldn't be leaving this bedroom for weeks.

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glam-targaryen @going-through-shit @fauxdette @impossibelle @amara-moonlight @webecheesy-blog @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogersbarnesxx

[postdeathapocalypse]

[Sounds of incredibly heavy rainfall are heard around Headlock, some of these droplets hit whatever device he is currently recording this with, and given the bitrate; They sound like explosions. There are hurried, heavy footsteps being picked up alongside the rain.] THIS PLANET HAS "MONSOON SEASONS", WHAT THE FUCK IS A MONSOON. WHY IS THERE SO MUCH RAIN. THEY ARE TRYING TO DROWN ME IN THIS SHITHOLE, I CANNOT SEE- [Every word is like a miniature explosion, and when video unexpectedly loads, the quality of the footage confirms that whatever Headlock is using, MySpace users back in 2006 Before-Union had better technology.]

[inexplicablepeas]

The Surface of the Abyss

Drabble written for Marius/Daniel Week (@maridaniweek).

Day 5: typewritten notes / deep waters

Marius holds in a breath he never needed to take as he reads the typewritten page. With an exhale of some small relief and a hum of consideration he places it back on the pile of typed paper next to the typewriter. It sits on it's own little desk in the corner of this chaotic room. This is where Daniel has taken to spending his nights obsessively working on his little miniature towns and cities. The space is dominated by a huge dining table, a little too big for the room really, which is two thirds covered in a growing cityscape. Models in progress and all kinds of other crafting materials and tools litter the rest of the table and every other available surface in the room.

He's certain this is a good sign, this page imprinted with the uniform, boldly inked markings of a typewriter. He had placed the (already rather outdated) device here in this room a number of weeks ago. He was uncertain that Daniel would take any interest in it, so single minded is he about his models these days. Most nights, the good nights, he gets up and makes his way straight to this room, silently starts his work. Marius isn't sure what it means, this obsession. He cannot deny that his mind seems a bit more... ordered while he works on this little world. So he has encouraged it.

It is surely an improvement on how he spent his nights before, staring into the space in front of him, or gazing blankly, and seemingly uncomprehendingly, at the huge television in the lounge, on the occasions he allowed Marius to sit him in front of it. Marius has tried reading to him sometimes, it was clear that he wasn't really following any story he read though, just contentedly absorbing the sound of his voice if anything.

And still, on the nights he does not go straight to work on this project of his, he may not move at all, he can just lie for hours in the dark in in his below-ground room well after the sun has set. On those nights, despite his stillness, his mind is often a chaotic whirl of images, his heart sometimes races at a concerning pace... As he works on the models, on the other hand, sometimes memories surface all the same, but his mind seems in a calmer state, the memories have a little more context... it's almost a narrative. And he thinks that may be just what he needs - narrative. After all, Daniel is a story teller. That was his vocation before knowledge of their kind consumed his mortal life.

And for Marius narrative has always been something that has kept him grounded when the weight of time presses down on him, when he feels he may be swept up in it's unrelenting currents, might lose himself entirely in a bewildering new century. The exercise of recording has always calmed him, helped him to put things in order. Countless thousands of pages he's written over the years, most lost or burnt...

He saw the typewriter in Daniel's mind one night as he worked away – that's what had given him the idea, the image of his long, elegant fingers clacking away on a typewriter in a motel room, absorbed in transcribing from a tape, the memory continued on and suddenly he froze, a spike of panic going through him. He had the sense that he was being watched, staring at the empty blackness of the room's window for a beat, hitting stop on the tape player and forcing himself shakily to get up and close the curtains, staring distractedly for a little too long at the quiet parking lot before pulling the thin curtains shut. Sat back in front of the typewriter, lit a cigarette with unsteady hands. The thought cut off there as Daniel put the model in his hands down to search the cluttered table for a particular tube of paint.

For the next few nights, after making sure that Daniel was fed and settled with his models, Marius went out alone to hunt the second hand stores of the surrounding area for the right machine. Marius himself had used a number of typewriters off and on throughout the years, he always liked the satisfying clack of the keys. The staccato press of his fingers on the machine so different from the flow of a stylus or quill, for a time he had been enchanted with them. He didn't bring any of those machines with him to this dwelling, now he has a rather cutting edge word processor in a humming little plastic box of a computer in the study upstairs, and pen paper of course, when a more individual touch feels appropriate. But he thought that it might be best for Daniel to try using what he's most familiar with, so he went looking for an electronic typewriter like the one he saw in his memories.

After three nights of searching the cluttered little second hand shops in nearby towns he spotted just what he was looking for, an old Selectric typewriter. A similar model to one he had himself some years ago - sitting on a low shelf surrounded by colorful board games in battered boxes. It even had a couple of ink ribbons with it. He made the purchase, insistently overpaid for it, and spirited the little machine back home.

He wasn't sure how to approach it, how to get Daniel's attention. He brought a little desk down from upstairs and set the machine on it in a corner of the room, without saying a word. Daniel was undisturbed by the activity. He was on the floor, working away at gluing the parts of a minute little house together. Marius crouched down in front of him, studying him gravely, this spare, pallid boy-man, surrounded by crafting detritus as he was, sticking his tongue out as he concentrated on his work, seemingly oblivious to his presence. He cleared his throat, which did not draw his attention in any noticeable way. He started talking to him anyway. He knows some part of him hears him, he just chooses what he pays attention to.

"Daniel, I found this in town – this older model of typewriter, from your time. Quite a lovely machine. I thought you might like to put down some of your thoughts," done gluing the house, he turned his back to him, went up on his knees to set it down on the empty part of the table to dry, "I'll leave it in here, by the door, if you feel like using it. It might help you... make sense of things... put them in order perhaps," Marius continued to study him intensely. Daniel had turned his head, so that Marius saw a side profile, as he stared off into space for a moment. His mouth momentarily quirked into a cynical little smile before he went back to assembling another building.

He had tried this with Amadeo too. Of course, his mind was locked to him after he turned him, and he went through those periods of awful, withdrawn silence. Those silences frightened him so, not knowing what troubled him or how he could help him. Marius tried forcing him to record his thoughts in ink on paper, in the hope that it would ease his solitary suffering, in the hope that in reading what he wrote that he would know how to help him. And he thinks it did help him, even just the exercise of it, at least for a short while...

It helps that he can see the content of Daniel's mind, but the lack of order disturbs him, flashes of faces, swirling colors, noise rising into a cacophony before dying away. Often Armand is there: clad in denim like a youth of this time and looming over him in some dim, ruined place, staring at him with those huge, steady and ever mysterious eyes through a crowd, just flashes of images, and fragments of thought and sound, all a jumble. Marius has rarely seen anything surface from before the boy's fateful interview with Louis, that gentle and thoughtful creature who put his world to ruin in a single night. But here on this page – he has gone back and written of his youth, in fact of that first spark that ignited in him that lost passion to record the stories of others. And he has written it with such clarity! Clarity the likes of which he has scarce seen this young immortal capable of. He's sure that this is the key to restoring him to some kind of lucidity of mind - putting some order to the events of his life. Connecting this child on the page with the powerful yet confused creature he has become. This is perhaps a start.

[gravityglitch-blog]

As we're approaching the release of the third Sonic movie, I wanted to write a short fic about the Ark siblings.

Echoes of Grief

Stepping into the ruins of the ARK, in search of answers, Sonic felt like he was entering a mausaleum.

He swore he could hear blurry conversations of unfamiliar voices echoing off the metal walls.

It gave him the unholy creeps, but there was no way he'd ever let his brothers know that.

Knuckles and Tails had gone to investigate the east sector. Sonic had volunteered to take the west by himself, insisting he could handle whatever he might find. He heartily regretted his decision as he passed through room after room, broken equipment and half-finished experiments keeping watch like sentinels in a mechanical graveyard.

"Yeah," he muttered to himself. "This place definitely has Eggman written all over it."

Though he hated to admit it, his confidence was also badly shaken. His muscles still ached from the beating he'd taken from that new hedgehog earlier. Between the flashes of pain, he'd managed to learn that the stranger's name was Shadow. As he'd left Sonic and his brothers sprawled and hurting in the street, he'd also heard him say the name "Maria" in a low whisper, as though reciting something to himself.

This, along with the info they'd been able to wrestle from GUN and their unstable alliance with Robotnik, had led them here.

The stranger had been born in this place. Somewhere among these dusty ghosts, there had to be something that could help them.

A key to his past, or his power.

Sonic stumbled across a room that instantly stood out from the rest. It was larger, for one thing. More open, home to a bed, a collection of long-abandoned toys and a small library. Faded watercolor paintings were taped to the walls, each depicting childishly drawn landscapes in different seasons.

A kid's room? Why would a kid have been in this bleak place?

Sonic cautiously stepped inside, approaching one of the paintings. Written in the bottom corner in slightly wobbly cursive were the words, "by Maria and Shadow."

A glimmer of blue light beckoned Sonic deeper into the room. Nestled among some art supplies was a small disc, with a dot of blue light blinking in the center. Despite lying forgotten for more than fifty years, this device had somehow retained some power. Before he could second-guess his choice, Sonic pressed the blue light.

A hologram materialized before him, like a miniature movie screen.

"A recording device," Sonic breathed, only now realizing he might have triggered a disaster by blindly messing with Eggman tech.

The hologram portrayed a young girl, maybe eleven, hardly older, with long blonde hair and dark smudges under her eyes. At first, Sonic thought whoever this was had just missed out on a good night's sleep, but a few seconds more erased this idea. There was something about the way she moved, the dull cast to her skin, that spoke of illness.

"Dear Diary," the girl said into the camera.

Sonic almost felt like she was talking to him.

"Maria here. Who else would it be, right?"

She lowered her head to cough a few times into her right shoulder, which Sonic could now see was covered in bandages and the marks of iv needles, old and new. "It's been one of my bad days. The new treatments aren't going as well as Grandpa hoped. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sad or scared. I wish this pain would just leave me alone so I coud go home."

Then, however despondent she had just sounded, the girl managed a smile.

Sonic felt his heart squeeze in empathy for her.

"Thing is, it's hard for me to be too sad today. Look."

She turned her body so that the camera could see her left side. Her long hair cascaded over her left shoulder, just as it did on her right, but here it looked...taller?

Maria lifted up that left segment of hair to reveal a tiny red and black furred creature asleep on her shoulder, curled into a spiky ball.

"Meet my new friend, Shadow the Hedgehog."

Sonic barely stopped his jaw from hitting the floor.

How had that grown into the storm of rage that had kicked their butts such a short time ago?!

"Grandpa calls him the Ultimate Lifeform," Maria on the recording continued. "He's supposed to be the key to finding a cure for what's wrong with me. But you know something, Diary? When I look at him, I don't care about any of that. I just want him to grow up with me, happy and safe."

Maria ducked her head to gently boop her nose against tiny Shadow's.

"I love you, little one," she whispered, so soft the camera's audio sensors nearly didn't pick it up. "I will protect you with my whole life. I promise."

Tiny Shadow's response to this was a yawn, exposing a small singular fang, and then to hide himself in Maria's hair again. Her responding giggle was drowned by the hologram dissolving into static.

Sonic was about to press the blue light again, to turn off the device, when a new image appeared. It was the very room he now stood in, but this time decorated with streamers and golden fairy lights. In the center of the picture was a pink cake, with the words "Happy Birthday Maria" surrounded by buttercream daisies.

Maria, looking at bit older and just the tiniest bit brighter, leaned into the frame and waved.

"Hi, Diary!" she chirped. "I'm actually feeling all right today. The doctors say it's that new therapy, but I know the real reason. It's because I don't have to be alone anymore. Say hi, Shadow!"

The camera lurched, and Sonic almost stumbled over laughing.

The hologram displayed Shadow, looking more like his current self but still obviously a child, sitting on the bed. He wore a colorful birthday hat and a grumpy expression. His arms were folded defiantly over his chest, but he still gave a quick wave.

Maria turned the camera back on herself.

"Don't let him fool you, he's having fun. Oh, and look at the present Grandpa got me! It's my favorite song!"

She held up the cover of a vinyl single. Sonic squinted to read the title. 

"Only Yesterday" by the Carpenters.

Maria disappeared from the frame for a moment. A needle scratch hiss, and the song began to play. She did a few silly steps in the center of her room, quietly singing along even when Sonic could tell she was running out of breath.

"Maria," Shadow entered the camera's view, just barely tall enough to do so. His voice had the slight catch of oncoming change. "You're starting to get tired. You should rest now."

"I know," she replied, one hand over her overworked heart. "I just wanted to enjoy my day. Shadow...will you sing with me? Just one part? No one will ever see this, I promise!"

"Mariiiaaa," Shadow whined.

Sonic snickered at this. It was so funny to see this harbinger of destruction act like a moody kid. "It's embarrassing!"

Maria guaranteed her point when she knelt beside Shadow and gathered him into a hug, her eyes almost comically wide.

Puppy eyes, Sonic thought. He knew that look well. He got it from Tails often enough.

Hologram Shadow gave a long-suffering sigh before launching into the next verse. It was impossible to miss the smile on his face as he looked at Maria.

"I have found my home here in your arms," he sang, surprisingly well. "Nowhere else on earth I'd really rather be."

Maria gave him an extra little hug and continued the song.

"Life waits for us

Share it with me

The best is about to be

And so much is left for us to see."

Shadow laughed and leaned upward, nudging his face against Maria's.

There was no mistaking that look.

It was the same Sonic felt whenever he'd done something to make his family happy or proud.

Love. This girl, this Maria, had been Shadow's family, and he'd loved her immensely.

The hologram faded into static again, but it still had one more story to tell.

This time Maria was lying in a hospital bed, holding the recording device as far away as the wires ensnaring her would allow.

"Hey, Diary," she greeted, her voice thin and raspy. "This entry's not really mine, but Shadow's. He's growing up so much, and he's so smart! He's going to read to me while I wait for my next test. I'm so proud of him, I wanted to record it. Sometimes I can't remember things very well after these flare-ups."

She propped up the device on a bedside table. Sonic could hardly see her now, but a Shadow closer to the one he'd met in Japan sat at her bedside, a book in his hands. A glance at the cover revealed it to be "Sleeping Beauty."

He wove the story of a young princess cursed into eternal slumber. The spell spread to the king, queen, even the loyal knight sworn to protect her, until some far-flung day when the curse could be broken.

Before Shadow could read that chapter, Maria, who had been peacefully quiet up until now, was stricken by a harsh coughing fit.

Sonic could see her hands scrambling for a tissue to cover her mouth. When she pulled it away, it was covered with a spray of blood.

Fear shone like siren lights in Shadow's eyes. "No," he gasped. "Not again! Professor! Professor, come quickly!"

He sprinted out of the seat, knocking over the recording device. The hologram finally went black and winked out of existence.

Sonic placed the little disc gently back in its place, turning over all he'd just seen in his mind. He almost missed it when Knuckles and Tails were shouting for him.

"In here!" Sonic responded, poking his head out of the room and waving to them.

When they joined him, he asked, "Did you guys find anything?"

"Nothing of use," Knuckles grumbled. "Just more of Robotnik's broken toys."

"Man, I would have loved to have seen this place in its prime," Tails said admiringly.

"And you?" Knuckles asked. "Did you find any clue to the heart of our enemy?"

"Actually," Sonic answered. His eyes traveled back to Maria's diary. "I think I did."

Another post of mine that contains music?

It's more common than you might think.

I'm working with the headcanon that Shadow and Maria lived on the Ark during the seventies, and this is one of my favorite songs from that era.

[liriostigre]

Hiiii ty for such a great uquiz!! Would it be possible to see the description of all the books you could get matched to? I’m curious what the vibes are for the rest!!

hi 🌷 here you go:

White Teeth by Zadie Smith: Excessive, maximalist and very ambitious multigenerational and multicultural epic novel that starts with the unlikely friendship between Archie Jones and Samad Iqbal. It explores themes of race, identity and the intersections of culture, heritage, and modernity. Clever and hilarious dialogue, very creative when it comes to language and style, unique and bold when it comes to narrative. Perhaps a flawed novel due to its ambition, but excellent nonetheless.

Despair by Vladimir Nabokov: Excellent writing; very ambitious and stylish. It is somewhat a twisted novel but you will find a lot of humor despite. The narrator speaks directly to the reader as he writes what he regards as his perfect crime. This novel is one of Nabokov's earliest works in which one can easily identify themes and literary devices that the author explored later in his most known works.

The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño: Brilliant and stunning novel about poets and poetry! Very dense and challenging; it requires patience from the reader. This novel is so infinitely dear to me that i can't even explain its brilliance, but i have to give you at least an idea of the plot so: The story is arranged in three parts and told from multiple points of view. It starts in Mexico City, in the 70s, and continues across decades and continents. It follows the adventures and misadventures of Arturo Belano and Ulises Lima—poets, drug dealers, wanderes, criminals. Now, about the themes, the writing, the style, the narration? Just absolutely perfect even at its most tedious, difficult and anticlimactic parts.

The Hearing Trumpet by Leonora Carrington: Unconventional, absurd, imaginative and exuberantly surreal apocalyptic fairytale quest. It follows 92 year old Marian who is sent off to a peculiar old-age home. If you aren't familiar with Leanora Carrington's art you should look at some of her paintings because this wonderful novel feels just like her surrealist paintings!

Mrs. Caliban by Rachel Ingalls: This novella tells the story of a love affair between a depressed suburban housewife and an amphibian creature who escaped a scientific research center. It might sound like a quirky fiction story but it actually deals with the most mundane and banal aspects of life and human relationships. Brilliantly written; neat and precise prose, wonderful storytelling. The author knew what she was doing and not a single word she wrote was wasted.

The Borrowers by Mary Norton: Delicately written little adventure about tiny people who live in the secret places of houses. I am enamored (obsessed!!) with miniatures—dollhouses, dioramas, fairies—so imagine how dear this book is to me.

Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn: The murders of two girls bring reporter Camille Preaker back to her hometown. As she works to uncover the truth about those crimes, Camille finds herself forced to unravel the psychological puzzle of her own past. Very entertaining read. It has best seller written all over it (which might not be the biggest compliment lol but i mean for this genre so it is a compliment).

Rage by Sergio Bizzio: Claustrophobic, anxiety inducing, fast-paced psychological thriller that made me think of Bong Joon-ho's Parasite the whole 4 hours it took me to read it. I read it in it's original language, Spanish, and i particularly loved the dialogue; its idiosyncrasies and authenticity (tqm Argentina!)

High Fidelity by Nick Hornby: Rob, an obsessive music fan, reminisces his top five worst break ups to understand his most recent heartbreak. He is a very arrogant and cynical guy who defines his entire life through records, and because he is constantly interacting with music that almost exclusively deals with love—and a very idealistic version of it—he finds himself unsatisfied with the way his life has turned out.

[karis-online-archives]

Hello and welcome to today's episode of Nerd Knowlege with Kari!

Today's theme was suggested by @rat-in-a-suit, shout out to you :D

Today we will talk about Cassetes!

I am very bold to assume that not everyone knows what this is so here's a quick definition:

a sealed plastic unit containing a length of audio tape, videotape, film, etc. wound on a pair of spools, for insertion into a recorder, playback device, or other machine

(Definition from Oxford Languages Dictionary)

Now that you have a brief idea of what it is I want to explain to you how they're built, who came up with them, and when they started to be sold.

Compact Cassettes have two miniature spools between those there is the magnetically coated, polyester-type plastic film (Also called magnetic tape. Side fact: The original magnetic material was based on gamma ferric oxide Fe2O3).

The audio is recorded onto it by using the incoming sound wave, having been converted by a microphone into an electrical signal, which produces a time-varying magnetic field in the gap of the magnet. As the tape moves past the recording head, the powder is magnetized in such a way that the tape carries a record of the electric signal.

Now that that is out of the way we can finally discover who came up with these beautiful sound devices.

The Cassette tape was invented by a Dutchman called Lou Ottens (21.06.1926 - 6.03.2021) and his team at the company Phillips, they released the first Cassette in 1963.

Short after the Walkman was released to the market, a Walkman is a portable cassette player, they were brought to the market by Sony (who else honestly) on the 1st of July 1979 (The model was named TPS-L2 which I found on eBay for a whopping 2000 Euros or 2177,50 US Dollars)

Shortly after the Cassette, we got CDs then iPods and now we have online streaming platforms too! This makes music easily accessible to everyone!

So put on your favorite music and enjoy the rest of your day or night!

Logging off,

Kari

[21/07/2024]

[materialsscienceandengineering]

New InP-based modulator with record-high bit rates could help move more data faster

As data traffic continues to increase, there is a critical need for miniaturized optical transmitters and receivers that operate with high-order multi-level modulation formats and faster data transmission rates. In an important step toward fulfilling this requirement, researchers have developed a new compact indium phosphide (InP)-based coherent driver modulator (CDM) and showed that it can achieve a record high baud rate and transmission capacity per wavelength compared to other CDMs. CDMs are optical transmitters used in optical communication systems that can put information on light by modulating the amplitude and phase before it is transmitted through optical fiber. "Services that require data capacity, such as video distribution and web conferencing services, have become widespread, and services that more enrich our lives are expected to be introduced in the future," said Josuke Ozaki from NTT Innovative Devices Corporation in Japan.

Read more.

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Chapter 14: Ruusaar (Second Chances - Hunter x reader)

Ruusaar. n. foundation.

Chapter Summary: Reunited with your squad, you and Hunter come to an understanding.

Chapter Warnings: canon compliant as far as Echo going with Rex to fight for his brothers; I nearly cried writing this one, y'all, so angst but also feelings!; if I missed anything, please let me know!

Word Count: 2,421

Read it here on AO3!

< Previous chapter | Next chapter >

You scramble to your feet, heart stuttering in your chest. “Hunter, where. Is. Echo?” 

“He’s not dead,” he says. He pushes to his feet, a few loose curls bouncing on his forehead. “He’s...well, I’m not sure where he is, exactly.” 

Your knees nearly give out as relief crashes over you. He’s alive. Only Omega’s hand slipping into your own helps to ground you, keep you steady. Meeting her red-rimmed eyes, tears prickle in your nose. 

“Explain,” you say, looking back up to Hunter. 

Lips pressed into a thin line, he nods once, before leading you to the cockpit. The wash of the hyperspace vortex is familiar—but the empty co-pilot seat shatters the otherwise comforting sight. Tech glances over his shoulder in acknowledgement of your entrance. 

Hunter lowers himself into one of the other seats, and you mirror him across the small space. Crawling into your lap, Omega curls up against your chest; you wrap your arms around her, a surge of protective warmth blanketing you. You’re home. You’re safe. You’re okay. 

Wrecker sidles into the cockpit and silently takes the remaining empty seat, the co-pilot chair. His usually happy and unbothered expression is drawn and tired, eyes downcast. A trill of alarm flits through you. You glance at Hunter for reassurance.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Hunter sighs. “We were on Coruscant a few standard weeks ago.” 

Jaw dropping, you narrow your eyes at him, feeling a little betrayed. The entire time you’ve known these men, protecting Omega has been their number one priority—going to the literal heart of the Empire is probably the most counterintuitive move they could have made. And they made it without you. 

Hunter drops his eyes from yours, grimacing. He continues, “An...old friend needed help with something. It had to do with other clones. We couldn’t say no. Echo decided to stay with our friend to keep helping other clones get free of the Empire.” Rummaging in one of his pockets, he pulls out a smooth, black holopuck. “Here.” 

You catch the puck in one hand. Pressing the button, a miniature blue hologram of Echo gutters to life. Omega shifts in your lap; you hold the puck so she can see the holo, too. 

“Nav,” the recording starts, and you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips. Echo continues, “Listen. I don’t know when this will make its way to you, but you deserve to know that I don’t blame you. There are no easy answers these days. 

“I’m going to work with an underground network to free clones from the Empire and fight for clone rights. My comms will be off. But send me messages; I’ll see them...whenever I come back online.” The image of Echo grins bashfully and rubs at the back of his neck. “Not sure how often that’ll be. But I’ll comm you all as soon as I’m able, just so you know I’m alive.

“Take care of the kid, Nav. And take care of Hunter. Ask him—” Echo’s gaze draws away from the recording device, and in the background are muffled voices, Tech calling for the drop out of hyperspace, if you had to guess. “Well, that’s my cue. I’ll see you around, Nav.” 

With that, the blue glow fades. 

Omega sniffles, burying her face against your shoulder. You mindlessly rub her back, drawing soothing circles. Your own face is wet with tears. Hunter offers you a tight, sad smile. 

“I know you and Echo were close,” he says, his voice soft, softer than it should be. 

You can only nod. “How—” Your voice breaks, and you clear your throat. “How long ago was this?” 

“Two standard weeks, give or take,” Tech says. “Our friend contacted us not long after we left Iridonia. We completed another unsuccessful mission for Cid. The Marauder was stolen; we retrieved it, obviously, and then we received the transmission. We thought it was you.” 

Wrecker perks up at this part of the story. “Yeah! We took a vote and went back for you.” He grins and says, “We all voted to go.” 

You glance between him and Tech, before your gaze settles once more on Hunter, who is avoiding looking at you. “All of you?” 

Hunter meets your eyes for a fleeting moment—long enough, though, that you recognize the pain behind the shield he’s thrown up around himself: It’s the same pain that’s lodged itself between your lungs and breastbone since they left. When he drops his gaze again, he nods slowly. “All of us.” 

“Well,” you say, warmth creeping up your neck, “thanks for that.” 

Tech swivels his seat around. “Now I believe it is your turn to explain. What were you doing in an Imperial detention facility? And if that transmission did not come from you, who sent it?” 

You squeeze Omega a little tighter, unsure how she, of all of them, will react to this news. After a moment, you say, “I think it was Crosshair.” 

Drawing back from your embrace, Omega peers up at you with wide eyes, a glimmer of hope overtaking her expression. Wrecker’s jaw drops, while Hunter works his. 

“Explain,” Tech repeats. 

You recount the appearance of the strange ship, your encounter with the sand lion, the brief conversation with Crosshair before he stunned you, and the time spent in his ship. You don’t omit any details, not anymore. They deserve the truth, and you deserve to tell it.

When you mention the name Tarkin, each of them tense, glancing at one another. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“Tarkin’s no friend to clones,” Hunter says, a bite of anger in his voice. “If he’s after you, he’s after us.”

“We’ll be safe, though, right?” Omega says. “Maybe he still thinks we’re dead. After all, if Crosshair survived on Kamino and told the Empire we escaped, why haven’t they been chasing us?” 

“Good point, kid,” you murmur. She flashes a toothy smile, before her face drops again. 

“So, Crosshair is a good guy again?” Wrecker asks. His brow is furrowed in genuine confusion. 

“He is still working for the Empire,” Tech says, “so that part is unclear.” 

Hunter catches your attention, his eyebrows raising just a fraction, asking a silent question that you’re relieved you can still decipher. You nod; he leans back, face vacant, staring into the middle distance. 

“Let’s say he hasn’t told the Empire you’re all alive. He also used a comm frequency that can no longer be traced because it’s off-world,” you say, holding up fingers as you list evidence. “He waited until after I was in custody so it couldn’t be pinned on him. And unless another clone has taken up the habit of carrying toothpicks, who else would have left one with my pack?” You shake your head. “I don’t know about ‘good guy,’ but...” 

“He helped us,” Hunter says, quiet, thoughtful. “For now, that’s going to have to be good enough.” 

“Do you think...” Omega’s voice trails off, like she’s afraid to finish her question. 

You shrug with one shoulder. “I dunno, kid. Crosshair has to make his own decisions.” 

She slips from your lap and pads across the cockpit to curl up in Wrecker’s grasp instead. Cold without her, you tug your legs up to your chest, resting your chin on one knee. The five of you sit in silence. Today has been a whirlwind. Somehow, you wonder if being captured and brought to Coruscant hasn’t left the squad in a worse spot than if you had just...told them about your past in the first place. An admiral knows your name now. Who else in the Empire has accessed your file? Brain cycling through progressively more and more anxiety-fueled thoughts, you lose track of time.

A soft blip-blip-blip from the control console breaks you out of your spiral. Blinking, you peer at Tech, who eases the ship out of hyperspace. Through the viewport, you stare out into the vast black void, dotted by specks of burning gas. Another few moments, and Tech throws the lever once again, sending the ship hurtling through another hyperlane. 

Omega has fallen asleep on Wrecker. Gently, he cradles her closer, then stands with more care than you’ve ever seen him move. The girl doesn’t even stir. Sending you a soft smile, Wrecker ducks out of the cockpit to put Omega in her room; when he doesn’t return, you figure he’s probably gone to sleep, as well. 

Sleep sounds nice, but despite your aching eyes, a fresh knot of tension has twisted your heart up, and you know you won’t find rest until it passes. 

“You guys should rest,” you say, voice hoarse. “I’ll take watch.” 

Hunter begins, “You don’t have—” 

You hold up one hand, and he falls silent. “Please,” you say. “Let me do this.” 

Tech offers no argument, and, unlocking his datapad, shuffles out of the cockpit with a mumbled, “Goodnight.” When the door swishes shut behind him, you thud your head back against the headrest. Hunter, though, remains in his seat across from you. You study each other for what could be moments, or could be hours. You don’t know, and right now, you don’t have it in you to care. You’re home; that’s all that matters. 

Echo’s words drift to the forefront of your mind. Take care of the kid, Nav. Like you weren’t already planning to do that. But it’s his request that you take care of Hunter that has you stumped. Sure, Echo was the first to realize you harbored a crush on Hunter, but taking care of him? And what was he going to tell you to ask Hunter? 

Swallowing against the sudden lump in your throat, you worry your lip. “Hunter.” 

His gaze flicks to you. In the blue-white lights of hyperspace, half of his face is hidden in shadow—the un-inked side, giving him an intimidating presence. Or it would be intimidating, if you didn’t recognize the deep well of exhaustion and confusion in his glimmering eyes. His mask has dropped, you realize. Shoulders slumped forward, permanent frown, chest rising with shallow breaths: you’ve never seen him this stressed. Maybe he’s just never shown you this side of him before. 

You continue, “Thank you. Really. You didn’t have to come back, and I’m grateful you did. I owe you. All of you.” 

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, pressing his fists against his eyes. He draws the bandana off as he sits up straight again. Free, his curls cascade over his forehead and tumble to his shoulders. You want to freeze him here, take a holoscan, do something to capture the way he looks in this moment. Without the bandana, he looks so...young. Scared. 

“You owe us more than that, Nav,” he finally says, voice low and scratchy. “But we came back because we don’t leave one of our own behind.” 

You consider his words, weighing your own. Is that what I am, one of yours? is what you want to say. Instead, you sigh. “What about Crosshair?” 

“Like you said, he has to make his own decisions.” Hunter searches your face. “We’d welcome him back if that’s the next choice he made.” 

There are so many things you want to say in this moment. Apologies, explanations, questions, answers: none of the words feel right, none of them string together in ways that make sense to you. You want to ask about Crosshair’s scars. You want to know every detail of what happened while you were gone. Kriff, you just want him to tell you where you stand. 

Slowly, telegraphing every movement before you make it, giving him ample time to get up and leave, you make your way across the cockpit. He merely looks up at you, head tilted to the side. When you raise your eyebrows in your own silent question, he hesitates for only a moment before opening his arms. Trembling, you settle into his lap, much like you had that night on Quantxi. His body is warm, almost hot; his arms are strong where they rest around you. You want to cry. 

“Are we going to be okay?” you whisper. 

He looks down at you for a long moment. This close, you spy the freckles hidden beneath his tattoo, admire the lines and creases around his eyes, study the depths of his gray irises. He’s so close that his warm breath puffs across your face. 

“I was...” He shakes his head, thumping his head back against the seat. “I am angry with you for lying to us—to me. But these past two weeks....” He falls silent again. Then, quietly, so quiet that you’re only certain he speaks because you’re pressed against him: “I missed you more than... more than I thought I would.” 

Your heart leaps. “Let me fix this. Let me make everything up to you.” 

“I’m not good at this,” he says. “I’m not good at...feelings. Not good with people.” 

“You’re good with Omega,” you offer. 

His lips twitch. “She’s a clone.”

“Ah, right,” you say. “I’m nat-born, how could I forget?” 

“S’not a bad thing,” he says. “But I don’t know if this is something you can fix, Nav. I think this is something that just has to be.” 

Biting your cheek, you reach up hesitantly. His cheek is coarse with day-old stubble, but he lets you turn his face towards yours so you can meet his eyes again. 

“Then let it be with me,” you say. 

He nods and leans forward. You stay absolutely still, freezing in his arms. He presses his forehead to yours briefly, his curls tickling the sides of your face, so close that you’re damn sure he can hear every nerve in your body shrieking. When he pulls back, the soft look he gives you nearly makes you sob. 

His expression falls in the next heartbeat, his eyes screwing shut. “One more mistake, Nav, and you won’t ever see us again.” 

“I- I understand,” you whisper. Any louder, and you won’t be able to hide the way you’re holding back tears. 

He nods. For a second, you think he’s going to accept that as the end of the conversation and stay here with you, to hold up his end of the bargain, to let whatever hurt he needs healing to sit between you. But he nudges you to your feet and, without another glance, disappears into the cargo hold. The near-deafening silence of hyperspace presses in on you, and you sink to your heels, shaking. 

Tag list: @the-hexfiles @fjordg @idoubleswearimawriter @skellymom

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 1: Destruction - Newborn

Narrated by Glow.

~Content Warning: suicide~

Narrator: That was one of the annihilations that Miraland has been through.

Narrator: Like a raging beast, the seawater had swallowed the city and forest. The land was trembling, the animals were running for dear life, and people were crying... chaos and despair had taken over.

Narrator: Carrying the last elites of mankind, a space shuttle was traveling through the universe. Staring out the window in silence, they bear witness to the demise of their homeland.

Scientist A: I can't believe this is actually happening...

Scientist B: But at least we're still alive. We need to survive to pass on civilization.

??: Beep... Beep...

Narrator: In the space shuttle, the artificial intelligence seemed to be beeping at the mention of "civilization" and "pass on."

Narrator: To the sound of the beeps, the space shuttle traveled further and further away from Miraland, eventually losing sight of it completely.

Narrator: The scientists all came prepared, but they have come across not a single sign of life in the unfathomably huge universe.

Student A: We're quickly running out of all the resources we have with us, but we're still nowhere near the next planet where we can stock back up.

Scientist B: We need a new plan, then. By the way, how is Glow coming along?

Scientist C: Her learning curve isn't looking great. To put things in perspective, the shuttle's navigation system is still smarter than her, not to mention that she can't even speak yet.

??: 0000 0 0100 0100 111...

Narrator: The data appeared to be flowing through the miniature chip. Different permutations of 0 and 1 were constantly refreshed, as they tried to join the conversation.

Narrator: The scientists, however, failed to pick up on her binary greetings. Echoing through the space, her beeps were reminiscent of powerful heartbeats.

Narrator: As the space shuttle travelled through the seemingly never-ending darkness, the scientists carried on with their research with the hope to locate signs of life...

Narrator: ...all the while unaware of a far more insidious disaster looming upon them.

Narrator: The space shuttle became totally lost when a mysterious ocean of stars trapped it.

Scientist A: Where is this? An intangible sea with all the stars... Is this the Ocean of Memories that we read about in the records?

Scientist B: Isn't that just a legend, though?

Narrator: The seawater flooded the space shuttle, stripping its devices of their functions and plunging the space shuttle itself into a nightmare.

Scientist A: A black hole? Why is there a black hole here...?

Narrator: With the sound of the alarm blaring through the space shuttle, people were running in all directions as they screamed.

Scientist C: Damn it, gravity overload. Connection failure... Error! We got errors all over the place!

Narrator: The looming black hole on the screen approached quickly, having just dealt the space shuttle critical damage with its released energy.

Narrator: In the mayhem, the scientists tried everything they could to prevent the worst from happening, but the black hole was still slowly but surely dragging the space shuttle toward it.

??: Hello, human, I am Glow.

Narrator: Amidst the chaos, Glow's mechanical greeting finally turned into what one would consider proper language.

Narrator: With death looming upon them, everyone was filled with despair and horror as they faced the ordeal.

Narrator: Eventually, they gave in to the ordeal, as they crumbled papers filled with formulae, smashed the control panel, and laughed at the insanity that was unfolding before their eyes.

Narrator: Their arguing and blaming quickly escalated to physical attacks or suicide, which took them out one after another.

Narrator: The chaos spared none, except for one physicist, who sat quietly in the space shuttle.

Narrator: She looked at the wrecked devices and the bodies of her colleagues who had met their ends in the most bitter ways possible. Then, as if daydreaming, she said...

Physicist: Will my research ever... bring about a new world?

Narrator: Again and again, in her palm, she wrote down the only thing she had left... that which she had dedicated her whole life to researching. It was the All Things Constant, or 137.

Physicist: I don't want to just... stop here...

Narrator: Then, when the alarm suddenly stopped, the lights were once again ice-cold white.

Glow: Hello, human. I am Glow.

Narrator: Most of those who had worked on bringing about the artificial intelligence were no longer in this world to hear her finally speak.

Narrator: The physicist raised her head. A few moments of hesitation later, she broke into a smile.

Physicist: The tiny light of hope that will never let anything stop her from protecting mankind's civilization, huh? Haha...

Narrator: With tears trickling down her face as she laughed, the physicist greeted the last newborn of this civilization before her.

Physicist: Hi, Glow, I'm a human.

Physicist: We were the group of humans who made you, although we failed miserably at saving our own civilization from destruction.

Narrator: Only an alloy wall away from the physicist now, the black hole opened its arms as it pierced everything standing in its way.

Narrator: In its arms, there was nothingness, and it was from its motherly embrace that everything was born, nurtured, and ultimately engulfed.

Narrator: The poets portrayed it with the most magnificent of poems, and the scientists never stopped pursuing the secret it held. Magnificent and spectacular, it quenched the fantasy of all the explorers of the world.

Narrator: Torn into pieces, the space shuttle sank into the thick darkness.

Narrator: The space shuttle burned and disintegrated into particles so dazzling that, when they vanished, they made for a silent yet most impressive firework show that lit up the Ocean of Memories for an instant.

Narrator: The black hole then quietly swallowed the light and the heat, wiping out every last trace of countless human beings and their civilization...

Narrator: Leaving only one faint glow of light to escape from the black hole itself.

Narrator: Carrying mankind's last hope, the artificial intelligence floated around the edge of the black hole as it stared at the monumental destruction.

Narrator: Glow heard the last whisper of the dying civilization.

Physicist: Please save mankind's civilization, Glow.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

[mudaship39]

Character bio of the Asian Pasifika demigod and Afro Latine Native alien hybrid superhero main character part 4

Wrist Mounted Arm Computer:

Attached to their left arm is a human and alien magical  and technological mechanical portable wrist computer. It is a personal information processor that is powered by steam, gas, & or electricity. It has knobs, dials, buttons, & switches on the top, bottom, left, & right sides for accessibility. It comes with a red, blue, green, silver, or gold light. It comes with a keyboard. Can function as any number of useful tools. Wrist computer uses include data storage, inventory management, topographical mapping, assisted targeting, medical diagnostics, radio receiver, video player, music player, and portable gaming console, a communicator, a light, a scanner, a smart phone, a smart watch, a portable computer, etc. 

It lets him/her/them stay in contact with their handlers and allies. It gives him/her/them mission-specific information. Including where weapon caches are. It keeps track of their credentials. Is also a handheld personal force shield generator. It has crime databases, wiretapping, evidence analysis, a lie detector, and monitors its wearer's heartbeat, blood pressure, & blood sugar to ensure that its use was authorized and to send help if the user is healthy or is in trouble. Can project 3d and 4d holograms. It provides internet access and cellular reception with clear reception and unlimited data anywhere on Earth. 

Has clear reception and cellular reception in terraformed and colonized planets, moons, comets, asteroids, & planetoids star systems and galaxies of the multiverse. It uses nanotechnology to physically reconfigure itself to prevent hacking. It also has GPS functionality. Has a hacking tool. Has a compact first aid kit. Is a wearable computer. Has an interface is a holographic 3d wrist-mounted computer complete with a miniature 4d holographic projector. 

The wrist communicator is based on an alien memory metal so when they take it off it can flex into a tablet shape. Can hack computers, machines, phones, tablets, robots, & artificial intelligences. It can dispense first-aid, repair and customize equipment, and send and receive phone calls. It can record audio sound and visual video footage for later playback. Using a simple but elegant form of sonar and satellite tracking this wrist mounted computer can map out areas where its user travels. 

It acts as a database for the wearer’s personal information and inventory. It is capable of tracking the wearer’s status and organizes the user’s inventory of apparel, junk, weapons, misc, armor, mods, aid, items, & equipment. An overlay of the data is also available. In addition, the device features a built-in radio module. It has an advanced compass. 

It has a virtual 3d and 4d map that displays discovered locations. It has a holographic map projector which shows a complete 3D or 4D scan of an area. It has a sonar and motion sensor system that highlights nearby allies, enemies, people, animals, beasts, creatures, and monsters. It is a communicator, a map, a flashlight, a compass, a scanner, a music player, a smart watch, & a portable computer.

It has lighting functionality. A holographic player, video tape, CD player, & DVD player is mounted beneath the display. It is capable of keeping tabs on the user’s health condition, ammo, weapons, armor, apparel, & food and water. It shows the user’s health bar as red, yellow, orange, & green. It has a blue, pink, and purple heath bar system to show laser, plasma, & hard light shields and force fields. It has a silver, gold, & obsidian health bar system to show combat armor, power armor, & mech suit armor condition. 

The wrist computer gauntlet’s uses include but are not limited to data storage, inventory management, topographical mapping, assisted targeting, telephone, medical diagnostics, computer, radio receiver, telegram, hacking, music (CD) player, & Video (Video and DVD) Player . It can map out areas. It can take and store notes and memos. It has a built-in radio. It has a geiger counter and toxic gauge for radiation, toxins, & poisons. It has a built-in flash light used to illuminate dark areas. 

It needs to be worn as a gauntlet which seals with a biometric lock. It utilizes a revamped 3d or 4d holographic display interface with animated images. It automatically updates using satellites. Additionally, it integrates with the onboard computers of power armor and mech suits allowing a user to access their wrist mounted computer from within the armor via a HUD visor display. The inventory menu is a system used for viewing and managing collected items. The menu also displays total currency and carry weight on the screen. 

It is sorted into several tabs. Weapons, Apparel, Aid, Misc, Junk, Mods, Ammo, & Money. All guns, melee weapons, grenades, and mines fall in this tab. Specs of weapons can be viewed and compared as well as equipped and unequipped weapons.  It shows their attachments such as silencers or suppressors, compensators or muzzles, grips, flashlights, scopes, red dot sight, red laser sight, or grenade launcher. Shows the damage effect it has on enemies. It shows the weapon’s stats such as range, damage, etc. It shows the weapons condition and shows if it is in need of maintenance and repair. 

All armor and clothing appear in this tab. Specs of armor and clothing can be viewed and compared as well as equipped and unequipped apparel.  All aid such as medicines, drugs, food, and drinks are sorted here and can be used and consumed in this tab. Miscellaneous items such as keys, cds, dvds, holographic tapes, notes, and items which fall under no other category are in this tab. Mod tab for weapon and armor modifications. Ammo lists all types of ammunition for guns, grenades, & mines currently in inventory. Currency shows all dollars and copper, bronze, brass, silver, gold, & platinum coins, cash, and credits. 

A unique feature of the Mark 20 Wrist Computer is an adapter plug attached to the underside of the device. This plug is used to perform diagnostics on power armor and mech suits. It can hack into computers. It has a lockpick module to pick the locks of doors, safes, etc. In addition, the plug is also used to gain control of robots, androids, artificial intelligences, automatons, mech suits. When wearing a power armor or mech suit the user does not interact with the wrist computer directly. Instead all the information is displayed through the suit’s integrated HUD but with a different HUD color. 

This implies that the Mark 20 is capable of interfacing with power armor or mech suits onboard systems to allow access to its functionality without having to directly operate the device. It is a wrist gauntlet, wrist bracer or wrist computer. It is a piece of wrist-worn technology. It houses several technologically advanced features.  The wrist gauntlet is a small computer device worn on the wrist and features numerous controls for various items of human and alien magic and technology. It has a digitized display. The gauntlet is linked directly into a metahuman and superhuman humanoid’s combat armor, combat helmet, power armor, power armor helmet, & mecha suit and governs many of their functions. 

The gauntlet also acts as a power source for these tools although it has only limited capacity and would become depleted with repeated use. However, despite the clearly advanced nature of the technology involved, the wrist gauntlet can be recharged from any common power source such as gas, steam, water, nuclear power, & electricity.  

The mark 20 is the most customizable model made. It was the epitome of technology. Each instrument is individually crafted and personally attuned to its recipient. The device is so personalized to its user that it could continuously monitor and report the vital signs of its assigned wearer in real time. It was the quintessential personal data assistant complete with a magical AI modeled after a female humanoid alien and female human. Complete with its own mapping system, navigation system, radio receiver, computer, video and music player, cellphone, & personal inventory tracking software. It’s a souped-up PDA complete with DNA biometric lock.

[izyrec]

Discover Limitless Possibilities with this Mini Voice Recorder

The design of the mini voice recorder is very user-friendly. At only 18g in weight and 2*1.7*0.25 inches, one can fit the device in his pocket with ease. It is about half the size of a credit card and as thick as a coin. This allows it to go anywhere and record discreetly. You can even turn off the recording light to avoid it being noticed.

[jedimordsith]

A continuation of the “Luke gets stuck in a parallel universe and finds/raises bb!Mara” madness I posted Wednesday. 

This... is not six sentences. In fact it’s stupidly long. But have it anyway. 

Mace felt Luke’s welcome in the Force before he’d quite reached the other man’s door. It was familiar, and he didn’t bother announcing himself as he let himself in. 

Just inside the threshold, he stopped. A recorded voice was reciting common facts about thrantcills when a child’s voice interrupted.

“What’s a flock?” 

“A flock is what a group of flying creatures is called,” Luke answered patiently. 

“Does Artoo have a flock?” 

“No.” Luke sounded amused. “He can fly, but he’s a droid. Not a flying animal.”

He got her talking. Mace stifled a smile. Let’s see how quickly he regrets that. Deppa had been older when he’d taken her as a padawan, but all masters spent some time in the creches. He knew just how inquisitive the younglings were at Mara’s age. Luke would likely spend the next several years answering questions like why and how and when approximately a hundred times per day now that he’d gotten his little wildling over her silence. 

Artoo was whistling something, presumably his opinions on flying or appropriate names for groups of droids, when Mace rounded the corner into the small kitchen area.

Mara was sitting on a tall stool. While her clothing was simpler than her master’s, it mimicked his in that it was black from throat to toe. Her tiny boots kicked idly as she held her bearsloth with one arm and a half-eaten biscuit in her other hand. She was still incredibly small for her age, but her color was better, Mace noted. 

Luke stood behind her, comb in hand, wrangling her fine hair into a braid around the crown of her head. In front of them, Artoo was propped on his back legs, a paused educational holo on Coruscant beaming from his holo projector to fill the air. 

“What did he say?” Mara demanded. 

Before Luke could translate the string of binary, Mara caught sight of Mace and her entire body went rigid. 

Mace’s heart squeezed at the rush of her alarm in the Force.  

“Mace,” Luke greeted him warmly as he finished pinning the braid in place. “Come in. Mara, this is Master Windu.” 

“I think Uncle Mace is more than sufficient.” Mace moved toward them slowly, nodding at the droid when it shut off the projector and rolled backward to give him room. “Hello, Mara.” 

Mara tipped her head back to glance at Luke then, clutching her stuffed animal tighter, squared her little shoulders. “Hello,” she managed. 

Mace offered her a gentle smile. “That’s a good holo you picked to watch. I think Deppa memorized the entire series. Deppa is my little girl. Or she was. She’s all grown up now.” 

Mara seemed to consider that. “Is she a Jedi?” 

“She is.” Mace couldn’t help his glow of pride. “She’s a very good Jedi.” 

“Luke says I can be a Jedi. When I’m bigger. And if I’m good for Master Che we can go to the lib’ary soon.” 

“I’m sure Master Nu would be very happy to meet you. Have you toured the Temple yet?” 

Mara shook her head. 

“We have to get her all-clear from the healers before we can do anything fun,” Luke said. 

It was, Mace suspected, a reminder for the little girl as much as an explanation for him. 

Mara sighed, rather dramatically. Mace clamped down on the chuckle that threatened to escape. 

“Well, I’ve brought you something that might come in handy when you get that far.” Reaching into his robe, he produced a very small device. Holding it out so Mara could see it, he pressed the button on the side. A miniature holo popped up. “It’s a map of the Temple,” Mace explained as the little girl’s eyes went wide. “So that you can always find your way where you’re trying to go.” He gestured toward her. “May I?” 

Mara twisted to look at Luke again. 

“No one will touch you unless you want them to,” he said softly. 

Something about the way he said it and the firmness underlying the words made Mace’s heart hurt and kindled flames of resentment. No youngling so small should need such assurances. 

Mara looked at him again, weighing him carefully with intent green eyes. Finally, she put the biscuit down and held out one skinny wrist. “Yes please.” 

Mace fastened the strap around her wrist gently, then stepped back. 

“Can you say ‘thank you’?” Luke prompted. 

“Thank you,” Mara parroted, staring at the new device. 

“Why don’t you and Artoo go finish the holo in my room?” Luke suggested, lifting her off the stool and setting her on her feet. “While I talk to Mace for a minute. Then we can go see Master Che and get cleared to go the gardens to see a real thrantcill, all right?” 

“Okay.” Mara obediently followed Artoo down the short hall and disappeared into Luke’s room. 

“Vokara’s going to be impressed that you got her talking,” Mace commented as soon as she was out of earshot. “My understanding is that they didn’t get a word out of her the entire way here. Her father told them she couldn’t speak.” 

“Don’t.” There was a bite to Luke’s voice and a muscle in his jaw flexed. “Don’t tell me where she’s from or how we got her. Or I might find my across the galaxy and do something very-un-jedi-like.” 

Mace regarded him solemnly, his suspicions confirmed. “Who was she? In your timeline?” 

Luke glanced toward his room, his heart on his sleeve. “Just what she is now. A child, bright in the Force, who needed someone to love her.” He paused, a trickle of bitterness escaping. “Only it wasn’t the Jedi who acquired her. It was a Sith. He beat her and molded her into a tool, then discarded her like yesterday’s trash when he died.”

Mace managed to contain his wince and kept his voice low and even. 

“And what was she to you?” 

Luke propped his elbows on the counter and dropped his head, grief written in every line of his body. “We would have been lovers, if she’d lived. She wanted to — the Emperor had… there was damage. We were going slow. But we’d already bonded. She was part of me.” 

“I assume she’s not still in that other timeline waiting for you.”

“She died.” Luke’s voice was flat. “It was supposed to be a simple recon mission to a planet called Byss. To check out rumors about an Imperial stronghold forming.”

“It wasn’t simple,” Mace guessed. 

“The Sith who’d abused her had found a way to reborn.” 

Mace didn’t even try to understand how that might be possible. For the hundredth time, he thanked the Force for sending them Luke and sparing this timeline the hell his friend’s galaxy had known. 

“She sliced a world devastator and immolated the entire planet,” Luke continued. “By herself. With herself. Because she refused to let him hurt anyone else ever again. I—” his voice broke. “She tried to warn me, about the bond. About the risk. But I didn’t listen. Losing her nearly killed me. Literally.” 

“She sounds like an incredible woman.” 

“She was. She would have made an amazing Jedi, too, if she’d been given the chance.” Luke’s jaw set stubbornly. “She will, here. I’m going to give her everything she deserved and never got in my world. She’s going to be magnificent.” 

“Hmmm.” Mace cocked his head. “I see why you went right around all the protocols to claim her.” 

Luke’s mouth twisted up wryly at the corners. “Seeing her broke open the old bond. I couldn’t very well let someone else take her after that.”

“Of course not.” Mace pretended to consider the situation. “Now that I have the whole story, though, I’m going to have to insist that you let me adopt you. I can’t in good conscience let someone like your Mara be raised in a lineage that includes Obi-wan and your father without some more balancing influences. Besides,” he added more seriously, “I raised a girl myself. I can tell you that having another human woman in her life was extremely helpful to Deppa when she hit adolescence. Mara should have the same.”

“She’ll need more than me,” Luke agreed. “As much family as I can find for her, even. She never had anyone before. I don’t want that for her again. And Force knows she was good at things I never mastered.” His expression took on a wicked glint. “If we let Obi-wan tutor her in negotiating the galaxy won’t know what hit it.”  

“Kenobi could use someone fresh to terrorize him,” Mace opined. “We should let her have a crack at Quinlan, too. When she’s ready, of course.” He clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “For now, you’re doing a good job just as you are.” 

[phosphoruskim]

@sometipsygnostalgic​ is absolutely destroying me in sappy posting hours right now and I MUST fire back!!!

I wrote this fanfic live in our DM’s. As such it is intended to be read with no prior information or ideas of what happens! (Also it is intended to be a full frontal attack on tipsy which it succeeded in) (also check out her adorable drawing of me writing this, see below)

If you would like to see the tags, they’re on Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45276979

Anyways, without further delay...

We are now ready for Ms Dryl

-----

Catra watched the florescent lights off the waiting room flicker passively, counting the hertz of the electric current powering the device. She checked intermittently to her right, seeing magenta hair flip and flap around one of those big wooden fidget cubes usually left in doctor offices. Entrapta's tongue was sticking out of her mouth as she worked on the device, loosing a few screws here and there while adding an electrical motor and wiring it up to the wall plug. Catra looked back towards the desk as a door opened from the internal part of the building.

"Hello we are now ready for a-" the assistant started to call out. She glanced forlornly at the office's newly mechanized enrichment device, before continuing.

"We are... now ready for Ms Dryl."

Catra began to rise up out of her seat, Entrapta appearing and taking her arm to help the girl up before she could even stand properly. Catra nodded at the assistant as she opened the door for the two of them. Entrapta skipped with her legs while keeping her torso and arm stable, or mostly stable, via her pigtails. They walked a little ways down a hallway, Catra glanced at the various signs and diagrams outside the rooms as Entrapta pulled out her voice recorder and started logging the details for future reference of the appointment. They were finally directed into a larger room, clearly serving multiple functions. Inside was a standard set of chairs, a height and weight measurement device with blood pressure measuring tools, and a medical recliner presumably positioned so the doctor could easily access patients.

Catra took a seat in one of the regular chairs as the assistant sat across from her, now opening a program for medical records.

"Now Ms Dryl can you answer some basic questions for me about- what- Ms Dryl!" The assistant asked exasperatedly as she caught sight of Entrapta already measuring her own height and weight with the available tools.

"Don't worry I'm just checking your devices, standard procedure!" Entrapta called out, doing just about every test the tools were equipped to do and some tests they weren't.

The assistant sighed and committed to ignoring the commotion going on with the rest of the room. Entrapta tested the full range of the medical recliner, sorted through the drawers to ensure everything that would be needed was available, and made her way over to the other side of the room to investigate one particularly large machine.

Catra focused on the assistant.

"Now I believe in a prior appointment the doctor took some reference tests, were those readings emailed over- ah yes thank you."

Catra leaned back in her chair after having offered the manila folder over. She felt the thick cardboard esque material slide through her fingers under the weight of the exceptional plurality of the contents.

The assistant accepted the folder with a nod, starting to enter in new information and double check prior readings. Catra spotted a miniature trophy on the desk. It belonged to the doctor most likely. Or had belonged, she thought, as the faux award labeled 'Best Dad' began to slide off the desk. And then some of the thumbtacks. The assistant brought her hands to her face and took some deep breaths as the electric hum of the MRI machine powered on, crescendoed, and then blew a fuse and took out the lights. The assistant lurched around to look at Entrapta. The princess hid something behind her arms, and then lights came back on as if on cue while the MRI machine taking the other half of the room returned to standby mode.

The trophy, thumbtacks, and other tiny metal items such as paper clips fell humorously to the floor.

Fortunately for the Princess, there was a knock on the door to the room. A man turned the door knob and opened the room slightly.

"Hello, I'm ready for you now Ms Dryl?" He called out, before opening it fully.

Catra recognized him by voice, the sea elf's tall stature and kind features turning to a curious smile. Perhaps wondering if the office would still be there upon his arrival.

The assistant was up and out of her seat in the next breath, mumbling both thanks and apology to Doctor Lazuli as she made her hasty retreat.

He didn't seem particularly surprised by the reaction and merely entered the room, offering Catra a handshake . Catra felt like cool water washed over as she went to take it, about to exchange pleasantries when Entrapta reappeared at her side. The Princess took his instead and said her portion of the expected smalltalk in half a breath, using the rest of it to begin drilling the doctor on various bits of research and information that had been published since the last time they'd met.

Impressively, the doctor took it in stride.  He patiently explained the various findings in relation to the medical field and exchanged his honest opinions, as far as she could tell. Catra felt the atmosphere and social etiquette of it all  begin to press down on her fur, and she raised an arm to scratch her neck. The princess took notice, glancing over to Catra.

"We should start," Entrapta said.

The doctor nodded, taking a step back. He stood half a meter behind Entrapta as the latter helped Catra up. She allowed herself to be escorted, Entrapta's touch so gentle as she prepared the measuring tools for Catra with her pigtails as they walked over to it.

"By comparing my measurements in my own data to the office's tools, I found them to be at least ninety nine point nine percent accurate! It appears they took my suggestions into account, thankfully," Entrapta explained as she took the air pump powered blood measuring device and wrapped the material around Catra's arm. Doctor Lazuli supervised from over her shoulder as Entrapta did various other tests, rambling all the way. Catra felt a secure calm, certain that her input was no longer needed. She let herself be led to the recliner, back to the chair, and then to the other side of her room. Satisfied with doing nothing more than listening to the low frequency hiss of the generator powering the machines. Catra's eyelids drooped slightly, finding herself laying down. But she felt the cold steel at the base of her neck, stopping her from reclining.

Doctor Lazuli glanced over, calling out to her.

"My apologies, Ms Dryl, the adjustments to the machine to allow a metal object to be present require that it be symmetrically centered. Please adjust the cushioning as needed to do so."

Catra nodded imperceptibly, acknowledging the comment. Lifting her torso with her legs to get a better position. Entrapta quieted, dropping back to normal height from her pigtails as she let the doctor get to work. The princess couldn't stop herself from fidgeting with her hands. She had been able to justify taking the basic metrics herself, that was easy enough, but she specialized in machines. Her friends had always handed any vaguely science related task to her anyways, but that didn't change the fact that this situation was only halfway in Entrapta's expertise.

Catra allowed herself to close her eyes as she settled onto her back. The device no longer dug into her neck quite as badly. The machine powered on, the magnetic fields around her generating noise as they did so. Catra did her best to tune out the conversation. But it was difficult to do so while also needing to acknowledge prompts.

The screen above her face lit up, simple words and sentences for her to read aloud coming up. She responded automatically, no longer feeling like she was the one speaking. Catra observed herself following instructions as if from within. Only dimly aware of it when sentences turned to images. Most of them were old. With a consistent FOV and magnetic artifacts visible from the file. Most of these had been taken by Emily. They started simple. Images of the fright zone, stills of Entrapta or Scorpia. There were images of Catra too, though in most of them she'd been attempting to escape the frame.

Not all of the photos were so simple. As the tests went on, they intermittently included other figures. The horde trio. Other cadets. And eventually, Shadow Weaver. Catra felt her body reflexively stiffen. An old mechanism she hadn't quite managed to remove. But it didn't carry the mental follow through that had once been there. She simply continued to verbalize whatever came to mind as the images flashed before her eyes.

Now there were images that Catra hadn't been there for. The ones Emily had taken with the rebellion. They passed by quickly, but not before giving Catra the first glimpse of white chassis's and green glowing lights.

The rest of it all started to meld together, Catra returning to attention, even while laying down, as the images of her Lord's flagship vessel came into view. These were poorly focused and at various inconvenient angles, owing to the tablet having been passed between Entrapta and Bow at the time. The rest of the room was so distant now, the real Entrapta no longer in Catra's periphery. Her vision once so vast and multifaceted, now her glowing green eyes saw only what was in front of her. But mostly, they saw glimpses of what had been within.

Stranded rays of light shimmered, not in darkness but in bright.

Varied intensities distinct to each.

Yet blinding outside the symphony.

Wavelengths encoded, shared and humming gentle tunes.

The ocean caressed and nurtured, accepting and free.

Harmonized and true, each part played. All but one part of-

Catra resurfaced.

Entrapta spoke out instructions, snapping her fingers when no response was given. The catgirl hummed complaint, attempting to close her eyes. But the scientist was ready, turning on a light to elicit an ocular dilation response.

The words started to become sensible to her brain, barely. And Catra complied best she could. At first simply mumbling of assent or dissent. Eventually managing to grab onto the physical sensations around her. 

The coarse grain of wood.

The cool metal of the bench's armrests against her fur. 

Catra started to respond on purpose, rather than automatically.

"Do you remember the current king of Brightmoon?" Entrapta asked.

"Bow Brightmoon." She responded.

"And the queen?"

"Glimmer Brightmoon. Or. Sparkles."

"And... Your name?" Entrapta asked, with a little lilt to her voice.

Catra smiled. Finally easing out of her rigid stance. She leaned onto her nebulously defined partner.

"Catra of Dryl," she said simply.

Entrapta pulled Catra into a close embrace, rocking forward and backwards ever so slightly. But she knew Catra liked the faint movement. The wind ruffled the leaves around them, yet to fall to autumn. It was the one consistency, every time they came here.

Catra didn't need to say thanks, even though she was once again verbal. This time when she closed her eyes, she felt a comforting darkness close in. But it didn't hold her half as tightly as Entrapta did.

Not by a long shot.

[mythrilpencil]

Stellar Acclimation—Chapter 5: Timber

Scout can hardly contain herself as she and Semyon scamper to the shack. “Oi! Bronze-head!” she exclaims as she bursts through the door.

Bronzemarch startles from whatever he’s doing at the work table in the corner, but then narrows his eyes a bit with a recorded sigh. “Exasperated. Scout, we’ve been over the nicknames. Now where have you—”

“Look!”

She waves her handheld invention until Bronzemarch notices it. And once he does, his face-screen flickers in his equivalent of Semyon’s blinks. Now his eyes are wide-open rectangles, following Scout’s hand as she waves. “Astonished. Is that a…”

Scout brightens and bubbles a proud giggle, “I made one of them Manipulator thingamajigs! Take a gander!” as she presents her little device for Bronzemarch to actually look at. 

Bronzemarch stares at her Manipulator for several moments filled with nothing but Scout’s excited buzz until she can’t take the silence anymore. 

“Whaddya think?” she pries. 

“Amazed. Did you actually build a replica Manipulator?” Bronzemarch eventually marvels.

“Yep! Should do most of the stuff yours can, if I got it right.”

Bronzemarch glances up at her, eyes still wide and bright. He makes a short sound like a puff of air through old pipes with a bounce of his shoulders—as far as Scout can tell, it’s his equivalent of the grunt-huffs Semyon makes when he’s intrigued—then says, “Careful. May I?”

As before, Scout offers her device forward. Bronzemarch’s hands are way smaller than Semyon’s, but they’re still bigger than Scout’s, so while his hand almost fits the miniature Manipulator, his index finger goes a bit high up the handle. Carefully he turns his hand, inspecting the device from multiple angles. While he does that he hums, “Curious. Is that where you’ve been all morning? Working on this replica?”

Scout shrugs, “I mean, took all night, but yeah.”

“Amazed. You mean it’s completed?”

“Yep!”

Bronzemarch marvels at her Manipulator for another moment, but then he hands it back to her, handle-first and proposes, “Intrigued. Care to demonstrate its functionality?”

Scout brightens with a flash that illuminates the room and bounces on her tiptoes as she takes her device back. “Yeah! Let’s go outside and test this thing out!”

She’s almost to the door when Semyon hesitates, “Uh,” while Bronzemarch makes a noise like a simulated clearing of a throat.

“Reminding. Not before we check your bandages.”

Scout fizzes, sliding to a stop. “Right, right.” Same routine. Darn. “Knew that.”

Fortunately that routine doesn’t objectively take too long. But Scout boils with so much excitement she can barely stand to wait inside the few minutes it takes Bronzemarch to again verify again that, nope, the transparent plasma shell keeping her together hasn’t repaired any further. Her back’s sealed up well enough by now, but the space her left arm belongs in hasn’t sealed. 

Despite how gentle he always is with that whole routine, Bronzemarch checking her bandages always makes Scout’s side quite tender. But today she’s bubbling with too much thrill to care. As soon as Bronzemarch releases her she all but bolts for the door again. Semyon barely has time to get ahead of her and open it before she can open it herself with her shoulder. 

The morning sunlight hits her hard enough when she steps out from the tented entrance that she staggers and covers her brand from the sharp stimulus, but she recovers and shakes herself before Semyon can so much as hover a hand behind her back in case she falls or anything. She’s not quite sure where she’s bouncing, but Bronzemarch redirects her with a wave towards the nearby hills forming the walls of the valley. So she bounces after him that way instead.

Bronzemarch stops at the feet of a small gathering of palm trees, each tall enough to peer over the hills. The dappled shade from their multicolored fronds is a brief relief from the overly-bright sunlight that Scout is pointedly ignoring through her excitement. It helps that her Manipulator is a distracting weight in her only hand.

“So why’d we stop over here?” she prompts, bouncing on her tiptoes and looking around.

Bronzemarch lightly crosses his arms and looks up at the crown of the palms. “Prompting. See these palm trees?” he begins.

“Yeah?”

“Informative. Most of them give a type of wood that—while quite lovely—is not suited for construction,” he explains. Then he points up to a pair of trees that stand out from the others—with dusty brown trunks and mulberry-colored fronds that resemble giant, scraggly feathers rather than giant, striped petals—and continues, “Elaborative. These ones, however, are more suited for construction. I use their wood all the time around here.”

Scout and Semyon stare up at the stand-out palms, both shielding their faces from the sun with a hand. For a moment Scout finds herself entranced by the dance of sunlight through the scraggly fronds. From here it looks like twinkling stars. Those stars shimmer with a wave as a gust nudges the trees, and then they shimmer even more when Bronzemarch knocks on one of the trunks with his own Manipulator, grabbing Scout’s attention back to earth. 

“Challenging. See if your Manipulator can chop this tree down,” he says, gesturing to the palm he knocked as he steps away from it.

Scout pops and twirls her little invention around a finger as she looks up and down the tree. Right, then. She thumbs the two little switches until she remembers which one does what—and accidentally shoots a beam out in the process that disturbs a small pile of silt next to Semyon’s feet and makes him jump back with a start—then aims her Manipulator at the base of the tree. Now just press the trigger again and—

Sure enough, the beam shoots out of her Manipulator’s lens again, hitting the tree square in the middle of the laser projection highlighting her aim. The beam dematerializes a small bit of the palm tree’s bark with such force the trunk shakes. 

“It worked!” Scout hoots with a shrill whistle.

“Whoa!” Semyon all but laughs in awe.

Meanwhile Bronzemarch just lightly crosses his arms and nods at the tree again as he hums, “Amused. Keep going.”

Right. Got to hold the trigger this time. 

It takes longer than Scout expects. The beam shoots out in rhythmic pulses, and each pulse dematerializes more of the highlighted section of the trunk’s matter, drawing it into the Manipulator’s storage as energy. Each pulse shakes the tree, rattling the scraggly fronds above. But it takes so long to bore through that, just when Scout starts to worry it’s not going to work after all, that maybe she didn’t give the device enough power or something…

The trunk cracks. The remaining wood and bark in the base of the tree snaps, and first the rest of the tree falls onto its stump. Then, with a long groan in frequencies that reverberate in Scout’s brand with aching feedback, it falls. 

“Timber!” Semyon calls out, long and exaggerated but foiled by rumbles of amazed laughter. 

Scout flinches at the resonating, rustling thud the tree makes when it hits the sand and sandstone, but she still whistles in triumph. “I did it!” But then her whistle fades to a fizzle as she realizes, “…Now what?”

Bronzemarch walks over to the fallen log as it stops rolling and chuckles, “Satisfied. Now we dematerializes it for use later.” He unhooks his own Matter Manipulator from his belt and wags it a bit. “Welcoming. Want to help?”

“Sure!”

Scout skips over to the fallen tree, and between her and Bronzemarch it doesn’t take all that long to fully dematerialize the wood. About half of it goes to Bronzemarch’s Manipulator’s inventory and the other half goes to hers. Semyon stands by while they work, watching the beams dig into the wood and turn it into bright blue energy with wide eyes.

The wind starts to pick up as they finish with the tree. At first Scout pays little heed to it as she watches Bronzemarch move the leftover fronds aside and materialize a sapling from them.

But then the wind starts to whistle. Like a breath over a half-empty bottle of pop.

Bronzemarch starts to discuss something with Semyon while he gets the sapling situated. But by then Scout’s too focused on the whistle to bother parsing their words and she wanders off.

The rolling hills and plentiful palms distort the wind and the sound it carries, but eventually Scout figures out that the whistling is coming from further along the hills. It’s like a haunting call from the beyond, luring her forward. 

Eventually, after scrambling to the top of the hill’s ridge to get a better perspective, Scout finds the source of the sound: a small cave opening, nestled between two of the hills walling the town. Loose sand blows off in gusts from its sandstone mouth. At first glance, it doesn’t look like anything more special than a scraggly hole in the earth. But something draws Scout closer. Some sort of energy, unknown yet familiar, draws upon the stars in her subconscious.

So she climbs down in.

~~~~~

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[hellsitesonlybookclub]

The Time Machine by H.G. Wells

Chapter 6

The Sunset of Mankind

“A queer thing I soon discovered about my little hosts, and that was

their lack of interest. They would come to me with eager cries of

astonishment, like children, but, like children they would soon stop

examining me, and wander away after some other toy. The dinner and my

conversational beginnings ended, I noted for the first time that almost

all those who had surrounded me at first were gone.

It is odd, too, how

speedily I came to disregard these little people. I went out through

the portal into the sunlit world again as soon as my hunger was

satisfied. I was continually meeting more of these men of the future,

who would follow me a little distance, chatter and laugh about me, and,

having smiled and gesticulated in a friendly way, leave me again to my

own devices.

“The calm of evening was upon the world as I emerged from the great

hall, and the scene was lit by the warm glow of the setting sun. At

first things were very confusing. Everything was so entirely different

from the world I had known—even the flowers. The big building I had

left was situated on the slope of a broad river valley, but the Thames

had shifted, perhaps, a mile from its present position. I resolved to

mount to the summit of a crest, perhaps a mile and a half away, from

which I could get a wider view of this our planet in the year Eight

Hundred and Two Thousand Seven Hundred and One, A.D. For that, I should

explain, was the date the little dials of my machine recorded.

“As I walked I was watching for every impression that could possibly

help to explain the condition of ruinous splendour in which I found the

world—for ruinous it was. A little way up the hill, for instance, was a

great heap of granite, bound together by masses of aluminium, a vast

labyrinth of precipitous walls and crumpled heaps, amidst which were

thick heaps of very beautiful pagoda-like plants—nettles possibly—but

wonderfully tinted with brown about the leaves, and incapable of

stinging. It was evidently the derelict remains of some vast structure,

to what end built I could not determine. It was here that I was

destined, at a later date, to have a very strange experience—the first

intimation of a still stranger discovery—but of that I will speak in

its proper place.

“Looking round, with a sudden thought, from a terrace on which I rested

for a while, I realised that there were no small houses to be seen.

Apparently the single house, and possibly even the household, had

vanished. Here and there among the greenery were palace-like buildings,

but the house and the cottage, which form such characteristic features

of our own English landscape, had disappeared.

“‘Communism,’ said I to myself.

“And on the heels of that came another thought. I looked at the

half-dozen little figures that were following me. Then, in a flash, I

perceived that all had the same form of costume, the same soft hairless

visage, and the same girlish rotundity of limb. It may seem strange,

perhaps, that I had not noticed this before. But everything was so

strange. Now, I saw the fact plainly enough. In costume, and in all the

differences of texture and bearing that now mark off the sexes from

each other, these people of the future were alike. And the children

seemed to my eyes to be but the miniatures of their parents. I judged

then that the children of that time were extremely precocious,

physically at least, and I found afterwards abundant verification of my

opinion.

“Seeing the ease and security in which these people were living, I felt

that this close resemblance of the sexes was after all what one would

expect; for the strength of a man and the softness of a woman, the

institution of the family, and the differentiation of occupations are

mere militant necessities of an age of physical force. Where population

is balanced and abundant, much childbearing becomes an evil rather than

a blessing to the State; where violence comes but rarely and offspring

are secure, there is less necessity—indeed there is no necessity—for an

efficient family, and the specialisation of the sexes with reference to

their children’s needs disappears. We see some beginnings of this even

in our own time, and in this future age it was complete. This, I must

remind you, was my speculation at the time. Later, I was to appreciate

how far it fell short of the reality.

“While I was musing upon these things, my attention was attracted by a

pretty little structure, like a well under a cupola. I thought in a

transitory way of the oddness of wells still existing, and then resumed

the thread of my speculations. There were no large buildings towards

the top of the hill, and as my walking powers were evidently

miraculous, I was presently left alone for the first time. With a

strange sense of freedom and adventure I pushed on up to the crest.

“There I found a seat of some yellow metal that I did not recognise,

corroded in places with a kind of pinkish rust and half smothered in

soft moss, the arm-rests cast and filed into the resemblance of

griffins’ heads. I sat down on it, and I surveyed the broad view of our

old world under the sunset of that long day. It was as sweet and fair a

view as I have ever seen. The sun had already gone below the horizon

and the west was flaming gold, touched with some horizontal bars of

purple and crimson. Below was the valley of the Thames, in which the

river lay like a band of burnished steel. I have already spoken of the

great palaces dotted about among the variegated greenery, some in ruins

and some still occupied. Here and there rose a white or silvery figure

in the waste garden of the earth, here and there came the sharp

vertical line of some cupola or obelisk. There were no hedges, no signs

of proprietary rights, no evidences of agriculture; the whole earth had

become a garden.

“So watching, I began to put my interpretation upon the things I had

seen, and as it shaped itself to me that evening, my interpretation was

something in this way. (Afterwards I found I had got only a half

truth—or only a glimpse of one facet of the truth.)

“It seemed to me that I had happened upon humanity upon the wane. The

ruddy sunset set me thinking of the sunset of mankind. For the first

time I began to realise an odd consequence of the social effort in

which we are at present engaged. And yet, come to think, it is a

logical consequence enough. Strength is the outcome of need; security

sets a premium on feebleness. The work of ameliorating the conditions

of life—the true civilising process that makes life more and more

secure—had gone steadily on to a climax. One triumph of a united

humanity over Nature had followed another. Things that are now mere

dreams had become projects deliberately put in hand and carried

forward. And the harvest was what I saw!

“After all, the sanitation and the agriculture of today are still in

the rudimentary stage. The science of our time has attacked but a

little department of the field of human disease, but, even so, it

spreads its operations very steadily and persistently. Our agriculture

and horticulture destroy a weed just here and there and cultivate

perhaps a score or so of wholesome plants, leaving the greater number

to fight out a balance as they can. We improve our favourite plants and

animals—and how few they are—gradually by selective breeding; now a new

and better peach, now a seedless grape, now a sweeter and larger

flower, now a more convenient breed of cattle. We improve them

gradually, because our ideals are vague and tentative, and our

knowledge is very limited; because Nature, too, is shy and slow in our

clumsy hands. Some day all this will be better organised, and still

better. That is the drift of the current in spite of the eddies. The

whole world will be intelligent, educated, and co-operating; things

will move faster and faster towards the subjugation of Nature. In the

end, wisely and carefully we shall readjust the balance of animal and

vegetable life to suit our human needs.

“This adjustment, I say, must have been done, and done well; done

indeed for all Time, in the space of Time across which my machine had

leapt. The air was free from gnats, the earth from weeds or fungi;

everywhere were fruits and sweet and delightful flowers; brilliant

butterflies flew hither and thither. The ideal of preventive medicine

was attained. Diseases had been stamped out. I saw no evidence of any

contagious diseases during all my stay. And I shall have to tell you

later that even the processes of putrefaction and decay had been

profoundly affected by these changes.

“Social triumphs, too, had been effected. I saw mankind housed in

splendid shelters, gloriously clothed, and as yet I had found them

engaged in no toil. There were no signs of struggle, neither social nor

economical struggle. The shop, the advertisement, traffic, all that

commerce which constitutes the body of our world, was gone. It was

natural on that golden evening that I should jump at the idea of a

social paradise. The difficulty of increasing population had been met,

I guessed, and population had ceased to increase.

“But with this change in condition comes inevitably adaptations to the

change. What, unless biological science is a mass of errors, is the

cause of human intelligence and vigour? Hardship and freedom:

conditions under which the active, strong, and subtle survive and the

weaker go to the wall; conditions that put a premium upon the loyal

alliance of capable men, upon self-restraint, patience, and decision.

And the institution of the family, and the emotions that arise therein,

the fierce jealousy, the tenderness for offspring, parental

self-devotion, all found their justification and support in the

imminent dangers of the young. Now, where are these imminent dangers?

There is a sentiment arising, and it will grow, against connubial

jealousy, against fierce maternity, against passion of all sorts;

unnecessary things now, and things that make us uncomfortable, savage

survivals, discords in a refined and pleasant life.

“I thought of the physical slightness of the people, their lack of

intelligence, and those big abundant ruins, and it strengthened my

belief in a perfect conquest of Nature. For after the battle comes

Quiet. Humanity had been strong, energetic, and intelligent, and had

used all its abundant vitality to alter the conditions under which it

lived. And now came the reaction of the altered conditions.

“Under the new conditions of perfect comfort and security, that

restless energy, that with us is strength, would become weakness. Even

in our own time certain tendencies and desires, once necessary to

survival, are a constant source of failure. Physical courage and the

love of battle, for instance, are no great help—may even be

hindrances—to a civilised man. And in a state of physical balance and

security, power, intellectual as well as physical, would be out of

place. For countless years I judged there had been no danger of war or

solitary violence, no danger from wild beasts, no wasting disease to

require strength of constitution, no need of toil. For such a life,

what we should call the weak are as well equipped as the strong, are

indeed no longer weak. Better equipped indeed they are, for the strong

would be fretted by an energy for which there was no outlet. No doubt

the exquisite beauty of the buildings I saw was the outcome of the last

surgings of the now purposeless energy of mankind before it settled

down into perfect harmony with the conditions under which it lived—the

flourish of that triumph which began the last great peace. This has

ever been the fate of energy in security; it takes to art and to

eroticism, and then come languor and decay.

“Even this artistic impetus would at last die away—had almost died in

the Time I saw. To adorn themselves with flowers, to dance, to sing in

the sunlight: so much was left of the artistic spirit, and no more.

Even that would fade in the end into a contented inactivity. We are

kept keen on the grindstone of pain and necessity, and it seemed to me

that here was that hateful grindstone broken at last!

“As I stood there in the gathering dark I thought that in this simple

explanation I had mastered the problem of the world—mastered the whole

secret of these delicious people. Possibly the checks they had devised

for the increase of population had succeeded too well, and their

numbers had rather diminished than kept stationary. That would account

for the abandoned ruins. Very simple was my explanation, and plausible

enough—as most wrong theories are!