#so he's broken down into the most useful component part of himself to the greater organism

[theminecraftbee]

So, here's the thing:

Tango knows that Zedaph is this close to staging an intervention.

He lies against the wiring for Decked Out and stares at the ceiling. He should probably be more concerned about that. Early-season Tango would be concerned about that; a situation getting bad enough that Zedaph, of all people, is ready to stage an intervention is normally a sign it's gotten pretty dang bad. But he's close. He's so close. And it's not like he's worried, not anymore.

He'd been worried, once? Like, he'd been scared, at some point of what the Frozen Citadel was starting to do to him. But now that he's there--

If he's asked, Tango will say it's mutualism, and not elaborate, because if anyone stages enough of an intervention to stop Decked Out from finishing what it's started, he's probably going to scream. He's probably going to always wonder. Worst of all, he won't finish the game on time. So like, so what if it's eating him a little? Or a lot? Or basically completely, given that he's pretty sure the damage is irreversible at this point?

Anyway, it doesn't matter. Start of the season Tango probably would care more, but like, it's mutual. Decked Out gets to eat Tango. Use him as an appropriate game piece. Sometimes as a processor. To do repairs. Whatever. It's important for the whole process. And Tango gets a sick game. Which, for some, sounds like an absurd trade-off, but it's not just the game, okay?

It's not just--

If it were just "I need to let my accidentally very sentient and very large base eat me to finish the game", he might do it? But he wouldn't, like, be actively conspiring to hide the fact that he's starting to be physically incapable of breathing like, normal oxygen and stuff. He wouldn't be conspiring to hide just how literal the shop item allowing you to control the gamemaster is. He wouldn't be trying to hide how close he is to just--being another part of Decked Out. Not being a "Tango" as an individual, but being a part of the machine. Basically a really fancy redstone component.

If it were just "he's really proud and he'd be sad if it took longer", he wouldn't have hung a sheep on the outside of the building to make sure some part of Decked Out knows that Zedaph is its friend, once there isn't a Tango to remind it of that properly. He would have asked Zedaph to actually do that intervention he's planning.

He didn't. He acted like he had several more weeks than he probably did. But it's fine. Decked Out ate the fear, anyway, so he can't feel it, and whatever sense of desire to like, not be redstone component was probably eaten also, and. And.

He's not sure how to describe it in a way that doesn't make him sound insane, but--

It's so close. Decked Out is so close to eating him completely. And that should be terrifying, if that weren't the first thing that got dissolved away, if he hadn't been scared since forever. Maybe, somewhere, there's part of him that is scared. There's a lot of him that knows he should be.

But those moments, the ones he's having more and more, where he forgets he's Tango. Where he forgets he's anything but part of the machine. And he's part of something big, and great, and he has a specific use, and he's aware for all of it but not aware of being himself, and he can feel exactly how he's important to the great machine and he does his job and absolutely everything else fades away entirely and he is the Game Master and even that's not an individual identity it's part of a whole it's part of something beautiful it's part of something so, so alive while not being alive at all and, and then--and then he's not done being eaten yet. And the Tango comes in. The fear, the insecurity, the, the flaws.

And he'd just lie there, and he'd feel it. The almost-just-a-part. The sense of just--being, and not being anyone in particular, but being. The lack of self. He'd feel the voltage from the redstone wires and try to capture it again, and be unable to, not on his own.

Not while he's left as Tango, at least a little bit uneaten.

So. Uh. He told you he didn't know how to describe it without sounding insane. But he'll never forgive himself. Never forgive himself if he doesn't find out what happens when it's done. What it's like to just--be a part of Decked Out and nothing else. What it feels like to give in completely.

Therefore. Zedaph. Intervention. Pretend he's better than he is so Zedaph doesn't do that. It shouldn't be long now. The amount of time he's aware and Tango is--less. The amount of fear is--it's entirely gone now. The amount he thinks "gee beginning of season Tango would say this is a bad plan" is almost zero.

The game is almost ready to open.

If he can just hold out that long, then there won't be anything anyone could do.

They'll be too busy having fun with the game, anyway. With any luck, no one will notice.

[dwellordream]

“…In modern English, we often use oath and vow interchangeably, but they are not (usually) the same thing. Divine beings figure in both kinds of promises, but in different ways. In a vow, the god or gods in question are the recipients of the promise: you vow something to God (or a god). By contrast, an oath is made typically to a person and the role of the divine being in the whole affair is a bit more complex.

…In a vow, the participant promises something – either in the present or the future – to a god, typically in exchange for something. This is why we talk of an oath of fealty or homage (promises made to a human), but a monk’s vows. When a monk promises obedience, chastity and poverty, he is offering these things to God in exchange for grace, rather than to any mortal person. Those vows are not to the community (though it may be present), but to God (e.g. Benedict in his Rule notes that the vow “is done in the presence of God and his saints to impress on the novice that if he ever acts otherwise, he will surely be condemned by the one he mocks.” (RB 58.18)). Note that a physical thing given in a vow is called a votive (from that Latin root).

(More digressions: Why do we say ‘marriage vows‘ in English? Isn’t this a promise to another human being? I suspect this usage – functionally a ‘frozen’ phrase – derives from the assumption that the vows are, in fact, not a promise to your better half, but to God to maintain. After all, the Latin Church held – and the Catholic Church still holds – that a marriage cannot be dissolved by the consent of both parties (unlike oaths, from which a person may be released with the consent of the recipient). The act of divine ratification makes God a party to the marriage, and thus the promise is to him. Thus a vow, and not an oath.)

…Which brings us to the question how does an oath work? In most of modern life, we have drained much of the meaning out of the few oaths that we still take, in part because we tend to be very secular and so don’t regularly consider the religious aspects of the oaths – even for people who are themselves religious. Consider it this way: when someone lies in court on a TV show, we think, “ooh, he’s going to get in trouble with the law for perjury.” We do not generally think, “Ah yes, this man’s soul will burn in hell for all eternity, for he has (literally!) damned himself.” But that is the theological implication of a broken oath!

So when thinking about oaths, we want to think about them the way people in the past did: as things that work – that is they do something. In particular, we should understand these oaths as effective – by which I mean that the oath itself actually does something more than just the words alone. They trigger some actual, functional supernatural mechanisms. In essence, we want to treat these oaths as real in order to understand them.

So what is an oath? To borrow Richard Janko’s (The Iliad: A Commentary (1992), in turn quoted by Sommerstein) formulation, “to take an oath is in effect to invoke powers greater than oneself to uphold the truth of a declaration, by putting a curse upon oneself if it is false.” Following Sommerstein, an oath has three key components:

First: A declaration, which may be either something about the present or past or a promise for the future.

Second: The specific powers greater than oneself who are invoked as witnesses and who will enforce the penalty if the oath is false. In Christian oaths, this is typically God, although it can also include saints. For the Greeks, Zeus Horkios (Zeus the Oath-Keeper) is the most common witness for oaths. This is almost never omitted, even when it is obvious.

Third: A curse, by the swearers, called down on themselves, should they be false. This third part is often omitted or left implied, where the cultural context makes it clear what the curse ought to be. Particularly, in Christian contexts, the curse is theologically obvious (damnation, delivered at judgment) and so is often omitted.

While some of these components (especially the last) may be implied in the form of an oath, all three are necessary for the oath to be effective – that is, for the oath to work.

A fantastic example of the basic formula comes from Anglo-Saxon Chronicles (656 – that’s a section, not a date), where the promise in question is the construction of a new monastery, which runs thusly (Anne Savage’s translation):

These are the witnesses that were there, who signed on Christ’s cross with their fingers and agreed with their tongues…”I, king Wulfhere, with these king’s eorls, war-leaders and thanes, witness of my gift, before archbishop Deusdedit, confirm with Christ’s cross”…they laid God’s curse, and the curse of all the saints and all God’s people on anyone who undid anything of what was done, so be it, say we all. Amen.”

So we have the promise (building a monastery and respecting the donation of land to it), the specific power invoked as witness, both by name and through the connection to a specific object (the cross – I’ve omitted the oaths of all of Wulfhere’s subordinates, but each and every one of them assented ‘with Christ’s cross,’ which they are touching) and then the curse to be laid on anyone who should break the oath.

…With those components laid out, it may be fairly easy to see how the oath works, but let’s spell it out nonetheless. You swear an oath because your own word isn’t good enough, either because no one trusts you, or because the matter is so serious that the extra assurance is required.

That assurance comes from the presumption that the oath will be enforced by the divine third party. The god is called – literally – to witness the oath and to lay down the appropriate curses if the oath is violated. Knowing that horrible divine punishment awaits forswearing, the oath-taker, it is assumed, is less likely to make the oath. Interestingly, in the literature of classical antiquity, it was also fairly common for the gods to prevent the swearing of false oaths – characters would find themselves incapable of pronouncing the words or swearing the oath properly.

And that brings us to a second, crucial point – these are legalistic proceedings, in the sense that getting the details right matters a great detail. The god is going to enforce the oath based on its exact wording (what you said, not what you meant to say!), so the exact wording must be correct. It was very, very common to add that oaths were sworn ‘without guile or deceit’ or some such formulation, precisely to head off this potential trick (this is also, interestingly, true of ancient votives – a Roman or a Greek really could try to bargain with a god, “I’ll give X if you give Y, but only if I get by Z date, in ABC form.” – but that’s vows, and we’re talking oaths).

…Not all oaths are made in full, with the entire formal structure, of course. Short forms are made. In Greek, it was common to transform a statement into an oath by adding something like τὸν Δία (by Zeus!). Those sorts of phrases could serve to make a compact oath – e.g. μὰ τὸν Δία! (yes, [I swear] by Zeus!) as an answer to the question is essentially swearing to the answer – grammatically speaking, the verb of swearing is necessary, but left implied. We do the same thing, (“I’ll get up this hill, by God!”). And, I should note, exactly like in English, these forms became standard exclamations, as in Latin comedy, this is often hercule! (by Hercules!), edepol! (by Pollux!) or ecastor! (By Castor! – oddly only used by women). One wonders in these cases if Plautus chooses semi-divine heroes rather than full on gods to lessen the intensity of the exclamation (‘shoot!’ rather than ‘shit!’ as it were). Aristophanes, writing in Greek, has no such compunction, and uses ‘by Zeus!’ quite a bit, often quite frivolously.

Nevertheless, serious oaths are generally made in full, often in quite specific and formal language. Remember that an oath is essentially a contract, cosigned by a god – when you are dealing with that kind of power, you absolutely want to be sure you have dotted all of the ‘i’s and crossed all of the ‘t’s. Most pre-modern religions are very concerned with what we sometimes call ‘orthopraxy’ (‘right practice’ – compare orthodoxy, ‘right doctrine’). Intent doesn’t matter nearly as much as getting the exact form or the ritual precisely correct (for comparison, ancient paganisms tend to care almost exclusively about orthopraxy, whereas medieval Christianity balances concern between orthodoxy and orthopraxy (but with orthodoxy being the more important)).”

- Bret Devereaux, “Oaths! How do they Work?”

[pahrak-the-sinnoh-slizer]

Right of Law, Section XXV

(Xia’s fate is decided, as Velika breaks free of his bonds and renews his assault.)

Swooping down onto the battlefield, Antroz landed a short distance from where the Sand Lord and Velika stood.  “Sand Lord! Thank you for coming to Xia’s aid.”

“Save your gratitude until we have seized victory, Makuta,” the Sand Lord said.

Not far away, a group of Vorox were battling a combined drone.  Antroz teleported behind the machine and ran it through, melting its insides with her Plasma powers.  Quickly counting how many drones were left, she said, “It seems we’re nearly there...and you two are holding Velika off?”

“As best we can,” Bitil said.  “This latest vessel of his...it’s no small task to damage it.  We’ve been able to contain him, but it’s not a permanent--”

He and the Sand Lord both grunted.  Antroz dispatched another drone, asking, “What is it?  What’s wrong?”

“Blast,” Bitil said.  “How was he able to--gah!”

The sand began to shift.  Antroz focused her stasis field powers in that direction, hoping it would tilt the scales in their favor, but all she could do was slow the form she felt rising towards the surface.

“It’s no good,” the Sand Lord said.  “Both of you, release your hold.”

“What?!” Bitil said.  “How is that--”

“I have a plan, but your stasis fields are in the way!  Hurry!”

Hesitantly, the two Makuta complied.  The Sand Lord made some vague gesture, but before either could ask, Velika’s form began to emerge, sand spilling off of him and the platform of Shadow energy he was using to lift himself.  Stopping only once he hovered above their heads, Velika said, “Your efforts are for naught.  Accept your fate, and you may yet die with some iota of dignity.”

“And what do you know of dignity?” Bitil said.  “You won’t even show your face in combat, you coward.”

Velika’s chest opened, pouring out another torrent of energy.  Bitil and the others scattered to evade it.  Hands crackling with Shadow, Velika said, “Watch your tongue, child.  Every insult you aim at me buys greater torment for your Rahkshi.”

Bitil growled, barely able to quiet his urge to retaliate.  Velika fired a volley of Shadow bolts, keeping his foes on the defensive, though Antroz managed to regroup with the Sand Lord amidst this chaos.  “You said you had a plan?”

“And I am carrying it out,” the Sand Lord said.  “I need only time.  The more I can focus, the less time I will need.”

“So Bitil and I will have to draw his attention, then.  May I at least ask what this plan is?”

“Ask if you wish, but I shan’t answer.  In situations such as these, a plan shared is a plan doomed to fail.”

Antroz reluctantly agreed.  Teleporting to Bitil’s side, she briefly explained the situation to him, and then the two of them set their sights on Velika.  Antroz teleported next to the Great Being and swung her blade, leaving only a mild scuff on his armor.  Velika swiped at her, only just missing, and Bitil used the chance to get in close and activate his Kanohi.  Calling on the raw strength of a Tahtorak, he grabbed Velika and pulled him overhead before slamming him face-first into the ground.  Velika tried to shoot him as he stepped back, but Antroz was able to capture the bolt in a small stasis field until her ally was clear.

“Seems we neglected to program you Makuta to know when to give up!” Velika said. At a swing of his arm, powerful shadows tore a trench into the sand, Antroz and Bitil saved from the attack by their Dodge powers.  “But then, I know we programmed you to be loyal, and you still managed to fail there!”

“The failure is not ours, Velika,” Antroz said.  “The Great Beings have shown they do not deserve loyalty! Bemoan your fate if you wish, but know that you have earned it!”

Velika lashed out.  Antroz turned invulnerable to block him, and held him still while Bitil counterattacked, the edges of his armor glowing white-hot as he channeled the Rock Lion. Unscathed, Velika sent them both flying with a burst of Shadow; as he moved to chase them, however, he heard a crunching sound come from his elbow, and paused to examine it.  Antroz blinked into existence above him, amplifying gravity as she swung down and managing to push Velika a few inches into the sand before he punched her back.  Bitil tried to repel their foe with a Power Scream, but Velika simply walked straight through into the devastating river of sound.

“So arrogant,” Velika said as the plates on his chest began to move.  “Why did we make you Makuta so blasphemously arrogant?”

Bitil chuckled.  “Something we inherited, I suppose.”

He took flight as Velika fired.  When the laser ended, a small spark leapt from the barrel, and its covering moved back into place very slowly.  Not understanding, nor willing to give Velika a chance to figure it out, Antroz molded a sphere of sonic waves around him, rattling his body like a twig in a typhoon. She had to abandon her attack to dodge a Shadow bolt, but Bitil leapt in immediately, calling vines up from the sand to restrain Velika.  It took the Great Being seconds to break free.  He rushed forward, but after two steps he stumbled.  The Makuta moved to capitalize on this, but were held at bay by a dome of shadows around their enemy.

“What nonsense is this?” Velika said.  He glanced over his body and then looked up, spotting the Sand Lord standing in the distance.  The realization of what was happening hit him instantly.  “...How dare you…”

Antroz and Bitil circled Velika in opposite directions.  Bitil glanced aside, seeing that the Vorox had subdued all but a handful of the drones, and then spotted movement near Xia’s wall. Hewkii and Neton came into view. “What are they doing here?”

Velika seized his chance.  He lunged, fist cloaked in Shadow, and punched a hole through Bitil’s shoulder, before swinging him around and throwing him into Antroz as she charged. A flurry of Shadow bolts was then turned upon the Sand Lord, her body slowly losing its cohesion under the assault.

“I know what you’re doing,” Velika said.  “You managed to get some sand inside my armor, didn’t you?  But how difficult is it for even you to discreetly manipulate but a few fine particles?  I imagine it takes all of your focus!”

Antroz tackled Velika, cutting his attack short.  Velika prepared to retaliate, but found his entire body locking up, whirs and clunks spewing from its components in abundance.

“I’ve no further need for discretion,” the Sand Lord said.  “I’ve figured out the gist of how this body works, and have navigated sand to all of its most vital components.  In a few seconds, those mechanisms will be broken down entirely.”

Velika snarled, managing to turn himself towards Xia.  “Wretched creature...know that when I find you...your punishment shall be excruciating!”

Energy shone within his chest.  The covering was unable to move, but he fired anyway.  The beam tore open its casing and lanced across the sand, bearing down on the opening in the city’s wall where Hewkii and Neton stood watching. Bitil shrieked.  The Toa and Rahkshi saw the attack coming and just barely flung themselves to safety...for the most part.  Neton wailed as he collapsed on the ground, one leg seared clean off.  Bitil rushed to his side, while Antroz watched as the Sand Lord finished breaking Velika’s body, waiting a few moments to be sure the empty shell wouldn’t rise again or explode.  Once satisfied, she saw to the remaining drones and went to help Neton.  As she left, she noticed that, despite her victory, the Sand Lord had an oddly somber air about her.

***

Zaekura looked up as Bitil entered the room.  She stood, but said nothing.

“Neton is alright,” he said.  “The pain has subsided, and he is resting easy.”

Zaekura let out a long breath.  “Good.”

“Unfortunately, even Surja can’t regrow his leg.  We’ll outfit him with a prosthetic once he’s ready, but it could take him a while to master use of it.”

“Want me to try making one?  I mean, I haven’t tried before, but…”

Bitil shook his head.  “Thank you, Lady Zaekura, but that won’t be necessary.  There are already several highly skilled prosthetic crafters here in Xia--I’ll see what each of them has to offer.”

The door opened again, this time letting in Krika and the Sand Lord.  The latter paused for a moment before approaching Bitil, saying, “Makuta Bitil...I want to apologize.  If I had managed to stop Velika sooner, then I could have stopped him from harming your son.”

Bitil looked her in the eye.  “You did all you could, didn’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then you’ve nothing to apologize for.  Moreover, Neton is perfectly fine.  I thank you for your concern, but please, do not feel responsible for his wounds. This was done by Velika...and if we did not have your help, I do not know that we would have prevailed against him.” Bitil smiled.  “Be proud, Sand Lord.  Only a few have managed to strike at the Great Beings as you now have.”

She took a moment to absorb this, then chuckled.  “...Indeed.  Thank you, Makuta.”

Krika made his way over to Zaekura, handing her the dagger she had crafted. “Works like a charm.  A good thing, too, now that the enemy has two Element Lords of their own.”

The Sand Lord turned, eyes immediately fixing on the blade.  “...How long have you planned to make such a thing?”

“Huh?  Oh!” Zaekura gently set the dagger down. “It wasn’t exactly a plan, really. I’ve been learning what I can from the lab at Bitil’s outpost, just trying to understand how elemental powers work. I was thinking about the possibility of disabling our enemies’ powers, but I hadn’t even gotten to the drawing board yet--I didn’t think I had made enough progress for it to be worth mentioning. Sorry, I probably should have been more upfront once I realized it was possible.”

The Sand Lord nodded.  “I understand.  There has been much to deal with of late.”

“Vastus and Tarix will require great consideration going forward,” Krika said. “Nora was only barely in time to save Ackar and the others, and Tarix took control of the situation to recover everyone we could have captured.  We need to be ready to defend Xia at a moment’s notice.”

Zaekura reached for the box of equipment she had stored earlier, saying, “No doubt.  Good thing our friend Nuparu gave us something that should make that a bit easier.”

“Good news from the Le-Koronans, I hope?” Bitil asked.

“They need time to discuss things, but we did get a parting gift.”  Zaekura pulled out a crudely-constructed radio to show the others.  “This uses technology similar to Kanoka Blades: it encrypts transmissions using a special circuit made from a Disk of Incomprehension, and then the receiver unscrambles it using a paired circuit made out of a Disk of Translation.  Now that we’re actually expanding our territory, a safe way to communicate like this is going to be a big help.”

“Certainly,” Krika said.  “That being said, it is possible that the Great Beings could still find a way to break the encryption.  We should devise a code for our communiques as an added layer of security, and change it routinely.”

“Good point.  Give me some time to work with it and make a few more, then we’ll work out a code.”

The door opened again, allowing Antroz entrance.  “Pardon me.  I was speaking with Toa Hewkii about the reconstruction.  He’s optimistic as ever...if a bit distracted.”

Bitil nodded.  “Is he worried about Neton?  They seemed to be getting along quite well.”

“That’s part of it.  He was also saying something about a kolhii tournament taking place in Civitas Magna? But we don’t exactly have time to indulge our curiosity over such things.”

“Hang on,” Krika said.  “A kolhii tournament at a time like this?  Interesting...and indeed, very distracting.  I’ll bet the Great Beings are using it to keep public focus off of the war.”

“Alright...but what does it matter?”

“Well, Antroz...if kolhii teams from all over are gathering, then would it not be entirely ordinary for the Xian team to participate?”

Zaekura crossed her arms.  “Oh, I get it.  We make this backfire on them by putting ourselves in the spotlight they provide. But, wait: there’s no way they’re going to let a team from Xia participate now that we’ve secured control here.”

“Correct,” Krika said.  “But that doesn’t stop our players from joining other teams, if they so desire...and our alliance with Mahri Nui has yet to be made known.”

Zaekura grinned.  “Oh! Now I really get it.  We do need to pay Pridak a visit anyway.”

“Hold on,” Antroz said.  “Any player in such a position would be in great danger.  The Great Beings would only care that they’re from Xia, and would act accordingly.”

Zaekura’s smile faded.  “Hm. That is a problem.”

“Something to think about,” Krika said.  “I’ll at least gather some more information while you examine the radio.”

She nodded slowly.  Glancing around the room, she said, “We’re in a bit of a weird spot right now, but we’re holding our own.  Sure got a lot farther than I thought we would.  We’ve got plenty of ways to keep this momentum going...let’s make the most of them.”

***

“How could you be defeated in such a careless manner?”

“Excuse me?  It was your armor that failed to protect my body!”

Seldoa rolled her eyes.  Tools floated in a ring around her body, leaving her side occasionally to fulfill a task before instantly returning.  “Oh, yes, the armor was the problem.  Ignore the fact that the one wearing it couldn’t even get inside the city despite having enough firepower to vaporize half a block.”

Velika dashed a beaker against the floor.  “This is your problem, Seldoa!  You think only in the broadest of strokes and never of the finer details!”

From his seat on a nearby lab table, Angonce said, “The way I see it, you’re both to blame.”

“You were not asked to contribute, Angonce!” Velika said.

“Do you honestly have nothing better to do?” Seldoa said.  “We have much work to replace, new plans to make, so it would be most helpful if you would remove the burden of your company from our shoulders.”

Angonce shrugged, hopping down from his perch.  “Okay, okay, I can see when I’m not wanted.  I’ll leave the two of you to stew in your failures for a bit, and then we can see if maybe you’re feeling any more social.”

Velika and Seldoa ignored him, immediately resuming their argument. Angonce exited the lab and started down the hall.  A few twists and turns later, Gorast joined him.

“You seem troubled, Gorast,” Angonce said.  “Something you want to tell me?”

“It’s nothing important, sir,” Gorast said.  After a pause, she continued, “I’m just disappointed in my siblings.”

“Hah!  Aren’t we all?  I’m glad we still have you, Gorast: you at least prove that the Makuta aren’t an inherently failed design.”

Gorast grinned at this.

“I had such high hopes for the others.  It’s tragic, really.  All this over one little Glatorian?  And now they’re blowing it so far out of proportion--is the society we’ve built really all that bad? We gave them everything they could have ever wanted: power, employment, the adoration of the masses.  We even permanently solved their needs thanks to this gaseous evolution!  Yet still, Antroz and the others are unsatisfied.”

“Antroz...I hope I get the chance to shred her down to atoms myself.”

“Well, if my brilliant colleagues don’t beat you to it.  Or the Odinans.  But anyway.”

Angonce stepped through a doorway leading to a narrow control room, one wall transparent to show the cell on the other side.  Sitting there was a being the size of a Toa, his armor and unusual mask a strange mix of red and black.  He looked up with a start, but upon seeing Angonce, he moved seamlessly from shock to irritation.

“Oh great.  Come to talk me to death?”

“No, I’m still working on that particular device,” Angonce said.  “I was just talking about failure and thought it might be fun to pay you a visit, ah…”  He checked a monitor.  “Vultraz.”

Rolling his eyes, Vultraz said, “Yeah, I get it, I failed.  How long are you going to taunt me, your pettiness?”

“Oh no, I didn’t so much mean you and your personal failings.  I mean you come from a failure of a universe.” Angonce shook his head.  “That absurd robot plan our counterparts went with...of course it would fail.  Everything they made went haywire, failsafes and all!  It’s embarrassing!  And what good are Matoran as labor if they’re built so small?”

Vultraz smirked.  “Sure, sure. Feel better about yourself now?”

“Hm?”

“I know a little about what’s been going on.  Whenever one of you ‘visits’ me, it’s the only thing you talk about.” He eyed Gorast.  “Your Makuta are going rogue, just like in my universe.”

Gorast bristled.  “We’re nothing like those freaks of nature.”

“Easy, Gorast, easy,” Angonce said.

“Face it: you Great Beings don’t have any clue what you’re doing in any universe.”  Vultraz got to his feet, walking closer.  “Your plans always fall apart.  It just took a little longer in this one.  Maybe you should’ve quit while you were ahead.”

Angonce put a hand on his hip.  “I’ll admit, we have noticed a trend in the other universes.  But at least now, we have their mistakes to learn from.”

“Yeah?  And how’s that working out so far?”

“My, aren’t you smug for someone locked in a cage.”

“I might as well enjoy the suffering of my captors.  What do I have to lose?”

The door opened.  Instantly, Vultraz’s eyes shot wide.  Angonce turned to see a broad-shouldered Great Being with thick gloves and a scorched apron, carrying a large hammer in one hand.  Flipping up the welding mask he wore, he revealed a square jaw and a terrible burn scar across one side of his face, and he regarded Angonce with a look of calm suspicion.  “What’re you doing here?”

Angonce grinned as he watched Vultraz shuffle back.  “Oh, I was just leaving.  Come to conduct another experiment on our guest of honor?  I wonder how much more he can take.”

“I won’t kill him.  Not that Heremus would mind if I did.  If you’re leaving, then leave.”

Vultraz was pressed up against the rear wall of his cell now.  Stepping around his colleague and back into the hall, Angonce said, “Don’t have to tell me twice.  Best of luck in your work, Ekimu.”

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Lena, Paragon of Humanity (a Supercorp alt. Crisis story), Part 1 of 2

[Warning for blood, violence, assault & battery, character death (temporary, but not resolved in this installment)]

---

Appearing on the Waverider and being declared the Paragon of Humanity is a shock for Lena in and of itself. If she had her preference, she'd be back on the Legion ship helping the so-called superfriends than be here among strangers facing an insurmountable challenge. 

But that shock wanes when-- with a sharp twist of the knife still lodged between them-- Kara volunteers even more information. "There's something you should know--" "Hey, sis." Ever the slave to his congenital need for dramatic flair, Lex thwarts Kara's voluntary truth for a second time by strolling into the too-bright room, hands tucked in his pockets with a shit-eating grin. "Miss me?"

Lena's blood runs cold as she stares, stunned, at the apparition of her brother. She's allowed a single heartbeat to wonder if the verse-warp scrambled her brains. There's no precedent that she knows of for reality jumping on the scale she'd just used-- sudden onset schizophrenia isn't beyond the realm of possibility. 

But Kara's jaw tightens irritably at his entrance, a confirmation that she sees the apparition as well, and her deep loathing for the ghost walking among them. "The Monitor revived him," Supergirl tells her, an explanation that explains nothing. "I don't know why but--" "I killed him, Kara," Lena whispers. "I swear to god I shot him in the chest I watched him bleed out--" "Never been more proud of you, ace," Lex supplies, with a grin that would almost be genuine if not for razors edge lurking beneath it. "It's rare that anything surprises me, but you did. Brava." Kara grips Lena by the hands and tugs her into the corridor, out of Lex's line of sight. As soon as his spell is broken, Lena's capable of conscious thought again, and she pulls away with a muttered curse, this time not meant for the hero. "What the fuck is he doing here," Lena demands, anger overwhelming her shock. She clings to it for dear life, because she's afraid of what will be left if it fades. Nothing, is what she fears. "What the fuck, what the FUCK," she mutters all the way down the corridor to the lab she'd first arrived in. "What the fuck, Kara!" "I know," Kara says quietly, having followed her pace for pace. "I almost killed him myself, but the Monitor says--" "Lex Luthor is still of use," the Monitor delivers himself, appearing in a flare of white light. "Fuck you," Lena snarls at the stranger, too angry and too shattered to be daunted by the display of extranormal abilities. Seven billion people on Earth-38 about to die, and you chose HIM?! A literal monster?!" "His resurrection was necessary--" "Anything he can do, I can do better. If you have me, you don't need him." But the Monitor is not swayed. "Neither of you alone can undo what has been done. If you are to return the universe to its rightful form, you must set aside the bygones--" "Bygones?" Lena exclaims. She shakes her head. "No. In fact, set aside this: your 'paragon of humanity' refuses to stand in the same room as him, let alone work with him. Either he goes, or I go." In the end, it's Kara who smoothes things over. She gestures for the Monitor to let her have a shot, and he disappears to give them a moment of privacy. Lena braces herself heavily against the console with both hands, trembling with more than just fury. When Kara finally gets a glimpse of her face, it's heavy with despair. "All those people," Lena whispers. "All those people, and he's the one who cheats death." "I know it's not fair..." "We don't know if James made it to a ship," Lena says abruptly. Her eyes close against sudden tears. "Boarding was such chaos, there's no passenger manifest for any of the ships that made it through. No one knows if he made it." Kara's heart lurches, but she remains calm. Strong. She places a warm hand on Lena's shoulder, and to her surprise, Lena doesn't pull away. "If what the Monitor says is true... if you can bring the universe back-- don't you think it'll be worth it? You're his sister..." Lena doesn't respond right away, and when she does her voice shakes for a whole other reason. "All my life, I was an orphan. But I wasn't. I was Kara Danver's best friend," she mutters, half under her breath. "But I'm not. Then I was the woman who murdered her own brother. But now I'm not even that anymore." Lena shrugs. "If I'm none of those anymore...what else am I?" But Kara doesn't say that. She curls a hand around Lena's wrist, silently willing to look at her. "You're Lena Luthor," she tells her friend, offering a small but genuine smile. "And you're still all of those things. For better or for worse. And you're still my best friend. That never changed, Lena." Lena shakes her head against the claim, but her fingers grip Kara's tighter. With a soft huff, she straightens to face the challenge at hand. "Right. I still killed my brother in cold blood," she says, her voice sharpening into a new edge, "and that's not a thing Lex Luthor forgets. Has your Monitor considered the fact that he'll return the favor the first chance he gets? His still of use Lex Luthor will murder his paragon of humanity?" Kara wraps Lena in a firm hug, one that Lena finds herself returning after a moment of silent hesitation. She's still angry, her chest still hurts with the ache of Kara's lies, but their world was just destroyed, and Lena's identity feels like it's following on Earth-38's heels, and the warm circle of Kara's arms feel like the only thing keeping her atoms together. "I won't let that happen," Kara vows. "I promise." However intimate their moment of reunion, it's still the end of the world, and at the end of the world heroes and paragons have greater duties than promises to each other. While Lena works with Lex in the lab, Kara and the remaining paragons fulfill their own roles. It pulls Kara away from her watch dog duties, pitting her against the anti-monitor while Lena finds a way to restore the multi-verse. The solution is relatively simple. They have the Book of Destiny, but not someone guaranteed to survive the encounter with their sanity intact. Of course, Lena has someone who can. Hope. Lena and Lex restore the AI saved on the thumbdrive, and then divide & conquer to alter Hope's programming while generating a means to let her interface with the Book of Destiny. Lena suspects that the ordeal will fry Hope completely (along with every other electrical component in the lab, if not the entire ship) but Hope is ready and willing. It is what she was created to do. Working with Lex while being completely devoid of any softness towards him is a new experience for Lena. Her wariness gives her new independence, and allows her to interact with him on equal footing. Their banter is familiar, but sharp, and her new ease with herself gives Lena a new sort of comfort. It feels almost... normal. When Hope is ready and Lena pushes the button, she and Lex are alone on the ship. The others have taken a jump ship to face the anti-monitor directly, and honestly, Lena believes it's their best chance for survival, considering that even if their plan works, the energy wave from the Book of Energy could tear the ship apart. The surge of energy rocks through the ship. Sparks fly, the lights go dark, and it's a long moment before Lena can believe they're still alive. "Gideon?" It takes a long while, but Gideon comes back online with a garbled voice but some external sensory capability. "All matter-based realities have been restored." Elation bubbles up inside Lena, and she turns to Lex with a broad grin that shines with triumph. "It worked! We did--" She turns into her brother's fist as he shoves it deep into her abdomen. The blow knocks the breath from her, and Lena's ears ring as she slowly comes to the realization that Lex hasn't punched her. Fists clutching at his lapels, Lena turns her gaze down between them, where his hand curls around the bloody hilt of the knife protruding from between her ribs. She gasps, staggering, only to be steadied by her brother's gentle grip. "You did it, ace," he delivers. His voice is devoid of emotion-- of rage, of pride, of hate. His tone is perfectly congenial, and it chills Lena to the bone. "I knew you would. And now that you've served your purpose--" With a vicious tug, Lex pulls the knife from her flesh. A grunt pulls from Lena's throat, only to be strangled once more when Lex plunges it back in. "No one will miss you." When Lena sags, Lex props her up, tipping her chin up so their eyes meet. She stares into his fathomless gaze as it regards her with disdain. "The Paragon of Humanity," he sneers, but then softens with rationality. "I suppose it's fitting. You certainly embody all that it is to be human. Fallible. Weak. Governed by emotion." Each point is punctuated with another thrust. Each one drives more of the breath from Lena's chest, until she has nothing in her but an empty hollow. "You are alone, Lena," Lex murmurs in her ear, holding her close. "And more than that, you are mortal." With a final twist of the knife, Lex rips the blade free and tosses it aside. It clatters into the shadows, far beyond her reach. He releases Lena as well. A small shove sends Lena staggering against the console, but her efforts to catch herself are immediately thwarted by hands that grip her head and slam it against the pedestal. Lena hits the ground blindly, her sight stolen by the darkness and ebbing consciousness. Lex's foot slams into her belly. Once. Twice. And then there's utter stillness, broken only by Lena's own grunting gasps for air. "I congratulate your tenacity, Lena. Watching you pulling that trigger-- it was the most Luthor I'd ever seen in you." Lex crouches beside her, stroking the side of her head. Lena doesn't even have the strength to flinch from his touch. "When I negotiated your survival in exchange for availing my services to the Monitor, I won't pretend that it wasn't because I needed your intellect. You are truly brilliant. The efficiency of your mind, your intuitive leaps of logic-- you've come a long way from the little girl I taught to play chess." Lena blinks against the throbbing of her skull, dislodging the tears that have gathered on her lashes. They drip across the bridge of her nose, and fall soundlessly to the floor. Her brother's fingers brush the hair from her temple, smearing blood across her skin. After a moment, his hand tightens cruelly. Her mind has disconnected from from her body-- Lena imagines she can see herself as Gideon must: a pathetic, pile of flesh and bone bleeding out under the heel of a monster. But then her imagined gaze catches on the dark shadow encircling her own wrist: a watch. The beacon. She watches her fingers reach blindly for the watch face, and then blinks back into her body just in time to see her brother offer one last kindness. "In the spirit of that efficiency," he delivers smoothly, "know that I would never condemn to you outlive your purpose." Just as the tip of her finger brushes the sigil on her watch, Lex picks her head up with both hands and slams it against the floor. There's no pain. No fear. There's absolutely nothing. --- Kara returns to the Waverider with victory in her throat. Their communications with the ship have been disrupted, but they can see that it's still intact, and when they dock, the newly awakened hope inside expects to find Lena on the far side of the door. What they find instead is a dark and empty ship, utterly silent save for the ear-splitting alarm only Kara can hear. "Lena." Her heart pounds thunderously, pulsing against her vision as she strains to look through the bulkheads that stand between the docking bays and the lab. The energy wave has disrupted something in the make up of the metal hull-- Kara can't see through it. She starts to run, panic overtaking her as she realizes that the only heart she can hear beating over the beacon's shriek is her own. The lab's door won't open-- sabotaged by Lex on his way out. Kara punches through it with her entire body, and the metal tears like aluminum foil under the impact. Inside she finds silence, blood, and Lena. Kara knows before her hands make contact that she's too late. Lena's too pale, too silent, and when Kara scoops Lena's upper body into her lap, her friend's body feels empty. "No," Kara's vocie shakes. "No, no, no, Lena, please..." A flash of light pierces the darkness, and the Monitor appears, his features grim and impassable. Kara glares up at him through her tears, her anger reaching for its only available target. "She told you this would happen..." she croaks. "SHE TOLD YOU!" A blast of heat vision crackles ineffectively against his breastplate. The rest of the crew fills in around him, and murmurs of dismay cloud the air around them, shocked at the violence visited on one of their own on the cusp of victory. "She told you," Kara echoes, hugging Lena close to her chest, "and you still insisted on keeping her killer here. Because his use outweighed the threat he posed." "Lena Luthor's loss is tragic," the Monitor intones, bending to one knee to meet Kara's gaze. "But she fulfilled her purpose, as did her brother." "Yeah, but it's her brother who gets to keep breathing?" Kate demands, catching Kara's anger and fueling it with her own. "Where's the justice in that?" "Lena dealt the first blow," comes the flat reply. "I am not responsible for the actions between mortals--" Kate grabs him by the cowl and hauls him up, away from Kara. Away from Lena. Scowling, she shakes her head. "This time you are! YOU brought him back, YOU insisted on keeping him alive! Lex may have been the one to murder her, but Lena's blood is on your hands too." "Kate," Kara breathes, her chest quaking with the effort to keep her wits about her. "The book... bring me the book." An electric surge of hope surges in Kate's chest, and she releases the Monitor to sweep towards the interface, where the book lies under a neat of sensors and wires. Just as she reaches for it, it dematerializes like so much ether. "What the fuck--" She whirls to face the Monitor, who draws himself unapologetically to his full height. "The Book of Destiny cannot erase the sins of the mortal world. It's power is too dangerous--" Kara coughs a laugh, her cheeks streaming with tears. "Lena used that book to save the universe. ALL the universes. She of all people--" "I am sorry for your loss," the Monitor cuts in. "But my task is now complete. It is time for me and the book to remove ourselves from the timeline, before reality is forever altered." "No, wait--!!" He disappears without another word, leaving Kate to tackle nothing but air, and Kara reaching for a hope just out of reach. They stare at the vacated space he'd just inhabited, and not for the first time wonder if they'd been helping a good guy after all. It certainly doesn't seem like it, when the engineer of their salvation lays dead in her hero's arms. Kara's features fall, a mask of stunned and empty disbelief. For long minutes no moves. No one speaks. Finally, Kara numbly reaches for the watch on Lena's wrist. Her fingers brush cold skin on their way to the el mayarah still pulsing with a faint glow. With a single press, the sound in Kara's ears cut out, silencing the beacon for the last time.

[weecherylita]

Continuing my analysis of Redcloak; this piece is focused on in-character signs that he could actually get some positive character growth (maybe even a redemptive arc? Who knows).

THIS POST INCLUDES MAJOR SPOILERS FOR START OF DARKNESS…

In my previous post, I pointed out that the heart of Redcloak’s character is a battle between his two primary motivations; the first (and the one he likes to tell himself is his main motivation) is trying to improve the lives of the goblin people. The second (and his actual main motivation) is his desire to hide from his own guilt for leading them on a dangerous path which has brought them a great deal of death and suffering. He has sacrificed so much for the sake of the Dark One’s Plan, he thinks the only option is to keep going – otherwise all of those deaths will have been for nothing, and the toll on his conscience will be extreme. Xykon, being a vital component of said Plan, is someone who Redcloak has used as a shield to hide behind – his servitude towards Xykon offers him “an excuse for [his] inexcusable behaviour” as Xykon puts it, and allows him to kid himself that he has no real choice.

So, what are the signs that he might be able to break out of this and change for the better? (Note I’m not arguing he definitely will change, just that it wouldn’t actually be totally out of the blue if he did.)

The hobgoblins and Gobbotopia

In his dealings with hobgoblins in particular, we have seen the part of him that genuinely cares for his people really start to come more strongly to the fore. Firstly in his major about-turn during the Battle of Azure City, where he came to realise the error of his previous racist attitude towards hobgoblins, and this produced a significant change in his behaviour. So here at least we have precedent for Redcloak examining past actions, owning up to his mistakes, and growing for the better (albeit, on a much smaller scale than what would be required to rethink his devotion to the Plan).

As this plot line develops we continue to see further evidence of Redcloak growing in his sense of responsibility and genuine concern for the lives of other goblins, and this includes two prominent examples where he does prioritise their well-being above the Dark One’s Plan.

Firstly, we have the personal battle between Redcloak and the High Priest of the Twelve Gods – a duel he could have avoided, but specifically enters into because “dueling will save the lives of any hobgoblins your spells would have killed.” And this is a risk not just to his own life, but potentially to the Plan as well, since there was a chance of the Crimson Mantle being destroyed/confiscated by Azurites in the event of Redcloak losing that duel (the best case scenario would’ve been for the cloak to get picked up by another, almost certainly less powerful goblin cleric).

Secondly, he clearly puts off continuing the Dark One’s mission in order to concentrate on the development of the emerging goblin city state, Gobbotopia. This shows a genuine desire to pursue an alternative and less risky method of securing the well-being of his people, to the point that it distracts him from the Plan. It doesn’t last, of course. A combination of Xykon’s rage and a semi-direct message from the Dark One himself serve to refocus his attention on the Plan once more. This brings about a regression of sorts, in that we once again see him prepared to tactically sacrifice the lives of other goblins for the sake of its success. For now, it appears that he believes that by delegating to Jirix, he can pursue both the Plan and the development of Gobbotopia concurrently. He is surely aware that pursuing the Plan could threaten Gobbotopia itself, but perhaps unwilling to dwell too much on the ramifications of that. Nevertheless, Gobbotopia still exists as a tangible achievement in Redcloak’s eyes, and may well come into play again in forcing a confrontation between his two primary motivations – Gobbotopia or the Plan; the well-being of living goblins, or his desire to hide from his own guilt. 

Right-Eye and Xykon

Redcloak’s efforts to hide from his guilt are becoming more strained. We get the most explicit glimpse of this when we see him talking to - himself? - in the mirror, saying: “It’ll all be worth it. You’ll see.” Except of course, he’s not just talking to himself, but also Right-Eye (Redcloak having lost his own right eye, it would seem as though he was staring at a right-eyed goblin when facing himself in the mirror).

In fact, this brings me back to that interesting statement from Xykon at the end of Start of Darkness: “as long as you’re loyal to me, I’ll let you pretend that this [Redcloak murdering Right-Eye] never happened.” Thing is though, Xykon’s gone back on his word. By forbidding Redcloak to regenerate his lost eye, and encouraging Tsukiko to call him “Wrong-Eye”, Redcloak has been getting regular reminders about his brother – and what he did to him. It’s no wonder that Redcloak has started to seem a little unsettled. And the memory of Right-Eye doesn’t just represent Redcloak’s guilt either – it’s also about choice. As Xykon pointed out, Right-Eye is proof that actually, Redcloak does have a choice – a choice about whether to rebel against Xykon, or the Dark One, or to just admit that he’s done wrong by his people and there are alternatives to following this crazily dangerous plan. Xykon characterises Redcloak as “too chicken-shit” to ever make that choice, but I do wonder. For a start, Xykon’s verbal beat-down to Redcloak at the end of Start of Darkness (when Redcloak was at his very lowest) was so utterly vicious I almost felt like it’s inevitable that one day, Redcloak will pick himself back up and prove him wrong. (Law of drama I guess? Elan would approve.)

Which leads onto another point – another way we’ve seen Redcloak develop over the course of the comic is to see him becoming more confident and more dissatisfied with Xykon. If we compare the first time Redcloak submitted to calling Xykon “Lord Xykon”, way back at the end of Start of Darkness, with the last time we heard him say it, recently in the western desert, we can see that his attitude has significantly changed. The first time is almost heart-breaking; his will is completely broken at that point. That final time, where he is practically dripping with disdain and barely contained rage, honestly gives me chills.

There is no evidence as of yet of this progression leading to any positive growth; thus far, his newfound confidence has led Redcloak to boast that he secretly has Xykon dancing to his tune, which is a dubious assertion that still hinges on his desire to fool Xykon into carrying out the Plan. Nevertheless, I think it’s interesting the way Xykon originally characterised servitude to him as a way for Redcloak to avoid his own sense of personal responsibility for his actions (”You’ll obey me forever now, because I give you an excuse for your inexcusable behaviour”). In Redcloak’s mind, preserving the relationship with Xykon is still a necessary evil for the sake of the Plan, and the Plan is beyond question (and thus he avoids the need to face up to his own wrong-doing in pursuing that goal). The more strained his relationship with Xykon becomes, the higher the chance of the whole thing unraveling. A few small cracks are starting to appear, but whether they will lead to any positive development or not remains to be seen...

Violence and non-goblins

And the final point relates to Redcloak’s attitude and violent behaviour towards non-goblin species. The Redcloak of the most recent strips is just as prepared to kill for the sake of the Plan as ever, and he does so brutally and with grim efficiency. Nevertheless, I think it’s interesting that he used to enjoy killing creatures he hated - humans and paladins in particular - yet he no longer appears to do so (or not as much, at least). He tells Jirix that murdering a paladin was “less satisfying than I remember”. He also doesn’t appear to take much pleasure in Tsukiko’s death (in contrast to his apparent glee when he set the chlorine elemental on her when they first met). And, most recently of all, he appears notably dissatisfied about killing the monsters of Kraagor’s tomb, asking “What did their deaths mean?”. Which seems an unusual question for a goblin who is long used to justifying every horrible deed he commits as being a necessary sacrifice for the greater well-being of his people. Now it could well be that Redcloak’s evolution into hardened killer who destroys out of grim necessity rather than enjoyment isn’t going to lead to any positive changes. Still, that most recent example in particular indicates a degree of weariness with needless bloodshed that might be relevant later. And we also have the very interesting example of Redcloak choosing to spare the prisoners of Azure City - people who he promised to destroy, yet eventually chose not to. I don’t believe this was out of a sense of compassion, but rather from the fact that when it came down to it, he just didn’t have the stomach for senseless destruction. And with the fate of the whole world at stake, that may yet prove significant. 

Of course, none of this is proof that Redcloak will eventually reject the Plan, let alone switch to placing his trust in the Order/the gods in general. Nevertheless, the above points make me believe it is possible that Redcloak could start to go through that path of personal growth – particularly if something dramatic happens that forces him to acknowledge that the Plan isn’t viable. As firmly deluded as he seems right now, a few small cracks have started to appear.

[hardlyfatal]

gary’s writing workshop: lesson 3:

Plot Structuring, Part 1

What is a story? Stories are accounts of transformations: situations, people, attitudes, establishments. If something isn’t changing, what is there to write about? Nothing.

Our job, as writers, is to describe the change and repercussions so that they’re effectively and entertainingly communicated to our readers with as much readability as possible. There are three components to managing it, which I’ll be going over here..

In this lesson, I’m going to ask you to change how you perceive and write stories.1

1. Plot Points & Purpose

Instead of looking at scenes from the outside – instead of looking at them from the POV of the reader, and considering their entertainment value – I want you to look at them from the inside. Or, rather, from below. From what basis, to what purpose, do they spring?

Scenes do not exist just to be entertaining. The wow factor is great, but it’s the icing on this particular cake. You can dress up a scene with elaborate setting, intense dialogue, brisk pacing, and boatloads of UST… but if they don’t move the plot along, they’re like a broken pencil: pointless.

Thus the new way to look at stories, at individual scenes, is to scrutinize them for purpose. The only purpose or reason any scene should make it into a story is because it moves the plot to its next point. These are in fact called plot points, and every scene requires one.

It’s a pretty existential way of looking at the matter, but it’s necessary, in order to create a satisfying tale that flows logically from one place to the next, that feels continuous and makes sense. Making sense is a very important, and often overlooked, aspect of storytelling.

Let’s use my story, Shoot the Moon, as an example. Going into it, I knew my overarching story premise: I wanted them to meet, hate each other, but slowly grow to learn about, become attracted to, eventually love each other, and then part. Not knowing that they actually lived in the same city, they meet again and reestablish their relationship. Finally, they find the motivation to overcome their personal demons to be together.

If you tease apart those plot points, you’ll see there are three acts:

They meet, hate each other, but slowly grow to learn about, become attracted to, and eventually love each other.

They part, not knowing that they lived in the same city, then meet again.

They overcome their misapprehensions about each other, and personal demons, to be together.

So how do I get them from A (beginning of each arc) to B (end of each arc)? The chapters in each arc have to have purpose; they have to have a point. Thus each scene was created to serve the purpose needed. A few examples:

I wanted Jaime to see how loving and gentle Brienne could be in contrast to her appearance and behavior to that point, so I created the scene where she shows the twins the bird eggs.

I wanted Brienne that, for all Jaime’s dickishness, he carried pain and perhaps deserved a bit of understanding and patience, so I created the scene where she confronts him and he reveals how he’s been parenting the twins by himself since his wife died.

I wanted to show Brienne’s persisting lack of self-esteem and reinforce Jaime’s attraction to her, so I created the scene where Arianne opened the door in just a robe, exposing most of her goodies, and Jaime hardly noticing because he was paying attention to Brienne instead.

As long as your story is driven by plot points– that make sense – that’s it. You’re probably suspicious of how simple it is, but it really is just that uncomplicated.

Despite that simplicity, I see a lot of people including gratuitous scenes, the purpose of which is to stroke the reader’s kink for whatever (hurt/comfort, fluff, smut, drama, etc.) instead of to push the plot forward. Either nothing much occurs in the scene, or it’s merely a reiteration of plot development and exposition that has already occurred before.

In the case of the latter, you need to have self-discipline and choose one or the other. There is no need to repeat yourself in romantic fiction – it just bogs things down and kills the pacing. Redundancy is wasted time and effort. If you’ve made a point, the point is made and does not need repeating. Have you noticed yet that I’ve said the same thing four times in this paragraph, just worded differently? Yeah.

In the case of the former, it just needs to go. If it’s dead weight, it’s dead weight. Be like Marie Kondo: thank it and let it go.

That’s not to say that hurt/comfort, fluff, smut, and drama can’t be included. They absolutely can and should be; they just need to have a point, and you only need to make that point once.

The point of a hurt/comfort scene could be one of them learning to trust the other, or discovering they have the capacity to be gentle and caring with another person, or that being vulnerable – with the right person, i.e. the other half of the couple – is not only safe but freeing.

The point of fluff could be one of them revealing they feel secure enough to let their inhibitions down and show spontaneous affection, or to show their joy in being able to openly express their love instead of having to keep it hidden and fearful.

The point of smut could be one of them developing the confidence to be a more active or even dominant lover, or show their surprise to be given pleasure for their sake instead of used for their partner’s satisfaction before their own, i.e. that they matter as well and that they doesn’t have to sacrifice their own pleasure in order to make the other person happy.

The point of a dramatic scene could be an expression of any of these – trust, capacity for gentleness, security in the other’s affections, confidence, realization of self-worth, revelations of secrets – possibly with some sort of action-y component. Is there a dramatic revelation that will somehow directly impact the romance between the couple?

To illustrate what I mean, I chose to deconstruct a scene from the show specifically because it is so spare of dialogue (relatively speaking), to show you how effective scenes can be even when there’s not a lot of verbal exposition, at least about the true reason for the scene.

This scene has nothing to do with her loyalties to the Starks or Catelyn Stark, though it may seem that way at first. It exists to give Jaime an opportunity to get to know Brienne better in ways that speak to her core personality and character.

Example:

TV!Brienne takes on three Stark men – who had killed a group of prostitutes after servicing Lannister soldiers – while Jaime watches. Youtube link, if you’d like to watch it to see exactly what happens..

Reason it was included:

To give the audience not only more evidence of her fighting prowess but also insight to her thoughts/feelings (her pity for the prostitutes in particular and of women’s plight in being under the control of men in general, and that she’s empathetic to the point of being vengeful on behalf of others who have suffered).

To make the audience understand that Jaime is now aware that Brienne is a formidable fighter; is not an empty braggart/can back up her claims of ‘knocking men into the dust’; is passionate enough about her convictions to fight and kill for them; is brave enough to face, and skilled enough to defeat, three men at once; is more committed to her loyalty to other women than she is to the Stark cause.

What was accomplished:

Jaime sees her as more than just her unusual appearance or another random person who loathes him like everyone else or a Stark lackey. She becomes a real person to him in this scene.

2. Making the Reader Give a Damn

You have to retain the reader’s interest from one chapter to the next. If you lose them along the way, you’ve lost any reason to keep going with the story. I know we all tell ourselves “I’m just having fun!” and “I’m doing this for myself!” but I think we all agree, though maybe just secretly, that it’s kind of bullshit: stories are made to be read by someone, somewhere.

If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one there to hear it, does it make a sound? If no one reads our stories, was it worth the effort of writing them? If we’re boring the pants off our readers, why bother? Maybe it’s because you love to know you’re making others happy, maybe it’s because you love the appreciation you receive, whatever. IDK your life. But for the most part, there’s some external validation going on, and if others are quitting your story in the middle, or foregoing your stories entirely because past things you’d written had been unreadable, you’re just shouting into a void.

The main issues where readership hangs in the balance are pacing and description (setting, blocking, inner voice/narration). We’ll go over all of these to a greater degree in later lessons. For now, I’ll just say… if these are compromised, you’re going to be giving a skimpier, shallower, boring-er version instead of the lushly-detailed story it could have been.

3. Making Sense

Getting them sucked in with your word-picture and the flow of plot points is only two-thirds of the job: you also need to make sense. And before you start yapping about suspension of disbelief, yes, that’s a thing, but it only goes so far. There are certain premises than can stretch credulity and still work, but others that go too far and just ruin it.

This is one of our Battles of the Balance: you have to find how far you can go until it just doesn’t work and starts to feel stupid. It negatively impacts readability because it’s so outlandish that it tugs the reader from their reading trance and makes them wonder WTF you’re trying to do because what you just wrote is highly improbable. It kills the story’s readability. It’s important to stay grounded and retain an open mind about your balance in this regard. You need to be able to analyze what you’re doing and seeing if it is going over the top rather than blindly trusting your first impulses and, worse, ignoring feedback that indicates that you need to tone it down.

This is why the work of A Certain Someone fails: she contends that human people are able to produce bodily secretions to a volume that is not physically possible. She loses us because she forewent logic for the payoff she was reaching for (presumably arousal?). Instead of us getting all into the smut and romance, grinning dirtily, instead we frown and grimace because we’re imagining rivulets and puddles and sodden carpets and crusty mattresses, etc. And her ego prevents her from understanding that she is imbalanced in this way, with the result that she keeps churning out fic after revolting fic that many potential readers avoid.

It’s also why Mary Sues and Gary Stus spur such a knee-jerk loathing in so many people. It’s fine to give your characters fine, admirable qualities, but if you heap them on, or don’t counter them with just-as-significant flaws, it will no longer make sense because it’s illogical that anyone would be so fantastic and lacking in defects.

Chekhov’s Gun3 vs. Deus Ex Machina

Chekhov’s Gun2 and Deus Ex Machina are two sides of the same coin: the need for continuity. If it happens earlier, there needs to be resolution later. If it happens later, there needs to be mention (aka ”foreshadowing”) earlier.

Chekhov’s Gun is a literary principle stating that elements in a story have to be relevant. The presence of superfluous details constitute ‘false promises’ on the part of the author, because they’re offering a concept to the reader that will never have any point.

This doesn’t mean you should never mention non-essential things that have no bearing on the plot for fear of creating Chekhov’s guns willy-nilly; you need to create ambiance with description of setting, etc. It just means don’t make a point of mentioning something beyond its level of importance to the story. Brienne’s nose is mentioned as being crooked to emphasize her ugliness as well as symbolize her atypically unfeminine lifestyle since the huge majority of Westerosi women don’t get their noses broken, due to their less active lifestyles. Jaime’s nose is mentioned… never, because it doesn’t matter.

Disclaimer: I am terrible at the Chekhov’s Gun thing, because I have a shitty memory and will put in a detail that I fully intend to do something with… only to completely forget it exists and never mention it again. This is bad. Do not do as I do on this one. I mention it because it’s a continuing issue I struggle with and continue to work on. My poor betas...

Deux Ex Machina is a plot device whereby a problem, conundrum, obstacle, or mystery is solved when an unlikely resolution presents itself without any hints or foreshadowing earlier in the plot, often in such a convenient way that it feels contrived and anti-climactic.

Example that I just cooked up: The big fight in King’s Landing, Jaime and Brienne fight a pitched battle to reach the throne room where Cersei is seated upon her pile of swords. Together, they manage to defeat Gregor Clegane and just as they’re about to confront the queen, Arya pops up3 from behind the throne to tug on Cersei’s left earlobe. Turns out, Cersei is actually an android and had been malfunctioning for a long time, hence her erratic behavior. Bran had a vision about where her off-switch was, and used magical mind-speak to tell his sister how to cut Cersei’s power. Et voilà!

Example that actually happened in the show: Dragons fly at the speed of light and can whisk people around a continent comparable in size to the United States in an hour or two. Similarly, ships can navigate long distances at a fraction of the time supported by actual reality, and horses can rocket down the Kingsroad like Maseratis, if the speed with which Brienne and Pod made it from Winterfell to the dragon pit is any indication4.

Homework

If you are currently working on a story: create an outline of its plot in terms of each scene’s purpose. Identify any gaps in the progression of plot points, and come up with ways to bridge those gaps.

If you are not currently working on a story: do this with one of the stories you have already published. Think up what you could have done differently, or what you could have inserted, to connect the loose ends.

If you are not currently writing anything, and have never published anything: Take one of my stories, nothing too short because it won’t have enough transitions to make the effort meaningful, and nothing too long because LOL this is supposed to be fun, and do as instructed above. I suggest Signs of Life, Vision of Love, or Full Fathom Five because of their middling lengths. Identify gaps, and suggest fixes for them.

Remember to look for connections and flow from scene to scene, NOT chapter to chapter.

Footnotes

1 – Unless you already do this, in which case… well done! Carry on! 

2 – This refers to Anton Chekhov, Russian author, not any Star Trek character.

3 – I SWEAR TO GOD I wrote this months ago, before the last season. Wish I hadn’t been prescient about it... *weeps*

4 – Like, I know about the compression of time through editing but COME ON.

© 2019 to me

[anamericannightmareinpa]

War’s End {Michael Clifford}

War is hell. But if you're going through hell- through war -the only way out is through. They knew what had to happen to end the war, they had their plan. Rush them when they least expect it to drive them back to the compound where the last of them will take shelter. Then blow their sanctuary and all its inhabitants to kingdom come.

There would be casualties on both sides, and it was clear that whoever went in to plant the bombs would be running the risk of not making it out of there before the explosion. Plenty would be willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, to make it a safe place to raise children and to simply live a life free of fear. It shouldn't have been a surprise who volunteered, but she couldn't believe that he was willing to do this while she sat at home praying he made it back alive. "This is a fucking suicide mission, Michael!" "For anyone else, maybe. Not for the four of us. Me, Cal, Ash, and Luke are the best group to do this right and still make it out." She could feel hot tears of anger, fear, and frustration begin to wet her cheeks as she stepped up to him, jabbing a finger into his chest hard enough to bruise.  "You don't get to be a goddamn idiot and put yourself in this kind of danger when you have a family to worry about!" "We all have families and we all ARE family, which is why we need to do this and protect you! I'd rather have you safe without me than in danger with me. I'm not doing anything the boys aren't doing, so it's not me trying to skip out!" "The boys are fucking stupid too!" she shouted, her voice rising towards hysterical. "Do you think Luke's daughter is going to understand when her mother has to tell her that daddy and her uncles aren't coming back? Don't you think Calum's wife deserves to have the father of her child with her when she gives birth and as their kid grows up? Shouldn't Ash get a chance to know what it's like to live together with the love of his life?" "Why don't you have faith in us?!" he snapped. "We have all of you to fight for and we're going to end this once and for all! We're coming back!" "But what if you don't?!" she screamed, shoving his shoulder. It was quiet for a long moment, her tears coming faster than before and his green eyes watching with a spark of guilt. "We have to come back," he finally whispered.  She could only stare as he reached a gentle hand to rest on her hip, stepping forward to pull himself closer to where she was rooted to the floorboards. "I have to come back," he said, voice stronger. He bumped his nose against hers, then pressed his lips to her forehead. "I have my reasons for coming back alive, and the most important one is right here in my arms." Overwhelmed, she tucked her head into his chest, her tears making her skin stick to his shirt. Fisting her hand in the fabric, she let out a quiet sob. He held her tighter. "I'm coming back to you." ------------------------------------------------------ War is hell. But so is goodbye. Her tears hadn't even dried when she watched Michael walk out of the campsite with Calum by his side and Luke & Ashton leading the way, all of them strapped with the homemade bomb components. She stood amongst the partners of the others, their collective tears enough to end a drought. Her shirt was damp on the shoulder from where Calum's wife had wept against her, Luke's wife much the same with Ashton's partner still clinging to her too. Luke's daughter was pressed against her mother's leg, chubby cheeks flushed from what could be the last time she saw her daddy and uncles. "They're going to end this," she said, conviction heavy in her tone to assure both herself and the women and child around her. "They will," Luke's wife agreed. "But they need to come home." "Please, God, let them make it!" Ashton's partner wailed, tears appearing once more. Calum's wife sucked in a breath and laid one hand on her round stomach. "They have to get home." "They'll be back. All of them," she said firmly. ------------------------------------------------------ War is hell. But so is waiting. They could see the attack from their camp and watched in satisfaction as the remaining forces were driven back to their compound. Once the gates were closed, the illusion of safety projected, their people began to retreat in preparation for the final act. Watching the signal be given was bring out different emotions for her. She was elated for this war to end. She was terrified for the boys' safety. She was hopeful for the future. In the seconds before the blast, it was near silent as she and the others watched their friends and family scramble from the compound. From the camp's distance it was impossible to make out who was who, and she wasn't sure if she should be thankful for that fact or not. When the explosion finally came, it was massive. The boys had placed the bombs well, not a single wall of the compound left standing once the thicker smoke and dust had cleared. The heat could still be felt on her cheeks and the dusty wind swirled around her feet as she watched light grey and white smoke billow from the remains of their now departed enemies and the fortress that would entomb them. "It's over," she heard whispered from behind. She turned, catching sight of Calum's wife and the thin tears tracking down her cheeks.  "It is," she agreed as Luke's wife and child came forward with Ashton's partner.  "We should go meet them," Ashton's partner said, hands clasped tightly at their chest. "The others are going down to the front." Luke's wife looked apprehensive but stayed silent, cradling the toddler to her chest. The five of them journeyed down to the front lines amongst the rest of those who had stayed behind. Anxiety bubbled within each of them, the fear that the four men they cared for the most wouldn't be there once the dust settled. When none of them were immediately visible, her nerves skyrocketed.  "Where are they?" she asked as she came upon one of the men who'd taken part in the strike. "Roy, where are the boys?" The blonde eyed her for a moment, expression unreadable. "They-" "Oh my God!" Calum's wife cried. She turned away from Roy to the sight of Ashton and Calum approaching, both of them bloody but alive.  Calum's entire left side was drenched in crimson, his arm hanging limp at his side amongst tattered pieces of his shirt. Supporting him from his right was Ashton who had a large gash above his temple that extended down to his jaw, blood flowing steadily out of it. Both of their faces also had trails of sweat trickling down through dirt and soot from the explosion. "Thank God you're alive!" Ashton's partner sobbed, running forward to wrap their arms around his waist. "'Course I'm alive," he said with a chuckle, his voice hoarse. "Just got ya, can't be leaving ya." Calum's pained expression smoothed over as he moved towards his wife, his right hand pushing her hair back and then brushing the tears from beneath her eyes. "Don't cry," he said softly. "I'm okay, I promise. Nothing the medic and a few weeks of rest won't fix." She closed her eyes and took in a shaky breath. "I was so worried we'd lose you." "Shh," he hushed, pulling her into his chest, "I'm here with you and our little one forever." As the couples reunited, she turned away from them, the moments so intimate and raw that she felt she shouldn't look. Instead, she looked to Luke's wife who sported a tight-lipped expression as she held her daughter close. When their eyes met, she saw her own thoughts reflected back at her: Ashton and Calum were wounded but alive, right there with them. They had made it. But the absence of the others wasn't unnoticed. "Guys," she called after allowing the couples their reunions. "Where are Luke and Michael?" Calum looked to Ashton, the older man's brows furrowing. "I don't know," he admitted. "We got separated as we were coming out of the compound. They found us and we fought back which was working until the guns came into the mix. We had to take cover because both Cal and Luke got hit. Cal got it in the shoulder but I don't know about Luke." Luke's wife sucked in a breath, one hand cradling her daughter's head where thick blonde locks curled tight just like her father's. "We went out on the left," Calum picked up from Ashton. "I guess they went to the right, but I thought... I thought they'd be here by now." Panic roared in her chest and blood rushed in her ears. She couldn't breathe, but she didn't want to. Her nightmare had become reality. Michael had chosen to complete the mission, and he had, but at the ultimate price.  The war was over, but so was his life. He'd promised to come back to her. He'd stood in the campsite holding her and saying that he'd be back because he had her to fight for. He'd said he'd make it back. She felt tears welling behind her closed eyes and her stomach lurched. She was going to be sick, but she tried to fight it, clenching her jaw and fisting her hands at her sides.

“You two need your wounds taken care of.”

Her eyes opened and she saw Luke’s wife staring into the distance where the smoke still continued to rise, her expression blank as her daughter slept peacefully in her arms.

“I can go back around, they may have needed to take cover when the explosion hit,” Ashton said, letting go of his partner and stepping backwards from the group. “I can take the medic with me in ca-“

“No, you two need your wounds dressed,” Luke’s wife repeated. “They need treated to prevent an infection.”

“I can-“

“Shut up!” she snapped, lucky the sleeping child didn’t wake. “Get the damn medic!”

Everyone stared at her as her body trembled, grip on the small girl tightening slightly and tears gathering on her lashes. Everyone stared as she tried to keep her composure.

She admired Luke’s wife for thinking of the others in the situation.

Then, for the second time that day, silence descended on the moment.

She could only feel the ache in her chest at the thought of those they had lost. Her future and her family felt broken, the idea that they could ever be whole again without Michael absolutely out of the question. Their safety was ensured, yes, because of his sacrifice but an overwhelming large part of her would have rather the war rage on for millennia than to have it end without him beside her.

And Luke’s wife, it wasn’t fair to her either. To be left a widow raising her child in a post-war life where everything would be an adjustment.

“I need the fucking medic!”

Time froze in an instant when she heard the distant voice.

“He’s fucking bleeding- I NEED THE MEDIC!”

She turned around.

“I don’t know if the bullet’s still in the wound, we needed to get out of the blast zone.”

Bloody nose, split lip, and gashes along his arms, Michael had Luke’s arm slung around his neck as he shouldered most of the taller blonde’s weight. Luke’s lower right side was covered in blood and his expression pained but alert as the medic reached him. Two other members of their party helped Luke towards where the injured were being treated, and Michael looked around eagerly once his friend was taken care of.

When he spotted the group, he blew out a breath and jogged over, both Ashton and Calum clapping him on the back with quiet murmurs of relief at his return. Then, he went to Luke’s wife.

“He was hit in his side and he’s in a lot of pain, but he should be okay. It’s probably going to be a tough recovery, but he’s going to be okay,” he rushed out.

Luke’s wife finally allowed the tears to fall as she took his hand in her free one. “Thank you for getting him back to us.”

He shook his head with a smile. “We both had our reasons to come back. Go to him—he needs his girls.”

With a watery laugh, she set out towards her husband.

Finally, Michael looked to her and lifted a hand to run through his hair.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” he said nervously. “But I had to make sure Luke made it back too.”

With a shake of her head she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and tugged him forward, her head resting on his chest as her tears flowed freely.

“You kept your promise,” she whispered.

He nodded. “I had to come back to you.”

Michael cupped her cheeks and lifted her head to look into her eyes for a brief moment before pressing his lips against hers, hoping that she understood just how much he loved her and how ready he was for their future.

War is hell. But when it is over, there can be good.

[franklyshipping]

Warmth in All Places ~ A Markiplier and Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

A REALLY REALLY CUTE ANON PROMPT THAT I'M EXCITED TO WRITE BECAUSE IT'S LEE ROBBIE AND THAT ALWAYS MEANS INFINATE CUTENESS PLUS I KINDA WANNA WRITE A CARING HOST!!! LETS GET THIS HECKIN GOIINNGG!!!

TAGGING: @robbie-lee-zombie and @thehostofleetrature

Never in your life will you have a greater urge to be a mother hen than right now, I guarantee it. Make no mistake, to be a mother hen is not gender identity orientated, it is a state of mind, a vocation, a calling from the depths of your soul that you just cannot ignore when it arises. Like now....when you realise that the sweet Robbie the Zombie is shivering and cold and by himself in the kitchen, dripping rainwater on the floor as he stands still, not daring to move for fear of making a mess, not daring to call out to anyone for help for fear of reprimandment. So he stood there, his wet matted hair sticking to the back of his neck as his sodden jumper clung to his bare skin....it was unpleasant to say the least. Don't fear though, do not fret, because someone was to come to Robbie's aid on this cold day. A man, initially, in search of a snack.

The Host was having a casual craving for savoury, salty foods as obsessive workaholic writers do....until he came across Robbie, shivering and sopping wet and meekly hunched to try and hide how ashamed he felt about making a mess. But that was FARTHEST from the Host's mind. The mother hen had kicked in.

'Oh Robbie, Robbie are you hurt? Did you hurt yourself in the rain?'

That was the first thing the Host had to establish, and he let out a thankful sigh of relief when Robbie shook his head; but pangs resounded in his chest when Robbie shakily mumbled.

'R-R-Robb-bie s-sorry....f-....f-for mess....'

The Host immediately enveloped the shakily stuttering boy in the warmest hug he could muster, and immediately whispered reassuringly.

'Shh, shh, that doesn't matter, that never matters. All that matters is helping you, getting you warm and dry and feeling better....will you let me help you with that?'

The Host's warm voice washed over Robbie, and Robbie just couldn't bring himself to say no. He knew deep down that when Host said he cared, he meant it, and besides Robbie had always felt safe with the Host, so he nodded shakily.

'O-Okay...'

The Host let out a soft, relieved sigh because he was so happy that Robbie was letting him help him; the Host knew how difficult it could be to accept assistance. He kept Robbie in a half embrace as he murmured to the smaller boy.

'Okay, okay is a really good start. We're going to go to the laundry room, yeah? And then we'll take it from there....'

Robbie nodded and allowed Host to lead him. Host was going to go about saying things in stages because the last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm the poor zombie, especially given the state that he was in. When they arrived, Robbie immediately gasped at the new, intense warmth that was contained in the room; he could already feel it washing over him, somehow even through his sodden clothes.

'Mmm, warmmm....'

He murmured, looking up at Host was a slightly dazed smile. But a smile was a smile and the Host was overjoyed at perceiving it.

'This is a warm room isn't it? Sometimes I sneak in and read on the floor in the corner, but don't tell anyone!'

Host whispered dramatically, which made Robbie giggle and scrunch his face into a happy smile; he nodded as he replied with a very adorable hint of giddiness.

'Promise, promise!'

The Host chuckled and ruffled Robbie's hair before facing him properly.

'Now then, lets get you dry, arms up if you please.'

Robbie raised his arms high above his head with a grin, and the Host thought his heart might melt when he heard Robbie giggling his little heart out whilst his soaked jumper and t-shirt were pulled off. When the clothing was off, the Host realised that Robbie's lazy jogging pants had already dried off, and were keeping Robbie's legs nice and warm as the heat in the room made Robbie purr as he felt it on his skin properly.

'Sooo waarrmmm....'

The Host chuckled and let Robbie relish in the new comfort, meanwhile he put the wet clothes in one of the dryers and set it off on its cycle; next he set about trying to find a jumper for Robbie to borrow.

'Robbie, do you want a thick jumper or a thinner one?'

.....there was no response from the little zombie.

'Robbie?'

The Host furrowed his eyebrows and turned around, perceptive vision in full use.....and he was overcome....by cuteness. Robbie was sat cross legged on the floor in front of the dryer that his clothes were in, and he was watching the active cycle in utterly pure awe. Watching the clothes go round and round and round and round over and over again as he smiled and gasped in delight, he was practically hypnotised. Now knowing he would DEFINATELY get no definitive replies from the zombie, the Host decided to join him on the floor, cross-legged, and relaxed. All that could be heard was the whirring of the machine, the spin, and the occasional muffled 'thawumf' of clothing being tossed in the dryer.

Just when the Host thought Robbie was beyond the earthly realms of cuteness....he became even cuter. The zombie had rested his head on the Host's shoulder and was curling his body towards his, to which the Host instinctively responded to by curling an arm round his side affectionately. The Host however, did not perceive the dryer along with Robbie; he perceived Robbie. The zombie seemed so entranced, and the Host started to wonder what it would take to get his attention, since he already knew that talking to him wouldn't work. It was a conundrum, and the Host loved conundrums. As he thought to himself, his fingertips absently traced over a section of stitching that ran under Robbie's ribcage.....and the zombie flinched.

The Host paused....it may have been a small reaction, but he picked up on it alright, so he kept softly tracing the stitched area. Robbie's body was covered in stitching, round his armpits, knees, a few of his toes, his neck, hands, but it was strange stitching. Unlike normal stitching which is slightly wiry and uncomfortable, this stitching was soft like silk....and seemed more like it was part of Robbie's body rather than an external component, so no-one ever interfered with it; Robbie never said he was in discomfort, so everyone just saw it as a part of him. The Host himself had never touched the stitching before, since he'd never been in a situation for it to be probable. Until now.

'You okay there Robbie?'

The Host whispered, cocking his head to the side with an innocent smile....but he was given no response. Robbie wasn't entirely stoic however, for the Host managed to detect that the temperature of his cheeks rose just that little bit, which solidified the Host's playful intent. He'd get Robbie's attention, one way or another. The line of stitching that the Host followed was a line that curved beneath one side of his ribcage, went up the back of his ribs, before curving once more right beneath his hollow and around his shoulder joint. The Host decided to follow it.

'Can you feel this Robbie?'

The Host whispered with a smile as he traced gently up the stitching. I should be clear, the touches weren't hurting Robbie....they were tickling him. The tender skin around the stitches at his body was incredibly sensitive, which meant that Robbie's tumble-dryer trance had broken as soon as the Host had brushed his fingers against his skin. All Robbie was doing now was trying not to react so that Host wouldn't be tempted to keep going. It seemed that Robbie's plan had already failed however.

'H-H-Hostyyy.....'

They Host playfully gasped, which made Robbie's trembling lips spread into a flustered smile as the zombie squirmed nervously.

'So you can still hear me then? Interesting....were you ignoring me before?'

The Host's voice dimmed into a growl, making Robbie squeak as the Host's fingers seemed to quicken with their fluttering....and thus the giggles began.

'N-Nohoho....R-Rohobbie n-nohot hear.....'

Robbie bowed his head as he straightened up reflexively, giggling softly and sweetly as he tried to hide more in the Host's shoulder. The Host grinned adoringly, loving how he wasn't even daring to move away from him.

'Didn't you? Hmmm....that doesn't seem quite right to me....'

The Host followed the trail of stitches further up the zombie's ribs, softly scratching as Robbie got more and more flustered the more that the Host tickled him. The little zombie squeaked into the Host's shoulder as he got goose-bumps all over his skin, whilst still clinging to his little white lie.

'Ihihit ihihis rihihight! Hohohosty nahaha!'

The Host let out a soft, disbelieving hum....which Robbie ended up interrupting. Just as the Host's fingers were about to traverse higher, Robbie shoved the Host mid-hum. It was by no means harsh, since the Host barely even lost his balance....but that didn't mean he wasn't going to make Robbie pay dearly for it. The Host froze, making Robbie gulp. For a moment, Robbie thought he'd genuinely annoyed the Host, but he was soon disabused of that notion when the Host pinned him to the ground in one swift movement. The swift, effortlessness of his movements made him seem like phantom or a ghost, his coat swishing behind him as he straddled Robbie's legs and used a single hand to pin his wrists above his head. This was about justice now.

'I'll teach you not to fight back against the tickle monster!'

The Host growled, smirking down at Robbie who was downright shocked because since WHEN did the ever stoic Host do blatantly playful things like this? Robbie squirmed with a whine, eyes widening as he broke out into hysterical, squealing giggles. Host was skittering at the stitched skin under his hollow mercilessly, and as if that wasn't enough, Robbie couldn't get over how Host had called himself the tickle monster.

'NOHOHO NOHO MAHANSTAHAH! NAHAT REHEHEAL!'

Robbie exclaimed adamantly, to which the Host gasped, feeling most offended.

'First you shove the tickle monster, and then you QUESTION the tickle monster? You've got quite the attitude....'

Robbie snorted when the Host administered a few scratches to the centre of his hollow before going back to the stitching with his unbearable blunt nails, all the while Robbie wildly shook his head. He was grinning up at the Host, unable to hide the part of him that was really actually enjoying the playfulness.

'YOHOHOU MEHEHEANIE!'

The Host raised an eyebrow at the meek insult, before smirking as he glimpsed into Robbie's mind, seeing how much fun he was having. The Host reasoned with himself that it would be rude to stop now if Robbie was loving it so much, if anything, he would be being kind if he were to up the ante. He pursed his lips, and started to really loom over Robbie, easing off his tickling a little.

'Ohohhh, you think this is mean little boy?'

Robbie whimpering, feeling far too nervous to reply as he caught his breath, or tried too. Countless chills were running down his spine at how terrifying the Host was, how powerful he was, the endless things he could do. Lucky for Robbie, the Host was going to grant him a little taste of what he was capable of.

'I'll show you mean....'

The Host whispered, before continuing the tickling....and taking a deep, warm breath.

'Robbie the Zombie was giggling so cutely and hysterically from the fluttery, scratchy tickles that the Host was giving to the stitching beneath his right underarm....and now, Robbie would be able to feel that sensation at the stitching of his left underarm too....without the Host even having to touch him there.'

Robbie let out a screech. This was so evil. He'd already descended back into giggles....but now he was laughing his sweet little heart out. Why? Because....Host had narrated. Meaning, that is power over reality was being utilised, and the Host was bringing what he said to life. So, the sensations that Host had described....Robbie now felt, in excellent detail.

'NAHAHAHAHHH NAHAT FAHAHAIR NAHAT FAHAHAIR!!'

It felt like there were two hands at work at his ticklish stitching, ten wiggling fingers, ten blunt nails. It was legitimate torture. Plus, the magical sensations had this added after-tingling effect that reverberated throughout Robbie's whole body, and that was just enough for him to be wriggling about constantly. The Host meanwhile, was chuckling at his handiwork, and cooing.

'Does it tickle, hmm? How bad does it tickle the tickle monster's prey?'

Robbie's cheeks were bright and warm with embarrassment, the Host's words making him feel so small and weak and he realised how he was truly caught in the Host's tickly clutches. Or rather, the tickly clutches of the tickle monster.

'SOHOHO BAHAHAD AHAHAH MEHEHERCY!'

Tears were building in the corners of Robbie's eyes as he arched his back and tugged at his limbs, feeling like insects were invading his sensitive armpits and all his little vulnerable spots. He was definitely close to breaking. The Host, of course, wanted to throw in one last little taunt.

'Ah, ah, ah, manners my little prey-'

'PLEHEHEEEEASE TIHIHICKLE MAHANSTAH!'

The Host's lips spread into a smirk of such ferality and malevolence that even Antisepticeye would have recoiled in its wake; this time however, it preceded mercy. With a few swift murmurs, both the magical and natural tickling were no more, and the Host was quick to hug Robbie to his chest as he sniffled and giggled residually.

'There's a good boy....'

The Host crooned with a grin, snickering when Robbie whined and let out a few muffled giggles.

'Sh-shuhuhush....'

The Host gasped, then buried his face in Robbie's neck with a playful little growl.

'What was that?'

Robbie squeaked, tittering softly after having recovered, as he squirmed in the cuddle, smiling widely.

'N-Nothing!'

There was a pause...hen Robbie squealed with joy when The Host lay on top of him and gentle nuzzled his neck, exclaiming with a series of little growls and snarls; he still had some playfulness left in him....and Robbie wasn't going to complain.

'.....you little liar!'

They both giggled as Robbie wiggled and Host nuzzled, relishing in the warmth and the softness and the playfulness of it all. Robbie exclaimed giddily as he softly clawed at the Host's chest.

'T-Tihihickles Hohohohosty!'

The Host grinned, not just from Robbie's words but also just from how utterly cute Robbie was being. The Host honestly thought that if he spent this much time with Robbie every day then he'd never find it in his heart to be intimidating or scary ever again, his cuteness was just that beautiful and powerful. The Host was still able to be sarcastic though, there was no way that THAT would ever go away.

'Good for you.'

The Host rose away from Robbie's neck with a smug grin, chuckling when Robbie whined in embarrassment and hurried to hide in the Host's warm haven of a coat.

'Nuhuhuuuhhhh....'

As Robbie snuggled, the Host's breath hitched....and he let out a few titters of his own as Robbie snuggled dangerously close to his underarm.

'Hehey, you cohome out of there giggles!'

Robbie froze...vacating the coat with wide yes, gasping as he looked up at Host, mind processing....then he whispered with a growing smile and twinkling eyes.

'.....Hosty....tickl-'

'Don't even go there....'

The Host growled softly, which made Robbie squeak and blush and drop the subject, for now at least. But before they could go back to some form of cuddling, Robbie squeaked once again with a little jump; this time it was because the dryer had beeped to signal the end of its cycle. The Host grinned at Robbie adoringly.

'Want to get nice and snuggled?'

Robbie immediately nodded, and soon enough the Host had helped get Robbie into his comfy, dry clothes, before proceeding to carry him to a haven of blankets and warmth for the comfiest cuddle time that either of them could have possibly hoped for; all the while, the Host smiled to himself at how this cute zombie had already warmed up his heart.

WOOOPPP DONE IT HOPE YOUS LIKE IT I'D LOVE TO KNOW IF YA DID! LOVE YOUS! XX

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 34

Table of Contents. Second Instar II, Ch1. Go to previous. Go to next. The beginning of Second Instar. ‘Choly worries too much.

Melancholy rode Angel past a sign which indicated ‘turn left now to visit Jonathan Emery Historical Site,’ and continued down Route 62 East through Concord. His mind wandered a bit, and he decided that, at least for the time being, donning the vault suit wasn’t so bad. Now that he had found new foundation-wear in the form of the surgical corset, the bodysuit fit acceptably, and contrary to the Vault-Tec staff’s insistence, wearing anything underneath it didn’t seem to have impeded the effects of its technologically advanced lining. He could appreciate its efficient thermal regulation, and also its dry-wicking technology. It seemed to sync up with his Pip-Boy as well somehow, though beyond introducing an additional icon on his health screen, he couldn’t discern how at a glance it even mattered. Of course, he still wore the belt from his dress military uniform so that he could utilize the suspender cases which held his then limited stock of syringer ammunition, as well as his white Pharm Corps coat. To make himself less visible at a distance, he figured the coat would dull out the bright royal blue of the vault suit, and the belt and bracers would dull out the rich gold edging along the bodysuit’s zipper and collar.

His canvas ankle braces didn’t fit inside the short boots that Vault-Tec had provided as footwear with the vault suit, so he stored the boots in Angel’s compartment and continued on with the oxfords from his dress uniform.

Following the road around the perimeter of a quarry property, the route switched to North Road Route 4, and from there it only took a matter of minutes before they finally came upon the junkyard ‘Choly sought. They entered the open double hurricane fence gates, and ‘Choly surveyed the yard with the impression it had been heavily looted in recent years, but knew better than to trust his eyes. The only visible salvage at a glance seemed to be car bodies stacked as many as five high, but he could tell robotics parts lay scattered here as well. Without going up to the piles, he couldn’t tell what robots they’d once belonged to. He dismounted from Angel and kept his syringer rifle at the ready, in case they happened upon any unwelcoming occupants in the office at the South corner of the property.

“Before we get to work, I think we should stop for lunch first.” He opened the metal door with its reinforced glass window, and skimmed the room with his weapon before dropping it.“Guess it’s just you and me as usual.”

“I can appreciate that,” Angel replied, following him inside.“You’ve only the one Melancholia left. What should I fetch you from my stores?”

“You could put on a pot of coffee, and fish out a sweet roll and the deviled eggs.”

“As you wish! Sounds like we’re here for the day. Forgive me for asking something likely quite obtuse, but Sir...What are we doing at the robotics disposal ground?”

“Making use of the facilities to repair you.” The chemist slung his rifle onto his back and pulled up a folding metal chair, sitting at the operational terminal to poke around.“And upgrade you, if you’ll allow it. We can stay here a day or two I think, before rations make it more urgent to keep moving. Getting you freshened up is my top priority today.”

“Beyond refilling my Handy Fuel tank, and reaffixing my laser attachment, I can’t possibly imagine what upgrades you’ve in mind.” It filled the percolator with canned water and measured out the coffee grounds.“There’s only so many different features that General Atomics offered for the Mister Handy line.”

“If you’ll recall, one of your tendrils is a Miss Nanny's, actually. Looking back on it, I’m surprised the DIA let me put in any sort of custom order for receiving you. All kinds of robots got discarded here. Maybe we can find a Mister Gutsy or two, to get you some hardier shell plating. I’m sure there’s some paint laying around, so that you don’t look quite so cobbled together after we’re done.” He looked up from the log entry for what all had been disposed of there between June and October 2077.“This place was a robotics graveyard on the surface. Most of its clients just wanted a place to dump broken or defective robots on the cheap, no questions asked. But the owner made good money by also offering salvage scrap as well as repairs. There’s good equipment here. I was taking a chance, coming out here without knowing for sure, but it looks like it’s survived in tact, unrusted, here in the office space. --Hm. What’s a Robobrain?”

“It doesn’t sound like anything General Atomics might have created... Perhaps it’s a RobCo product?”

“That’s my thought. I’m not nearly as versed with RobCo technologies as I am with G.A.” His head drooped over the terminal keyboard. “You wouldn’t dislike it if we mixed components between Nanny and Gutsy parts for you, would you? My priority is maximizing your hydraulics, to make it as easy as possible for you to carry me. I... I feel bad that you have to.”

“Mister Carey, it’s company-approved to combine any of the parts families you listed. As long as we don’t void my warranty, I want to optimize my performance any way you see fit. Until we find a better option to increase your mobility while out and about in the Commonwealth, you can count on me to provide that service. It’s not your fault that the apocalypse so direly ruined accessibility across the state.”

“You’re sure you’re all right with it? You’re not just a wheelchair. You’re an artificial intelligence.” For a moment, the Handy only replied by handing him a melamine plate with a sweet roll and two egg halves on it, and a ceramic mug of coffee. It observed him as he took these from it, and he ate one-handed with the plate in his lap.“Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure to see you continuing to function and excel, Sir. My behavioral matrices thrive when my owner thrives. Emotionally, physically, financially. ...Spiritually...” It let out a reserved holographic chuckle, then fell quiet.“Did you mean it, that we’re headed up to Chelmsford after this?”

With the question, suddenly the entendred use of the word exceldidn’t sound accidental. Yet, Angel hadn’t been there when he’d spoken to Missus Murphy. It couldn’t have possibly known. He set down his coffee and glasses and screwed up his face with both hands.

“I have to go to the base. I have to know what I was supposed to be working on when they sent me that letter calling me back to active duty. If they meant for me to cook more Psycho for another war, it’ll put my mind and soul at ease, knowing the nuclear exchange prevented any need for military-size shipments of the stuff. In hindsight, I suppose the fact they called me back to active duty two weeks before the bombs fell is all the proof I need that the government had advanced paranoia that something was wrong. I... I wonder if they knew what was imminent, but didn’t know how to stop it in time...?”

“Oh, Sir. That’s not a constructive mental track to get on. It doesn’t change what’s transpired since. If going to the Deenwood Compound will provide you some manner of closure, then we shall do so. But you cannot keep dwelling on a course of events over which you had no control. You have so much more control now than you ever did.”

“That’s part of the problem. Who the hell died and gave me self-agency?” He swallowed half of one of the egg halves and choked a bit, having forgotten to chew it enough. He washed down the musky, salty protein with black coffee and sat a moment to recollect himself.“I’ve made very few decisions in my life on my own behalf. And I feel like every decision I’ve made since I came back into the world has been poor.”

“Ah yes. This misguided worry again. We’re here to repair me,” it offered, topping off the mug.“I know you care about my well-being just as much as your own. It’s just that your needs have been a little more... time-sensitive, shall we say? Things will work out in the end. Just like with the wonderful people who settled into Sanctuary. They couldn’t have gotten there without us. Without you.”

“I’ve gone too long without giving you maintenance. In my own defense, I didn’t have access to the materials I needed to do true repairs and calibration. You really think they’ll be all right?”

“I’m more worried about you doing well, especially with us headed up to the Lowell area. Are you certain it’s wise? You don’t handle memory of your military career very well.”

“You’re here with me. And it’s not like Johnston will be there to put me right back to work. Besides, wouldn’t you like to figure out how Jared knew X-Cell was a Deenwood product?”

“There’s little greater meaning my programming could find, I could imagine. I’m positive that the DIA would love to nip that leak in the bud.”

‘Choly almost reminded it that the DIA likely no longer existed, but he still wasn’t completely sure. He didn’t say so, but he hoped to measure his speculation of the continued existence of the DIA, going by how Angel would react to his navigation of the military base. It ate at him, not knowing for certain whether all his behavior had not only been transmitted to some DIA outpost, but also observed by someone still surviving to this day--whether he’d eventually see consequences to his actions in Lexington. He balked into laughter and quietened himself with part of his sweet roll.

“Was it something I said?”

“It’s nothing. I just realized that the concept of having to answer for misdeeds, and the fact we’re operating on faith alone that the DIA still exists... It’s like with the Christians, and the belief that if they sin, they have to go to hell. Like they have to be held accountable by a higher power, in order to behave. A ridiculous comparison, I know, and without tact or nuance. The DIA is simply... an intangible source of authority that has not yet stepped in and punished me. Or maybe it has. I don’t know. I suppose I’ve sought accountability from others all along, to validate whether I’ve made the right choices in life.”

“Need I remind you that the Defense Intelligence Agency has offices at the Deenwood Compound. You might find those answers there as well.”

“Something in me doesn’t want to know for certain whether it exists. But you’re right, that I might.” He finished off his food and nursed on his coffee while he continued reading the terminal.“There’s something here about a Sentry Bot. Warnings not to let the temptation get the best of you, and to not under any circumstances power it on. It was dumped by government personnel, it seems. Wonder what the fuss is.”

“A shame it’s a RobCo product, isn’t it, Sir? Even if it’s survived in tact, its parts wouldn’t be compatible with a robot in the Mister Handy line.”

“They were hulking things. They had to carry the weight of a tank on their treads, with how heavy their armor was. It’d be a dream, it it were possible to harvest the hydraulics from their wheel-treads.” He glanced to the holotape on the desk, and pretended he didn’t see it was labeled ‘Combat Sentry Proto MK IV.’“It’s probably impossible, though, since mecanum mobility is a completely different mechanism than hover-thrusters. We should focus on locating Handy, Nanny, and Gutsy parts. I never said I was a genius with this stuff, so going wild is probably outside both my knowledge and skill set. Even if it were doable.”

“Just don’t overdo it, Sir. It’s all right to only do what you can manage. Even the most minor of adjustments will facilitate my facilitating you. I’m entirely content with an algorithm scan, a tank refill, and my laser repaired... and if you do feel so inclined, perhaps a bit of fresh polish.”

“First, let’s see what we can put our hands on out there.” He pocketed the holotape surreptitiously, and slung his syringer rifle onto his back while he pulled his cane from his belt. With his free hand, he brought his coffee with him. “That way, we’ll know what we’re working with.”

Go to Next »»»

[madamlaydebug]

SEVEN RAYS AND SEVEN SPHERES

"The 7 rays are the prismatic break down of White Light. Each has its own vibratory characteristics. Light (the 7 Rays) and Sound (the 7 notes of the musical scale) are synergistic, and this is cymatics at work on a Universal scale. With the Music of the Spheres, each note (with it's range of sub-harmonics) 'sings' the Sphere into Being. Each has its respective Masculine Color Ray and Feminine Harmonic, and together they form the set of Natural Laws for that dimensional Sphere, and therefore each has specific characteristic influence in our everyday lives. Each person has 7 Bodies (the upper ones very subtle). Each of the 7 Bodies is emanating from one of the 7 Chakras and occupying its respective dimensional space or Sphere. In this way, Humans are multi-dimensional, occupying all of the 7 Spheres/Rays/Dimensions/Harmonic Universes at once. The only thing interfering with full conscious awareness of this are emotional blocks held in one or more of the Chakras which obstructs the Kundalini flow and severs the connection to the other Selves. These blocks translate as shadowed areas within the Auric Field around the Physical Body." -- Scott Maurer

"The Great Wheel of the Zodiac is the seven-skinned Egg of the universe. These skins are the seven great planes of manifestation commencing with Adi on the Spiritual level and descending to the physical plane. The fields interpenetrate, thus demonstrating the truth of the Eternal Presence in man. The consciousness of man interpenetrates all planes because it is derived from the Monadic level of the Adic plane."

-- Dr. John Kirk Robertson, MAAT Texts

"In the Mysteries the seven Logi, Elohim or Creative Lords, are shown as streams of force issuing from the mouth of the Eternal One. This signifies the spectrum being extracted from the white light of the Supreme Deity. The seven Creators, or Fabricators, of the inferior spheres were called by the rabbis the Elohim. By the Egyptians they were referred to as the Builders sometimes as the Governors and are depicted with great knives in their hands with which they carved the universe from its primordial substance. Worship of the planets is based upon their acceptation as the cosmic embodiments of the seven creative attributes of God. The Lords of the planets were described as dwelling within the body of the sun, for the true nature of the sun, being analogous to the white light, contains the seeds of all the tone and colour potencies which it manifests."

-- Manly P. Hall. 1901-1990. Secret teachings of all ages.

"The seven rays is an occult concept that has appeared in several religions and esoteric philosophies, since at least the 6th century BCE, of the Aryan peoples in both Western culture and in India. In the west, it can be seen in early western mystery traditions such as Gnosticism and the Roman Mithraic Mysteries; and in texts and iconic art of the Catholic Church as early as the Byzantine era. In India, the concept has been part of Hindu religious philosophy and scripture since at least the Vishnu Purana, dating from the post-Vedic era. -- Wikipedia

The Seven Bodies of Man--a brief exploration

http://theosophywales.com/seven_bodies_of_man__a_brie.htm

“Just as there are 7 Divisions on the Physical Plane and the Rainbow has 7 Colors, the Energy known as Sound has 7 notes in Music and the same note recurs on the eighth key, only it has a higher or lower Pitch according to which side of the Scale is reckoned. Each complete Scale of Notes is called “Saptaka” or Septave, meaning the Scale of Seven. Actual measurement shows that going from the low to the high, each eighth note has a vibration rate of double the number; thus, each Octave from low to high has double the vibration frequency in the high as in its neighboring low and to find the Octave Frequencies means a question of simple arithmetic." -- Dinshah Ghadiali, Spectro-Chrome Metry Encyclopaedia

"Not unlike our physical sun (the source of all visible light that can be broken up into its seven component colors), the Solar Logos of our system too is a source of seven great cosmic Rays of spiritual light that can help accelerate our spiritual growth. These Rays build up the causal body of man, and to each of them there are various spiritual and physical qualities assigned. In this case we can say that the term "Ray" is used in a sense of one special type of force or energetic quality. These seven great streams of energy represent each and every vibration in nature, space and form, and they permeate all objects, all beings and all events in manifestation. They interpenetrate each other and combine themselves in order to produce more complex systems which we refer to as "reality". The seven Rays surpass the possible description by words, or even by thoughts or feelings. They are too essential and all-encompassing to be limited within our own narrow inner space of perception of the great spectrum of reality." -- Gail Miller

"The seven streams of energy, it is said, are the very vibrations within matter, space and form which define and infuse all objects, all beings, and all events in manifestation. They combine and interweave to create all the complex systems known as reality. They strike a chord in our consciousness and are, quite literally, closer to us than breath. The Seven Stars (Rishis) of the Great Bear (Ursa Major) are the originating Sources of the Seven Rays of our Solar System. These Seven Rishis (Spirits) of the Great Bear express Themselves through the medium of the Seven Planetary Logoi in the Solar System as the Atmic Wills of the Monadic Ray, Who are Their Representatives and to Whom They stand in relation of the prototype. In a manner inconceivable to us the First Logos, the Solar Logoic Spirit, brings in the influence of other Constellations from the Monadic Great Bear via the Little Bear (Ursa Minor), Pleiades and Sirius. The Seven Stars of the Great Bear are involved in an intricate relation with Ursa Minor and the Pleiades, (as with Monad and Atma-Buddhi). This major triplicity of Constellations has a peculiar relation to that Great Being to Whom I have at times referred as the One About Whom Naught May Be Said. All that can be hinted at is that these three Galaxies of Stars are the three aspects of the Ineffable Cause of the Seven Solar Systems, via Sirius, of which ours is one. Each of these Seven Rays, coming from the Great Bear, are transmitted into our Solar System through the medium of three Zodiacal Constellations and their Ruling Planets. The Seven Planetary Spirits (Logoi, Cosmic Atma) manifest through the medium of the Seven Sacred Planets to cooperate in the Soul aspect of the Heavenly Man (Cosmic Buddhic), and also the Personality aspect (Cosmic Mental) of Humanity. The Little Bear, like its Universal Prototype, the Great Bear of which it is a lesser reflection and a corollary, is not a Constellation itself, but an Asterism, which is a distinctive group of Stars. The Seven Stars of the Great Bear are the Seven Head Centers of the One About Whom Naught May Be Said, the Great Being that is greater than our Logos and of the Pleiades, the Seven Stars that are His Spinal Chakras. When the Grand Heavenly Man (or Logos) first assumed the form of the Crown (Kether) and identified Himself with Sephira, He caused Seven Splendid Lights to emanate from the Crown. These are the Progenitors, the Givers of Life to All. They are Seven and then Ten, corresponding to the Seven and Ten Sephiroth, when manifest in Physical System. Cosmically, they are the Seven Rishis of the Great Bear; systemically they are the Seven Planetary Logoi; and from the standpoint of our planet, they are the Seven Kumaras. --The Seven Ray Institute.

"Thinking of God as a Sun, there are surrounding and enfolding this Central Focus of Intelligence Seven Mighty Spheres of Consciousness, each one separated from the other by its own periphery line which forms the natural boundary of that particular sphere. These Seven Spheres are called the Aura of God, each inhabited by Great God Intelligences, all intent on doing the Father's Will to expand His Kingdom. The development and unfoldment of His Kingdom is accomplished by the release of pulsating waves of His Own Divine Consciousness, within which are the spiritual patterns of all form and manifestation, from the smallest blade of grass to the most brilliant star in space. As these God ideas pass from Sphere to Sphere, they are absorbed by the Beings and Intelligences within each one. They then move outward to the next Sphere, and the next, ever journeying onward toward manifestation into the world of form. A constant modification of the God Light, a constant clothing of the God Consciousness is achieved in each Sphere so that God's Ideas become embodied in the substance of each Sphere in orderly sequence and, eventually, reach the Seventh Sphere, or Etheric Realm, where they await precipitation into the physical world of form."

-- Tellis Papastavro, The Gnosis and the Law

"No form can be given to anything, either by nature or by man, whose ideal type does not already exist on the subjective plane. More than this; that no such form or shape can possibly enter man's consciousness, or evolve in his imagination, which does not exist in prototype, at least as an approximation." -- H.P.Blavatsky.

"In the newborn Spirit Spark, from the Heart of God, the Causal Body is pure white. Many of the Individualized White Fire Beings and "I Am" Presences, using their freedom of will, never leave the First Sphere. They are the Holy Innocents whose aura is like White Flame and They embody the Divine Ideas of the Universal which they project downward, but Themselves choosing not to know even the glory of the Second Realm. These individuals forfeit the right to become, in some future era, Sun and Creator, preferring to live in Holy Innocence in that happy estate. The braver Spirits venture forth from the First Sphere and build the Blue Flame of Faith into Their Causal Body in the Second Sphere. Some Spirits go forth into the Third Sphere and learn the activity of the Holy Spirit and breathe into Their thought-forms Light, and these thought-forms become living Entities. Many live within this Pink Sphere of blazing Light and go no further, embodied representatives of the Holy Spirit Intelligences that people this Sphere. Some, however, go further, into Realm of the Bridge Builders, the Realm of Serapis Bey--the Fourth Sphere--where They can be summoned then into form; here they identify themselves with all the various kinds of endeavors that serve mankind. The more adventurous Spirits proceed into the Fifth Sphere and add the Green Band of Light to their Causal Bodies. Some continue on to the Sixth Realm and They add the Ruby Color to Their Causal Bodies. Some continue on into the Seventh Sphere of the Ascended Master Saint Germain and experiment with Divine Alchemy and the Powers of the Violet Fire of Mercy and Compassion, and direct the Angels of Mercy into the world of form. Only Those Who have proceeded through the Seven Spheres and have consciously created a Causal Body with Seven Bands of Color within it can apply for embodiment on Earth. Then if They are accepted, They become a candidate for one of the Seven Root Races and one of its Sub-Races."

-- Tellis Papastavro, The Gnosis and The Law

SOUND AND LIGHT 7X7

“And God said, Let there be Light and there was Light. And God saw the Light, that it was good: and God divided the Light from the darkness.” God spoke to make Light; thus, Sound preceded Light. On the Oscillatory Frequency principle, this is very correct, because, Sound is an Energy acting on a lower Scale. The fact of Light appearing on the Forty-Ninth Octave, explains its Divine origin and relation; God is represented symbolically by the Circle and only 7 Circles can produce the Cosmos; the Number 49 is made by 7 X 7 and stands for each Circle having been traversed 7 times in Cosmogenesis, before Light came into being, with its Seven Spectral Colors. This beauteous Energy was preceded by Sound with its Seven Musical Notes, the Number 7 keeping pace with the Scales of Evolution."

-- http://www.cocreatorsworld.com/…/the-forty-nine-octaves-of…/

[marvelous-antics]

Medicine

Tom Holland X Reader

A/N: UM OK SO THIS WASN’T REQUESTED, BUT I’M ACTUALLY IN LOVE WITH THIS SONG, SO?!? This is also my first songfic so if this sucks I'm super sorry. PLEASE give me any feedback you want, and my requests are still open. 

ALSO, LINK TO THE SONG:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-7-fxCL37Y

BECAUSE I LISTENED TO IT THE ENTIRE TIME I WROTE. HOLY $#!%.

Word Count: 2,025

Warnings: ANGSTTTTTTT, alchohol abuse, hints at no longer wanting to live ( :( if you ever feel this way, please talk to me, or someone. I’ve been there before and I understand), and maybe mentions of hinting at sex, question mark?? I can't really tell what I did there. I think I cussed some, so yeah, but that’s all!

Pick it up, pick it all up.

And start again.

You've got a second chance,

You could go home.

Escape it all.

It's just irrelevant.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there.

He didn’t know how long his mind had been breaking apart the components of your name, dissecting your image, trying to hold on to every piece of the picture. It was all slow – blurry – his vision, and his vision of you. He was trying to figure out if your eyes were green or blue… or were they hazel? It bothered him that the colors had all faded together, and the eyes in his mind that were supposed to be yours were more like a void.

The pub had closed 30 minutes ago, but the patheticism that seeped from his being had left the bartender too sympathetic to worry about kicking him out.

So she cleaned and dried the glasses silently, stealing glances at the sad boy, so medicated on alcohol, clearly trying to forget something.

Trying to forget you.

It's just medicine.

Tom couldn’t remember the last night he’d gone without drinking since losing you, but that’s also not to say he could remember much of anything at all. The whiskey burned his throat so much, but it burned less than the tears that used to burn his eyes.

So he kept drinking.

He drank until he fell asleep, face on a cold counter, freezing-over whatever cheek he landed on, feeling the same temperature as his heart.

It's just medicine.

You didn’t know what happened to Tom. All you know is that the breakup was the most devastating one you’d ever had, and that was it. He had come home from filming, and things were off. Both of you knew. There were smiles, and hugs, and late nights, but it was like with every moment that you wanted to be holding him, you were holding the glass that was separating you. It boiled an anger in you. He hadn’t said anything, done anything differently, but he somehow managed to stop letting you in. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, maybe it was the way his hand had felt just a little colder holding yours, or maybe it was just you. But no matter what it was, you kept it locked away. You went through the motions of every day, every morning waking up to his soft smile, every night going to sleep in his arms with that frigid wall pressing up against your back, until one day, it popped. Your cap came off. You snapped. And unfortunately, he snapped right back. Both of you were dogs at each other's throats, and the salt dipped onto your lips, tears like a bloody metal.

You could still be,

What you want to,

What you said you were,

When I met you.

You had believed that maybe one day the love you used to feel radiating off of him would come back. When he was asleep next to you, his arm lazily draped over your torso, you’d sit up, staring at a blank wall, and the tears would come in waves. His arm was hot, but it didn’t clench you anymore. It didn’t act as though it wanted to keep you there like it used to. Even his subconscious grip on you was ready to let you go.

You've got a warm heart,

You've got a beautiful brain.

But it's disintegrating,

From all the medicine.

From all the medicine.

From all the medicine.

Tom woke up to a hollow room with the lights off and a hollow brain. He knew it must’ve been around 3 AM because he usually woke up to the sound of the bartender’s car as she drove away. At this point, he knew the routine. The back door would automatically lock once he walked out. So he did. He pulled his hoodie over his head and toppled toward the back door, unlaced boots echoing off the walls of the empty building. The London night air was no nicer an awakening than the fight that was kept on a broken replay in his mind, all in shattered, mismatched pieces. None of it made sense. He remembers the fire in his eyes, bubbling deep in his gut, and he remembers the words that had spilled out of his mouth – the things he never meant to say. Things he didn’t mean when he said them. Things like “distant bitch” and “bloody hell, just get out”. He remembers his face in yours, and he remembers you pushing him and him pushing back. And then he remembers your rocking body on the floor. He remembers you screaming at him to stay away, his fingertips just barely able to graze your skin for the last time. The last time he’d ever touch you… After that, it’s all feelings. Like the feeling of watching your figure bolt out the door. The feeling that the echoing in his head is like the echoing of the door slamming the night you left.

The night he pushed you away.

Medicine.

You could still be

What you want to be

What you said you were,

When you met me.

It wasn’t him. He hadn’t been him. He wasn’t who you’d fallen in love with. But damn, did you miss the boy you had. You started sleeping days, ten, twelve hours at a time, and sitting awake at nights. Staring at blank walls. It came to a point that you would wait for the tears to fall, but they didn’t anymore. You’d cried far more than one too many, so it left you staring. Staring at blank walls, nothing to fog your vision anymore. You racked your brain, trying to remember what he smelled like and what he used to look like just after kissing you, red lips and a boyish grin. But it all felt so cliche. So generic. Like maybe it was never Tom at all.

You could still be

What you want to be

What you said you were,

He wanted you to remember, even if he couldn’t. He hoped, prayed you remembered. He was praying while stumbling home, praying that you were thinking about him. Even if he wasn’t consuming you the way you were him, even if he was just the tiniest scratch at the back of your mind, he was holding on the hope that you were still the same girl who was in love with him before he changed you. Before he ruined you. Before he ruined himself.

When I met you,

The road was dark, and the only light you could see was your headlights. Tired of staring at the walls, you started driving. Just driving, and driving, and driving, maybe parts of you wishing you’d just be crashing. You hadn’t taken to drugs, or pills, or anything to cope. So the pain was unbearable, and it wasn’t that you wanted to die, but it was a certain fact that every cell of your being no longer wanted to be alive. Each movement you made, each thought that even dared blink in your mind ached of him. Of his memories. Always his memories. Because you didn't have him anymore. The steering wheel was hot from your grip, and your knuckles were a flaming white. That’s when the white of your knuckles contrasted the black of your dashboard. You started punching. And you kept punching until they were crimson and wet and the sobs came back. You swerved the car, so close to the edge of the road you almost ran someone over. So close to the edge of the road they fell over. So close to the edge of the road, enough for you to wake up, throw on your breaks and hurdle out your door.

When you met me,

The boy's hair was matted to his head, dripping with sweat, and he was holding his ears, your engine too loud, everything just too loud. And when his eyes came to meet yours, the shock wasn’t in that they were entirely bloodshot red, or that somehow even in that fact they were still beautiful, the shock came in that they were his. When the eyes met yours they were his. They were Tom’s. And even in their wretched sadness, even in their hollowed state, the even greater shock was that they were the eyes you’d met forever ago. The ones you fell in love with.

“Tom..”

He looked thin. He’d always been thin. But he looked too thin, bone-shattering thin. Like if you dared help him to his feet, he’d crack. You wanted nothing more than to scoop him into your arms, to bury your head in his lap, and cry. You wanted him to whisper nothingness into your ears until you fell asleep… until you could finally sleep. But you didn't. You resisted every desire in your body, in your broken heart, and stood still. His mouth hung open, slightly closing and opening again, almost as if he was trying to speak, but rather he rested all his weight on his left elbow, right hand still holding his ear, and he stared. He stared so deep into you, you had no choice but to gently approach, to crouch down.

“Tom… you need to go home.”

He reeked of alcohol. He reeked of depression. He reeked of loss. It was painful enough leaving, but it was more painful watching him break in front of you, having known nothing of him for weeks.

“Y/N… I-I… plea..”

He couldn’t make a full sentence.

So you did what you had to. And not because it was the love of your life. Not because it was your best friend. But because it was a lost boy. And he needed help.

When I met you.

The journey back to the house you used to call your own was muscle memory. You didn’t have to think twice about which way to turn, your hands just knew. And pulling up into the driveway was like pulling up on a haunted mansion, filled with spirits consumed with the intention of flooding your mind with painstaking memories. You looped his arm over your shoulder, the familiar feeling of his bare skin against your own, and you grabbed the keys out of his left pocket, the pocket he always kept them in. These things you knew by heart.

When you laid him down in the bed, when you pulled his shoes off and pulled the covers up, you almost did the same to yourself. You almost reached out for him to pull you down on top of him like he used to. You wanted to giggle at his soft kisses all over your face, to love the way he made you feel safe. You almost waited for him to grab you and kiss you like he loved you. To breathe you in like he loved you.

Like he never stopped.

But you didn’t.

And when his fragile fingers did graze your own, when his broken voice, his burned vocal chords, tried to ask you to stay, you backed away. You dragged your feet across the carpet until somehow you forced yourself to shut your his bedroom door, and then you found yourself on the couch. You found yourself sitting, staring, again, without a warm body next to you.

And even as the sun started to peak in between the curtains, you kept staring at the blank space on the wall where the frame of you and Tom used to live. Little did you know that the smashed glass and torn picture rested longingly under his bed, waiting for the day it’d be put back together, but that didn’t matter, because you just kept staring. You stared, wondering what was going to happen when he woke up. Wondering if the last time he’d told you he loved you really was the last time. You stared at an empty wall, with a cold spot on the couch right next to you, wondering all of these things.

You wondered all of these things even though you already knew the answer.

It’s just medicine.

A/N: Should I make a part two? I think I have some ideas, and I will if y’all like it! Let me know (:  

[boombitxh]

Scandal Thoughts 💭 7X12

I wasn’t sure I really had anything to say about last episode, but I’ve gotten so many nice messages asking me if I was gonna write that I am truly flattered! THANK YOU!

I have a few thoughts about last episode, hoping to make them short. I liked the lightness and the pacing, I think it was desperately needed after treading through so much darkness for so long. At the same time, it took me several viewings to get a concise opinion on the episode.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the concept of change, wondering if we truly change? Do we adapt instead? Does changing require you to be someone other than yourself? I’ve been tinkering with these ideas regarding Olivia for a few weeks now, and what this crossover episode tells me is that my answer is both yes & no about change.

I think that intrinsically nature and nurture make us who we are, and as we live we ebb and flow from this “established center” what have you, but REAL change is something active. Something that requires constant internal work by the person aiming to change, and it is difficult to say the least. This is the kind of change that I equate with an addict- to beat their addiction they must actively overcome their destructive desires time and time again. This is why the phrase one day at a time is often used.

Olivia herself is an addict, and she appeared as if she had changed, however I found that for the most part what changed were her circumstances. I found traces of her paradigms all over the episode, with the deeply embedded ones being very present.

The clothing choices were indicative of this new ground we are covering. The muted wardrobe made her almost melt into the background (unseen) matching Fitz’s words: “they just don’t see it” “you just don’t see it”. The stilettos indicate the shaky ground she finds herself on, sort of a transition. The intentional projection of herself when she approaches Fitz, clad in a white coat, versus the black blouse underneath, the internal darkness she experienced/is still experiencing.

While the episode was lighter, and I very much enjoyed that, and not to mention it’s serious subject matter, I felt that it might’ve masked a few things that are still the same about Olivia. The pieces of Olivia that we now find to be different, like for example the use of the truth, is not particularly new to Olivia. It was a concept she used to live by seeing as to how she requested that her clients never lie to her. It was a facet of her that was perhaps lost due to the power trip she was on, but not something that reflects change. This is what I mean about ebbing and flowing from our centers versus true change in our personalities.

This facet of Olivia is new to the audience given her streak of darkness, but it’s not new to her former nature. The things that I found to be the same were behaviors and I have broken them down as follows:

-She knows she is not particularly welcome at the institute, but she goes forward full steam ahead because she needs the support to gain what she wants. She needs the backing of the institute to take on this case. This is another iteration of knowing better but pushing through to a component that is self-serving. Of course, there are two things at work here, her desire for the personal win for her identity rooted in good, and the idea of this type of work truly helping others is valuable. They co-exist within her so in the greater sense it is selfless but at the same time feeds a personal purpose of hers.

-When she approaches Fitz the first thing she says is: HI. This is emotionally loaded as we know it is their own personal greeting of choice for one another, however it comes off as manipulative. I think that manipulative has negative connotations, but what I am implying here is that it is not said with malicious intent, it is said to invoke the emotional familiarity so that he doesn’t rebuff her right away and so he takes on the case with her.

His reaction puts an end to this immediately with Fitz presenting himself as transactional, a theme often explored via his character as mentioned by Mellie’s 3 stages of Fitz and as evidenced by Cy’s idea that some men aren’t meant to be happy but great. Since Fitz puts an end to the familiarity right away Olivia has to try another route, and she delivers Fitz another version of her “man I voted for” speech by appealing to his disgust for the criminal justice system and his desire to change it. This works but it also shows that Olivia knows him well enough to get her way despite him.

-The emotional constipation remains the same in Olivia. She isn’t able to face Quinn as she walks away crying after encountering her in the parking lot. She puts on her tough façade instead. Reconciling of emotions is challenging for her, which is why I say it is constant hard work to truly change.

-She tells Fitz she isn’t there for forgiveness, but is this because she is under the impression he won’t forgive her, and she doesn’t want to face that? Or is it because it is her MO to never apologize? This is once again emotional constipation and typical behavior of hers.

-When she is with Annalise in Philly she tells her that her family is a distraction. This is the same binary type of crap she has been living with for such a long time. Love versus power is deeply embedded in her brain, a concept she will have to continuously fight against if she is to truly change. I think that this is the most basic and strongest one that if contended with would help her better her life. The belief still exists for the time being.

-She drank wine this episode (connection to her father) & she ate popcorn (connection to her mother), which makes sense given the nature of the episode and its later implications about family.

-I found it ominous that the frame of her and her father was present directly in relation to her when she’s hosting Annalise at her house. We’ve seen the repercussions of that frame being present before.

Overall the episode was pretty fabulous and set a different pace which was a breath of fresh air, but the cynic in me couldn’t help but panic over the amount of ground we have left to cover with only 6 episodes left. AND the fact that this upcoming episode takes place amongst characters that aren’t immediately associated with Olivia judging from the preview. I don’t want to be disappointed and I want Olivia to come to a point where she is greater than her issues in a humanistic and credible way, otherwise what would have been the point of taking her to such extremes?!

As usual let me know your thoughts, if you caught similar things, what you liked or disliked or even if you disagree with my thoughts :)

[hauntedfalcon]

The Pieces

1363 words of OT4 fluff, also on AO3. I take prompts! 

“Is that her?”

Finn looks up from the vitals readout to find Rose awake. He follows her gaze, and can’t hold back his smile. “Yeah.”

Rose’s answering smile is weak, but genuine. “She’s really pretty.”

He shrugs. “She’s okay.” Rose reaches out from under her blanket and shoves his shoulder, and Finn grins.

“So what’s my damage?”

Finn stifles an entire series of possible responses. “Your ribs are toast and you cracked both tibias. Bone stabilizer’s doing its job. Just give it a few more hours and you should be able to walk and take a normal breath.”

Rose presses his hand. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She chases his gaze down. “I’m going to mention it a lot. Not everybody gets to say Finn saved their life.”

Finn’s face burns. “I owed you one.”

“Actually I owed you one from when I stunned you, so I was making up for that.”

He holds up both hands in surrender. “Okay, all right. You owe me one.”

Rose nods, satisfied, and already drifting off again. “Damn right.”

Finn sits back against the side of her bunk, watching the rebels in the cabin. Morale is surprisingly high; there is a round of dejarik in progress and an actual sabacc game in another corner, and Connix has found a small liquor stash and initiated the rationing process. It feels more like an evening in the barracks than the aftermath of a devastating battle.

He hasn’t asked where they’re all going. Does it matter? They can chase Leia’s distress signal to all its destinations, confront the people who didn’t come to them, maybe guilt them into support, but is there any more point to that than to starting fresh somewhere else?

He pinches the spot between his eyes. This is not the hour to obsess. For right now, for long enough to rest, they are going to be okay. He wills his tension to ease, matches the pace of his breathing to Rose’s, and rests.

- - -

“Could I have a look at that?”

The woman takes her eyes off the broken device in her hands, and regards Rose seriously. A heartbeat later, without a word, she hands over the two pieces. Rose adjusts her hold on the blanket over her shoulders and takes them, then sits with effort in the empty space beside Rey. She can feel Finn watching her, watching both of them.

She uncouples the grip. “Power cell is blown,” she reports, which is nothing the other woman doesn’t know. “But the kyber crystal is intact and stable, and we can cook up new focusing gems. Some pipe for the chassis; this ship’s got to have some systems we can bypass. It won’t be good as new, but--”

“I’m not sure I want to rebuild it,” says Rey.

And part of Rose recoils at the thought of good components going to waste, but another part, maybe the greater part, understands. She hands back the pieces. “I’m Rose.”

“I know,” says Rey--Finn must have told her everything while Rose was out--and she smiles.

A gorgeous, blinding smile. Wow.

Oh no.

- - -

The third time Poe falls asleep in one of the Falcon’s second row cockpit chairs, Leia takes pity. “There’s extra crash foam in a floor compartment in the cargo hold.”

Poe blinks at her, then at the ship’s controls and the shattered spectrum of hyperspace, in search of anything at all he could be doing that’s useful. He finds only a Wookiee who is willing to physically escort him to the cargo hold, and the knowing gaze of a woman who is determined, here at the start of the end, to do right by every living person on this ship.

So is Poe, and that will mean looking after himself as well. He nods and goes.

In the main cabin most of the rebels doze in uncomfortable positions. Finn leans against the bulkhead by the medical bunk, arms crossed against a pervading chill despite all the bodies nearby, eyes open and focused on nothing. Poe nudges him. Come with me? he mouths, and tilts his head toward the ladder down.

Finn pushes away from the wall without hesitation.

The crash foam is meant to pad shipping containers with fragile goods, not human bodies, and it smells of stale glitterstim. It is the best thing Poe has experienced in… however long it’s been since Finn arrived on D’Qar. He groans, stretching out, and looks up at Finn. “How you been, buddy?”

Finn stares at him, and then laughs silently, and gets on the pad. “It’s been a weird day.”

“Yeah,” Poe says, offering his arm as a pillow, which Finn accepts. “Yeah.” He isn’t sure he can switch off, not really, from the endless mental cataloguing of what they have, rearranging their collection of one ship and fourteen officers into a configuration that will only ever be a sum of parts, and never the whole, because what they have is all of that but also brains, the best strategic minds in the galaxy, and if they can just get out from under the unfathomable losses and unspeakable fatigue, they can think their way to a solution in no time. But first, somehow, they all have to sleep.

“Can I join you?”

He didn’t even hear footsteps on the ladder. Of course he didn’t. She probably floated down.

Finn turns over, looks back at Poe, pretends to think it over. “It’s very cold,” Rey says.

They scoot. Poe’s hand is under Finn’s cheek now, hardly any use as a pillow but he can’t complain, and Rey gets into the space between them, and it’s been maybe three hours since they formally introduced themselves but all Poe feels, and all that is in Rey’s eyes, is absolute trust.

That’s the other thing they have now, and Poe holds onto it as he starts to unmoor from the waking world. Trust like that is exactly what they’ll need in the fight that’s coming.

“Oh.”

Poe opens his eyes. “You left the pieces up in the cabin,” says Rose, holding something in her fist. “I thought, uh, well. I can’t drill kyber, not without blowing us all up probably, but I had some wire and I found some light tether line in a supply cabinet.” She fidgets and, haltingly, opens her hand.

Rey sits up.

“If you don’t like it,” Rose goes on, “you can use it in your next lightsaber instead. Or get rid of it or some--”

“I love it,” Rey says, and Rose’s shoulders drop instantly. She hands Rey the crystal, wrapped with a hastily stripped patch wire, and slips the loop of tether line over her head. Poe lifts his head enough to see the shard of crystal sitting just below her collarbone. It suits her. “Come here?” Rey offers.

Rose stiffens again, a little. “You just want my blanket.”

“That’s true,” says Finn, and Poe makes agreeing noises, and Rose clutches the thermal foil a little tighter, but Rey just keeps smiling disarmingly up at her until she comes over.

“My ribs still hurt,” she warns.

“Won’t squeeze you,” says Poe, shutting his eyes again. Soon Rey’s back is against him and he shifts to rest his face at the nape of her neck. Finn moves farther away and that’s a really sad thing, but his hand comes to rest in Poe’s instead, and Rose sets her cheek against Poe’s forearm and he ends up with about a half-meter corner of thermal foil over his hip, reflecting the warmth of all of them together.

Rose says, “So, how did you guys meet?”

Finn says, “Rose, we’re doing sleeping now,” and there is a brief scuffle and the feel of Finn’s breathy laugh against Poe’s hand.

Working against sleep, Poe says, “Did we leave anyone else who loves us upstairs?”

A grappling hook clanks on the ladder. BB-8 warbles as they descend. Rey shakes with laughter.

There’s no room left on the foam, but all the little droid wants is to be close to them, and Poe understands completely. He drifts into a warm and pleasant darkness, holding many people he would like to save.

[pan-xichen]

What The Heckin Heck Is Gonna Happen To Keith: a meta I guess

OKAY SO I, like every other Keith stan, am wondering what the heck they’re gonna do with Keith. Post s4 he is no longer a paladin and is a member of the Blade of Marmora, but due to the events of the finale I’m still unsure as to how long that will last. Will the team find out he almost sacrificed himself for them without them knowing? Also something to note: Voltron has not used its sword (I think I’m sorry if I forgot I haven’t watched the season since the day it came out lmao) since Keith has stopped being a paladin. The fact that the sword is basically Voltron’s signature weapon leads me to believe that Keith very likely will end up as a paladin again (unless they did form it without him I can’t honestly remember for sure), but then he’d no longer be able to work with the Blade of Marmora, and one of the current paladins would have to lose their position for Keith to return to a lion.

The scenarios I could see happening are: 

- Keith somehow becomes the leader of the Blade of Marmora and does not return to being a paladin 

-Keith does return to being a paladin, causing either Allura or Shiro to not be a paladin anymore and him to likely have to leave the Blade

- Keith and Shiro co-pilot the black lion when he is not off on missions for the Blade

- the extra lion in the carving of Voltron in s3 ends up becoming Keith’s new lion, forming a powerful extra but non-essential part of Voltron meaning it won’t hurt the team if he has to go off on Marmora missions from time to time 

- the extra lion calls to Allura and Lance returns to the blue lion, allowing Keith to return to Red and Shiro to remain the black paladin (probably also meaning that Keith can no longer run off with the Blade of Marmora)

- the extra lion wants Shiro as its paladin and Keith returns to being the black paladin (less grumpily now that he knows Shiro still has a lion)

(I’m gonna put the rest of this under a cut because it accidentally became 7000 words long oops)

Out of all of these outcomes I have a feeling that the writers will end up going for something that doesn’t make season 3/4′s development for Keith obsolete while at the same time allowing him to still contribute to the story directly. I personally can see scenarios three and four being the most plausible because they would allow for more aspects of his character to be present (blade and paladin) instead of eliminating one or the other. Although, the first one is definitely plausible in terms of Keith’s character and could even be combined with number four. We see him demonstrate time and again that he is a natural leader, despite not believing himself worthy to be one. I do feel as though eventually he will end up (willingly, this time) in a leadership role again after acknowledging that he is worthy of that position.

Scenario three would however feel like they’re just putting him back in for the sake of having him in and likely not really be meaningful (kinda like having Shiro come back so soon screwed up the story a bit for them because they planned to have him gone for much longer), as much as I like the idea of Keith and Shiro as co-leaders. That doesn’t necessarily mean though that they couldn’t be if they were not both the black paladins. I’ve seen a lot of theory about that extra lion in the Voltron carving at the beginning of season 3 being the white lion, which has been an actual canon thing in the past reincarnations of the series. Most of these theories involve Shiro as the white paladin, which I really do like but it feels like he really is meant to pilot Black (even if this might not actually be Shiro at the moment). His struggle to break her from Zarkon’s control was a great plot point from season 2 and both of them starting to heal from their respective trauma together would make for a nice aspect of Shiro’s character arc.

You do also have that Keith was bonded closely enough with Red to have her actually fly out into the middle of space and rescue him, and almost destroy an entire base to save his life. I love Keith as the red paladin, but if the writers still wanted to have him as an active member of the BOM it wouldn’t make much sense to put him back as the literal right arm of Voltron unless the lion switching is a thing that could happen more than once, (Lance moving back to Blue and Keith to Red but when Keith isn’t around Lance pilots Red and Allura pilots Blue) but that would be weird because they’ve put extra emphasis in the past on how important a paladin’s bond with their lion is, and having them be able to do this swap out thing all the time makes that point kinda meaningless. I think maybe the reason why Keith was able to connect with Red from so far away and have her respond when he was in danger might be the same reason why he could feel the blue lion’s energy months before Lance was even there to awaken her, and how he could pilot the black lion in that moment of desperation to save Shiro in s2 ep1. He’s connected to all of the lions in a strange way-- whether the answer to that is simply “he’s an alien” or there’s something else there, (which is what I suspect) remains to be seen, but I believe that his strong bond with Red may have been due to his connection with all of the lions. It still makes me kinda sad to see him not be her paladin anymore because he totally fits as the ‘guardian spirit of fire’, but as of right now the solution to the dilemma of “where are they gonna put keith without cutting him out of the main cast like they did in s4″ is a bit of a narrative corner the writers have backed themselves into that doesn’t logically involve him going back to being the red paladin without sacrificing the new development of him as a Blade of Marmora.

That being said, as much as I like white paladin Shiro (or whatever colour this hypothetical extra lion could be), having Keith be the white paladin would make more sense in my opinion. Voltron already has all of its essential components with five lions, but perhaps an extra lion would turn into a kind of upgrade for the robot. With the lore of the white lion from previous reboots, it might make sense to have that lion allow Voltron to create its own wormholes or even tear into other realities to pass through them, but maybe it just amplifies the robot’s powers. This would give Keith a place on the team while allowing him to still go off on Marmora missions if he is needed with them and not automatically jeopardize the team’s ability to form Voltron. It would also make for an interesting character development in him, as I imagine him seeing that Voltron can still be formed without him might make him feel less needed, but learning that his lion allows Voltron to do more than it could with only five would lift his spirit and make him feel like he belongs again. Maybe it could even include that the black and white paladins were meant to be co-leaders before something happened to the white lion, allowing both Keith and Shiro to donate their strengths as leaders to each other and cancel out some of their weaknesses (Shiro’s ability to remain level-headed under pressure and more diplomatic tendencies mixed with Keith’s passion and quick, creative thinking both at the head of Voltron would make the team an even more unstoppable force and I will fight anyone on this I could write a whole post dedicated to why Keith and Shiro as co-leaders would be beneficial and maybe even crucial to team Voltron’s success).

Technically I could end this here but I have a hypothetical scenario on how Keith becoming the paladin of the extra lion could go down so here have a pseudo-fic:

Keith’s near-death in season four is only foreshadowing to him actually dying... sort of. In the next season, Keith really does sacrifice himself for the greater good, allowing the team to succeed in their mission and deal a significant blow to the Galra empire. Before the battle during which he dies, they discover that there was a sixth lion initially built, but never used, as when it gained sentience it refused to awaken for any paladin. Perhaps this other lion foresaw the events that kickstarted the war with the Galra in the first place, and wanted no part in it, or maybe even wanted to avoid the pain of losing a paladin it knew was going to die. So it refused to function, maybe even flying away to some remote place in the universe (or even a different reality) to wait until its true paladin would arrive. The paladins find the white lion, but predictably it refuses to awaken for anyone-- that is, anyone who is present. Keith is off on another mission for the Blade when they find the lion.

Keith has been having strange dreams about the lion, not knowing exactly what it is. The lion has been trying to communicate with him, but to no avail. His own personal turmoil and lack of self-worth are clogging his thoughts, making it difficult for the white lion to reach him. The lion is brought to the castleship to prevent the Galra from finding it, and they start trying to do literally anything they can to wake it up, but the lion remains silent. It won’t even communicate with the other lions, as without a paladin and after having been gone for so long, it feels as though it doesn’t have the right to do so. Similarly to Keith, who feels as though he has no place on team Voltron.

In the last few episodes of the season, everyone goes into some epic battle again. Keith sacrifices himself so that Voltron can be victorious in a similar way to his near-sacrifice in season four, except the team knows what he’s doing this time. Shiro freezes up when they realize Keith is gone, before screaming and practically rampaging with his lion, cutting down hundreds of enemy ships at once. The white lion roars in frustration, sensing the death of a paladin it never got to bond with, and decides “nope, fuck you, you’re alive”. It launches itself out of the castle, collecting Keith’s broken body from where it’s floating out in space. The initial explosion didn’t end up killing Keith, but it did damage his suit, meaning he could no longer breathe. The lion shows up and uses its own pure quintessence to revive him. The process turns Keith’s hair white, and his irises a golden yellow, but does not corrupt him in the way that Zarkon was, due to the quintessence being pure. He is essentially reborn, like team Voltron’s very own phoenix. 

The loss of Keith has caused the team to get distracted from their goal in their distress, and they’re fighting a losing battle. The white lion suddenly springs up out of nowhere and joins the fray, confusing everyone as they have no idea who is piloting the lion. They win the battle and all return to safety, practically jumping out of their lions and crowding around the white one to see who this mysterious new paladin is. Shiro is lingering behind everyone but still trying to show interest. Everyone has this irrational hope at the back of their minds that somehow it’s Keith, and he didn’t really die, even though they watched his craft explode. A slender figure clad in white paladin armor steps out of the lion, still wearing their helmet. Everyone is holding their breath as the figure slowly approaches them and moves to remove their helmet. Nobody recognizes him at first now that his hair is white and his eyes are yellow, until Shiro finally looks up from where he’d been somberly looking down and says “Keith?” in the smallest, quietest voice he’s ever had. Keith smiles softly as he’s recognized and everyone runs to group hug him. As the others pull away, leaving Keith and Shiro still holding each other, the scene fades out. 

[caidenjfgv775-blog]

Just how Does the New "Medical Cannabis" Regulation Affect Employers?

"It occurred to be recently while seeing tv that the UNITED STATE Federal government is truly nothing greater than the political version of Jabba The Hutt from the Star Wars motion pictures. As you might remember, Jabba was a formless, slow moving, overweight entity that ruled with an iron fist while devouring sources brought to him. He did not pay for anything, he just took them, and also he was not there to assist any individual but himself. Those he ruled over had no say in exactly how their sources and also wealth were made use of and also had no chance in removing Jabba from his position of power. Kind of seem like our political class presently being in DC.

Jabba entered your mind today as I considered some current events in which the Federal federal government has gotten so big that it is doubling back on itself and also placing itself in some extremely weird situations and conflicts with the reality of the globe around us:

- According to a post in the July 23, 2010 problem of The Week publication, a Boston Federal judge has ruled parts of the Federal Defense of Marriage Act to be unconstitutional. This act prohibits the Federal government from identifying gay marital relationships and providing Federal benefits. The judge ruled that the Federal law forces Massachusetts to victimize it own residents. Currently for the strange component. the Obama administration is currently forced to appeal the judgment, despite the fact that his management and also the Democrats accountable of Congress oppose the Protection of Marital relationship Act and desire it repealed. The Federal government has actually gotten so big that it is using up lawful resources for something that it does not want to exist to begin with.

- This odd situation is similar to the present illegal alien situation. A current Associated press short article reported that the most up to date data relative to unlawful boundary crossers shows that the Federal federal government recently had the highest degree of prosecutions for illegal aliens and the highest possible expulsion degrees of illegals given that they began tracking such data yet at the same time this very same Federal federal government remained in court fighting the brand-new Arizona state legislation that was attempting to stem the circulation of illegal aliens into that state.

- Returning to gay marital relationships, according to a July 15, 2010 Associated Press article, the country of Argentina just recently came to be the very first Latin American nation to legislate gay marital relationship. The article reported that Chile as well as several other South American nations are likely to try and also do the same. Do we believe that our Jabba, parading as the American political class, has any possibility of making that take place in this country when it discovers itself in court resisting gay civil liberties?

- According to a write-up in the August problem of Reason publication, given that 1996 fourteen states as well as the District of Columbia have actually legislated cannabis usage for medical objectives and also several various other states are considering doing the exact same. This remains in straight conflict with Federal legislation which has often caused Federal raids of medical marijuana carriers which are prohibited under Federal regulation however legal under state legislation. This is additionally in conflict with Obama the campaigner who wanted to legalize the medicine when he ran for President now safeguards the disallowing of it at the Federal level. Again, government has gotten so big that we have actually gotten in the odd area pertaining to medical marijuana where it is legal at the same time as being unlawful.

- Mentioning medication disputes, a current Associated Press post reported that the Federal Veterans Affairs organization would enable its people to make use of clinical marijuana if those clients resided in the fourteen states where medical cannabis is lawful. Therefore, one arm of the Federal government (Veterans Matters) is flawlessly fine with clinical cannabis use while various other arms of the Federal federal government (FBI, DEA, Federal statuary) intends to clean it out.

- If you believe the Federal government has a drug trouble currently, wait till the Oakland Common council votes on whether to permit industrial farming of marijuana to be developed in city limits, industrial farms which would certainly create marijuana for clinical use in addition to for usage in items varying from baked items to body oil. Winning candidates that would run these farms would certainly have to pay yearly authorization fees as well as 8 percent of their sales to tax obligations in addition to carry $2 million in responsibility insurance coverage. Comparable initiatives are being pushed in various other cities throughout the state along with a November ballot problem to legalize non-medical use cannabis, according to the short article. Now consider the components of a brief blurb in the July 23, 2010 issue of The Week magazine that reported on a Rand Research that ended from their evaluation that the legalisation of cannabis would certainly decrease the street rate by up to 90%. Thus, the efforts in The golden state might help in reducing the street rate of the medication which subsequently would dramatically reduce the power, wide range and impact of the Mexican medicine cartels which would certainly be a good idea. Nonetheless, despite this great set of results (more profits for the local governments, less of a preconception of marijuana individuals, less police resources invested in breaking cannabis users, the weakening of the Mexican drug cartels) do we think that the Jabba the Hutt monster in DC is active enough to recognize what the advantages are or will it proceed down its course of conflict at the Federal drug enforcement level?

- Consider a Washington Message post from Might, 2007, qualified ""Federal Loans Gas Promote Coal Power Plant Kingdoms."" The post goes over a remaining Anxiety era Federal program that offers affordable car loans to build coal discharged, high contamination nuclear power plant making use of taxpayer cash. According to the short article, ""the [funding] support is a major pressure behind the rush to coal plants, which gush co2 that researchers condemn for global warming."" Therefore, while the Obama administration is pushing a climate control bill in order to combat versus international warming, the exact same government is moneying nuclear power plant that do just the opposite. Makes no feeling.

- A current Associate Press short article reported just how the Feds had actually broken 94 people for ripping off the Medicare program. This was a good development however why was our Jabba so slow-moving in getting these arrests done? Medicare scams has been taking place considering that the day Medicare began a number of years back, why did it take such a shateringly slow time to begin apprehending the cheats? Among those detained had submitted over 3,700 fraudulent cases under her name prior to she was jailed, exactly how slow-moving can you obtain?

We can go on and on. The U.S. government has gotten so huge therefore slow, similar to Jabba the Hutt, that its lots of folds up of skin conceal waste, stupidness as well as the doubling back on itself, i.e. public law and activities in conflict with itself or the wishes of those running the federal government. We can go on and on regarding how slow, ineffective, as well as wasteful our Jabba is, about how our Jabba never ever solves a problem whether it is unconfident boundaries, stopping working public institutions, intensifying healthcare expenses, and so on, just how our Jabba wastes unimaginable billions of dollars on trademarks, useless campaigns, and also fraud-infested programs, or exactly how our Jabba does not know just how to manage the economic situation, resulting in sky high public debt degrees and also a very ancient economic circumstance with reduced development and high unemployment.

Jabba is extremely poor for cbdforsalenearme.com all of us but he is challenging to remove. With the set aside process, the gerrymandering of Legislative areas, do-nothing campaign finance legislations, and other approaches, Jabba has several defenses against defeat in a political election, defenses that even a Jedi light saber can not conveniently pierce. Long-term, it is crucial we begin to enforce term limitations on political leaders so that they never once again get as fat, slow, inefficient, and also inefficient as Jabba The Hutt. Short term, this November is vital because it starts the procedure of electing out the Jabba incumbents and also lastly entering some smooth, reliable, and bold Jedi warriors who will make the hard choices to get the dimension of government controlled and also make that downsized federal government much more effective as well as much less unusual and less clashed."

[redrobin-detective]

How Izuku is Going to Surpass All Might by Changing a Broken Quirk Society

So I had reblogged this post (totally recommend reading it, it's great) and was going off in the tags about the current state of quirk society, the old heroes and the rising student heroes when I decided it was important enough to warrant it's own post.

So Hoshikori really has created a fascinating society that reflects but also comments on our non-superpowered world. Like the OP on the original post said, our perspective of the bnha world is from the top 1%: the heroes/students who are the best of the best to attend/work at Yuuei with the intent of using their powerful quirks to stop crime. But the mangka has done a brilliant job of painting the unrest found in the rest of the world but still seen through the eyes of the top 1%. When we first meet the villains, they're just evil bad guys who have no redeeming characteristics and need to be stopped. But as we watch the villains develop further, we still see that these are bad people, some downright evil, but some of them have very legitimate grievances about their treatment by society.

Hoshikori lays out, without ever quite coming out and saying it, the fact that the current layout of society is unsustainable and oppressing a good portion of the population who aren't allowed to use their natural talents to better themselves in the name of """fairness""" or are outright demonized for their quirk (think Shinsou and his "villainous" quirk). Society has been following this status quo for quite a while now and, from the view of the powerful heroes, everything is fine. I'm sure many people are upset and frustrated but didn't know what to do so kept quiet. And then there was a growing number of people angry at the way they were treated, society's presumed expectations of them twisting them into the villains they maybe didn't really want to be. Do you know why this unequal balance was kept up for so long? To quote Shigaraki, it's all about All Might

Now anyone who has visited my blog knows I adore both All Might and the man behind him beyond measure. He is a kind and gentle man who will go to any lengths to save people. But his is human and fallible and the narrative has not been shy about exposing All Might's flaws. We see him most often through the eyes of the protagonists as an unconquerable hero who's influence basically single-handedly brought down crime levels and is an inspiration to all. But that's only one view, we've caught glimpses of another view: a reckless dictator with so much insurmountable power that he could enforce what he thought was right on everyone else and keep and make people too afraid to oppose him.

All For One called him out on this during their fight. Now the last thing I'm going to do is defend All For One who is absolutely a terrible person who needs to be taken down. But that doesn't mean his point doesn't have some merit to it. Hell, most of the villains in the Alliance are said to be there out of "restlessness" and "frustrated with the way things are" showing it's not just the evil bad guys who are lashing out. It's so fascinating re-reading this whole confrontation with this in mind because, for me at least, I totally wrote off these comments before because of course All Might was in the right, but now... Again, I love All Might but if we step back out of Izuku's (and our own) hero worship of him and look at things from the bottom up... we start to see things differently. The Pro heroes in the series act as if this crime wave is a new thing and don't seem to understand that this unrest was seeded and grew in secrecy for decades and is only now beginning to show it's branches. This shows just how little the people at the top of the food chain really understand those at the bottom.

Now All Might is still a hero and I still believe that he did save the world in a way. We really don't anything of Toshinori's past and we won't really be able to comment on it until we do, but this line from the 7th holder of One For All, seems significant for All Might's character and motivations.

Toshinori believed that society needed a symbol to assure and inspire them to newer and greater heights and sought to become that symbol when he inherited Nana's power. That is an incredible goal and one I think he achieved for the most part but at the same time I don't think he went far enough. All Might decided to fight criminals and be a symbol but he didn't go after the source of a lot of villains which is quirk laws and the innate inequality in society. He did the best he could with what he had available to him at the time given the society he grew up in and he will always be a hero... but that doesn't mean he didn't play a big role in creating the present day situation.

So society has been stuck in a state of unrest and inequality for years because one man, who was gifted with more power than perhaps one person alone should possess, was trying his best to save the world and inadvertently is keeping it from progressing naturally. What happens now? One of the things that really draws me into bnha is it's tendency to comment on, expand or outright flip common tropes in Western comics and manga. Hoshikori has laid out the basics of this superpowered society, shown us the cracks, shown us two different views of how good or bad this society and it's heroes are and I don't think that's something he's going to leave be. The easy solution is the one we usually see in superhero media: there are good guys and bad guys, maybe some of the heroes are morally grey and maybe some of the villains are redeemable, but ultimately people stay in their black and white boxes. The fighters clash, the heroes struggle, the villains almost achieve victory when suddenly the tides turn and the heroes are victorious and everything goes back to normal. But I challenge that bnha is setting the stage to go into another, much more intriguing direction.

Izuku, our main protagonist, knows what it's like to be on the bottom looking up. In a twist of fate, he's given immeasurable power and is able to ascend to the top but he's shown throughout the series that he still carries an understanding of what it's like to be beaten down by a society that emphasizes strong quirks. That is the key to the series I believe, Izuku's ability to understand what it's like at the bottom and use that perspective to effect change. Class 1-A (the other minor protagonists) is made up of some truly astounding and heroic kids but they've all been blessed with strong quirks from birth and they lack that ability to see the perspective of someone less gifted. Plus you have those kids (Bakugou) who exemplify using strong quirks selfishly and for the sake of asserting dominance over weaker quirks. That's how we started anyway. We're hitting 150 chapters soon and the scene has begun to change. Our kids are starting to understand the reality of the Villains' Alliance, Izuku is trying to reconcile the view from the top with his view from the bottom and Bakugou is realizing the implications of his past actions and how it reflects on himself and others.

So what I propose is going to happen is, over the course of the next several years at Yuuei, Izuku is going to truly see just how messed up the state of society is. Our boy, compassionate and determined as hell, is going to look at the way people are being forced to live under oppressive laws and say, no more. It's been shown that Izuku is an inspiration, a central component of 1-A, and where he goes the others tend to follow. Their experiences will shatter their comfortable views from prosperity and see all the things that need fixing. The hardest part, for Izuku especially, is looking at their mentors, who are good, heroic people who honest to god did their best and say, no, the way you were doing things is wrong and it is our responsibility to make things right. I think it'll be hard for the Pros themselves, especially All Might my god, to be faced with the reality that all they did was uphold an unsteady peace in an unequal society without directly addressing the problem. But I think most of them would, instead of being angry or defensive, would look at these students they raised to be better heroes than them and say "you're right, go make the world a better place."

The first chapter of Boku no Hero Academia opened with the line that "not all men are created equal" as a young Izuku tried to stand up to a bullying Bakugou. I believe that to be significant because it shows us right from the start that there is a divide: strong quirks, weak quirks, quirkless, heroes and villains and it's made a mess of society and bred discontent in people who might not have resorted to crime if they had more support from their peers and government. We know that Izuku's story gets told, that he goes on to greatness. We assume now, given the state of things, that he goes on to become another All Might. But I present that he becomes better than All Might, that he inspires his fellow heroes into striking not at criminals, but the restrictions of society that create those criminals ultimately making a more stable, peaceful world. I believe this is the story of how that society is made more equal, the story of how an abused, formally quirkless boy with the kindness and strength of heart to shape the whole world became the greatest hero.