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yumisilver · 11 months ago

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Nine-Tailed Travel Guide through the Multiverse Event!:

Into the Sonicverse

As it has come to be expected, it didn’t take long for Nine to run into this universe's version of Sonic. What caught him off guard, however, was that this Sonic RECOGNIZED him almost immediately. “Did I accidentally backtrack to a universe I’ve already been to? No, that’s highly unlikely (infinite universes and all that).”

It didn’t take much longer for Nine to realize which Sonic this is; this must be the Sonic he met in the Shatterverse event!

Nine was astonished; he never thought he’d see his friend again after the universe was put back together.

Once they separated, Sonic asked how the heck he was there. “Oh no--did Tails accidentally touch the prism?? Nine, have you seen any other versions of yourself around here??!”

Nine tells Sonic to relax, and explains how he came here on his own, and his overall objective. Sonic seems relieved by this answer, and invites Nine to hang out at his home until he’s ready to go. Nine agrees.

While walking Sonic tells Nine about what’s been happening since they saved the universe, and his current “predicament”. At some point, Sonic met up with Shadow to discuss what to do with the Paradox Prism, like where the best place to hide it might be. During their conversation, Sonic got a bit too close to the prism, and it tried to pull him in (like how the individual shards did). Shadow managed to pull him out before it completely absorbed him, but the prism disappeared right after. Since then, Shadow has gone looking for it. Apparently Sonic coming into contact with the prism has some…unintended effects.

They finally reach Tails’ workshop, and upon entry, Nine quickly realizes there are

not one,

not two,

but THREE other Sonic’s sitting around and chatting (one of them was dangling from the rafters when they walked in)

“Everybody, this is my friend Nine from New Yoke City! Nine, this is Dash, Flow, and Tumble the Hedgehogs!”

According to Sonic, these variants of him appeared around Green Hill shortly after the prism tried to absorb him.

This is how he says he met them:

Tumble: They, quite literally, ran into each other.

Flow: Found by Amy and Rouge on the beach, seemingly having wiped out on his board.

Dash: Found by Knuckles, who Dash started trying to fight immediately. He did the same when Sonic arrived. Apparently he thought he was in a simulation set up by the "Chaos Council".

They aren’t sure why, but when Sonic touched the prism, it pulled the others from their prime universes to Green Hill, that was about a month ago. As of now everyone is trying to find a way to get the three hedgehogs home.

At first, Nine isn’t sure how he feels being around four Sonic’s at the same time, but Sonic himself convinces him to give it a chance. If anything, his knowledge of dimensional travel could be really helpful to them, and…Sonic thought it would be nice to spend time with him again.

At that, Nine concedes to stay, but only for a little while. Sonic is over the moon about it.

Nine figured he would take some time to see what each of these Sonic variants were like, at least to some degree.

Tumble the Hedgehog

Original Dimension: Boscage Maze

Nine found Tumble to be very, VERY energetic, somehow more than Sonic himself. He never sits in one place for long, practically bouncing off the walls. His speaking is a bit broken, but he communicates just fine (apparently his first language is “canine”). He spoke a lot about his little brother Mangy, who he’d spend the most time playing with back home. His favorite game to play, Nine discovers, is a game he created called “Tumble Tag”. Similar to regular tag, someone is called “it” and their job is to chase down the other players. The only major differences in Tumble’s version being;

Tumble is ALWAYS it

Whenever Tumble catches you, he gives you a 30 second head start to get away again

You don’t get to decide when you start playing, you don’t get to decide when you STOP playing

Nine was forced to play with him for about 45 minutes before Sonic was finally able to distract Tumble long enough for Nine to get away.

Honestly Tumble wasn’t AWFUL, he was just a lot.

Flow the Hedgehog

Original Dimension: No Place

Any time Nine spent one-on-one with Flow was filled with Flow’s seemingly endless stories and tales about his life on the high seas. Going on adventures, meeting his crew, fighting sea beasts, exploring the vast oceans….yeah he talked a lot. One of the few things Nine was actually a little interested in hearing about was his surfboard; It had a rudder with a gyroscope built into the underside of the board, which allowed Flow to control where his board goes via his center gravity.

Upon asking, Flow went into a long story about how he’s the crews lookout, meaning he spent most of his time in the crows nest. But being such a high energy person, being confined to such a small place for so long was stifling, to the point even running laps around the ship wasn’t enough to settle him, and it was annoying the crew too. Luckily, his buddy Sails had the bright idea to upgrade Flow’s board so it doesn’t need waves to move through the water. Flow seemed ecstatic to talk about this, singing praises about his companion for HOURS.

Nine decided asking wasn’t worth it in the end.

Dash the Hedgehog

Original Dimension: New Yoke City

Nine couldn’t help feeling a bit bitter upon learning Dash was from his home dimension, as he never got to have his own Sonic like most of his own multiversal counterparts. Upon questioning, it turns out Dash had initially fled Green Hill when the Chaos Council invaded, and only returned several years later to help the rebellion. Nine wondered if they would’ve found each other at some point if he hadn’t left so soon, but didn’t linger on the topic long.

Much to Sonic’s disappointment, Dash and Nine didn’t speak much to each other for the majority of Nine’s stay, as they had no real interest in getting to know each other, there was no point.

Miles “Tails” Prower

Original Dimension: Green Hill

Nine found this version of himself to be tolerable. He had a lot of questions, of course, he and his counterparts were all equally inquisitive. Tails was working on helping the Sonic counterparts return to their home dimensions, and so asked Nine lots of questions related to the topic. Nine unfortunately hadn’t mastered travel between SPECIFIC universes without the Paradox prism, so all he could provide was what little knowledge he had gained about multiverse travel and the prism itself.

Tails also gave Nine a bag of mint candy to snack on, so that was a bonus.

Sonic the Hedgehog

Original Dimension: Green Hill

Nine found being able to spend time with Sonic without the constant threat of danger to be pleasant. Sonic spent a lot of time telling Nine all about his friends, what they like, what they don’t like, and how they differ from their multidimensional counterparts. He didn't linger on himself long, and was instead more curious to hear about Nine and his multidimensional adventures, so Nine obliged in telling him about the all the universes he had seen up until that point.

Seeing how engaged Sonic was in his stories was also really encouraging.

Overall, Nine enjoyed any time he got to spend with Sonic one-on-one.

Something everyone seemed to neglect informing Nine about before nightfall was a certain ahem “condition” that Tumble has. According to Sonic, Tumble had informed all of them that he was born this way, and it only happens every couple of weeks after sundown (Tumble had assumed all his counterparts had this ability, which is why he didn't say anything straight away). While in what they call his “hedgewolf” state, Tumble becomes completely nonverbal and just a bit more feral. While still in his right mind, he seems a bit more influenced by his instincts while in this form.

Tumble Tag becomes significantly more anxiety inducing when being chased by a hedge-beast double your size while also under the cover of night.

Nine slept in late the next morning.

[Nine's personal log] - “From what I’ve been able to observe during my stay, dimension 6U441-/U441 has an overall stable environment and it’s ecosystem is decent. My radar did detect some minor anomaly, but I was unable to pinpoint a location. I let Sonic know regardless. Population in this dimension is overall decent, aside from the ‘anomalies’ currently present due to the Paradox Prism."

"While I find this dimension is decent overall and I wouldn’t mind being in Sonic’s presence more often, I’m not comfortable staying long term as the presence of my counterpart makes me feel... invasive. I'm sure Sonic would have a fit if I admitted that to him, so I’ll keep that to myself."

"I’ll stay until I’m positive the group is able to handle this “situation” of theirs on their own. I have no real obligation to stay, but I don’t mind hanging around for a bit."

Eventually, Nine decides he’s ready to move on to the next dimension. Tails thanks him for all his help, Tumble tries to play with him one last time, and Flow holds Tumble back for Nine’s sake. Sonic is a bit disappointed, but he still wishes him the best. Dash and Nine don’t exchange words.

Nine opens the next portal, but before he can go through, Sonic embraces Nine one last time. “You know, once you’re all settled wherever you end up...we wouldn’t mind if you ever wanted to try visiting us again. ”

Nine smiles a bit, and ensures he’ll see what he can do.

As he steps through the portal, all he hears is the voices of the group, wishing him safe travels. The portal closes behind him, and Nine continues on his journey.

Dimension: 6U441-/U441

Time Spent: 2 1/2 weeks

Overall Rating: 7/10

“It was good to see an old friend, kind of wish it was ONLY him though.”

What awaits Nine on the other side of the next portal? Check

#Nine-Tailed Travel Guide through the Multiverse to find out!

#nine tailed travel guide through the multiverse #sonic prime #sonic the hedgehog #sonic au

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tazz-was-here · 1 year ago

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You blink.

Sun looks up at you with a pout on his face and his long arms wrapped tightly around your waist. He's kneeling so he doesn't have to bend down and so you don't strain your neck tilting your head up to him.

"Sorry, what..?"

You're barely able to contain the laughter that threatens to bubble up from your chest as Sun starts to make whirring noises inside his chassis and a whine emits from his voice box.

"I don't care if we've kissed twenty-nine times in the last twenty seconds, I said I want another one!" Sun repeats himself, his voice a little higher in pitch now. His kneepads scrape along the floor as he presses closer, rays retracting in a small wave around his faceplate.

You can feel his long fingers pull at the back of your shirt needily. A grin breaks across your face and your laugh tumbles past your lips even as you still try to hold it in. You don't want Sun to think you're laughing at him!

Just at his adorable demand. Which, honestly, you have zero issue relenting to.

Your hands cup the sides of Sun's faceplate and his reaction is immediate. The rays around his head seem to pulse once before staying extended fully. His gaze on your lips is so hopeful and hungry that your heart races like he's asking for that very first kiss again.

You pull his face against yours and pepper more kisses along the soft silicone that makes up Sun's lips. You hear his gears kicking into overdrive and smile against his face. Sun practically melts into your embrace, a pleased hum coming from inside the animatronic.

You've never seen someone, let alone a robot, look kiss drunk before.

Sun's eyes are half closed, still locked on your lips, as you pull back with a soft smile. You feel his chest heave with a simulated sigh and swear for a moment that Sun is somehow able to get some heart emoji's reflecting in his gaze for you.

"Do you count all the times we kiss or just this time?" Amusement lights up your question, yet it doesn't mask the fondness in your tone.

"Oh--! I count every time, Sunshine! All two thousand and twenty-three kisses! So far!" And Sun looks so pleased with and proud of himself as he spouts off such an exact number it makes you laugh again.

You tighten your hold around his shoulders and press another kiss right in the middle of his face, where a nose would be.

"Two thousand and twenty-four now."

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

Hello o/

I'm not new to tumblr, this is just a fresh blog, BUT I AM NEW TO FNAF SB and THE BOYS (THE DCA). I saw this tweet on my Twitter dash and immediately knew I had to write something for Sunny.

I'd love to make friends I can gush about the DCA with and hopefully be inspired to write more!

#fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #the daycare attendant #sundrop #sundrop x reader #sundrop x y/n #Tazz writes

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lorenfangor · 4 years ago

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<Not sorry!> Mertil called back in the direction of whoever he’d dashed past. The notice boards at the Academy were in the center of a series of intersecting circles of soft pavement, displaying test results and deployment assignments on a cycle of twelve screens that faded in and out every few seconds, and this time of day they were always crowded. He guessed some low-ranking Warrior had been too close to his tail, and that was why he’d gotten shouted at, but - well, that was their fault, wasn’t it? The suns were high, the sky was bright, it was a lovely day with a warm wind coming in off the large lake that all the rainwater on campus drained into, and the scores for yesterday’s flight tests were posted. He felt as if he were really flying, not merely strapped into a simulator’s harness, with every step seeming to stretch and raise him higher and higher. He could see his dormitory to his right - the arisths all had assigned sleeping quarters that were more like boxes than segments of a scoop, as preparation for the high population density and tight confines of cruisers and Dome Ships - and his stalks turned in the opposite direction at the unmistakable sound of in-atmosphere engines igniting. A transport was taking off from the Academy landing pad, undoubtedly carrying lucky would-be Warriors into the stars for their first offworld assignments. Someday, that will be me, he thought, hearts soaring as high as the sleek little shuttle, someday - !

A sharp pain smacked into his right primary shoulder, followed by a dull ache in his primary ribs. He’d slammed against something solid and soft-edged and warm, and realized as his hooves found themselves tangled up in what he was very certain were someone else’s legs that the problem with having his cranial eyes in one place and his stalk eyes in another was that he’d forgotten entirely to look where he was going.

<Hey!> an unfamiliar voice protested as both Mertil and whoever he’d run into tumbled into the grass. <Do you always run around like that?>

<Oh, rot,> Mertil groaned, rolling back at an awkward angle and forcing himself up and out of the knot of legs and hooves connected to an annoyed-looking male. <I’m sorry, I really am - hey, wait, I know you!>

<You do?> the other aristh - he was an aristh, in the same year as Mertil, a little shorter and sleeker in his build, with a longer tail that moved quickly when he spoke.

<You’re Elfangor, right? Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul. You’re in my applied astrophysics class.> And he wasn’t the top-ranked simulation pilot in the Academy anymore, but that piece of information could wait for the opportune moment.

<Oh!> he said, getting back up onto his hooves and dusting himself off. <I remember you, too - you gave that obnoxious answer about how calculating inertia for a fighter while using the traditional formulae for the dampener was inaccurate because no pilot worth his rank would keep the dampeners on in combat.>

<I did, and I stand by it,> Mertil said proudly, drawing himself up to his full height. That had been a day he was proud of, even if it had made three instructors in succession declare him a menace. <The pilot who preserves inertial dampening is the pilot who winds up dead because he can’t make a tight turn.>

<Right,> Elfangor said, looking skeptical. <You’ll forgive me if I’m unconvinced, aristh… ?>

<Mertil. Mertil-Iscar-Elmand. I came in a semester behind you.>

<Oh, in that case - that’s your dormitory?>

Elfangor winced. <Claustrophobia?> His tail rose and its blade sliced through the air in a sign that had begun life as a rude euphemism for close spaces but had evolved into something of a ward against bad luck. Mertil mirrored it - he wasn’t superstitious, but panic attacks were the one thing he couldn’t be too careful about avoiding.

<Yeah. Came on him in the night. Said he couldn’t take it. The only reason I was looking that way was that I think my shorm is back from his exobotany test, and I was going to ask if he wanted to play a round of Toffit before curfew, or see if the driftball court is taken.>

<Well,> Elfangor said, <I won’t keep you from him.>

<You’re not hurt?>

<No. I don’t even have any bruises, so - all’s well that ends without blood, I suppose?>

<No bruises but your ego’s,> Mertil corrected.

<... huh?> That was clearly unexpected, and gave the other aristh an unexpected insect in his proverbial grass. Mertil’s tail rose up again, all the way over his shoulder, like he was the ranking lothren in a herd.

<They posted the results of the simulator tests from yesterday,> he said. He couldn’t keep from grinning. His eyes hurt from the strain. <I beat your record.>

Mertil was already running again, eating up the grass in long strides.

<Check the boards if you don’t believe me!> he called back, feeling Elfangor’s anger bristling in natural competitive instinct. He’ll be back in the simulator bay by tomorrow morning, probably, and then I’ll have another record to smash through, he thought, and Gafinilan will probably tease me about getting a nemesis. It’s about time I have a nemesis, I can’t be the best pilot in the fleet without a rival to have hierarchical tension with. I hope he’s a good one.

That thought, and the thought of an evening spent alternating between Toffit that was practically flirting and simply flirting without pretense, was enough to carry him toward the dormitory, one high and arching bound after the other.

#animorphs #animorphs fanfiction #mertil iscar elmand #mertil #elfangor

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knking · 5 years ago

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Memory 16 : The King’s Secret

Part 2/6

Written by TK, Illustrated by me

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

It seemed now that every area of the Underground had revealed itself to be areas of prime relaxation, such is the case when not all those who surround you want to kill or imprison you. But despite all the invitations he’d receive to “gently provide patronage” to pretentious and well-esteemed places in and around the castle, his prime spot of bliss still was the waterfall. Long walks around the veilleuse-laden rocky walls always ended at the foot of a flowing cascade of teal water, and today was no exception. However, he had taken along for his walk someone who, normally, is not all that keen on serene walks. And once more, today was no exception.

“And here’s that bush… Again.” Ömen grumbled.

“I really like that one! Do you see how these three blooms stand out like that? Almost in a heart shape?” Asgore knelt over the timid outcropping.

“Yeah, sure. Okay.” the bear scoffed

“Oh my! Look over here!” he’d suddenly dash to another set of plants, Ömen stomping along disinterestedly. “These orchidée timides only bloom once in six months brother! Six months! We are really lucky!”

“Yeah. Woohoo.” he’d agree, simply out of politeness for his “small” ram/goat brother - though small is hardly a qualifier for Asgore, but everything is “small” for a beast like Ömen.

This would go on for quite a while, too long for the bear’s taste, but he’d indulge his new King for as long as he could, he’d earned it. But this was just too much. It was at least the 23rd time this week he’d seen the same bushes, the same lilies, the same goddamn things over and over and over… “He’s too soft” he thought. As much as he, admittedly, loved his new life in the court of royalty, especially considering the lovely Koala maiden he’d courted, he felt that craving for something more riské. Something a little more feisty. Flowers are cool, right, ok. Having a warm bed and clean clothes is… Yeah, it’s pretty cool, but you know what’s cooler? Butting heads. Sword Fighting.

“Have you brought Sofia here yet, brother?” Asgore interrupted Ömen’s thoughts.

“What? Oh no. I don’t think she’s as into this stuff as you are.”

“Well, you ought to bring her over here at least once! You see that pond over there? The one with the Jonquille emmêlée? That pond is peculiar, because it has...” and he continued on his usual ramble on the shapes, colors, stem sizes, etc etc…

“He’s too soft…” Ömen thought once more.

“We gotta fight.”

He remembered what they used to do. It’d been months now, but they’d done it so many times it was impossible to forget. A devious smirk formed on his snout and his emerald eyes flared a faint glow. Tucking his right hand behind his waist, he felt the cold metal hilt of his personally-built dueling rapier. Asgore was too busy with his Jonquilles emmêlées to notice. Not that it mattered, as soon as he’d heard Ömen’s words he’d be sure to follow up their usual routine. The grizzly recalled the first time they’d done it, a long, long time ago. They were still on the surface.

“Hey you fuzzy brat!” he yelled, stancing for his draw.

Asgore still peered over the edge onto the water, motionless. No reply. The bear raised his furry eyebrow in surprise. Maybe it wasn’t loud enough. Yeah, that’s it.

“HEY YOU FUZZY BRAT!!!” he bellowed, specks of dust fluttering down to his ears from the ceiling. Yeah that was good. It’d been a while.

Slowly, Asgore turned his head around to meet his eyes with that of his brother’s. But it wasn’t that cheeky look Ömen was accustomed to. He looked startled. He stood up with weak knees. Unbeknownst to the grizzly monster, thoughts paced at break-neck speed inside the nogging of his brother. A terrible realization shot through the white-furred King at that time. “This is it.”

“W-What?” he stuttered, in response to the insult.

“En garde!” the bear taunted

Ömen’s clothes were not fit for his weapon and certainly not for a warrior-gladiator bear, really. Upon unsheathing his blade, part of his orange-upon-brown tunic ripped through the air, victimed to the atomically-sharp green spectre of the blade. The air stood still now, Ömen puffed his chest, fur erect on the back of his neck. “This is more like it. Now, Asgore will go for the headbutt and I’ll miss my swing. We can improvise the rest.”

“Ömen, I-I’m sorry but I-.”

“AAARGHHH!” The unstoppable force rocketed towards Asgore in a bestial frenzy. He remembered what he’d done before, but his muscles froze. The very thought of it paralyzed him. All the while, a 500 kilogram mass of flesh and muscle hurtled toward him. Invisible hands seemed to grasp his wrists and neck, though flesh and fur betrayed not a touch. He’d become his own worst enemy. What a foolish idea it’d all been.

Ömen was too caught up in his charge to notice any sign of malady from his brother. He rose the blade high above his head, the emerald tint whisking through the dark cave menacingly. His grip was strong around the hilt. “I’ll swing down left this time, throw him a little something different.” was all he could muster in terms of actual thought in the midst of his simulated fit of primal rage. And so, distracted to Asgore’s condition he began his swing, that eerie whistling of steel ripping through the still air as his deadly slice came crashing down.

A fraction of a millisecond before the deadly blow, time seemed to decelerate for the King, and racing through the possibilities of what could avert his demise at the hands of his familiar a thought blinked in his ember and azure eyes. “I can dodge.” He had no time to even visualize how such a thing was possible before he clumsily threw his whole weight off to his left side, the green flash of the rapier slicing the hard stone beneath where he stood with ease.

The impaled weapon left crystallized molten rock in its wake, the heavy brown-furred monster huffed a heavy breath. Both his emerald eyes and weapon glowed with purpose. This wasn’t how it went at all… It’d been headbutts after headbutts for years! He could take being beat by the boss monster, he could take being outplayed with more elaborate and well-strategized moves… But tricked? Never before. Asgore was taunting him. After all those years… Their brotherhood… All of it, all it took was a little title and a crown for him to snob his “old pal”. The intense physical labor had produced a scowl on his brow, but now it intensified. He craned his head, and met Asgore’s petrified gaze… Why you little…

“...Brat! If that’s how it’s gonna be, then let’s dance!” He yanked his metal companion free, and readied once more.

“Brother I can’t! I cannot fight! Please Ömen I-”

“Oh?! Now that you’re royalty fighting is too much for you?! If that’s how it’s gonna be, show me what you got, big boy! AARRGHHH!”

“ÖMEN, PLEASE!” it was no use, once more the bear hurdled toward him like a careening boulder of fur. Like before, Asgore barely escaped his assailant, ungraciously tumbling on the cold hard floor as his tunic tore at the friction of pebbles and cobalt-blue dust stuck to his fur.

Their improvised simulation of close quarters brawling had quickly turned into a fight proper. With every passing swing and thrust of the blade, Ömen grew more vicious and uncontrolled. Sweat flung around the cavern like the dust they kicked up, and Asgore’s rope shortened. Evasion had never been his strong suit, even if he'd spent so much of his life on the run, but he'd have to make due now. Upper slashes, downward slashes, jabs and swipes. Green, green, green. It was all he saw. Truthfully, Ömen had been on a fast track to lowering his LV ever since the coronation, and good progress he had made. Enough progress, in fact, to feign a feral fit. If Asgore was toying with him, he’d toy the goat back! In the scared irises of the King he could see his bluff was working flawlessly.

“Yaaah! Allez! YAAH!” he growled. Slish, slash, woosh went the sword

Unknown to both of them, as they tumbled and jousted, a flower bloomed on their battlegrounds, and it blossomed its white petals unnoticed and uncaring, a meek milky glow barely noticeable, even in the low-light conditions of the cavernous cascade. But he who does not use eyes, needs not see to know.

They’d been battling for quite a while now, exhaustion apparent on both of their physiques. But the bear had always been physically stronger than any of his siblings, and it showed. By now, his rapier’s blade had been dulled and crooked by the constant bashing against rock, and Asgore’s tunic was in equally bad shape, though nothing extreme. A small wet spot formed under his armpit.

“Brother… I beg you, I can explain! Please, no more! Arretêz!” Asgore expirated, laying on his back against the rock.

“Hah… Hah… Let’s see you dodge this!” and nearly stumbling now, Ömen charged for his last attack - an overhead blow to the stubborn goat’s head. It would certainly not be fatal at this point, he knew this for certain, but it’d at least teach his brother a lesson in humility he hoped. But, unfortunately for the hulking, exhausted monster, that lesson came out the back end, as for when he stood not 3 feet from his target, a force seemed to clobber him right on his nose, like a 500 kilogram punch directly to his long snoot. Suffice to say, he was soon together with Asgore on the floor, stars blinking in his eyes.

A few seconds went by, before he laughed hysterically.

“Ahahahah! You little ram brat bastard! I knew you had it in you! Ack… Putain... That was one hell of a headbutt right there...”

“Can you two explain to me, exactly what in the hell you’re both doing?” An unmistakable, serene voice cut off Ömen’s praise. Shaa stood beside his brother with characteristic runic holograms around his hands. Forcefield… Of course.

“What?” Ömen groggily replied.

The polar bear presented in his free hand that which had summoned him - a white flower. It’s white petals curled outwards and shone with a delicate light. None could mistake it.

“Fleur saignante?” Ömen looked at Asgore, who now had regained some strength and sat upright against the wall. The small wet spot under his right armpit stained his tunic into a dark orange, the fur on his bicep was barely pink.

“Don’t you think we’ve all had enough of fighting, you thick-skulled buffoon?” Shaa queried his brother.

“It’s not my fault! He provoked me! All this walking through the waterfalls was driving me nuts!”

“So you attacked him.”

“Okay, fine. I got out of control, it was a stupid accident alright? But he refused to fight! It’d all have gone down much smoother if he wasn’t running away the whole time!”

“I CAN’T FIGHT!” Asgore yelled, startling both the bears. He stumbled afoot. It’d been, perhaps, years since he’d risen his tone so ferociously at them. But the voice had a different tone to it, not like a pure reprimand. Something else hid below, something afraid. “I can’t fight. I cannot even think about hurting… I… I broke it! I broke the… the…”

“Broke what?” Ömen asked.

“The button!”

To a layman, this would have been the ramblings of a mad goatman, and at first Ömen was unsure whether the regal life of royalty had finally scrambled Asgore’s brain, but one quick glance at Shaa’s tattoos and the memory came to him. A speech he’d long given to Asgore regarding their meaning, something he himself had forgotten. The King meant it. Somehow, he’d risen above any and all monster or human before him and pierced the very fabric of reality, he’d weaved his new destiny through sheer willpower, forcibly removing a card from his hand of fate.

Ömen simply sat there in awe.

Shaa smirked, and serenely as always said:

“So it is possible…”

PARTS : [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6]

[INDEX]

#TOMR #Asgore #Ömen

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tarakaybee · 5 years ago

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Oxventure: Slightly More Optimal Characters?

Contrary to the many rules-lawyering posts and mentions in my Oxventure content you’re likely to see on this blog, I really like that Johnny gave Andy an out from some class choices that he wasn’t happy with, so this is just some ideas on how the rest of the group could similarly make some class alterations.

Anyway!

Corazon

Class: Rogue 6 (Swashbuckler) / Wizard 1 Feat (LV 4): Inspiring Leader

My own personal ‘actual rules’ version of Andy’s really overpowered build, this way, Andy can get two extra spells by default and still gets all of the Swashbuckler abilities, just one level later than he would have because of Multiclassing rules. As for the Feat, I am fully confident that Andy would love the ability and excuse to waffle on to himself for an extended amount of time and actually have it have a gameplay benefit, namely 10 extra HP for every party member.

I’m not really sure why Andy actually wants to be a Swashbuckler, it’s pretty useful if you play sessions with frequent, actually challenging combat encounters but they have had one combat encounter ever that would have actually warranted this. As it stands Corazon as an Arcane Trickster had probably one of the better character builds because of how universally useful his spells are.

Prudence

No suggestions for Prudence, she has absolutely no weaknesses that’s why she’s won more than 50% of my Battle Royale simulations.

Egbert

Fighter 7 (Arcane Archer) Fighting Style: Unarmed Fighting Feat (LV 4): Tavern Brawler

I get the strong impression that Mike chose Paladin and Oath of the Ancients after Johnny couldn’t find a way to incorporate Mike’s explosive crossbow concept, because Mike has made it clear he’s not amazingly keen on using Egbert’s Paladin abilities, and seems to prefer roleplaying fun wrestling manuvers than using his mace.

If Mike wanted to focus on the explosive crossbow, one of my solutions would be the Arcane Archer subclass of Fighter, but with the Unarmed Fighting as his Fighting Style. Arcane Archer revolves around enchanting your arrows so they can explode when they hit a target or pierce through the armour or what-have you, technically Crossbows are prohibited but that seems a weird limitation that Johnny would be happy lifting. Secondly, if he doesn’t want to do that too often, the Fighting Style to complement this could be Unarmed Fighting, that’s 1d6 or 1d8 damage for unarmed strikes, plus buffs to attacks while grappling. The Tavern Brawler feat augments this by allowing grapples as bonus action after attacking, not to mention proficiency with improvised weapons.

Egbert (again)

Ok another one for Egbert just because nobody is trying to fit a square peg into a round hole quite like Mike is except for maybe Johnny as a DM, so here’s two other options that would work better than Paladin/Oath of the Ancients.

Paladin 7 (Oath of Redemption) Mike’s choice of Oath of the Ancients is odd, I think this subclass was at one point literally called Oath of Atonement and it allows you to nonviolently pacify people with spells or by using Channel divinity to give yourself a massive buff to Persuasion, all of which Mike’s entire playstyle has revolved around lately.

Monk 7 (Way of the Open Hand) Self explanatory, strong proficiencies in hand to hand combat.

Merilwen

Feat (LV 4): Magic Initiate: Druid

Ellen’s spell and class choices are pretty solid so a feat is all I can offer is a Feat suggestion since Merilwen never uses the Strength or Intelligence that she upgraded. Ellen seems to like having a lot of choices so Magic Initiate on top of her Wood-Elf Magic will allow for that easily.

Ellen mentions in the level up video that she looked up suggestions for optimising being a shapechanger, but wanted to prioritise versatility of spells, in which case it might be relevant for Johnny to allow Ellen to use the regular Druid rules of editing the spell loadout every long rest.

Dob

Bard 7 (College of Satire) Feat (LV 4): Lucky

This subclass description is just the most Dob thing I’ve ever heard, just listen to these three main abilities. There is ‘Tumbling Fool’ which allows Dob to rolly polly and dash an extra 30 ft as a bonus action, as well as disengage and reduce falling damage. Next there’s Fool’s Insight, which would allow Dob five castings of Detect Thoughts, and can cause the target to fart or commit another embarrassing gaffe if they pass the saving throw, I wish I was making that up. Finally there’s Fool’s Luck, which essentially lets you give yourself Bardic Inspiration after you fail a D20 roll, though I guess with Johnny’s very generous amounts of inspiration I suppose pretty much everybody has this by default.

Similar reasoning for the Lucky feat, Luke’s a big risk taker and it would for sure aid his incredibly silly plans.

I don’t understand the logic behind Luke choosing College of Valor. As I said above, none of them should bother giving themselves buffs in combat because Johnny will never give them a combat that isn’t effortless. But also there’s no benefit to optimising according to their playstyles because there’s such a huge gulf between the low difficulty of every Oxventure and the improbably good stats and broken custom made items of the players that rolling stats or using the rules at all is pointless.

#outside xbox #oxventure

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morganbelarus · 6 years ago

Text

Inside the six-figure project to solve the mystery of NBA flopping

Could a group of scientists help refs by figuring out when basketball stars were acting? Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban wanted to find out…

Ken Clark did it for science.

It was 2014, and Clark, then a doctoral student at Southern Methodist University, was part of a biomechanics group tasked by Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban with studying and perhaps fixing flopping, basketballs dark, daffy art of fooling referees into calling fouls that arent.

Like all researchers, the SMU team needed data. Specifically, collision data. The underlying idea, Clark tells the Guardian, was what if we just imagine people like billiard balls and go from there? And thats how Clark, his colleagues, and some hardy student volunteers found themselves in a campus lab, slamming each other off their feet, over and over again, as sensors captured every pileup.

I dont want to get the lab in trouble, as far as exposing students to bumps and bruises, says Clark, now a kinesiology professor at West Chester University in Pennsylvania, with a laugh. But Ill say this: the collisions were designed to replicate what goes on in a game.

Years after a company owned by Cuban gave a six-figure grant to SMU to investigate a perpetual hoops quandary that leaves game officials perplexed and fans apoplectic flop or not? the schools Locomotor Performance Laboratory has released its findings in an amusing and informative video that breaks down everything you wanted to know about the physics of flopping, but probably never thought to ask:

It takes surprisingly little force to knock a stationary human off balance or entirely onto their keister, even someone as large and strong as the typical National Basketball Association player which means flopping may not be as common as people assume.

If a player throws their arms skyward upon contact like theyve just crawled through 500 yards of sewage-smelling foulness to escape the Shawshank penitentiary, then yes, theyre probably flopping.

Floppers bring a distinct quality to their performances measurable momentum that can be used to help identify and perhaps even police the act.

The athletes in the NBA and college basketball are incredible, Clark says. But when you watch them take a hit, its obvious that sometimes they are positioning themselves in a way to topple with the least amount of force possible and thats putting it tactfully. To put it bluntly, theyre exaggerating collisions and falling down when they wouldnt normally have to. So when are they flopping? We felt we could address that from a rigorous scientific framework.

Everybody flops

Marcus Smart did not step on a landmine. It only looked that way. During an Atlanta-Boston game in 2016, the Celtics guard and acknowledged grandmaster of contemporary NBA flopping dashed along the baseline to position himself for an offensive rebound. Hawks forward Kyle Korver bumped (brushed?) Smart with his hip. Smart went airborne, knees tucked toward his chest like a platform diver, groan-gasping as if Mike Tyson had just landed a kidney shot, eventually landing somewhere in the vicinity of the basket stanchion.

Manu Ginobili was known for his simulation skills during his career. Photograph: Guardian graphic

Speaking to ESPN earlier this year, Smart didnt defend his flop, which earned him a $5,000 fine from the league office. But he didnt exactly condemn the practice, either. Lets get that straight, thats a flop, this was hilarious, he said. I deserved everything that came my way after that. I flop on defense, your favorite player flops on offense. Thats the only difference. Especially in a game where the offense has nothing but the advantage, the defense has to do something to get the advantage back.

Smart wasnt wrong. In the NBA, there are two types of players. Those who have flopped, and those who havent yet. LeBron James flops. Chris Paul flops. Stephen Curry flops. Hoops historys attic is crammed with Oscar-worthy efforts: a Vlade Divac pratfall here, a Dwyane Wade tumble there, a truly magnificent offense-defense double dive from Manu Ginobili and Raja Bell, the flopping equivalent of the Al Pacino-Robert DeNiro diner face-off in Heat.

Flops have been around for a long time, says Ronnie Nunn, a former NBA referee and league director of officials. We even have rebounding flops! Dennis Rodman was really good at grabbing the wrist of his opponent while going up and making it look like he was being fouled. Karl Malone introduced an arching back on rebounds if he was closer to the basket than his man, he would make it look like he was pushed [in the back] and was being moved, even if that [opponents] forearm never came forward.

Nunn laughs. Basketball is a crafty game. In terms of fooling the referee, flopping is part of its art and culture.

Cracking down

Flopping is also, to use a technical term, cheating. A kind of athletic Fyre Festival ticket. Basketball fans love to see the good guys get away with some well-timed ersatz contact; they get irate when the bad guys pull the same trick.

Players, coaches, and NBA front offices are no different. In 2012, the league cracked down, announcing that flops defined as any physical act that appears to have been intended to cause the referees to call a foul on another player would earn warnings for first-time violators, followed by an escalating series of fines for repeat offenders.

I think flopping had a lot of [general managers] up in arms, says Washington Wizards general manager Tommy Sheppard, who has worked in the NBA for 26 years. It had become a weapon, and it seemed like an unfair advantage. Its not fair. Its not right. It doesnt pass the eye test. So the league tried to shame people into not flopping.

To stop flopping, however, you first have to spot flopping yet by definition, a good flop is indistinguishable in real time from a genuine foul. According to Nunn, separating fiction from fact isnt always easy. Not when the game features some of the worlds most explosive athletes. And not when officials already are keeping a watchful eye on a half-dozen different things in any given moment.

Besides, not all flops are considered flops. Pretending to get hit and falling down? Verboten. Acting as though a forearm that never touched your face nearly removed your head? A no-no. But adding a dramatic physical flourish when youre also really and truly being fouled? Thats just selling a call and the NBA is fine with it.

Embellishments are the other piece to this, Nunn says. Players use them to win calls they were going to win anyway. Say you have a dribbler putting his arm into the chest of a defender. The defender flailing away like the offensive player threw a punch may be less bad than the offensive player using their arm to get an advantage.

Beyond the eye test

Enter Cuban. Curious and data-driven, he approached SMU biomechanics professor Peter Weyand in 2013 with a novel request.

Could Weyands lab study flopping, the better to reduce referee guesswork by creating some basic guidelines on what levels of force, speed, and size contribute to genuine falls especially in a league where guards weighing less than 200lbs regularly bowl over front court players more than 50lbs heavier?

If you look at a high-contact sport like football, you see few pancakes, where guys end up on their behinds, Cuban told the Wall Street Journal at the time. Yet in our sport, guys end up on their backsides all the time.

Weyand and his team specialize in athletic performance theyve researched Usain Bolts unique stride, Oscar Pistorius artificial legs, and how to run a marathon in less than two hours. Yet when they began to investigate athletic performance art, they quickly realized it was virgin scientific territory.

We looked at sports science related to soccer theres obviously a lot of flopping there, Clark said. We looked at the biomechanics of slips and falls in daily living. We looked all over the place. There wasnt much out there.

Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban commissioned the study into flopping. Photograph: Tony Gutierrez/AP

Facing a void, the SMU researchers began with a basic question: just how much force does it take to knock someone off balance, or completely over? Weyands team wrote predictive equations. They fashioned a mechanical dummy nicknamed Gus out of plywood, PVC pipes, and galvanized tubing and repeatedly knocked it down with a padded, sensor-equipped yellow bar. They used to same bar to topple lab volunteers outfitted with reflective sensors.

I wanted to put a [San Antonio] Spurs jersey on Gus, Weyand said with a laugh. Maybe Ginobili or someone else known to be a flopper. But not everyone in the group would have been happy with that it would have been pushing it little too far to put [the Mavericks] cross-state rivals in there. No pun intended.

All three experiments told the same story. It doesnt take much to knock someone standing upright off balance just 50lbs for a quarter of a second, roughly the same as walking or lightly jogging into someone.

Weyand, who played basketball at Bates College, was surprised. If we had found that it takes huge amounts of force, then you could assume that every time you see someone falling over in a NBA game, theyre faking it, he says. But no in many cases, if the defender just doesnt move their feet, then down they go. Ive been through thousands of charge-block collisions, and never realized how easy it was.

Adding extra

Next came human-on-human collisions. One person got a running start. The other remained stationary. Participants wore boxing headgear and baseball catcher chest pads, and fell into a padded track and field pit mat.

It was more fun than dangerous, Weyand says. We had very thick mats.

Did anyone end up needing to wear a cup? If someone had gotten really doubled over or took a shot [between the legs], it would have been common knowledge in the lab, he says.

The researchers staged hundreds of collisions at different speeds, heights, and angles. In some, the stationary targets were told to react naturally; in others, they were told to flop. All of the hits were recorded using a 12-camera system similar to the ones used to create motion-capture animations for video games such as NBA 2K.

Analyzing that data, Weyand and company drew two key conclusions. First, during natural two-person collisions, the stationary recipient will fall backwards with their arms out but not up, and certainly not high enough to direct traffic on an aircraft carrier flight deck.

Those big, above the head gestures you see in the NBA? Clark says. Thats not natural counter-movement. Thats what floppers do.

Second, the SMU researchers confirmed that human collisions are subject to the same laws of physics as billiard balls. How so? When two objects collide, total momentum is conserved that is, the stationary object cant gain any more momentum following the impact than the moving object loses. In flops, however, total momentum increased, a telltale sign that the floppers were adding something extra to the equation.

Either they were jumping after the collisions, or it was excessive arm action, Clark says. Either way, we could measure it.

Lasting value

Drawing on their study, the SMU group has recommendations for NBA officials and anyone watching at home making Flop or Not calls:

Make sure the defenders body and feet are stationary;

Make sure actual contact has occurred;

Make sure the defenders response time is appropriate that is, that they dont start going down before a collision, nor too late after one;

Check for defender arm motion thats excessively upward.

Karl Malone: if he was closer to the basket than his man, he would make it look like he was pushed. Photograph: Guardian graphic

The main thing is just to look at what players do with their upper bodies, Clark says. Thats the major giveaway. Anything going on probably isnt necessary. Theyre doing it to sell it. It may still be a charge, but they are selling.

If that all seems obvious less Galileo championing heliocentricity than the latest concussion study confirming that getting hit in the head is bad well, sometimes the scientific method leads to known territory.

Besides, Clark does have one potentially revolutionary idea: use data from the sophisticated motion-tracking cameras installed in every NBA arena to calculate the momentum conserved or added during questionable player collisions, the better to flag who might be flopping.

We thought about that a lot, he says. They know much these players weigh, and what speed theyre moving at all times. Depending on how accurate the cameras are, you dont need a system like we have in our laboratory to do similar calculations.

But does the NBA need a system at all? In the first three seasons following the adoption of anti-flopping rules, the league reportedly handed out a total of 87 warnings and 13 fines to 73 players. Last season, by contrast, just five warnings and zero fines were issued.

Nunn attributes the drop to improved officiating. Sheppard says an emphasis on perimeter play means fewer low-post backdowns and rim-attacking drives which also means fewer opportunities for traditional defensive pratfalls.

Still, neither man believes flopping is a dying art. Instead, its simply evolving. Now you have more varied flops, Nunn says, and more flops by offensive players. To wit: in 2017, Houston guard James Hardens ability to draw dubious fouls on three-point shot attempts led the league to adopt new officiating guidelines.

[Flopping] gets passed down from generation to generation, Sheppard says. Usually its peer-to-peer, but sometimes players become a coach and teaches it. Its getting that handful of jersey, or sticking that elbow under someones arm, and somehow youre the one being held or being hit. Guys that can master it can squeeze another year or two out of their careers. Setting screens, drawing fouls, getting an extra possession that is valuable.

Should Cuban again decide that flopping is valuable enough to research, theres much more to study.

The circumstance we looked at in the lab was stationary defender, offensive player coming in, the most controlled situation so we could be most certain of the numbers, Weyand says. But a lot of collisions on the court are not like that. You have off-ball picks, rolls with two players moving. To have firm answers to those, wed have to [study] an actual NBA game. Is it potentially possible? Sure.

Original Article : HERE ;

Inside the six-figure project to solve the mystery of NBA flopping was originally posted by MetNews

#MetNews

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starlit-scifi · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 10

First•Previous•Next

When the day comes, you meet her for an early breakfast. You’re both too nervous to really eat, but she prods you into having some dry toast.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, desperate for something besides your whirling thoughts to fill the silence.

“Fine. Excited." She catches your eye for a brief moment, then looks away. "And, not gonna lie, a little scared… but it’s not a big deal. Not like we’re totally going in blind here.”

“Yeah, all the work we did was definitely worth it. And we'll be able to contribute a lot to the archives through my half of the project, if it all goes well.”

“Like what?” The genuine interest in her voice warms you inside. You spend the next twenty minutes rambling about the general importance of microscopic organisms in ecosystems, and you’re so wrapped up in it that when the call goes out for your group to report to the shuttle dock, you've almost forgotten to be scared.

Loaded down with gear, you board the shuttle. The equipment you're taking is all pretty standard-- enough to take DNA samples, grow and maintain a few microbial cultures, and even collect and preserve a couple small specimens. It’s a bit heavier than what you’d like to carry, but you’re not going to complain. Sure, you could have asked for the bare minimum and just digitally archived a lot of genetic information for later genomic analysis, but you know there’s more value in actually working with organisms. You’ve read enough of the past student projects on your planet to know that there’s a lot to be done here that you’re fully capable of doing.

Lori sits beside you, still fiddling with the straps even though she's already secured herself in her seat. You know that it’s out of nervousness. You elbow her gently, and she replies with a “‘sup?”

“Are you ready?”

She looks off into an unseeable distance and lets out a long sigh.

“As far as being trained for this, obviously. But if I’m being completely honest with myself? No.” The engines begin to hum, and you feel the subtle change of air pressure and gravity as the shuttle’s systems turn on. The hand that’s resting on her thigh balls up into a fist, and she lets out a short, harsh laugh. “And it’s a little too late to turn back now, so.”

Something in your stomach goes tight. Impulsively, you reach for her hand and squeeze. She glances over at you, her cool grey eyes gone soft, and squeezes back.

One of your instructors comes down the center aisle, and her hand drops away. You lace your fingers together in your lap, and breathe deep and slow in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

And you're off! You quickly exit Unity's artificial gravity, and you watch the stars glide by in the tiny windows. Open space! Adventure! Everything you've dreamed of since you were a kid and prepared for through years of schooling… it's completely underwhelming and you wish you had your personal airscreen so you could read a book or something. A couple minutes pass and you're given the warning that you're about to go into hyperspace. Lori opens the note app on your shared airscreen. You raise an eyebrow and mouth “why?” at her, but she shakes her head and nods toward the screen as she types something.

-I hate this part. So much.

-It gets easier

your fingers quickly shape in reply.

-Don’t hate me if I puke on you

-You're going to be fine.

She shrugs, looking pale. You give her your most optimistic smile and dig a tiny vial out of your pocket and hand it to her. She raises an eyebrow.

Anti nausea drops, they're crazy strong, they knock me out sometimes but it works.

How did you get these? Also you know I have to be okay to fly when we get there

I needed them as a kid and keep them just in case. 1 drop under your tongue, works fast, and you won't be sleepy by then

Okay, I'm trusting you. Thanks

She takes it, making a face at the taste, and slips the vial back to you. You tuck it back in your pocket, and brace yourself a minute later as you feel the waves coming on. One doesn't ever truly get used to the feeling of phasing into unreality, and it's a reminder that you're so very, very small, however much your species has tried to make up for it.

Now her hand grasps at yours again, almost tight enough to be painful. The universe

bends around you for some time

that oscillates

between

eternity and an instant and

you think you keep breathing

but the only sensation

that makes it

through to your consciousness

is her skin,

something

electric

where she's against

You make yourself breathe deep and slow as your senses come back into focus. She looks over at you and offers you a tight smile, eyes watery.

You lace your fingers with hers, and she slumps against your shoulder with a shuddering sigh. She sleeps peacefully as the twenty of you in your fragile shell navigate the vast un-everything, spiraling off into uncertainty.

But in it all, there's one variable you think you've figured out: you can feel safe when you're with Lori like this.

You let your body relax by hers.

It gets easier.

---

You're the eighth pair out, and as you pop back into realspace in the Bernubos system, you start to get a little jittery again. You nudge Lori awake, and her sleepy expression is soon replaced by one of pure excitement. Pair seven, some girl who you vaguely recognize from last year's Computer Systems class and a big burly mil guy, get in their lander pod, and you watch as they hurtle through the atmosphere into a sea of orange clouds. The unmanned pod returns several minutes later...

And you're next.

You don’t need to go hyper to get to your planet, so the two of you get to watch as you get closer and closer, just twenty minutes at near-lightspeed. The aqueous oceans of Bernubos-3 look gorgeously blue from up here. Green-and-brown land masses dot its watery surface, its atmosphere is wrapped in lacy white clouds, and its orbit contains three small pinkish moons.

Earth-like, they call it. You really wonder.

Lori sighs beside you.

“It’s gorgeous,” she murmurs. “Never seen anything that beautiful.”

And you know she really hasn’t. She’s seen Lotanak from orbit, probably, but that’s terraformed desert: the only green there is in long, robotically maintained bands of crops and trees planted to stave off redesertification, the only blue from artificial ponds and canals that criss-cross the habitable zone.

“Six weeks” slips from your lips. She looks over at you, eyes shining like captive starlight and you realize how much of her is a stranger to you, even now.

“Six weeks,” she repeats, soft as a prayer.

In mutual silence the two of you undo your seatbelts, grab your bags, and make your way to the back, pulling your weightless bodies through the airlock and into the landing pod. You both strap in, and from there it’s just like the hundreds of times you’ve run the pod simulations together. You fall into your rhythm and she into hers; you calmly feed her information as she carefully pilots the landing pod. Smooth as could be, she lands you both safely. You save the instrument readouts to your computer, double-check the sensors, tighten your shoelaces, and nod to her.

She grins and hits the button.

You have sixty seconds to grab your things and leave the landing area. The door hisses open, filling your senses with a palette of light and scent and sound you’ve never experienced before, and it all whirls in your brain as you begin the mad dash across the clearing you’ve landed in. You know Lori’s holding back, and you’ll have cleared the distance in the allotted time anyway, but you still push yourself and scramble up a little hill that should shield you from most of the blast from the engines when the lander takes off automatically--

--and yelp as you tumble over it, landing face-first in the dirt.

“You win,” she shouts over the pod engine’s growing roar, laughing and laughing. You grimace, knowing that there will now be footage of this moment not only sent off to your instructors and permanently stored in Unity’s archives, but also preserved in that lovely little highlights reel that plays over and over in your head on your more self-loathing nights…

But Lori’s skidding down the hill, sunlight making a fuzzy halo of her sandy-blonde hair, and she's still smiling as she crouches down beside you while the pod takes off. You're caught in her magnetic gaze as the heat of the engines washes over you.

"You good?" The wind almost snatches her words away.

"Yeah," you shout back. You both catch your breath, watching the pod ascend until there's nothing left but the trail of exhaust.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

She stands and offers you a hand. You grab it, but when you try to get up with your heavy pack you’re off balance and you stumble into her, giggling helplessly and desperately trying to control yourself while keeping either of you from toppling over. Finally she just holds you as you catch your breath.

“Y’okay?” you hear it from deep in her chest, and you take one more deep breath before you can look up and answer, “yeah.” And she smiles, and it’s warm, and there’s not a hint of pity or laughter at your expense, and you can breathe.

“Good,” she says, and you remember where you are, what you're supposed to be doing, and take a few steps back, careful not to trip over yourself again. She reaches into a pocket and retrieves the much-outdated airscreen. Though it’s stripped down of everything but the necessities and the data analysis programs she wrote, it still takes a few seconds for the map to pop up, and a couple more for your saved landmarks and routes to show up on the holographic image.

It’s not like you haven’t reviewed it all together before, but planning this out is one thing, actually being about to live it is another. You pick at a hangnail before remembering that it’s not a good idea, possible pathogenicity or not.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Lori says, and you wonder if it’s as much for herself as for you. She skims over the glowing landscape once again, then nods and turns it off. She looks up at you, and her eyes are bright with excitement and determination that she rarely shows to anyone.

But the rules are different down here, you remind yourself. She doesn’t need to pretend to be some tough no-nonsense soldier, she gets to have fun. You get to see her have fun.

“Ready?”

You nod, trying to squash down the butterflies in your stomach that oh so unreasonably decided to show up now. She raises a hand, and for a split second yours floats up to meet it, before you realize she’s just waving you forward.

You quickly brush a strand of hair from your face instead, and follow.

---

It’s humid. It’s hot and it’s humid and you hate your itchy uniform and your over-prepared bio nerd self and the twist of cosmological fate that led to not one, but two suns hanging overhead. They’re not all that bright or hot, but still.

“Now would you rather be stuck on a dead moon watching me fetch coffee for the actual diplomats?” you ask Lori bitterly after you’ve stopped for a water break. She considers it for a moment with a smirk.

“Maybe, except then I might be stuck in a dress uniform for six weeks, so... no.” She takes a sip from her water bottle. “Whatever happened to your love for adventure?”

You sigh. “I think I sweated it out two hours ago.” She chuckles, and you pick at a rock embedded in the sole of your boot rather than let your eyes linger on the shape of her lips and the smile in her eyes. “How much further?” you ask, turning the offending pebble in the sun to look for sparkly bits.

She fiddles around with the map a bit. “About two miles. We can take our time.”

“Can I see?”

“Sure.”

You’re in a wide valley between two old, highly eroded mountains, and you’ve been heading towards the river all afternoon. You’re happy to see that you’ve mostly stuck to the plan you both made, besides stopping for this extra water break. You flick through the filter options, and notice Lori peeking over your shoulder.

“Interested?”

“Kinda. I mean, I’ve seen them all, but you never explained why you wanted most of them.”

There's only amusement, no annoyance in her eyes, but you still feel a rush of embarrassment-- and you find that it is possible for your face to get hotter and sweatier than it already was. “Oh. Well. Time to change that, I guess.” You scroll back through the menu. "So... this one’s foliage density from the past solar cycle, and when I overlay average rainfall, see the correlation? --and this one’s neat, it’s from a previous drone-survey of insect species, so we have a good idea of what’s living where for about half of the area we’ll cover, and that also correlates with foliage density and type--” You’re aware that you’re kind of rambling, but she’s letting you talk with a kind of quiet patience that makes you feel at ease.

“It’s probably been a long enough break,” you say, after you’ve run out of anything else to really say. She sighs and rolls her shoulders.

“You’re right. We’re still okay on time, though.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like we have true nightfall to worry about for, like, weeks.”

She laughs. “Yeah.”

You get started again, and walk a few minutes in silence before a question comes to mind.

“What are sunsets like, on Lotanak?”

“Mmm… Orange. I mean, everything’s always kinda orange, but at sunset the sky glows like molten gold. Pretty, some days, especially if there’s been rain. How about yours?”

“They’re okay… Pink and violet, mostly. I live where there’s aurorae-- yes, my parents are so original when it comes to names -- anyway, those are really pretty.”

She smiles. “I bet.”

Silence again. Well, it's not complete; there's always the chatter and hum of insects and reptiles and the occasional breeze making its way through the canopy. Silence between you feels like it could be comfortable, like maybe it should be, but you're worried that it might not. You want to fill it up with something, a story, some commentary on a totally irrelevant but interesting thing, but there's nothing. Nothing but the dirt under your boots, the sweat on your back, and the feeling that, yep, you were probably a little ambitious in your physical goals today and you will probably pay for it tomorrow.

Even she’s showing signs of tiredness when you get to your first night’s camping spot, and you’re just about ready to pass out, though you don’t want to admit it. She notices and makes you sit while she does some of the heavier work. Eventually you pull yourself together enough to help her finish setting up camp and figure out dinner, since you're both starving. You both dig into your first preserved meal of many in satisfied silence as the alpha sun looms low on the horizon and insect chatter crescendos. She squeaks as a huge fluttering bug darts at her face, and she swats at her cheek with a shudder.

“You okay?”

“I still can’t get used to real insects,” she says, scowling as she wipes her hand on her pants. “Ours are all bots, and they stick to the ag areas anyway.”

“Ooh, right, I read about that once. It’s a really great way of handling resources efficiently, apparently.”

She shrugs. “All I know is, they stay away from me and I stay away from them.” She looks down with a grimace and tries to shake a beetle off of her ankle. “Don’t know what problem these have with me.”

You grab a set of forceps from your bag and gently pull the little clawed creature off. It struggles in your tool's steely grasp, antennae wriggling. “We’re covered with salt and a bunch of assorted metabolic products right now, and given the lifespan of most of these insects and the frequency of visitors to this area of the planet, they have quite literally never seen anything like us.” You carefully set it on the ground, but the beetle has had enough of the interaction and flies away, revealing bright orange wings that catch the light of the pinkening sky. You gesture to take a picture before you realize that your airscreen is back home. Lori notices, and shakes her head, smiling.

“What?” you ask, and feel your self-consciousness tickle you in a weird way.

“Nothing, just…” She frowns and looks away. “Never mind. We should finish up and go to bed. We've got a long day tomorrow.”

“You’re right,” you say, though you can't help but wonder what she had really meant to say.

You busy yourself with cleaning up and putting the dinner things away, while she double checks the tent and the perimeter of your campsite. You’re closing up your pack when you hear a muffled shriek, and turn to see that Lori has a large, colorful-winged insect crawling in her hair.

“Get-- get it off! Oh stars it's trying to eat me, I don't want to touch it--”

“Just shake it off!” You run towards her with a rag. “Here, let me brush it away--”

You're not sure whether she trips first, or you stumble into her, but you end up on the ground, sprawled on top of her, the insect fluttering away disjointedly. You can feel her breath, hot and quick, against your neck, and her hand gripping the front of your shirt. Once she realizes what's going on, she stumbles through a red-faced apology and tries to disentangle herself, and you do your best to help.

“Are you okay?” you ask nervously as she dusts herself off.

“Y-yeah, just… that was a bit of a scare,” she says, her laughter forced. She makes eye contact with you for a moment before her eyes dart away. She bites her lip. “I… I really don't like bugs.” She sounds so small, so uncertain. You wordlessly offer a hug, and she takes it awkwardly.

“It's okay,” you soothe her, just like you would any of your close friends. You pat her back and when you separate there's a mix of gratefulness and confusion in her eyes that stabs into your chest. She stares at you long enough that you're certain she wants to say something, but she just nods and turns away to start taking stuff into the tent.

The silence drags on as dusk falls-- or what passes for dusk, anyway. At this point in the cycle, the sunlight will intensify again long before you've managed to get your eight hours of sleep. Lori disappears into the tent, and you stay outside to check your insect trap one more time. It seems to have captured a bug similar to the one that had liked Lori so much. You'd mention it to her, but it seems like it would be a sore subject.

It can't be like this, you think to yourself, echoing the same words she'd said to you weeks ago. We really do need to be able to talk.

“Hey, Lori?” you call softly as you enter the tent. She's wearing just a t-shirt and shorts as she lies down, messing around with the airscreen.

When she looks over at you, brushing her loose hair aside, even in the dim bluish glow you can tell she's been crying. She clears her throat before she asks, “What's up?”

“I-I need to input some data, and…” You know you have to ask. “Are you okay?”

She shrugs, pushing herself up to a sitting position. “Been better. I… I've just been stressed out all day, I guess.”

You sit beside her on your sleeping bag. “It's okay. I'm surprised I'm holding together as well as I am.”

“I won't write about how much of an emotional wreck you are if you do the same for me,” she says with a tired smile, handing the controls to you.

“Deal.” You open up your species ID spreadsheet, and add in one annoying orange bug. You glance over at her. She's combing her fingers through her hair as she stares blankly at the display. “You're… not feeling sick anymore?”

She blinks in surprise at your sudden question, then shakes her head. “Thank the stars, no,” she says with a tired laugh. “Oh, I threw up so many times my first time out to Unity, they made me go through a second round of medical tests as soon as we boarded. Turns out I'm just unlucky and also never had a chance to get used to the whole space-jumping thing as a kid, unlike practically everyone else up here.” She laughs again. “Up there. Damn. I still can't believe this is actually happening.”

“It's crazy, isn't it?” You lie back and project the map so it's above your heads, painting with your finger along the marked trail. “And we hiked this much today… and then in a few days we go this much further... you know, over this whole time we're going to travel a tenth of the distance between where I live and where Hayleen lives?”

She snorts. “That doesn't give me any sort of idea how far that is. Tusies, you think the galaxy revolves around you.”

You roll your eyes, but smile at her good-natured teasing anyways. “It's kind of a problem. That's half the reason I went into relations as a second major.”

“And the other half?”

“Continuing my family legacy.” She hums in affirmation and you play around with the map a bit more before asking,“Why did you pick Unity? And the mil track?”

She sighs. “Honest answer?” A moment passes before you realize it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Yes," you say quietly. "If you're okay talking about it."

“I am. It's just… I'm not quite sure how to put it without sounding like… well, exactly what some people think about people from colonies like mine." There's a bitter edge to her voice. "I know I should only care about the future of the Alliance, about the legacy of Unity. I should be able to say I'm doing something completely honorable and selfless but…” She scoffs. “It's about money. Pure and simple. Score good enough and everything is paid for. My family has to feed one less mouth, and I come back with something of value, whenever I do. If I do.”

“Ouch,” you mutter. You got in on your own merit rather than your parents' names, unlike some people you know, but the stakes were never as high for you as they are for her.

“Yeah. Maybe two dozen Lotanis have graduated from Unity in these fifty-odd years? Most died in combat, or moved to some other colony after serving. The former option at least means that their family back home gets enough of an income in compensation that they can live comfortably.”

”That's… bleak.”

“That's life on the overgrown asteroid I call home,” she says. “All of us are born from the dust, some of us are lucky enough to end up stardust.”

You really don't know what to say to that. You look over at her. She's staring at the map above you, the shadow of a sideways smile on her lips, and through those pale eyelashes her eyes look so sad. You wish you could just…

You don't know.

And for the sake of keeping things together, you don't really want to know.

She shakes her head and looks over at you. “Sorry I'm being such a downer. I'm… really tired.”

“We should probably sleep then. We have some pretty intense science to do tomorrow," you add, trying to inject some cheer into your voice.

She rolls over to to perch her chin on her hands, a big smirk on her face. “Do we now, miss bioarchivist?”

You're turning pink, you know you are, and knowing doesn’t help a thing. “Yes, and I believe I vaguely explained it to you before but I should really go through the procedures again.”

“Sure. Hit me with it.”

You mock-angrily act like you're going to whack her with the airscreen computer, and she dodges, laughing. But she really listens when you start to walk her through your specimen-collecting plans, and even asks some questions about the more technical things that you're going to do, though her eyes kinda glaze over the longer you go on with that. You don't blame her; you're exhausted too. You both decide to call it a night soon after you finish, and once you’ve pulled down the heavy shades over the tent and settled down in your sleeping bags, you elbow her.

“Hm?”

“Thanks for being such a good partner,” you say softly. “Really. I don't think anyone else would have been as good as you are.”

“Same. You're… pretty resilient. And not bad for a Tusie.” You elbow her again, harder, and she chuckles and elbows you back. This devolves into play-fighting, until you hit something soft and she yelps.

“Are you okay?” She's making a muffled noise that you're not sure is laughing or crying, so you gently touch her shoulder.

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” she says, shrugging you off and definitely laughing. “You just got me in the boob. You win.”

“Sorry,” you squeak.

“It's okay. It happens. At least you don't bite like Manda does.”

“No promises,” you tease. Not that you would, actually, and it's not like if your mouth was so close to her skin you'd...

You bite your lip, grateful she can't see your flushed cheeks in the darkness of the tent. And of course she doesn't, she just chuckles and makes herself comfortable again.

"Goodnight," she says, good humor bringing warmth to her voice. You mumble "goodnight" in return.

Her breathing slows as she falls asleep. But you're all wound up now, and you stare off into the darkness for what feels like a long time.

Stars… I need to keep it together.

First•Previous•Next

#chapter 10 #update #starlitscifi #i missed writing about these nerds so much yall #sorry it's such a long chapter #but i guess i owed you

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hanaxjeong · 6 years ago

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A soft chuckle escaped her as he corrected her. The sound of music started to fill her ears as she dashed off through the simulation. A few of the jumps she almost shorted, a few she cleared more than she had meant to and bumped into the thing she was supposed to dodge. The sharp turns still gave her troubles and she pin balled off them again.

This time when she came down the ramp, it was more because she pinballed off the last sharp turn and tumbled down the ramp til she was flat on her back. "Okay... That didn't work..." She said as she laid there. "Though I am gonna say you added a few of those sharp turns cause I got a line of dialogue wrong." She joked as she sat up.

hanaxjeong‌:

“That makes sense.” She commented about the rushing sound of static. A smile crossed her face as he spoke about the Flash. “Clearly he never watched Rocky.” She joked. “Yes please let’s not make me lose a hand.” She added. Walking up the ramp Hana stretched a bit. “Hit it Chewie!” She called out getting ready to run.

“I’ve made him watch a lot of things with me. Rocky isn’t exactly at the top of the list, but it is a fantastic movie,” he laughed shaking his head a little. “No losing limbs on my watch!” He glanced at her and rolled his eyes at her words. “It’s Punch it Chewie, but I’ll let that slide!” he yelled joking with her for a minute. “Alright, ready! GO!” he said as he pushed the button. If it sounds like static to him, then it must sound like music to her.

#convo: cisco #ccfcentralcity

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volatileuniverse-blog · 8 years ago

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The Scorching Sprinter: Prelude

A Wasp To A Flame

In The Streets Of Perception City…

“OH SHIT!” TrailBlazer yells as he falls from the sky. TrailBlazer is African American, his skin is a light brown, and his body is well toned. His eyes are dark brown with soft-angled eyebrows and his hair is permed and slicked into the style of a pompadour. TrailBlazer’s high-top running shoes are a shiny grey with red trim around the bottom with black trim above the red trim and possess red shoe strings. His pants are black and with a thick, red, trim down the sides of the legs. His utility belt is primarily grey with red trim on the pouches, with flex cuffs attached. His shirt is a matching pure red with a symbol on his chest.

The symbol is a black inverted triangle with a red inverted triangle within it, with a thick black “T” within the red triangle. Over his pure red shirt is a pitch black, fitted, fire retardant, leather jacket with the collar popped, that cuts off at his utility belt showing off the large silver, gleaming, inverted-triangle, buckle, with his symbol plated on it. Along the arms of the jacket, there’s red trim flowing down it, matching the pants. He’s wearing black gloves with special grips on the finger tips with a thermochromic “T” on the back of the hand that’s glowing red and a black domino mask.

As he falls, he lands right on top of a sky scrapper. He zips up to his feet and dusts himself off before looking up into the sky to see a humanoid bug-woman slowly descending. Red wasp has deep red skin with a thin exoskeleton. She’s wearing a yellow crop-top shirt that shows off her brown marking that surrounds her waist, black jeans and black sneakers. She has a pixie-style haircut and large black bug wings, flapping fiercely.

“I can’t believe you burned me!” Red Wasp shouts in a South American accent, nursing her hand.

“Who the fuck are you and why the fuck are you attacking me!???” TrailBlazer yells before standing with arms and legs apart, fists clenched and ready to fight.

“Because you’re mine!” She starts as she holds her hands out. Smiling, her fingernails blacken and grow longer as the tips drip with a glowing green ooze. “Give me that face!” She tells before she bullets directly for him aiming her stingers for TrailBlazer’s face.

“Oh shit!” TrailBlazer burst, using his super-speed to zip out of the way. Sliding, he presses his hands to the ground to help slow himself to a stop. He regains balance then sprints for her, jumping with a clenched fist. Red Wasp dodges while scraping her stingers across his arm. TrailBlazer grunts as he tumbles to his knees, holding his arm where the jacket is torn.

“Argh, fuck!” TrailBlazer exclaims as blood trickles down his arm.

“Do you feel it?” Red Wasp asks. “Tingly, huh?” She taunts before she rocket towards him again. TrailBlazer dashes and jumps towards her but is tackled back to the floor. Straddling him, she grins deviously as she reaches her hand back and swipes her stingers for TrailBlazer’s face. He catches her hand, burns it within his grasp then pulls her down into a speedy headbutt. “Argh!!” She yells flying up and off of him. She shakes her other burnt hand a bit then rubs her head as TrailBlazer makes it to his feet. Flying, she pulls her wings back then flaps them towards TrailBlazer extremely hard, causing a cascade of dust to fly at him.

“Shit!” TrailBlazer yells as he blocks his face, squinting his eyes. Right after he flinches, Red Wasp comes down with an “Axe Handle” over TrailBlazer’s head then a clasped-handed uppercut sending TrailBlazer up into the air and over the edge of the building. Falling, TrailBlazer opens his eyes and sees his potential fate. “OH SHIT!” He yells before he quickly shifts his weight causing him to fall towards the building. As soon as he’s close he simulates running, connects to the building then sprints down its side. He peers over his shoulder and sees Red Wasp flying down at him. As soon as he hits the ground he jumps for the building across the street, hopping over startled pedestrians, lands on the building then ricochets off towards Red Wasp. With his fist clenched, red with heat, he slams Red Wasp right in the face. Red Wasp gives a cry as she’s sent through the skyscraper’s window. As TrailBlazer lands holding his damaged arm before he looks up and spots the falling glass. He spins his arms at incredible speeds, funneling winds at the shards.

“GO! GET OUT THE WAY!” TrailBlazer yells to the rushing citizens. “AHRG!” He ceases his funnel and starts holding his stung arm in pain, again. He looks up at the building, staring at the shattered window. “Gotta get up there.” He starts to back up, walking into the street, anticipating the distance. He gets into the “runners starting position”, his skin reddening. TrailBlazer is abruptly shoulder-charged from the side by Red Wasp into the windshield of a nearby parked car. TrailBlazer grunts before shaking his head attempting to collect himself but he’s soon pinned down by his arms by Red Wasp. Grunting, TrailBlazer ups his temperature, scalding the humanoid.

“ARGH!” She screeches, jumping off of him, scratching his legs on her way backwards.

“AHRGH!” TrailBlazer yelps, sliding off the hood onto his knees on the ground, holding his bleeding wounds. She hovers above him, grinning at her work before kicking him across the face. TrailBlazer spits up blood as he's kicked before falling to the pavement. Using one hand, she grabs him by his jacket and starts to hover, grinning.

“Let’s try this again.” She says, starting to ascend. “The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout.” She sings. TrailBlazer uses his good arm and drives his elbow into her center-stomach, causing her to lose her wind. She lets out a cry while letting him go to hold her stomach and falls with TrailBlazer a short bit before hitting the ground in pain.

“AHHHRG! FUCKING FUCK!” He cries out as he lands. On his hands and knees, he hyperventilates slowly standing up but his stung arm fails and he collapses a bit. Without using his arm, he tries his hardest to stand up. As he stands uneasily, his legs shake under his weight as he struggles to keep his balance. “Urgh! Son of a bitch!” He shouts to himself before looking up into the sky. Livid, Red Wasp descends from above then lands few feet away from him, walking towards him.

“What’s the matter? Numb?” She taunts before she flicks her wrists causing more green venom to leaks from her stingers. A few steps away from TrailBlazer, she’s abruptly smacked to the side of the road and through the window of a business building by the flat side of a huge black handled, red headed, black bladed axe.

The woman holding the axe is a pure white woman wearing pitch black, full body unitard with an inverted heart-shaped cleavage window. Over her tights, she’s wearing a neck-high, pure red, corset, with thin black trim, that pushes up her bust. On her lower body, she is wearing a small pair of tight, matching red, spandex, short-shorts, red knee-high heeled boots, and a pair of red gloves with white trim around the opening. Her pure white face is round, and her lips are a distracting red to match the rest of her outfit. She’s also wearing a black domino mask over her eyes and her shiny, wavy, brown hair hangs down to her back. The woman rushes over to TrailBlazer and knees down to his level with a concerned look on her face.

“Boopie?” She says with worry dropping her axe. “Boopie?” She continues examining his cuts. “Oh no, you’re cuts are swelling up!” She informs, frantically digging into her utility belt.

“Queen?” TrailBlazer asks, squinting.

“You’re going to be ok! Aw, look at you. I should have something for those woun-“ Queen interrupted by a kick to the side of her head from Red Wasp but she doesn’t flinch. Red Wasp's eyes expand as Queen, without looking, quickly grips a tight hold of her leg. Red Wasp tries to fly upwards but doesn’t budge Queen by any degree.

“So, you’re the ho that’s been touching my Boopie…” Queen states to Red Wasp without making eye contact as Red Wasp catches an attitude.

“Excuse m-“ Queen aggressively slams Red Wasp right into the ground, causing the ground to rumble and creating a small crater in the concrete. Red Wasp lies there in the crater, motionless. Queen turns with worry and kneels down. Placing her arms underneath TrailBlazer, she gently picks him up.

“Ok, let’s get you away from her.” She states in relief.

“Don’t you mean ‘get away from here’?” TrailBlazer asks as he groans.

“You heard what I said.” She states. Police officers drive around the corner onto the scene, seeing Queen holding TrailBlazer and Red Wasp laid out in a hole, groaning quietly. The Officers jump out of their vehicles then aim their weapons at the trio.

“Put TrailBlazer down and put your hands up, now, Queen Of Hearts!” The Chief yells. Officers surrounding the area continues to aim their guns, waiting. “Listen lady, I’m not going ask you again: put TrailBlazer down and put your hands up.

Meanwhile in a nearby alleyway…

“Are you doing better now?” Queen asks still walking with TrailBlazer in her arms.

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.” He assures

“I hope the police figure out it’s a hologram soon or I’m going to lose hope in them.” She adds, grinning.

“Your hologram is very convincing.” TrailBlazer tells. “That same damn hologram threw me for a loop too.” He continues as Queen starts busting out laughing.

“I remember that!” She starts. “’Queen, put the bomb down or I’m going to have to hurt you!’” She poorly imitates TrailBlazer’s voice before laughing hard again.

“That’s not funny, I thought you were going to hurt innocent people.” TrailBlazer responds, slightly embarrassed.

“I told you that I wouldn’t.” She answers. “You have to put a little more faith in me.” She tells making TrailBlazer chuckle.

“I’ll put more faith in you when you decide to work with me and stop this anti-hero shit you call yourself doing.” He answers.

“You know you like it like this!” She responds with a huge smile. “Our love is forbidden love.” She whispers as she leans in and rubs her nose on TrailBlazer. TrailBlazer backs his face up as she gives him a pouty face.

“Come on, Queen. Seriously, I want you to work with me. Be my partner.” He offers with a grin.

“Mmm-mmm.” She answers as she shakes her head. She continues to walk with him as he stares at her, a little confused.

“T-that’s it? ‘Mmm-mmm’ is your answer to that?” He finally asks. “No drawn out reason or long speech… just ‘mmm-mmm’?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She answers before TrailBlazer sighs.

“Huh... well, shit.” He tells. She continues to walk with him, smiling happily. “You know you can put me down now…” TrailBlazer finally says.

“Mmm-mmm.” She answers as she shakes her head.

#ocs #writing #fiction #superheroes #art #Trailblazer #Queen of Hearts #volatile universe #female #black

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amateursailormoonfan · 5 years ago

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A 13th Dr fic WIP - Memory Personal

Memory PERSONAL

“Hold on,” said Graham. “So you’re saying, we’re in someone’s head?”

A jumble of lights, places, and objects surrounded Yaz, Graham, and Ryan. The Doctor was up ahead, looking at a giant statue of, of all things, Elon Musk and Grimes, wapped around each other in an embrace. Dashing lines of purple glow would occasionally pulse around the group, and Yaz felt a shock whenever she interrupted the light-lines with her fingers.

“Yes. This place is a collection of memories, thoughts, and important moments for some random individual,” said the Doctor. “Whoever this person is, they decided to donate a copy of their brain’s contents to one of the companies that sell “virtual memory palaces. I actually considered doing that, a long time ago, but then they told me my brain was too big for storage.”

“Is the person still alive?” asked Ryan. He picked up a cellphone on the ground, and started messing around with it. “Huh. The phone’s internet actually works.”

“Still alive? Mmmm, probably,” said the Doctor. She scronched up her face, and said “If I remember, the brochure said...a 20-years of age female humanoid? And the program’s been running for about 30 years...so she should be middle-aged.”

“Or dead,” added Ryan. Looking at Graham’s perturbed face, he added “Probably alive, though.”

“How can we be here? Isn’t this digital storage?” asked Yaz. Everything involved looked real enough.

“The TARDIS doesn’t just go to real places. It can go to virtual locations as well, sometimes. Once went to the land of all fiction. True story.”

“So right now, I’m digital data?” asked Ryan. He started singing a song about “digital monsters”, which led to Graham asking about it, which somehow led to an argument about anime. It devolved ( Yaz snickered internally) into Graham and Ryan started arguing about the manners of the current generation.

Yaz, however, noticed the Doctor suddenly rushing down the hall. She seemed to be moving with a purpose, and Yaz’s curiosity was piqued. Ignoring the squabbling two beside her, she followed after the Doctor. Going after the sound of the footsteps, Yaz walked into a staircase. It went up and up, spiraling as far as Yaz could see. Along the golden wood covering the walls, there were several portaits. She recognized none of the faces. Yaz guessed those portraits were maybe the friends and family of whoever gave their memories to this project. She slowly walked up the steps. The portraits, on closer inspection, were all blurry and rough. She could see names though, like “Mom: Helen” or “Teacher: Mikey”. One portait was torn up to pieces, with red liquid pouring out. She drew closer, and could just barely make out a guy in a rainbow coat. The title said...“Doctor”

Something underneath the portait moved, making Yaz jump. The staircase suddenly flipped from a downward direction to an upward direction, but somehow Yaz didn’t fall, as she tumbled around. When it settled, she could see a door that definitely wasn’t there a few minutes ago, right above the steps.

“Creepy,” whispered Yaz to herself. She approached the door, slowly opening it. Remembering her police training, she quickly checked the surroundings. Just a random table, chair, and regular living room. No sign of the Doctor. Maybe she’d gone the wrong way? Yaz stepped back, preparing to go the way she came, and turned around to see a blindfolded teenager staring at Yaz. Yaz thought ‘staring’, because even though the blindfold was over the eyes, the girl still seemed to be intensely focused on Yaz.

“Hello? Are these your memories?” Yaz asked.

“What’s your name?” asked the teen. She had sharp pointy fangs. Red liquid stained her dress.

“Yasmin Khan. I’m looking for the Doctor.”

“I knew a Doctor once. My name is Aisling,” said the pointy-teethed individual. “Stay.”

Yaz felt a sudden unease. “You know, I think I won’t--”

As Yaz tried to pass by, Aisling suddenly reached for her neck. Yaz automatically stepped back, and Aisling shut the door, locking Yaz in. Yaz ran for the door, and as she tried to unlock it, the doorknob unfurled and bit her hand.

“Oww!” screamed Yaz.

“Hello, Yaz!” said the Doctor’s familiarly chirpy voice. She was sitting on the table, toward the far corner. What looked like early dawn light filtered in through the window, making her face look shadowy. Her gaze lokked distant, cloudy, like countless thoughts were rushing through her mind. Yaz loved that about her, that distant alienness. “Didn’t see you there. Would have told you about the doorknob. Now, don’t freak out, but Aisling is sitting right beside you.”

Yaz turned, and saw Aisling crouched into a corner, her blindfold off. Bright red eyes hungrily stared at Yaz, chilling her blood.

“Doctor, exactly whose memories are these?” asked Yaz.

The Doctor didn’t answer. The Doctor often didn’t answer certain questions, which hadn’t annoyed Yaz before, but after encountering O, it made her uneasy. It had taken Yaz a long time to even understand that the Doctor was an alien. What else was the Doctor hiding?

The Doctor cocked her head and waved at Aisling. “Hello, Ais. You know who I am?”

Aisling frowned. “You’ve changed who you are again, right?”

“Right, right. I mean, I’m still me, but yeah, different face, different biology, etc. Now, why am I here? Because my TARDIS was led here by a signal. And this signal’s from you, right?”

“You left me. You changed,” hissed the girl. She moved up, her stance predatory. “Why did you change?”

“Erm, sorry. It was either ‘change or die’,” said the Doctor. Slinking away from the window, she approached Ais. “Is this why you brought me here? For apologies?”

Ais roared, and jumped at the Doctor. The Doctor didn’t flinch or move. Instead she just stayed still, as Ais stopped inches from her throat. The Doctor’s green eyes matched Ais’s pure red one.

“You’re just a memory. I’m not scared of you,” said the Doctor softly. Her eyes shifted to Yaz, and her gaze shifted to the door. “But you must be scared of something, to ask for my help.”

“I wanted MY Doctor. The one with a colored-coat. Or even the genocidal question-marked umbrella one. You look pathetic,” said Ais.

“Oi! That hurts my feelings,” said the Doctor. She suddenly marched off, and went for the door. “Come on, Yaz. The service to guests is unbearable here. I’m giving a very low Yelp review.”

The door suddenly imploded, as Ais screeched “Wait!”

The Doctor crossed her arms, and turned around. “If you insist. Honestly, I was joking. Don’t even know what Yelp is. So, what could bother a memory?”

The walls trembled, as something large and spiky rippled underneath. Fear tore into Yaz’s gut, as bad as the fear she had felt from getting bullied when she was younger. Her vision started to darken, and her body felt off-balance.

“Doctor, something’s...wrong,” said Yaz.

“It’s here. The creature’s here,” said Ais.

The Doctor scanned the room with her sonic. “Oh. That’s a problem.”

“What...” said Yaz, as she collapsed to the floor. Or nearly did, as the Doctor caught her.

“Yaz. Yaz!” said the Doctor. “Don’t worry...it’s just a security measure of the memory machine. Except we’re guests, so security shouldn’t be on. Okay. Can be dealt with. Aisling, why is the security running amok?”

“Because of something you did,” said Aisling.

“Me?” said the Doctor.

Someone came into view. A red-eyed man, a young, open face, wearing odd clothes, and some green vegetable on his lapel. She could hear the Doctor gasp loudly at the man’s presence.

“Do you know that face?” asked Yaz. Her voice felt faint.

“You’re a simulation of me,” said the Doctor. “I deleted you from Aisling’s memory banks. You shouldn’t be here.”

“And yet,” said the man. “Here I am.

#thirteenth doctor #doctor who #wip #fanfic #yaz #yasmin khan

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robertkstone · 7 years ago

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2019 Lexus UX First Drive: User Experience

Lexus wants us to read “Urban eXplorer” into its new UX nomenclature, but the target audience of mostly younger, web-savvy folks sees User eXperience when they read those letters. UX in that context refers broadly to a customer’s overall interaction with a product or company, with the point of contact—or user interface (UI)—being an especially crucial element.

Unfortunately, one of the main elements of the Lexus UX’s UI, the infotainment touchpad, has a lousy user experience. Naming the vehicle thus is a little like if VW had called its last Jetta TDI the Black Cloud Edition. It’s a shame because otherwise this new entry-level crossover has a lot going for it.

Size-wise it’s interestingly positioned a half-step smaller than its NX sibling but a half-step larger inside and out than pint-sized entry-luxury utes like the Audi Q3, Infiniti QX30, and Mercedes GLA. At $33,025 to start in front-drive layout, it’s also priced below the Audi, the Mercedes, and most of the other slightly larger entry-luxe utes like BMW’s X1 and Volvo’s XC40. (Note that the F Sport trim and the all-wheel-drive hybrid drivetrain—available together or separately—add $2,000 each.)

As such, this Lexus makes a strong value case—especially given its standard features list, which includes Apple CarPlay and the Lexus Safety System+ 2.0 (lane keeping/departure warning and forward collision warning with pedestrian and cyclist detection plus emergency braking).

The “urban explorers” Lexus is targeting reportedly care more about “lifestyle flexibility” and efficiency than they do about horsepower and torque, so the new 2.0-liter engine prioritizes its 33-mpg EPA combined rating and achieves original-Prius hybrid levels of thermal efficiency without leaning on electrons. The all-wheel-drive hybrid UX 250h achieves a claimed best-in-class 38-mpg EPA combined. However, the UX accelerates with the enthusiasm of a Prius, too, as horsepower levels fall well short of the turbocharged 2.0-liters powering virtually all of the competition, at 169 hp for the gas front-driver and 175 total system hp for the hybrid.

Both engines come paired with Toyota’s new continuously variable transmissions. The UX 200’s Direct-Shift D-CVT is shared with the new Corolla hatch and features a torque converter and a fixed 3.377:1 first gear—which launches the car like a normal automatic before handing off to the usual belt and pulleys system (which covers a ratio range from 2.236:1 to 0.447:1 for an overall ratio spread of 7.55).

The hybrid’s planetary CVT is rearranged so that the motor generators sit next to each other rather than inline, shortening the overall length of the transaxle. A new rear-axle motor/generator (which is the only option for all-wheel drive in a UX) is 25 percent smaller than those used in the NX and RX hybrids.

We journeyed to the land of ABBA—Stockholm, Sweden—to sample two Euro-spec variants: a loaded UX 250h F Sport and a base UX 200. The pace each set was a bit “Andante, Andante.” Indeed, the performance difference between them seemed minimal. Lexus estimates 0–60 times of 8.9 seconds for the base model and 8.6 for the hybrid—that’s 1.5 seconds or more off the pace of their turbo competitors.

As with all such systems, switching to Eco mode greatly reduces the throttle responsiveness. Normal and Eco modes don’t simulate gear changes, either. In the sport modes, the tachometer ring also changes to orange when you mat the throttle.

The F Sport version at least sounds quicker when you engage the S+ driving mode, as this makes the CVT pretend to be a 10-speed, with the audio system singing backup to the already decent engine note. The end result is a slightly guttural induction noise that does a reasonable impression of those quicker 2.0T engines.

In the U.S. the F Sport package brings loads of appearance upgrades (grille, fascias, black trim, sport seats, etc.) but fewer functional upgrades. The springs and stabilizer bushings are slightly stiffer. Europe and other markets get an adaptive variable damping system.

It’s a pity we don’t get the variable dampers, because by swapping almost instantaneously between 650 damping rates, they really kept our Euro-spec 250h F Sport cornering on an even keel in the fastest of bends. The base car rolled considerably more but rode a bit better on 17-inch Bridgestone Turanzas, but sorry! North America only gets 18-inch run-flats. Brake pedal feel in the hybrid was virtually indistinguishable from that of the gas-only model, as it should be but too often isn’t with Toyota hybrids.

Lexus claims the UX’s interior offers near best-in-class sound levels in terms of “articulation index,” or the ability to hear human speech over the various noises entering the cabin. That may be, but a fair amount of tire roar still comes through. Other than that, the cabin is a great place to spend time—at least in the well-contoured and comfy seats, which are also well-bolstered in the F Sport. It’s undeniably tight in the back, where shortening the NX’s wheelbase by 0.8 inch somehow pruned rear legroom by 3.0 inches. In this segment, only the Audi Q3 offers less legroom.

The interior design is exceptionally fresh and innovative. My favorite interior was the base 200h’s, which featured two-tone lapis and birch (blue and white) seat and dash trim, with washi-textured blue trim on the dash. Beautiful, not at all derivative, and authentically Japanese. Fancier trims offer diamond-quilted seat upholstery like in a Bentley.

As noted at the top, the infotainment touchpad user interface vexed both my codriver and me, as we frequently overshot whatever icon we were attempting to click. The menu logic needs work, as well—digging through menus to change the volume control of the navigation voice prompts was hardly user friendly.

About those buyers who value lifestyle flexibility over power: They’re mostly Europeans who don’t think “user experience” when they see UX, and who may even love touchpads.

If you think all this sounds as though Lexus’ American product planners didn’t have much say in creating the UX, you’d be right. This vehicle was optimized for the European market, where it is expected to account for 25 percent of Lexus sales. Over here, the brand expects UX to rack up only “single-digit percentages” of its 300,000 annual U.S. sales. And that means you can add “rarity” and “exclusivity” to its list of charms.

Laser-Clad Valve Seats

The UX engines feature a relatively new innovation that Toyota pioneered on a World Rally Championship Celica race car in the ’80s. The aluminum in a cylinder head isn’t strong enough to withstand the pounding that occurs every time the valves slam shut, so valve seats of a much harder material (typically a cobalt-chromium alloy called stellite) are pressed into the aluminum head.

That piece and the aluminum required to support it tend to force the intake air runner to make a slight turn as it enters the cylinder. The WRC advance was to use intense laser light to melt a layer of steel onto the aluminum in the valve seat area. This allows the intake runner to straighten out considerably, permitting greater tumble and faster, more complete combustion.

It also means the coolant passages can be relocated closer to the valve, dropping the valve temperatures by a significant 68 degrees. This allows for greater spark advance before knock occurs.

In the ’80s, doing this required moving the head around on a turntable while a laser waggled back and forth on control springs as metal shavings were dropped onto the seat. It was so difficult and expensive that they dropped it after that program. But modern computer numerical controls and laser wire-arc deposition of the metal permit economical application of the technology in the new UX engines, in the LS 500’s twin-turbo V-6, and soon in the ES.

2019 Lexus UX BASE PRICE $33,025-$37,025 VEHICLE LAYOUT Front-engine, FWD/AWD, 5-pass, 4-door SUV ENGINES 2.0L/169-hp/151-lb-ft DOHC 16-valve I-4; 2.0L/143-hp/133-lb-ft Atkinson-cycle DOHC 16-valve I-4 plus front and rear electric motors; 175 hp comb TRANSMISSION Cont variable auto CURB WEIGHT 3,300-3,600 lb (mfr) WHEELBASE 103.9 in LENGTH X WIDTH X HEIGHT 177.0 x 72.4 x 59.8 in 0-60 MPH 8.6-8.9 sec (mfr est) EPA COMB FUEL ECON 33-38 mpg ON SALE IN U.S. December 2018

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