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pengychan · 5 years

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[Good Omens] Winging It - Genesis 4:9

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: Uncomfortable realization time? Uncomfortable realization time. But at least this supernatural version of Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego is drawing to a close.

***

For a time after the War, Gabriel - as well as everyone else, apparently - failed to truly realize what was happening.

Part of the reason, he supposed, was that they were all busier than they’d ever been. The war had been exhausting but, once it was over - the rebels cast down, out of paradise, away from God - they had very little time to rest. There was so much to do, so much to fix: entire galaxies had been turned to dust as the War raged on, and the Heavenly host had been reduced by half.

Which translated to a lot of work… and very little desire to think of what had become of the other half of them, for a lot of excellent reasons.

Anger was one, of course. How dare they turn against God, against them? How dare they believe they were above their creator, and throw everything in such chaos? They deserved their punishment, certainly, and they shouldn't waste time thinking of them.

Another reason was pain. Few of them would acknowledge it - surely they were not supposed to grieve the loss of traitors - but it was there, a constant ache previously unknown, worse even than the sting of betrayal. They had lost half their brethren, after all, corrupted beyond salvation, they who’d never known loss before. They weren’t meant to know loss, not built to withstand it.

But the busier they kept themselves the less they thought of the Fallen, and the less they thought of the Fallen the easier it became to bear. So they chose, collectively, not to think of them at all.

Until the day Gabriel tried to, and found that he could not. Names, faces and ranks he’d known as well as his own were beyond his grasp, or at least the vast majority of them. There was a name he could recall, a name he clung to.

Ba’al.

He didn’t remember their face, nor their rank, or much of anything about them at all, and yet the last scraps of a memory remained, lingering stubbornly-- Ba’al was stubborn, too -- and refusing to fade away.

Part of him wanted to hold onto those memories, of course; try to remember the Ba’al he’d known and cared for, before he was lost along with countless others. Only that it was a small part of him, somewhere behind his left knee, while the rest was desperate to be rid of them.

“I tried to warn you.”

“Join our cause.”

“Abandon this folly!”

"Next time you cross my path, I shall take you down."

Certainly, if the memories were fading it had to be God’s will, and he had no reason no intention to defy it. So he let it happen, allowing himself relief before he carried on with his duties, determined as ever to serve God and the Great Plan. They knew there had been a War, of course; they had vague recollections of the fight, clear memories of the victory.

As time passed, they learned to know their adversaries - the demons the Fallen had become, not the same beings anymore - and it was easy, so very easy, to see them as the enemies and nothing more.

Knowledge of the fact they had once been part of them meant little, with no real memory of it; no angel regretted forgetting them, or at least none of them said as much aloud.

In Heaven, many things go unsaid.

***

“Archangel Gabriel asked you to find Alison.”

“Yes. He did personally request we seek your sister, and as it is proving more difficult than expected we would appreciate your cooperation--”

“Archangel fucking Gabriel.”

That, Uriel thought, was the reason why no high-ranking angel had ever willingly taken on duties in the lower spheres of Heaven, where good mortals resided after death. Dead or not, virtuous or not, they were still humans. And humans could be… unnecessarily crude.

“Such language is entirely uncalled for in Heaven, and I’d appreciate you minding it,” she said. Had she remembered that Gabriel had referred to himself precisely that way not too long ago, she might have thought otherwise… but she did not, in fact, remember that.

The formerly-mortal, now eternal soul Daniel Brown didn’t even seem to hear her: he just rubbed his face and turned to look, wide-eyed, at the woman beside him. His wife - Liv, he called her. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

Uriel frowned. “There is no need to involve him. As I was saying--”

“It was really the Archangel Gabriel! The guy from the Bible! And-- shit, that song-- Sting-- he got all weird listening to it, I didn’t-- I had no idea--!”

Having been dead and in Heaven for several years now, said wife seemed less surprised by the notion of an Archangel walking on Earth with a dislike for Sting. She patted his shoulder.

“I heard you, darling. Mind your pressure.”

“Liv, we’re dead. I just-- I thought he was just fucking around!”

“Mr. Brown!” Uriel protested. “Archangels - even former ones - do not… do that,” she muttered, despite not actually remembering whether or not Gabriel did have the habit to, quote, fuck around. She would just assume he did not, as it would be beneath his status.

Since when was it normal for a human soul to speak like that in front of an angel, anyway? Uriel’s experience in dealing with humans was rather limited - on top of her mind she had told a fellow named Noah that rain was coming, and checked Egypt’s doors for lamb blood on one more memorable occasion - but she was rather sure they used to be more polite than… that.

“How did he even-- how do you become a former Archangel?”

“... His employment was terminated.”

“Ah. All right, that’s… pretty much what he said. That he was cast down - I thought he meant he’d been sacked, you know, walked out with his stuff in a cardboard box or something.”

Was Gabriel given a cardboard box prior to being cast out? Uriel didn’t quite remember, so she decided not to remark on that. “Well, either way, what I am here to talk about is your--”

“I thought he was just drunk. I mean, he was, but what he said - off with his wings - was… real?”

It was, of course. Uriel knew Gabriel’s wings had been torn off by Michael while she and Sandalphon held him down, but only because they had written it down and talked about it. She had no memory of the event itself. “I am afraid this is a metter I cannot discuss. Now--”

“Why cast him out?” Daniel Brown asked, refusing to drop the matter. “What did he even do?”

Nothing we did not do as well, Uriel thought, but did not answer. In the back of her mind, a tiny voice murmured that maybe he had done something to deserve it - he must have done something to deserve it. It was the only thing that made sense. They had just… forgotten it.

“... What he did or did not do is not for me to discuss, much less with you,” she finally said, and straightened herself. “Now, Mr. Brown, about your sister…”

***

“... So you couldn’t find anything.”

“Unfortunately not, but we’re not giving up just yet. We will find out where she is. Uriel went to speak with the mortal, to see if he can tell her anything of use.”

Michael’s voice was collected, perfectly professional. Sitting across the table with a mug of hot coffee in his hands - he’d almost offered Michael some, before remembering that with one notable exception angels did not, in fact, consume human food or drinks - Gabriel nodded.

“I see. How… how is he?” he asked, gaining himself a slightly confused look.

“Well, I have not met him, but-- he’s in Heaven. Certainly he’s doing well.”

Ah, of course. How could anyone possibly be in Heaven and not be doing well? Beyond its gates, there was everything a soul could possibly ask for… but maybe not everyone. Their loved ones may be in Hell, or… wherever in creation Alison Brown even was.

Is it really paradise if those you care about are missing? He’d never wondered such a thing until now, and suddenly he found he couldn’t stop thinking about it. “He had a wife,” Gabriel found himself saying, looking up. Seeing Michael made the scars on his back ache, but his hands were not shaking anymore and his voice was firm. “She died some ten years ago. Is she there?”

To his relief, Michael nodded. “Yes, I did see that on his papers. He has been reunited with her.”

“Ah. That’s-- good. He missed her a lot.” It should have been enough, knowing he was well, but somehow it was not. He was well, yes, but he was not there. Gabriel had never known an absence could take up so much space, and make it so empty.

There was a silence, a bit too long not to be awkward. Gabriel focused on Michael’s face, on the way she avoided his gaze as she busied herself with her notes on the case. It was almost eerie; Michael had never before, since the very beginning of everything, averted her gaze from anyone but God. As far as he could remember, at least: there were holes, of course, where memories relating to any of the Fallen had simply… gone.

Why did we forget the Fallen? Why am I recalling things now that I could not before?

The thought was sudden, and it caused Gabriel to frown. Something else whispered in the back of his mind, a voice that had spoken to him in his dreams and which, he suspected, belonged to a certain Prince of Hell.

They will forget you. Maybe they already did. They have all forgotten you. Forget them, too.

“... Gabriel? Is something the matter?” Michael’s voice caused Gabriel to recoil. He realized only then he’d been staring for entirely too long, eyes wide and mouth agape, probably looking quite foolish. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say it was nothing, that she may go.

What actually left him was a question. “How much do you remember about me, Michael?”

It struck a nerve, Gabriel could tell: Michael stiffened, pressed her lips, and was quite a few moments “... I do know who you are,” she replied, and stood. “I ought to go back--”

“But you’re forgetting me, aren’t you?”

Another pause, then a sigh. “We won’t. We have notes about you to-- remind ourselves.”

The notion he was being forgotten about in Heaven hit him hard, but until not too long ago a part of him - the part that every night, as he dreamed, cried and screamed and begged uselessly for his wings not to be torn out - for he would at least have found some relief in the fact those who’d cast him out would have no reason to seek him out ever again.

Now, however, there was no relief to mitigate the hurt but rather something else - confusion and something warm in his chest that he dared not name. “Notes to remind yourselves?”

A nod. “So that we don’t entirely forget you.”

“... Why?”

“No one knows. We forgot the Fallen, of course, but this is different. You are no demon, and--”

“No, I mean-- why fight it?” Gabriel cut her off. “If it’s divine will that you forget the Fallen--”

“You are not Fallen, Gabriel,” Michael cut him off right back, frowning. “You were--”

“Cast out,” he cut her off, again. “Some difference.”

“We refuse to forget you.”

“If God wills it--”

“We don’t know if God wills it,” Michael retorted, cutting him off again. It was turning into a habit.

“Everything happens because God wills it,” Gabriel replied, but his voice lacked conviction. Something whispered in his mind that perhaps - just perhaps - forgetting the fallen had less to do with God’s will and more to do with their need to take the path of least resistance, to allow themselves no doubts or regrets that might weaken their faith in God’s plan.

Aziraphale had been no exception then, but he was now. Aziraphale, who had defied the Great Plan. Who had strayed from the path, allowed himself doubt, and… remembered him well.

“Gone native,” they had muttered. More human than celestial, trading a world of easy order and certainty with chaos, second-guessing, twisted paths shrouded in mist.

“How will I know I’m doing the right things?”

“You won’t,” Metatron had said.

“You figure it out, Gabe,” the demon Crowley had sneered. “It’s the gift of free will.”

A long breath, and Gabriel stood, looking at Michael in the eye. “Was it hard?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “Carrying out the order to cast me out.”

She avoided his gaze. “... The hardest thing I ever had to do. It haunts me. Haunts all of us.”

“You cast out many of the rebels.”

“That was different. They rebelled - you were one of us.”

“... They were part of us, too.”

“They rebelled. You were punished for something we all took part to,” Michael almost snapped, finally looking back at him again. “You were trying to do the right thing.”

“Good intentions. What was it that paves the road to Hell again?”

A scowl. “This is ridiculous. I know you’re nothing like the Fallen we--”

“How would you? You don’t remember what they were like. None of us did. It was easier not to.”

Is it really paradise if those you care about are missing?

You can’t miss someone you don’t remember.

“What…?”

“Could you - or Uriel, or Sandalphon or anyone else - carry on with your duties as easily if you thought of the enemy the way you think of me?”

For several moments, Michael stared. Then she spoke slowly, as though letting the words sink in as she uttered them. “... You don’t think it was God to will us to forget,” she said. “You think it was our own doing. Then with the Fallen, and now with you.”

Gabriel nodded. “The path of least resistance. No reason to doubt. Nothing to regret.”

Michael slowly sat. She looked… lost. That was new. “I can’t be. We don’t want to forget you.”

“... I know. But old habits are hard to die,” Gabriel replied, and managed a smile, sitting as well. His hands went back to the cooling mug of coffee. “Believe me, I found out the hard way.”

***

It wasn’t often that Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, asked to view the file of a mortal. It was even more unusual when said mortal was already deceased and in Heaven; the few times it had happened, it had been because they believed there was a chance a mistake had been made and that the soul was deserving of Hell.

In very few occasions - Dagon could count them on one hand, and a mutilated one at that - they had even won that argument with the Archangel that wasn’t an angel anymore.

But judging from Beelzebub’s expression as they stared at the file, sprawled on their throne, that probably wouldn’t be the case. They were glaring at it as though they were trying to make it catch fire with the sheer force of will - which happened just now, as the folder burst in flames. The Prince of Hell extinguished them with an impatient wave of their hand and kept reading. The scowl kept deepening.

As the Lord of the Files, Dagon couldn’t stand by and watch a… well, a file risk being destroyed in a fit of anger. “... Perhaps I can help, my Lord. Is there any information you’re looking for?”

“Yes. Anything about this mortal’s sister,” they snapped, turning the pages. “Anything of use.”

“If both our men and Heaven confirmed there is no file to be found about her, then perhaps she really never exist-- huh. My Lord?”

No answer. Lord Beelzebub - Prince of Hell, Lord of the Flies and so forth - had stilled entirely staring at the file, the scowl replaced by a stunned expression that was, in turn, slowly replaced by something else. Comprehension.

“... Lord Beelzebu--” Dagon began, and trailed off with a wince when the Prince of Hell tore off one page and let the rest of the folder fall unceremoniously on the ground. A sudden flare of fire, a cloud of sulphur, and they were gone - leaving yet another scorch mark on their throne and a smoldering pile of ash where the folder containing an accurate list of Daniel Brown’s sins had been only moments earlier.

***

"GABRIEL!"

The mug of hot cocoa Gabriel had just picked up - a gift from Aziraphale, that cocoa, and he had to admit it was growing on him as a substitute for the fifth mug of coffee - fell from his hands to shatter on the floor, splattering hot liquid across his bare shins. He yelped, both at the sting and out of surprise, heart jumping somewhere in his throat. A ball of fire suddenly erupting before you while someone bellows your name will do that.

"Jesus Christ!"

"No, it's me-- don't you ever insult me like that again," Beelzebub said, scowling, and slapped something down on the kitchen counter - a piece of parchment burnt at the edges. "I know why we couldn't find the mortal's sister."

Gabriel looked back, stunned, the scowl gone and the sting already in the back of his mind. "You do? How? What did you find out?"

"He never had a sister."

That... made no sense. "Are you sure? Daniel said… but why? Why would he lie--"

"He didn't lie. He just thought he had one."

"... I'm afraid I'm not following. Are you telling me he hallucinated her, or--" Gabriel began, only to trail off when Beelzebub quite literally slapped him with the piece of parchment.

"Shut your mouth and just read this, idiot. Daniel Brown’s sins. Well, the relevant part.”

He did shut his mouth, and he did read. It was indeed a list of sins - a young boy’s sins, small things, irrelevant things - lied to his mother over a broken window, copied his math homework, chased pigeons - up to one that was bolded and underlined, a serious sin for that young age. Gabriel read it, and his eyes widened. He read it again, just to be sure, mouth falling open.

Homophobia, hateful speech and rejection of his brother.

For a few moments, Gabriel stared. He suddenly felt… rather stupid for not thinking of that possibility. It made so much sense, now that the key piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Daniel had thought he had a sister; what he truly had was a brother who hadn’t stuck around to make him aware of the mix-up.

Daniel never knew. He was looking for someone who only exists in his memories.

“... His name is no longer Alison Brown,” Gabriel muttered, looking up. “That explains everything. But… shouldn’t former names remain on record?”

“Former names, yes. Deadnames, no. Those vanish from the records the second they are abandoned - we have standards, you know,” Beelzebub said, looking slightly offended. “It’s the same in Heaven, I assume? They couldn’t find any records of this Alison, either. We were searching for a mortal woman, after all, while we should have been looking for a man all along.”

“Ah-- right, yes. Yes, it is,” Gabriel said, and looked down again. It had been him, after all, to insist that the forms matched in Heaven and Hell. “All right, this is… this is something.”

“Just something? This changes everything.”

“We still don’t know his name, though, and--”

“The surname might have stayed the same. I shall task Dagon to search the archive for every man born in Plymouth in the time frame you provided whose surname was Brown.”

“... I understand it is a common surname.”

“No matter. We’ll find him, so he can know his stupid brother was sorry, get his stupid closure, go to his stupid funeral if he wants, and you can get your stupid conscience to shut up.”

That seemed… a solid plan, Gabriel supposed, at least on account of being the only possible plan. He smiled. “That would be very kind of yo-- ow!”

“If you know what’s good for you, you will not dare finish that sentence.”

“Right, right. My apologies,” Gabriel muttered, rubbing his arm. “Oww, that hurt.”

“Good,” Beelzebub replied, sitting on the table. “For the record, I am obviously not doing this for free - let alone out of kindness,” they spat out the word like it left a rotten taste in their mouth. “I still expect you to hold your half of the bargain. Speaking of which, was there any progress?”

“I… well… the thing is...”

“I tried to warn you.”

“Join our cause.”

“Abandon this folly!”

You can’t miss someone you don’t remember.

Ah, but would bringing back the memories be the wise thing to do? It was a can of worms Gabriel wasn’t sure he was ready to open, a truth he wasn’t sure he was ready to acknowledge. Would it not be easier to let the sleeping dogs lie? Take the path of least resistance once more, as he’d always done, letting all uncomfortable thoughts sink into oblivion before they could breed doubt in his mind?

Old habits are hard to die.

“... All right, I’ll bite. What’s with the face journey?”

Gabriel recoiled, looking up. Somehow, he’d managed to pretty much forget that the Lord of the Flies just so happened to be sitting on his table. “Huh?”

“You changed expression six times in less than twenty seconds, and each one was dumber than the one before. What’s going on?”

“Ah, er-- nothing. Nothing at all.”

Somehow, Gabriel suspected that was not the most convincing lie he ever told. To be entirely fair, he had… very little experience telling straightforward lies. At most, he would simply… omit information that wasn’t strictly necessary. Or tell a lie that wasn’t even a lie, because the person he was speaking with knew exactly how things really were

I'm sure there's a perfectly innocent explanation.

Would you have any objection to me following this up using back channels?

There are no back channels, Michael.

Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed. “You are going to hold your half of the bargain, are you not?” they buzzed, a handful of different threatening notes to their voice.

Gabriel held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Of course, of course! I just-- apologies. There has been a lot going on, and--” he cleared his throat. “I will keep my word,” he added, trying to to evaluate whether trying to lie to the Prince of Hell was a wise option - or even an option at all.

At least for the time being, however, it seemed to work: Beelzebub nodded, placated.

“Very well. I’ll get to the bottom of this, and then I will expect you to keep your word. And if you so much think of taking it back--” a snap of their fingers, a burst of flames, and they were gone. Gabriel wasn’t sure whether the fire was meant to be a threat or simply their normal way to leave, but he supposed it was probably both.

Well, decision time was delayed, at least.

With a sigh, Gabriel looked back down at the piece of parchment Beelzebub had brought him, read it over again, and finally put it down. He wondered what Daniel would think once he knew. All those years looking for a sister he rejected, without knowing that the person he remembered was no more - maybe had never been. Gabriel would find his brother for him, but it wouldn’t be the person Daniel thought he was. Then again, after a lifetime apart, he would have found himself facing a stranger either way. Unlike angels, who always remained true to themselves, a notable exception aside and Fallen notwithstanding, human beings changed. That, he’d learned.

Would Daniel be happy to meet his brother? Or would he be disappointed? Gabriel wasn’t even certain Daniel’s brother would want to be found, that he would want to come to his funeral at all. Maybe he’d burned all bridges behind him, and had no intention to waste time on someone who rejected him and whom he only remembered as an angry boy. It had been so long since they last saw each other.

“I know you,” he’d said once to a Virtue known as Ba’al.

“No,” they had replied. “You do not.”

Why bring back those memories? Why now? There was no point to it, nothing it could possibly change. What if there had been someone named Ba’al, a long time ago, whom he’d cared for deeply? What if they had cared for him? That was then and this was now. Ba’al the Virtue was no more, and neither was Gabriel the Archangel.

They were not the same beings anymore.

***

(Okay, so I lied. It wasn't Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego. It was Where's Wally all along.)

***

Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is Abel, your brother?” He said, “I do not know; am I my brother’s keeper?” -- Genesis 4:9

***

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#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #winging it

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andiandyandee · 4 years

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We Are Going to Be Friends Pt. 7

I finally got freakin’ part 7 written, you guys do not realize how much I had to fight with this chapter for no goddamn reason.

Words: 1585

Tag List: @datfearlessfangirl @princemesscharming @illogicalthinking @holliberries

Here’s the series on ao3 here’s the last part in case you missed it

Okay here’s the Fic:

Logan did not expect that comment in his English class to escalate to.. this, but he didn’t argue when a freshman girl, one of the others who had begun taking high school classes early and was therefore in several of his classes, asked if she could sit with him at lunch, just so nobody would bother her, a few days after the incident. She had braces and glasses, looking far more like a traditional ‘nerd’ than Logan did. He obliged, leaving his headphones around his neck in case she decided to speak. He had chosen not to go back to Remus and Roman’s table, though they had offered. The girl, Alex, didn’t speak much, other to explain that she had been getting bullied by some of the older girls in her Physical Education class. Logan nodded but didn’t say much one way or the other in her defense. He did, however, give her his cell phone number, and the number of a self-defense trainer he knew. She began classes the next week.

Logan did not make friends, per se, but he did find himself with a few people more often than not. He had even begun regularly speaking to Elliot and Kai again, albeit tentatively. There were a few others like Alex, who mostly appeared hoping that being around Logan would help them avoid any harassment, but there were a few others, people who also liked science and literature, people who liked the same bands as Logan, a few members of the GSA that despite not knowing Logan’s sexuality adopted him into their groups, and convinced him to attend their meetings. His group was not unlike the group the twins had around them, though they tended to be less rambunctious in the school. Outside of school ended up being a different story, and Logan began spending less and less time at his parents' house. Evenings at punk shows in subpar bars and basements, killing time at parks and people’s houses, study sessions in the only library in town, where the Librarian pretended to shush them, as if they weren’t the only ones there, protests and counter-protests took up all of his time. Logan hadn’t dropped the apathetic nature he had developed, of course, but the people he sounded himself with didn’t seem to mind, and none of them were close enough to actually know that it was an act. He adamantly refused to make up with his brother, who would come into his room every night when he heard Logan climb in through the window to tell him he was being irresponsible. Logan would counter that his grades were even better than they had been previously, he had finally gotten his history grade up from a B to an A, and it had been Larry’s idea that Logan begin hanging out with people his own age, anyway.

Larry reminded Logan that he had lost weight because he was now regularly skipping meals to sit outside with his ‘friends’ and was never home for dinner. He pointed out that before he spent time with these people, Logan had been in fights, but never to the extent he seemed to get into them now. Logan had not, of course, told his brother that he spent most weekends at mosh pits or punching nazis, so of course he had assumed Logan was fighting. And sure, it wasn’t Larry’s fault that Logan still didn’t have much movement in his right hand, but he had not done anything to help, and that was just as bad in Logan’s eyes.

And then, as Remus had mentioned on their first day, they began the unit on Shakespeare. Remus immediately began getting frustrated in English class, taking longer to finish quizzes, groaning at the sub-par grades he was achieving. Logan tried his best to ignore it, but eventually, he had to step in.

“Remus, you’re overthinking this sonnet. You can take it nearly at face value and comprehend the meaning.” Logan had finished his sonnet evaluation worksheet after about five minutes, and Remus had been glaring at his for nearly twenty minutes now.

“I just.. don’t get it. What the hell is ‘summer’s lease’?”

“Well, what is a lease?”

“It’s basically when you like, temporarily own something right? Like renting? What the hell is summer renting?”

“What does summer do only temporarily?”

“I don’t know? Exist, I guess?”

“So, it would stand to reason that summer’s lease would be…?”

“The.. time it temporarily exists? So it’s just saying summer isn’t long enough?” Logan gave him a small smile, nodding.

“Precisely.”

“Why couldn’t he just say that? ” Remus groaned, jotting down the answer. “Are you busy tonight?” Logan raised an eyebrow, but shrugged.

“Not really, no.”

“Want to come over? I think Roman is having a weekend sleepover thing, but I really need someone who isn’t going to be singing Next to Normal songs to spend time with or I’m gonna jump in front of a moving train, which means I’ll have to walk to a train station, because otherwise, they’ll tow dad’s car, and it’s so COLD outside right now, I hate winter, so I’ll probably freeze to death before I even make it to the nearest train station, and I-”

“Did you know Grasshoppers have ears on their stomachs? One on each side of the first abdominal segment, directly beneath the wings.” Logan said nonchalantly, pretending to not notice the way Remus took a deep breath before replying,

“What?” Logan laughed, slightly too loud in the small classroom, before nodding at Remus

“I would love to attend, Remus. So long as it isn’t going to cause a problem with your parents, or the other.. guests involved.”

“Nah, they’ll be fine with it. See you at like five, then?” Logan nodded, going back to staring into space while Remus went back to glaring at his paper.

At 5 PM, Logan stood outside the Sander’s house, looking blankly at the “For Sale” Sign in the front yard. They were leaving? What was the point of having this “Sleepover” if they were planning on abandoning their group anyway? He heard Remus’ voice call to him from the porch.

“Specs! Come on in! We only bite with your explicit consent!” Logan turned from the sign to smirk at the teen in front of him. Remus must have seen what Logan was looking at. “Don’t worry, we aren’t going to screw up the house tonight. Dad would probably kill us.”

“I was unaware you were moving, where will you be going?” Remus looked only slightly surprised.

“Oh! I can’t believe you haven’t heard Roman bitching about it. We’re just moving across town, like ten blocks over. Dad wanted somewhere that had room for studios and offices and stuff, and this place only has one guest room.” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Why is Roman complaining if you’re only moving ten blocks away? You won’t even need to transfer schools.” Remus shook his head.

“Because he’s dramatic? He drew the short straw so He doesn’t get the attic room in the new place and he’s bummed about it. It has this massive bay window thing that turns into a skylight.” Remus grinned. “And it has an ensuite.” Roman groaned as the two walked into the living room.

“Are you telling even MORE people about how I was SLIGHTED- Oh, Hi Logan,” Roman immediately stopped talking in his standard dramatic yell in favor of a small, more reserved voice, turning away quickly from them. Elliot coughed, and Kai was patting their back with a grin.

“Hey, Lo! We didn’t know you were coming!” Kai was still rubbing Elliot’s back, and they were still bent over, body shaking in what appeared to be a quite serious coughing fit.

“Are they… alright?” Logan was mildly concerned. “They seem to be having trouble breathing.” As if on cue, Elliot wheezed, in what almost sounded like laughter.

“They’re fine, just swallowed something wrong, don’t worry.” Kai’s grin seemed out of place still, but Logan nodded.

“Alright. Well, I am in attendance because Remus invited me. I didn’t mean to -er- interrupt.” Roman had laid his head in his hands, and Elliot had finally sat up, tears streaming down their face. Remus chuckled and pulled Logan towards the stairs.

“Come on, Lo. I want to work on some of the English work before we have to endure them for the night.” Logan, grateful to be pulled away from the nonsense that was occurring in the living room, nodded.

“Oh, okay!” They made it up the stairs and into Remus’s room, which was far neater than Logan expected. It wasn’t spotless by any means, but it was definitely cleaner than Logan’s room.

“I am so sorry for him, he’s such a nightmare.” Remus laughed, dropping down onto his bed with an unceremonious ‘oof’.

“Who, Kai? He seemed a little too amused at Elliot’s coughing, but I wouldn’t call him a nightmare…” Remus looked at Logan incredulously.

“What? I meant Roman.” Logan was confused.

“What did Roman do? I mean, I think I’ve mentioned it before, but I’ve always suspected Roman didn’t particularly like me. I don’t mind it, so long as he is civil.” Remus’s mouth was hanging open.

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Kidding about what?”

“Never mind.” Remus shook his head, mumbling something akin to ‘useless gays, the lot of them’ under his breath before pulling out his English textbook. “Please teach me the ways of the bard before I spontaneously combust.”

#logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides #sympathetic remus #roman is a useless gay #Logan is a punk #and a useless gay #remus is done with their shit #swearing #discussions of fighting #kai from cartoon therapy #elliot from cartoon therapy #punk au #eventual logince #if these idiots ever figure it out #Larry is Logans brother #mentions of parental abuse

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donnnoir · 5 years

Text

Dallas, TX June 30, 2019

Well Friend’s, although currently I suspect there are no readers of my crude blog. Other than those that may have an interest from the Shadow Government’s perspective. They always keep tabs and monitor my actions and interactions at large or singular. An annoying fact of Life as me. So hopefully at some point and time in the future an interested party will have numerous pages to sort through. I am trying to get all my material under one or two roofs / forums which can and are accessible to everyone. At least that is my hope and the intention of all this. Granted it also allows me an outlet to vent some of my frustrations and the various events, occurrences and histories with this and more that I have Lived and experienced throughout my Life. Now in such a spirit I am posting a electronic log entries after I arrived back in Austin TX, following the events I experienced in Southern California. Which events culminated in my being shot twice in my left leg and subsequently ran over by an F-350 dually pick-up, running me over from toes to my head being dragged under the dual tires on the driver’s side of the vehicle. Needless to say it was an interesting evening. I was run over on East Anaheim St. about one hundred feet from the intersection with North Henry Ford Ave., on the south bound side of East Anaheim heading back toward Long Beach, I believe the location is still in Wilmington. With the location of my being shot some distance from there and that being approximately 325 North Lecouvreur Ave., Wilmington. These events happened on or around the 5th of March 2018. I was transported to St Mary’s Hospital at 1050 Linden Ave. Long Beach, CA..

The following are a series of electronic entries to an ad hoc journal at the time. I Post this ad hoc journal in its raw form, the only editing being for the most part that of correcting some of the major spelling mistakes. Hopefully I have retained the jagged nature of my mind set at the time. I freely admit that upon my return from California for the first time in my life I was showing signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I still have on occasions bouts associated to this PTSD. I trust as coming events unfold and I have New Obstacles and Challenges to focus my attention and thereby forestall the elements of the Disorder. Thus I Post this warts and all. Without regard to its chronological or content of order. Because of this I will no doubt be covering much of the data, information and stories at a later Posting. I will also be Posting the images of my hand written journal, as the loose leaf entries that I have adopted as my handwritten format. Since every log or journal I have started has been stolen repeatedly. So I now write on whatever loose leaf papers I have before me in the moment. I hope to Post those as packaged folders Postings in their chronological order. There is a degree of overlapping entries between this Posting and those of my handwritten entries. Bear that in mind should you actually elect to read all of these. Most of the entries some date and location headers. I hope that in doing this that no seeming contradictions arise, especially since I am the source. I welcome any inquires from any reader of my material. Thus I submit the following:

Welcome, seems it has come to this. I am going to attempt to compose my thoughts and histories via electronic medium. My reservations must give way to practical realities. Not to mention the fact that each and every one of my previous logs / journals has been stolen from me. A immensely annoying recurring theme.

Thus I am going to try and make a virtual journal. Presumably I will augment this with the additional paper journal. Which will then be uploaded into a file of images. The hope being the combination will effectively accomplish the task. Towit that of providing a record of my life including events in the extreme. Additionally I wish to leave behind in some convoluted fashion my diverse understanding of things. By far I would consider the latter to be a far greater contribution to the brain wealth of humanity. I would like to think that should any of this writing come to light. It does so some time in the future . When the more fantastic elements can be seen in historical context. Such that what would otherwise be seen as speculative ventures into science fiction writing, will be known as simply fact. Because believe me when I say I truly wish and hope to be / will be wrong, regarding that which is to come. For a change!

Sigh… I must take a break, now. Necessity requires I consider many issues, not the least of which is where to start, and how best to proceed. Besides the fact I have not developed the requisite manual dexterity to type with my thumbs.

Monday July 2, 2018 … Killeen Texas

Sigh… damnit all to hell! I am having one of those rare days when I feel anxious, overwhelmed to the point of feeling trapped. I do not know if it is possibly PTSD related. I suppose I have to accept that as a issue with in me from now till the day I die. Regrettable not to mention humiliating for me. Granted, I suspect that the the cannabis Jade bought had a little something extra in it. So she could anesthesias more effectively giving her a reprieve from the increased infra-sound, ultrasound, microwave along with the entirety of the electromagnetic emissions I am at present enduring. I am concerned for her and her son Joey's well being. Despite her being one of the girls / operatives / victims of our government’s illegal covert initiatives know as MK Ultra. She is a bundle of contradictory issues and personalities. Your typical Golem. Her biological father is Warren Causey. He was George Bush Sr. right hand even prior to Sr becoming head of the Central Intelligence Agency. Causey was Sr's go to man for wet works and deep black bag operations. Especially if the back side had a tail which could be exploited for control of any or all parties involved. Causey is a true satanist and worse. He recently developed a rapid onset of Alzheimer’s. Not quite as sever as my own father and name sake Donald Paul Williams. But the timing of both though separate is suggestively coincidentally to events associated to me and those involved in FOXing me. I suspect brother Magnus of being petty. Grinding and hammering on old grudges. Along with becomingly increasingly punitive in operational objectives concerning breaking me to the point of my “losing” it. At which point and time my only anticipated options would be to appeal to their overview and / or full capitulation to their agendas. Thus far I have successfully thwarted their attempts. Yet it has come at an immense cost to me, across the board. Okay in anticipation that I may never acquire the journal I started last year upon my departure from Long Beach, California. A long walk beginning by The Queen Mary and which ultimately landed me in Salt Lake City, Utah. It is becoming increasingly incumbent that I reiterate elements I previously wrote down back then. You would think it would be a simple straightforward process. Naturally such is not the case, for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which are context and my desire to avoid sounding narcissistic, or worse disillusion. Yet failing to do so will ultimately end in me portraying myself as such, even more so. Besides I really hate repeating myself, sorta a pet peeve of mine.

To the uninitiated this is going to sound ludicrous and insane. However, any comprehensive primer would require volumes of esoteric information, along with accompanying commentary and should include appropriate citations. All from tomes that are closely guarded. That I am denied access to permanently and utterly. Thus it is best to proceed directly into the matter wading through the initial convolution, realizing by degrees it will work out becoming about as clear as mudd. The luciferains according to their Canon refer to me as “The Dark One”. It is an appellation pulled directly from their actual scripture as initially iterated to Cain from lucifer, himself.

Obviously atheist may take exception to these concepts, especially the language used. There is not much I can say in response to their misgivings. Because their beliefs lack the framework from which to attach this model. Hell most individuals beliefs also in like fashion lack similar mental framework. Yet most have allowances or the tools where with the modular architecture of their minds are able to “build out” an additional wing to the mansion in their minds which houses their understanding of “reality”. At the very least they can entertain the blueprints to an “add-on” to their mansions. Similar to the operations of our minds “cognitive consistency”. Dr Richard Alan Miller is fond of noting “I would never have seen it if I hadn’t believed it”. Or by extended reference the belief that if you have enough information to postulate a coherent question, you already have enough to know the answer. You just have to convince yourself of it. The implications are profound. Stretching into metaphysics and the issues of faith preceding the miracle(s), and even magick! All topics I have and will continue to touch upon in my ramblings. But I go too far afield of my primary focus. Simply, I am The Dark One. This is both metaphoric and literal. For the few people whose sight allows them to to clearly see into the underlying spiritual realm of our world. Because all things that “are” where first created in spirit. Elsewise they would not exist or remain lifeless sterile elemental at best. There are also at worst case possibilities, but we will forego any such dialogue for the moment. Everything we see and interact with has a corresponding spiritual aspect providing impetus to the whole. Usually the spiritual aspect even resembles the physical expression, although at times the proportions differ. A fact that I know I will touch upon in other areas as topically necessitated. Nonetheless if one was to see our spirits they much resemble the physical form of our bodies, though a bit taller (note this is a foreshadowing hint, to a vastly different topic I Will Be Addressing. At times I may interject future foreshadowing hints, though sans the extensive explanations). Depending on the scope of vision applied a person may / can see many other things. For my current model I am going to stick to issues of direct correlation to what we perceive as the physical world.

Okay, yes I do know I tend to take a long round about, seemingly loquacious manner, almost tediously so in my explanations. This is due to the fact that words are nebulous, our ability to effectively communicate was fractured becoming compromised long ago. As a consequence, for clarity's sake I find this too wordy manner necessary to minimize confusion later in the discussion. By degrees we lose our way, or perpetuate our lost condition. Therefore it is by incremental degrees I am trying to more properly realign the various skewed beliefs we all hold. It is simple geometry, trigonometry or if you prefer vector math. If your initial bearing line is off by a few degrees, as you proceed further down its vector, or direction of travel where you end up will be considerably different than you meant to be. I wish to be aptly clear as to this fact early in my shared discourses.

Back to the proximate relationship of the spirit to our physical nature / condition. Also know that our spirits are gender specific. The entirety of humanity in this expressed Creation, the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve. Have migrated to this plane and place from Our Heavenly Home. That being a higher plane of existence, a organized realm of Love and Light. We, being all of us from Adam, Lilithe, and Eve till the last child of Eve is born, we are they that kept our first estate. Thereby earning both our right and place to be born here in this that by our common assent / consent / agreement we agreed would be real, thus we call it reality, simple. Wherefore, this being real by our mutual assent, means by extension that our actions here shall have real consequence to our station thereby effecting our progression. Those within Our Divine Family that rebelled and failing to reconcile back into the Family are denied participation in the progression of this estate and the subsequent assignments as to which paths we are to be assigned to in our individual journeys to progress back home. Meaning, i.e. lucifer and the one third that fell (more properly “that were cast down”) with him. At times I will refer to lucifer as lucy or louie a small affectation I have over the years grown fond of as pet names for he who would seek dominion through his lies. Know that for my part I have always viewed our existence as an ongoing extension of the war in Heaven. Even as a toddler this was simply the nature of the world, in both a literal and metaphoric sense. Lucy is playing an end game gambit. As to our day to day offenses he for the most part cares little, seldom choosing to involve himself. As I try to tell people; we can do bad all on our own, we don’t need the devil or louie's help. Matter of fact regrettably this particular Creation is an aberration. Most Creation’s do not have a Lucifer, who refuses to repent and reconcile, and worse yet becomes Satanish. In so doing thereby becomes completely nonredeemable. Fit only to be cast out beyond the dark realms / dimensions. So far that not even a god could ever hope to make it back to Our Heavenly Home. Heady fanciful stuff, with a touch of discordance due to conflicting superlatives, I already know. From the presumed position of our understanding as a whole it is the best I can do with our shared mythos. The presumed contradictions fade as our understanding increases. Please accept I know little, next to nothing. What little I may grasp, has been fought hard to obtain over a tumultuous lifetime.

One of the hopeful eventualities concerning our collective situation in this Creation which I try to communicate to those that appear to show potential for understanding the following idea. Is that, Once we “eventually” progress through this Creation. As our then on going progression continues through multiple future Creations we will in all probability never encounter another such circumstance / Creation wherein any of those will again be with the added burden of a Satan / Lucifer persona to add complications to our individual, group, and familial progress. Who would threaten to usurp Creation from G-d and all of us. We can do bad all on our own. We really don’t require an objective excuse or archetype on which to pin our failings. If you are acquainted with the Book of Revelations, in its pages are the clues to understanding Lucy’s actual focus / agenda for our Creation. For we are eternal beings, Children of Divine Parentage. We live through infinite eternities, progressing and striving to Perfect Ourselves unto the Image of Our Heavenly Mother and Father. Now I sound like a some traveling revivalist preacher. Might as roll out the tent and tambourines, hahaha.

Wednesday July 4, 2018 – Killeen, Texas

Well happy 4th of July, U S of fucking A. Not to be cynical, but here we are celebrating another Independence Day in the Land of the Free. The irony is inescapable. Sadly too many individuals become distracted and lost in the perpetually shifting landscape of dysinformation. Yes the horrors these people revile against are very real and indefensible. Except in the losing of perspective, failing to see that these innumerable struggles are purposely being generated to engage the population to distraction. Usually these horrid distractions are set cross ways of social and cultural lines. This formulaic tactic is meant to ferment hostilities, hate and conflicts across the associated strata. This has been repeated throughout history to create wars, fracture our social structure, warp our values, and indoctrinate the population en mass with beliefs such as to reshape our view of reality shackling all of us to a diminished image and sense of self along with the entire human race. Once we accept this warped view as the archetypal potentiality of us all. We are guaranteed to sell ourselves and our brethren into slavery. In due course I will be discussing at length the geopolitical history within the framework of our limited knowledge of what we recorded since the flood. Rather what we have been permitted to know of said records. The fact that much as been redacted from the common brain trust passed on to us via academia. Those alabaster halls occupied by self appointed guardians of the approved versions of knowledge and information released to us vulgar unfortunate masses. So burdened, I shall pass this Holiday celebrating the antithesis of its traditions.

Continuing in the same vain as previously began prior to the day’s celebrations, in much the similarly convoluted fashion as before… I, The Dark One of Occultic Lore. I have been told; that I have done things no one in the history of the world has ever done previously. Personally I can only cite one quality as being demonstrative of such high praise. Though in all honesty I am more often than not being chastised for lacking focus, being lazy, acting the fool in the face of my enemies, or being cavalier in my affections, or placing myself at undue risk of life and limb, and the list goes on and on ad nauseaium. This from the select few who know and understand who and what I am. Those who may actually care about me, and would see me fulfill that which I have been foreordained to do whilst sojourning here. The totality of our circumstance here, now at this moment, we soon shall enter perhaps the most critical and precarious point of our history and that of this Creation. I am all too well aware of this along with that which shall soon come to pass shortly. This awareness, I experience across multiple vectors while being cognizant of a sea of permeations which ultimately stream toward a specific Crux in Our Familial Aggregation (I am trying to develop appropriate nomenclature – wherein I avoid certain more readily common labels or descriptors and/or appellations. Whose usage has been subverted into the double speak practiced by the various satanic and blood occultic families which run the world. Who have ritually (via trauma) conditioned and indoctrinated their acolytes, golems / victims to hear and respond to accordingly, never in a positive manner. Wherefore it is incumbent upon me whenever possible to avoid affirming these, even to the point of reinventing the ascribed nomenclature.) within this Creation. As a consequence I must stumble through idiomatic constructs, ungainly though they be. Believe me if you knew and understood the actualities ascribed to words and the double or multiple meanings applied to them within the Families. The evils, the pain, the denigration of the individuals / victims usually by those nearest them; ultimately by extension it eventually infects and corrupts societies unto the world at large. You would weep an endless river of tears unto filling the seas, if you could see this in your minds eye properly. As long as this perniciously malicious spiritual / familial / multi-generational / social / cultural pathogenic practice continues, our struggles will end in naught. Hence into this morass I must seek to keep my appointed task. How best to explain this? I have spent the majority of my life in the haze of denial. Avoiding my differences. Putting off my preparations for that which is to come.

Since approximately twenty four plus months prior to Operation Jade Helm our covert Intelligence apparati, including elements of the ruling shadow government began a concerted effort at Foxing me. The on set of Operation Jade Helm and its scope marked an exponential increase in expanded efforts against me. Now, let me make clear Operation Jade Helm’s purpose was not solely to target me, there where many targets across the greater portion of the United States of America. Death dealers and various squads of assassins executed / murdered an increasing number of American Citizens, most had been identified for some time to be exterminated. Impunity seems to have become the operational by word. The extremes demonstrated continuously since that time defy all reason. Defining the architects of this action as being criminals is almost quaint. This level of criminal insanity goes beyond the point of being treasonous. With the majority of resource allocation comes from “military Intelligence” which then utilizes other military resources and supplies. Thus it is that we have been duped into financing our own demise.

For purposes pursuant to their agendas, they have labeled me a domestic terrorist. Thereby presumably justifying illegal exercises and persecution of my person. Rationalizing by extension similar acts against my family and anyone I may care about and or Love. Death for them would be preferable to the horrors their personages have been and are being subjected. I know I sound ludicrously paranoid with delusions of grandeur in the extreme. Hahaha…. gosh how I wish, hope and pray such were the case. I make this record in defense of myself and my actions. Naturally I fear all my good intentions with their accompanying actions are for naught. I realize that upon my death as allotted to the sons of man, as to the first part, my character will be maligned in the worst manner possible. A issue I will address at length later in this on going exposition of myself and my misadventures as they may be.

Thursday July 5, 2018. Killeen Texas

Despite my misgivings it seems I survived all the pops and bangs of our nosiest of American Holidays. A joyous circumstance to be certain. From now till my last day of my allotted life as unto the children of men, my life hangs in the balance. The ante to live my life as it were.

My current accommodation over the past almost six weeks has been with an old flame and friend Jade Causey – Chamlee, and her 18 year old son Joey, whose given name was Freddie. Bless their souls for extending to my worn out arse a place to stay and recover. Regrettably my physical recovery is taking much longer than I anticipated. I am fully aware my expectations regarding the time necessary for a complete recovery was / were unreasonable. But I need to set the bar high to keep from being complacent. Now had my situation been inclusive of adequate financial resources I would be at least relatively close to my timetable. I would have had access to better medical, dietary, living and therapies. Hell my injuries would have been properly tended to at the hospital in my initial admittance. Instead I continued to be the object of curiosity and experimentation. With little consideration to trying to give me appropriate medical care. I have come to know what to expect, due largely to my younger brother's general attitude. Wherein he rationalizing what him and others do to me, as simply a matter of effect associated to the who and what I am. It is rationalized that if I, Donn am this special chosen person than he/I should be able to survive everything, whatever it may be. Because if he/I don’t than obviously he/I am not that special and thus not protected from on High. Horrific logic used to rationalizing a growing list of atrocities committed against my person. A ugly fact of my reality, one I anticipated. What issues make this whole fucked up process unacceptable, malicious, acutely painful and unforgivingly egress is the manner by which they have targeted and used others. Especially my younger brother, father, son, Tiffany, Revaka, Heather, Angie and numerous others. They have been tortured, abused and treated as disposable commodities. All are scared and precious, some are very unique with abilities reaching into arenas not generally accepted or understood in today’s world view. Yet these individuals are denigrated, abused in some of the most deviantly sordid manners. Most are ultimately destroyed, first robbing them of their minds, bodies and in some final insult of their very souls. As it appears that they are being harvested for physical vehicles to have demons placed in their bodies. Yeah, I suppose I could say it in some sort of more politically correct parlance as “aliens” from a lower resonating dimensional reality / realm. Somehow I find that by doing so it fails to communicate the malicious evil inherent in the process. I find the old nomenclature to communicate the Truer meaning. Though some eras of our past carry their own obvious failings magnified exponentially by ignorance while fueled by misguided zealotry. They were not called the Dark Ages for nothing. Similarly different cultures, societies, periods, places and times have fallen to various abysses of Darkness. We have this false mental image of life on Our Earth proceeding in some linar fashion from primitive man (including Adam, for those of a theological inclination) struggling out of caves. Fighting against their own primitive brain / mind which was trapped in a diminished brain pan capacity from questing for fire against ignorance and superstitions. With us being the cumulative beneficiaries of this on going process. Peoples of those ancient times could not have been as intelligent as those today. Therefore they could not have grasped the concepts we do. Some of the most ridiculous fallacies of logic ever presumed to rationalizing and justify conduct or beliefs. Matter of fact the inverse is actually True. But what the fuck could I possibly know!

Sadly my frustrations are rearing their collective heads as it were in my writing. I wish I had been more diligent in securing my journal I started last year upon my departure from Long Beach towards Utah. I was more focused recording relavent issues in a contemporaneous fashion. Not to mention a considerable investment in explanations dealing with a variety of associated topics. Grrrrr… all I did then was walk and write. I may soon be in a recurrence of such, shortly. I can no longer abide where I am. All the more so under these conditions. Deep in my mind I am aware of happenings which require my attention. Not to mention my friend’s household is not psychologically conducive to my state of being. At least not in a healthy way, good intentions not with standing. My largest obstacle to my leaving believe it or not, is my need for acceptable footwear. Flip-flops aren’t going to cut it. Hell they are wholly inadequate to even walk just up the street a block or two. I must admit the sidewalks and streets of California were well suited for walking.

Monday July 9, 2018. – Killeen, Texas

As Pooh would be apt to say, “Oh bother”. I feel for the most part Tigger. Bouncing all about spinning, twisting, flipping… as well on my head as my tail. I am most acutely wanting to find my focus once again. My communication skills seem heavily compromised. Not that I was ever able to write as effectively as the great Nobel Laureates. Generally speaking I could at least maintain some linear cohesion in my writing. Physically, emotionally, spiritually and mentally I am shaken. Much as if my being was trapped in the tremors of advance Parkinson’s. In similar fashion my expressed thoughts and experiences lack focus, my abilities at lucidly articulating my larger life occurrences is choppy at best. Failure is NOT an option! No matter how I feel or how events are or may effect me, I must regain my composure and find my center. While reacquiring my skills of teaching and sharing what I have learned. Please excuse me if I don’t edit the foregoing entries. As convoluted and murky as they may be, their relevance contemporaneously can not be diminished. Hopefully they will in due course provide a benchmark to juxtaposition future writings and notes thereby effecting a glimpse into my state of being at the time of writing. Grrrrr…….

They have done a very good job of isolating me. All the more so, as I try to come to terms with the potential cost to those I would seek commerce with across all levels of our socioeconomic strata. If what I endured while being the object of a Foxing protocol by our shadow government’s covert intelligence community are any indication. Anyone who associates with me, either at mine or their initiation is subject to become targeted for retribution as punishment to me. Too high a cost to blindly impart with out consideration to finding possible means of mitigation. Or at the very least terms whereby I am ultra selective with whom I interact. Along with the rationale for said interactions. Soon enough our social dependency will require I abandon all such pretext or attempts at shielding anyone from consequence. I fear that time shall be upon us/me far too soon. Perhaps I am again being exceedingly naive. My efforts are most probably for naught. An on the at large canvas of the bigger picture my presumption at damage control will only result in a larger area and impact of effect upon our society as a whole. Not that I am some savior or prophet, far from it actually. In the grander scale of things, I might best be referred to as a “wild card”. Meaning that in any analysis of the interaction of variables, one may with a degree of certainty predict the outcome of any issue, contest, conflict even war. However should certain individuals or a very small dynamic group of individuals enter the forum. Suddenly the landscape of the matter shifts radically to the point that the original outcome no longer applies or is meaningful. We have numerous examples of such occurrences throughout our histories. Of salient import to us here in America is The Battle of Thermopylae, and the 300 Spartans. We all learned about continents in school. Did you ever notice that Europe and Asia were counted as separate despite being one land mass. The reason is that Western Culture and Asian (Oriental) Cultures being vastly different it was traditionally ascribed to them being two separate continents. We may naively presume to ridicule such a blatant indulgence as arrogance. Yet there are fundamental reasons for this error being valid. We as the heirs of Western Culture, need to understand the mythical / legendary impact of these distinctions upon our mameic memory, especially those of us of the West. From Greece to Rome, then following our Angelo – Dutch (Iberian) roots it is transmitted to us. The importance and permanent impact of the actions and sacrifice of Leonidas and 300 Free Spartans against over a 1,000,000 servile basically slaves to a potentate deemed quasi divine, carved out a legacy of Freedom which stands even today. An Epic “wild card”. There are many others, most are lost to us today. With the occasional exception that survives in our Epics, our Mythologies, our Legends. Most such stories are the blending of factual events with older religious or semi religious traditions. Which aliteration was a common and accepted means of teaching the lessons of both convanents in a factual and metaphoric means. Much the way Jesus Christ taught using parables, allegories composed to have layers of meaning dependent upon the degree of understanding had by the student. So a natural continuation of this is to be inclusive of many historical events, along with the trans literal substitution of the individuals to those of prophecy or the the Divine or Angelic intercession of some ancient history. These depending on circumstance would be iterated and reiterated in verbal traditions to be celebrated in the retelling, usually in association to particular annual festivals. Such as the case with the Saga of the Norse Kings. A subject I hope to have the opportunity to entertain at length later in my writings, scribblings. The vast majority of my ideas, concepts, models and histories can generally be attributed to greater minds than mine. As has been said before, the reason I / we can see so far is that we stand on the shoulders of giants, those that have come before us. Yes I paraphrase taking a degree of liberty. More particularly to hopefully retain its original meaning.

Funny I have been much as I am, the entirety of my life. Before I commence an in-depth sharing of many of the somewhat unique occurrences and events that have brought me to this proposition in time. I wish to clarify and reiterate some postulates. Elsewise a portion of my own records and logs may well be used against me. Principally by interests who would wish to call my lucidity and grasp of reality into question, in the hopes of indicting or coloring my character via my words. No doubt they shall do so nonetheless. I only wish that my original is sufficiently vetted in the sane understanding of reality has to be a defense to my honor and mental facilities. Thus, again – I am No prophet! Nor am I an Alien. Hahaha… Nor am I some savior! As far as religion – I will say as was told to me by what would be termed alien contactees, or more specifically those that I felt and believed we’re genuine. Of the many I personally met back in the 1970s. According to these individuals as to the subject of religion and the Bible when broached to the various aliens these contactees interacted. All the aliens responded that yes the Bible was more or less correct and that it was wholly applicable to us, our Creation, and Our G-d. I know not at all what they say on the popular shows in the media today. Hmmm,…. As to my personal religious beliefs and inclinations, I am Mormon by conversation and have been excommunicated for many more years than I care to mention. By the way my excommunication was due wholly to personal moral matters not issues of doctrine or beliefs of Faith. So if somewhere in my upfront acknowledgements, you find me wanting of naïve. Fine, do or do Not as is in you, or as is your want. I make no apologies, nor seek to compromise in some misguided attempt to achieve an accord or consensus. Rather quite to the contrary, I share, present, seeking dialogue broader than an account of the happenings surrounding my life. Simply because I am appalled by the amount of lies and disinformation being used to indoctrinate the populace. Add to this the lack of corrected and broader views from the dreadfully homogenous perspective droning from damn near every sector. The present modalities disgust me, breaking my heart such that I would to weep day and night for Our collective Family. Yet better spent are my efforts in defense of the Truth and an improved accounting of our histories and circumstances. In pursuit of same I find I must submit my private life and experiences to general scrutiny. The majority of which I have never shared with anyone prior to the last six to eight years. I have desired to live a rather conventional life, for the most part. Realizing that soon enough I will forever be denied the Joy of such.

To this end and the accompanying process I submit some of the earliest memories and events of my life and childhood. One of my earliest, if not the earliest is being in my crib prior to the age of two. My father was working for numerous government and governmental contractors at the time. Naturally I don’t recall those details. Our family had just moved to Southern California. We were living with my mother’s sister somewhere in East Los Angeles. Their home was the typical Spanish Colonial. Anyone familiar with the style and form of such. Know that hallways usually converge into a common room, you cross to the hallway leading to the room you have as your destination. In this pass through common room is where my crib was stationed. Probably the best location for it and me. So the various women could occupy my attention should I become fussy. An many times this common room was an area where the women would congregate as my recollection is. Well across this room was a pantry closet, with selves and full of the sundry items found in such for the time. In the coming and goings of my family and relatives there were numerous occasions that would find me unattended, alone in my crib. It was during one such interlude that the commencement of a reoccurring vision / dream began. I having been left alone to my own devices (parenting back in the day). When the door to the aforementioned pantry slowly opened wide. A beautiful female Golem, her physique had the appearance of red bricks. Yet the contours of her form were singularly female. Rather she had distinct curves with aquiline sculptured features. Most hauntingly she had these striking blue eyes. She never spoke a word, her eyes spoke volumes to my initially shocked mind. As the sounds of returning relatives approached, she gracefully returned from whence she came. On the first couple of occasions I witnessed this I raised a bit of a commotion. I was not yet verbal, and in all honesty I was a late talker. Well the relatives thought I might have seen a rat. So they dutifully opened the pantry to inspection. The pantry was then as it always was, with neither a rat or exquisite Lady Golem. This parade continued off and on for the majority of the our short time residing at my aunt’s house. Usually the Lady Golem had those blue blue eyes, though green and grey versions are among the visits. Each and every time she would come to the side of my crib, moving her head, or tilting (cocking) it just so. Always her eyes full of questions and disbelief. Her eyes seemed to express; You? You are the one sent? Hmmm… You don’t look like much! Look more like a little wet rodent, but who knows?. This was more or less the sentiment expressed in her eyes. Following my first encounters I became accustomed to her visits and would actually miss her on the rare occasions of absence. Needless to say from early childhood I saw the “world” differently than others around me. I also learned to accept this altered perception without fear, understanding its validity within the accepted context of what is “actual” or the “concrete” reality of our existence.

If you may recall back in the haze of school days. During various lectures the teacher's would sometimes use what is commonly referred to as an over head projector. Depending on what was being taught, it was also common practice to layer over lays. These would either complete the image or at times super impose other images as needed. Sometimes even as multiple layers of over laid transparencies. Some of you more contemporaneously educated individuals may never have seen such primitive presentations, having known only power point. For those so blessed what I describe next may be Greek to you. For the dinosaur amongst us most should have some recollection. This model is the closest I can use to illustrate how the world appeared to me growing up as a child. Usually I would see what could best be described as up to two transparencies overlapping the “real world” in general. I could even lift these overlays to get a clearer view of what was being presented before me. At times these would both be at in the foreground of “reality”, other times both would be in the background, while at other times it would be split one in front and one in back. Yet there were numerous other configurations, sometimes completely unrelated to the happenings around me (foreshadowing alert). Gradually this ocular affect of the world began to diminish till it no longer was within my field of vision. By the time I was around sixteen to seventeen years of age this effect was effectively gone. Since then I have experienced this only a handful of times. I usually take a different approach, I will address momentarily. One of the proximate results almost immediately of perceiving my world in this manner is that I usually know the scope and degree that anyone is lying. As an adult it is not quite as prominent as in my childhood. Though there have been exceptions. As a direct consequence my earliest life lesson was in due course the hypocrisy of the adults around me. Everyone would profess such devotion to “the necessity” or importance of always “speaking the Truth”. Yet I would be punished to no end for pointing out the hypocrisy of the fact the adults more often than not lied as suited them. I learned to keep such to myself. Something I still do to this day. I tend to filter or make allowances far too much now as an adult. Invariably leading to greater complications. Besides transparencies certain images or objects would “float” across my field of vision in similar transparency manner. Some of which I could not decipher any context or meaning at the time or since. To begin to place elements of this visual experience I need to explain tangent events of recent.

The advent of the Internet and the information highway is as with most such paradigms, both a blessing and a curse. Dependent largely upon the nature and supposed inclination of man. We are all no doubt familiar with the media platforms of Facebook and YouTube. Like everyone else to some degree I have had occasion to surf around doing research or simply for mindless pleasure. Back prior to Jade Helm, when my Old Lady (though she was substantially younger) Tiffany and I were keeping house in Austin, Texas. I noticed a YouTube video regarding the Apollo 20 mission. Oh by the way according to my histories the Apollo lunar missions went up to 20. I wanted to see what was been discussed along with what twists and turns the disinformation specialist spin their distractions. Which if you can determine it sometimes conclude what they are trying to hide or if their direction of spin is a “z” vector you can sight 180 degrees opposite to determine the landscape they don’t wish you to see. You may consider all this a large investment of mental energies, it is just how my mind works at times automatically. Back to the Apollo 20 video. In the video there was some general discussion of aliens, their nature and origins. During this open dialogue, there was a series of various old clips. I presume were some how removed from the archives of NASA. Many of the older non-defined clips I was quite familiar with the images. Not because I have ever seen them as photos, images, clips or video. At the time I was floored, since previous to that moment I was unacquainted with their context or related meaning. These objects I use to see in the exact same configuration and involved in the exact motions approximately forty years earlier as I was growing up. Matter of fact judging from the age of the imagery I would have to conclude I was witnessing them contemporaneously as a child. Without the context of outer space or NASA I had presumed I was watching some complex interactions of some sort of strange protozoal life from. I even remotely as concerned they had some how become infected to my cornea, so prevalent we’re the objects across my vision. So striking was their imposition upon my sight that more than four decades later their association was immediate and most assuredly certain. One less mystery to worry about. Yet the implications are troubling profoundly. Both of myself and the world at large, considering how maliciously the world's population has been lied to and manipulated. The ends of which are too shocking and horrible to ever discuss. Although in previous conversations at moments of weakness I have divulged a greater portion than may have been prudent.

Wednesday July 11, 2018. – Killeen, Texas

You may right so wish to ascribe or diagnosis me as having a form of delusions inclusive of all types of hysteria, grandeur, psychosis with severe religious obsessions. For what passes for psychiatry today within the public ledger domain, you may be correct. I would offer in defense a extensive lifetime containing a ongoing accounts of a similar or even greater note. Although I am not a Moses, peoples of another time would recognize me as being touched by The All Mighty, as it were. I will at least own any such appellation. Am I some righteous man deserving of beautification unto sainthood, I would argue Not. At best I have tried to be a descent man, who speaks the Truth as much as possible. I am burdened by an additional commitment.

Back in my youth, being around nine years old. I had a singularly profound series of visions / dreams. I repeatedly dreamt my death, accompanied by the various permeations associated to reaching same. The process took several days (nights) between three to five. Being so young I didn’t think to take particular note of the days my dreams were thus occupied. They obviously had a unique feel with a equally sensational intensity, they still abide with me today. I distinctly recall a voice of sorts coming to me following the last night of witnessing this panorama of my life's end (as are the days accorded to the sons of man). Now this voice which came unto me, I presume it was within the precincts of my mind. Not that it would have mattered greatly since I was alone when it came unto me. Nor did I think to ask from whence or whom spoke. I knew and could feel the light of our Divine Home as I heard the intent along with the presumed words. It was a simple dialogue, stating; “this is how it ends, this is what you have come to do. You need not do it. You have the right to choose. However if you are to complete this task. You must choose to do so now.”. Being a precocious and arrogant child, I immediately presumed that if I had been sent to do such, than the obvious was that I was the best candidate to accomplish the prescribed task. Armed with such infallible logic, I whole heartedly accepted my calling understanding it would come at great cost. Now granted, an understanding of the true scope or magnitude or the enormity of the cost or suffering I fully lacked. I have spent my life preparing. I have come to know that even at the prescribed time I will lack of my own what is necessary. I shall present to the task my all, trusting in Our G-d to shore me up to complete that which I would do. Subsequent to acceptance of this appointment I am to keep in the near future, my sight / vision increased. The frequency and quantity began increasing dreams, visions, revelations, transparencies along with my general perceptions increased. I now openly own the fact that I see the world through the eyes of the mystic. Only recently was my sight dampened. A heart breaking topic the occasion of which surrounds losing my Love Tiffany. The subject of which shall also be laid upon the alter for examination by the modern day augers. Find what fault if you will, I care little. Only know that matter and its accompanying are for later. I must at present attempt to continue in this established vain of thought recounting events long past in my short life. Besides the notations contemporaneous to me and my circumstances or any of the other tripe I have need to spew forth. Believe this, if I could accomplish my foreordained task without sharing, discussing or placing ultimately for public review any of this – such would be my desire. Painfully I have had to come to terms with the ugly reality I must prostrate myself to assure I am able to do what needs be done. Onward thru the fog, as it were.

Without going into specifics too much, early on I displayed another aptitude. Sometime around first to second grade. My Dear sweet mother recognized I somehow had a hand in the going ons of the other children that back then composed the group of children who had commenced to being around. Now my mother was blessed with a keen intellect. Which included the wisdom to not over think somethings. Instead wherever possible if there was a direct and simple solution to apply one's efforts to the solution. Thereby allowing life to continue on as meant. Almost elegant in its simplicity, usually quite effective in solving any problem, a quaint provincial version of Occum's Razor. Consequently the solution was simple, as she noted; “son, I don’t know what you are doing. But it is wrong. Apparently you need my help understanding that.”. There after I regularly got my hide tanned. Until sometime around the age of seven plus the realization that just because you could do something; does not mean you should. And that everyone is entitled to make their own choices. Afterwards the occasion necessitating my tanning ceased as a consequence to those particular actions. By no means did I fail to earn other occasions of corporal punishment as befits a young boy trying to find his wings, so to speak.

Growing up making my way through our education system of public schooling. I never cracked a book. Now one should not presume schools and childhood were smooth sailing. Quite to the contrary, in second grade my school in southern California labeled me “retarded”. Lacking a separate facilities or classes you were simply shoved to the back of the class with similarly challenged children. Nor did they have to test the child or give notice to the parents. Following a few weeks at the back of the class I began to demonstrate “odd” behavior. Which my always observant mother was quick to question. She went to the school and raised holy hell. In actuality it was more of a racially motivated issue. My parents being divorced, the school only saw my Hispanic mother. Being profoundly dyslexic, their initial assessment was that I was a Mexican, and you know you can not teach their kind. I was going to a all white school at time. Not to mention kindergarten in Watts. During the riots in 1965. I had to have police escorts to school. While I still have very distinct memories of the entire family sleeping in the living room with all the doors and windows blocked and barricaded against the rioting blacks. A sort of difficult time growing up. Believe me I know what racism is like. I am not going to hold my tin cup up on that lame ass subject. The fact that there are those in this country that hold onto this issues as the reasons for all their troubles. Or that there are groups and individuals who exploit this history for their enrichment. All this does is allows an ever expanding rifts in our society. The age old axiom of divide and conquer. Yet we all seem oblivious to this, instead we rush to our own deaths.

Thursday July 12, 2018,. – Killeen, Texas

Aaagh, fuck, damnit…. I fucking swear. Why do I even try to help anyone. Generally they hold to their own practices of appeasing the least common denominators by which they live. What can I say. As gracious as my hostess and her son may be. I doubt if I can tolerate much more of their dysfunctionality sans any self realization or objectivity. And they wonder about Joey meeting someone (female). I can’t imagine the woman who would find any of this manner or lack of is appealing. I try to maintain perspective because I do recognize the roots of most of the antisocial behavior. Even if it expresses its self differently than one may anticipate. I just don’t have the tolerance I usually do. In my current condition of convalescing from my injuries, makes me subject to the vagaries that define the lives of normal people. Due to the obvious singular quality of my life I have had to come to terms with the fact that I do not process anything in like manner as my peers. An before everyone thinks I am trying to sound all superior or some such, please note that I am continually making stupid mistakes principally due to my own naivety. We all have this aspect wherein we judge our circumstance and that of others from the pigeonhole perspective. Everyone else's view though differing from each other falls within a given area, or a few degrees of each other. Mine falls a extreme distance outside of what could be considered the norm. Nonetheless being very human I continue in the belief I perceive “reality” much as the other person from a similar understanding and values system. Invariably this attitude finds opportunity to smack me in my face by its differences. Each and every time I am recalled that, oh I knew better because I am fully aware of the differences and should have factored accordingly. Even now at this more venerable point in my life I find one of my biggest failings is naive belief in the character of my fellow man. Yet if my assertions as to my last day as are allotted to the sons of man be True. For the greater part I will be doing so for the entirety of Our Familial Aggregation. Even for those who seek only to cause me and those I Love and care about, harm or maliciousness. Because that is the way of things in our Creation. Soon enough the vile evil shall reveal itself, the kid gloves shall come off and life will never be this peaceful again. If it be the will of he who sent me I will seek to balance many scales of injustice. Till then I must endure and prepare as best I can.

Well enough complaining about friends who do their best given the circumstances. I appreciate all they have done on my behalf. Especially since to a large degree they grasp what potentially may be the cost. Even if in some small ways they may have been influenced by the same malicious or “Bees”, that seek to be the cause of my failure. For such is the nature of things in the abyss. Especially considering the length of time I have elected to spend wrapped in the confines of twisting throughout what we commonly refer to as “reality”. I generally feel more comfortable surrounded by its miasma and ickor than anywhere else. As much as it may appear to be a contradiction it ultimately is fact. Sigh!!!

For the time being I guess I will change the temporal focus of my entries. I can seldom stay focused on any particular time frame for an extended period. Doing so usually causes me to shift to the associated memories which become very visceral in nature. Soon it begins to become a tad overwhelming. All the more so once framed in relation to the present context. I sincerely hope that suffices and is remotely coherent. I am usually deconstructing my conceptual models and ideas into a form more acceptable to being understood. Sometimes I become lost in the process to the point I know what I mean despite the fact that the words and or syntax are nonsense. In conversation I sometimes have to stop and ask if what I have postulated or presented in the dialogue makes sense. I know it all made sense and sounded good in my head. Aaah but I can’t always presume to have effectively communicated the same.

Saturday July 14, 2018. – Killeen, Texas

Well here it is the weekend, somewhere in Who-ville are working stiffs cheering at the arrival of the ritual with its time off. It has been interminably long since I have have lived a life so constrained as to include the simple Joy of a defined weekend of days off. Hell I am usually engrossed in my vocation daily. With my ever prevalent purpose always driving me. For the most part I have become unfit to be amongst civil company. Yes I am conversant. I am genial enough when in mixed groups. I tend to empathic of those around me. I genuinely give a damn as to the well being of others. Even so, the inescapable Truth is that the darkness is too imbued into my being. Because of the darkness of my spirit, I have become rolled into the ubiquitous abyss of our “reality”. Though it does not effect me quite the same as others its taint has woven into my fibers. Not being much of a liar I lack the necessary tools to hide it from general view.

Wednesday July 18, 2018 - Killeen, Texas

Well damn, I sometimes really get fucking frustrated. At one level I am perpetually detached from the day to day focus and obsessions of everyone around me. I can’t bring my mind to focus on the general ideological concepts propagated by the geopolitical theater. Which resembles an episode of the moppet show as far as I what it appears. Are the offenses and injuries less or non-existent to my sympathies or moral indignation; not in the least. They still represent injustices and crimes which need to be effectively dealt with and hopefully the scales will balance. Even so, I just can not seem to get all worked up over these slight daily travesties. All the more so since I tend to view all these for what they are within the larger perspectives and plans of globalist / occultic families. Typical divide and conquer, or simple distractions from their primary objectives. I can appreciate everyone’s sentiments and attitudes that the scenarios of what is to come are not perceived as real or likely. Hell even I given enough distance and time begin to feel as though none of it is possibly factual. Except for the fact that I have lived a life associated to these eventualities. Even when I was in the thick of things all those involved would tell me bold faced lies as to what was occurring. As if to make me question the obvious, because the obvious Truth of the matter was outside any social norms. I guess there are those for a convenient lie is preferred to Truth too extreme to accept. I have been at this life, spending the majority of my existence living in the abyss. Which is everywhere, it co-exists with whatever social or cultural conventions occupying our realities of the moment. It is ubiquitous yet invisible to all but those who have had the misfortune to have grown up in its mists, or the uninitiated. Due to my unique occular abilities I am sort of self initiated. It took me a little while to come to understand the meaning of this subset of our world. I have always seemed to rub against this sub culture, even as a child. A odd fact which has taken me many years to come to terms with it. Even then it was a process of educating myself to be able to grasp the entirety of the concepts. Though outrageous beyond belief, it is nonetheless part of a larger pool of knowledge I have fought long and hard to achieve. We are a phenomenal expression of life, even across the multiverse. For all our uniqueness, we are seemingly determined to trivialize who and what we are. More importantly the processes and manner whereby we are to accomplish our purpose “here”. Truly phenomenal!!!

Yet I digress. I am simply getting on my soapbox, whipping the horse, so to speak. Grrrrr…

How best to convey some of the basics back into the discussions and open forums in our sea of opinions. A perplexing problem one that has vexed my soul for almost three decades. I suppose the real source of my reservations has principally revolved around my own reluctance to be centrist to any reintroduction in a general dialogue. Much to my consternation it is plain that to accomplish this and thereby facilitate me being able to keep my appointment in the future, I must find the where with all and means to personally become directly a part of our social dialogues. I can freely admit to my own megalomania. I try not to buy into it myself. I shan’t feed such feelings or Mali-adpted inclinations. What ever a person's tendencies, we fail our own interests in doing so. To the point of it becoming a all consuming psychosis. Our histories are replete with the villains who are consumed by base desires at the cost of all else. Not that such is my fear. Rather I prefer to do what I can from a position far from the limelight. We don’t always get to choose how best to accomplish our goals. My non-object oriented way of thinking I suppose. Aaagh, this is an area I would deeply desire some assistance. Not to mention the realities of presently being impoverished. I had best get used to my condition, I fear I shan’t know any other for some time to come. I guess I need to find the way and means to broadcast my ugly mug on to the internet. I guess I will start some YouTube type of series. I need to really get my act together!

Amazingly as we and our solar-system has traversed the apogee of its elliptical orbit with its sister star. This having occurred back in December 2012. We are now accelerating towards our sister star on the side closest to our Galactic Center. We will soon be re-entering the flows of Magick. They are part of the natural order of things. Think of it as a higher order of physics. We conveniently suppose a posture of superiority over some earlier more organic beliefs or systems of interactions within our realities. Although witchcraft, paganism, shamanism, and various other practices have been collectively maligned for associated practices related to satanistic practices (which Are very evil). In many such cases we have throughen the baby out with the bathwater. I am not trying to condemn nor make excuses, only to ask for a broader open review of these strangely different beliefs and practices. Many times they are simply corrupted versions of our Judaeo-christian thought, beliefs and practices. Sometimes I even find missing pages of our religious histories amongst these. An to borrow a quote; “We are too hasty when we set down our ancestors in the gross for fools for the monstrous inconsistencies (as they seem to us) involved in their creed of witchcraft.” - C. Lamb.

Friday July 19, 2018. – Killeen, Texas

Now as to my disjointed quaint manner of writing, I am recalled of yet another quote from Webster’s, “Prolix, Diffuse. A prolix writer delights in circumlocution, extended detail, and trifling particulars. A diffuse writer is fond of amplifying, and abounds in epithets, figures, illustrations. Diffuseness often arises from an exuberance of imagination; prolixity is generally connected with a want of it.” [1913 Webster]. As to which, my confused manner may be likened, I leave such determination to those who due to some pathological compulsions decide to continue on through the disjointed tediousness of my log. Excuse my quoting, it but appears the best and most eloquent descriptive means external to my own critiques. Wherein Webster provides what I believe is a more accurate description of my loquacious manner and style of communication. Bleck, ugh…

On to more relevant matters. As I continue to play my game of catching up to the current state of affairs in my existence. Jumping back to around August last year, at the time I elected to take my leave of the Long Beach / Wilmington area of the LA Basin. The majority of occurrences I previously wrote down in a contemporaneous log as I walked out of LA ultimately reaching Salt Lake City, Utah. With a brief momentary stay in Las Vegas, Nevada. My mind aches at the memories from that time. Regardless, there may in the retelling be wisdom or beneficial information for myself or others. Sorry if some of this has a choppy feel to it. There are mountains of unresolved emotional context and histories, which continue to elicit extremes within me. I hate sounding apologetic from the get go. Not that any of the vacillating diminishes the importance of the material or what I endured.

In July of last year, my younger brother was arrested and placed in presumably Twin Towers downtown Los Angeles. It was involving drugs and a handgun. I saw him and the P.O.S. , earlier that night. I already knew there were going to be problems. Additionally I had been indirectly informed my situation was about to become difficult. No more niceness regarding my treatment, operational dictums were changed. Initially I was was acutely aware my younger brother was not in police custody. I figured he was being held some where on or around the federal facilities of Terminal Island in the Port of Long Beach. Later parts of my sight of his circumstances were confirmed to me, though the exact location never has been (foreshadowing). Sometime during the second week of his presumed incarceration. He digitally appeared in the system with the appropriate arrest date, and information. To this day I am not convinced of the terms and conditions accompanying this purely “staged” event. No doubt there were days he was in the Twin Towers facility. Anything else is highly suspect at best if not solely manipulated data for the purposes of the Op. Nonetheless, I was sorely put upon. Due to the determinate fact that whatever had previously as well as on going to date are the proximate results of his being “my brother”. I was aware my brother was not my brother. I later would describe the fact as, “my brother was murdered on the mesas of New Mexico 4 (5) years prior”. I freely declared the fact, even with my younger brother present. At the time of his arrest I had invested two years trying to awaken and heal his soul. During this ordeal, he was on goingly conditioned (subject to various satanic trauma assisted by ultra high technologies deployed by our Shadow Government for the purposes of mind control). I can not escape a degree of culpability. Many may seek succor in the belief that I was not responsible, nor the individual inflicting these horrors to my younger brother. I acknowledge the physical reality as being so. However the moral reality is that, We are our Brother's keeper. An for myself it has a immense literal quality. We are all part of Our Larger Familial Aggregation, what we do, say or do not effects all. While in my particular case, he is my younger brother – same Mother and Father. I have known what to expect from the future all my life. I have even attempted to convey this knowledge in abstract to my brothers. Granted I did Not know that in recent times the evil practitioners of these vile satanistic rites had made a huge technical breakthrough. It use to be, if an individual attained adulthood free of these practices or influences, then they would die free of its chains. Obviously a person could freely elect to cultivate any base desires or perverse inclinations. By “choice” being the operative mandate, those chained to the MPD / DID minds of victims of Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA) are forever robbed of any choice in the matter. Not even I can “set” them free or the chains forged in their infancy and childhoods. I can only unlock the gates and offer them the means to heal. The process is long and painful, requiring more years than anyone can live to hopefully heal. Sadly as each victim is considered chattel to the perspective heads of each “family”, who is in turn property of another. Hence there are functionally twelve Satanic Patriarchs seated at the heads of their “family”. Under Satanic Dogma they consider themselves “gods” of their worlds. According to their beliefs you exist as titled property, if not than you are of no consequence thereby you do Not exist. The worth of you and yours is less than the trash sent to the dump.

Sunday July 22, 2018 – Killeen, Texas

Continuing with similar point of fact as discussed, it may all sound or would be considered linear, a straightforward affair. Appearing almost orderly, locked in some strange perverse dance. When it is anything but. Take into consideration the matter of succession. You might be inclined to infer that being Patriarchal, it is a matter of patrialinacal father to son. The reality is far from such Familial Sensibilities. Simply put, upon the death of the head of any household. He, who inherits is the male gains control of his clan by right of arms, or force. Basically if you are not yet feared enough to demand your seat as the heir to the estate. The one who rules does so because he has murdered and killed all the opposition by blood rite according to Antediluvian Law. Meaning you not only kill your opposition, the action is inclusive of all males of immediate consanguinal association. The wholesale murder also removes any potential blood retribution by those who possess an immediate claim to do so. Secondly it demonstrates to clan members at large the vicious response dissent will meet. Terror then substitutes conditioned context within their trauma-based mindset vicariously confirming that male's natural right to head that Family’s Branch of the Larger Familial Group. If you can remotely rationale order from such chaotic slaughter. You more than likely were raised under such paradigms, or your values are perversely twisted and I recommend you seek professional help from any school of thought practicing a highly structured value system, preferably based on some well established benevolent religion. Notice I qualify said using the word benevolent. Cause if you use the most liberal definition to the concepts of religion you could quietly slip satanism or luciferinism in as established religions. The distinctions are sufficient as to invite debate. One I feel is much a waste of time for all parties. Generally I ascribe it principally to a matter of semantics shackled to vastly differing modalities of operations defining values. Our time can be better spent educating ourselves up and out of overly cerebral arguments designed to trap us in artificial concepts posing as reality. A overwrought process favored by Academia in defense of entrenched theories dressed in the ideology we refer to as the “Scientific Model”. Yes, I have great disdain for what passes for education and schools of higher learning. They have long since been co-oped into the problems they were meant to free us from being slaves. I will tuck that soapbox away now, thank you for your indulgence.

What is even more incredible is the fact that this insanity is governed by their own set laws and rules. They even have a court system with defined jurisprudence. Not any sort you or I could consider properly legal. Rather it is more a system to maintain the “status quo” based on traditions, precedence, along with a strange quasi religious tones from Antediluvian Laws. Even known lies are acceptable if left uncontested but those who have standing and recognized Familial context. Elsewise the stated lie will stand as fact, enforceable to the fullest extent to which the system can accommodate.

Now if you followed that loose explanation, allow me to attempt to give an overview of some of the semi-societal interactive relationship between myself and these psychopaths. Especially above the standing rank and file victims constituting the entirety of the Families. I have a singularly unique interactive connection to them, their Families, their politics, traditions, religious dogma, technologies of the Shadow Government, including possible contingencies for what is to come. It is a chaotic and confusing dynamic paradox. Perpetually in a state of change, in recent times there has been much difference of opinion concerning how to acknowledge or interact with me. Technically I am a nonentity, because I exist outside the direct consanguineous relationship, nor am I amenable to joining their point of view. I remain in opposition to them, their practices, beliefs to the extent of being fundamentally adversarial to “them”. It is worth noting I have been at this so long that everyone I know or deal with daily belongs to this subset of our society. Almost all my friends, associates, girlfriends or anyone else comes from some blood occultic families. Some even to what capacity they are able seek to support me in my efforts. I am alive today because some evil bastards simply decided not to do as they were instructed. Knowing full well the consequences for siding with me. Try to understand these individuals have lived corrupt malignant lives, they hate themselves but are forbidden to take their own lives. There is virtual nothing they can do to truly cause those over them to flip out or take offense. Yet they do recognize that my stumbling about is upsetting. Having run around everywhere doing what I do. I have always done so without a net, so to speak. It is a source of boarder line amazement, more particularly they think I am “bat-shit” crazy! Nonetheless I am still here. You may know people who collect body art, fashionably tattoos these days. I sometimes joke of my own collection of scars and injuries to my body. Thankfully I heal exceptionally well. Most of my scars heal to the point of being almost unnoticeable, if you did not know my histories. It is an exhausting hobby, painful too! A frequent refrain I hear while being admitted to the ER or ICU has been, “Mr Williams, you are very lucky to be alive”. “Yeah Doc I hear that allot. Do the best you can.”. It has become somewhat of a ongoing joke, amongst friends and family. These days those groups have become ultra thin. Another reason I make this record of events in my life including improved contemporaneous writings. We can all hope for such. Believe me if it was up to me, no one would know much if anything about me, or my life. I have been, or more correctly I have allowed myself to be forced into a dreadfully unpleasant set of circumstances, as I have whined concerning previously.

Okay Sherman set the way-back machine to the 80’s and 90’ of the last century. Seeing patterns across the country in the minds of crazy ass bitches, now I do Not mean that in a bad way. I have a immense affinity for beautiful crazy ladies. Now as I was saying, the imagery within their minds was too consistent to be coincidence. The language of our sub- conscience is imagery, archetypal, motifs, iconography, mythical, dreams, visions, will of the wisps and whimsy. I believe we all “see” much more of one another than we choose to accept. The largest hurdle to understanding is this compulsion to read or understand what we “see” before the picture is finished assembling in our minds. This tendency has been increasingly pushed into smaller and smaller bits. Which as a negative exponential inverse function has become more and more confusing as to be nigh meaningless with each subsequent reduction. Hence at a time when we should be more connected to everyone. We find increased feelings of isolation and alienation. No matter how much we communicate with our neighbors next door or abroad we have less consensus or feelings of commonality. We sequester these feeling with their accompanying anxieties, less we inadvertently offend anyone. Like what the Fuck! It is part and parcel of the Adult World. Being offended or offending others is how things get done. Usually for the best interests of everyone. Granted we should strive to be engaging to achieve our goals, short of violence or intimidation. Yet as any honest government would gladly concede. Once negotiations by normal means come to an impasse then comes negotiations by “other means”. The debased conduct of sordid persons is best met with our best foot forward, right up their ass! Like most animals, immediacy tends to be the most effective in correcting Mali-adpted conduct. Back to the horse I rode up on, hahaha.

At any rate, over the years I began to solve the underlying issues. I actually came to my own work arounds prior to fully grasping the centralized source or the impact of its implications. Years later I did begin to hear limited bits of information over the internet. Although it did take me a while before I started to correlate the “conspiracy theory” data with what I was “seeing” in women throughout the country. Largely because few had any real coherent information. Eventually, information concerning Project MK Ultra and our government's Psy-Ops programs sufficiently surfaced to flesh out the details. As a child, young teenager I was familiar with the government’s LSD experiments for a variety of reasons, mind control being one aspect. Frankly I can not believe there are people today who do not know or refuse to believe that our government conducted such experimentation on the populace. It was just common knowledge in the circles I travel. If you read the Program Outline for MK Ultra it has an extensive list of lines of “study” information was to be explored, accumulated with a focus of deriving paradigms of control on individuals, groups, countries, cultures, and from that to the world at Large. The Globalist, New World Order, G-7, Trilateral Commission, Illuminati the individuals and their constantly shifting panorama of institutions and foundations are continually sifting beliefs and cultures in an multi-generational game of Three Card Molly. Degree by degree all the world’s various societies and Cultures have been manipulated via global misdirection with large quantities of restructuring of values and beliefs. Till everyone on Earth thinks good is bad; and bad is good. I should think we have all heard these arguments before, usually framed as the delusions of conspiracy theorist. All rather convenient as a means explaining away any descent or even an open fair discussion. Our social structure has drifted far from where we should be. Starting in 2020, everything is going to change and never be this pleasant or nice again. Well at least not till after the Second Coming. Hahaha, despite sounding …...

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winterverses · 5 years

Text

Walking Wounded - Chapter Seventy-Five

Content Warning: Discussion of violence.

The aircar zoomed toward Justice, bobbing and weaving through traffic in a way that reminded Kirk of games back at the Academy. Starships were so much slower, even shuttles-- sure, maybe it was just that they felt that way, but between the shields and the navigation systems there was almost never a situation where you needed the kind of reaction time that you had to have to pilot an aircar. The closest situation he’d come to needing those kinds of reflexes was when they’d first encountered the drones, and still, that had been nothing like the split second timing that this driver had. Come to think of it, it was the same driver from that first day back on Yorktown.

“Ugh. Remind me why I ever thought giving an interview was a good idea,” Anne said, scrolling through the article.

“What? They get something wrong?” Kirk asked, looking away from the window and trying to skim what he saw on the screen. “Slow down, you’re going too fast for me.”

She slowed enough that he could read as well. “Nothing wrong, just… ugh. I hate feeling like my life is being dissected all over the place. Look how many times it’s been read already.”

Kirk began to read at random, in the middle of a passage.

‘It’s easy to tell just how much their experiences have affected their relationship. Captain Kirk’s rakish grin and confident air fade a little the moment Ms. Hardesty begins to look troubled, turning fiercely protective, no matter how casually he plays it off. She, in turn, makes no secret of how much his presence comforts her, and her voice hardly wavers so long as his arm is around her, even when giving what details she can of her quite frankly horrific experiences.

That’s not to say that their relationship has been only beneficial for them; though they couldn’t comment on the exact circumstances, they’ve dealt with some serious injuries, the causes rooted in Ms. Hardesty’s devotion and Captain Kirk’s protective impulses. The worst of these injuries were ones they weren’t even free to talk about, citing their unreliability as witnesses where the other is concerned and their unwillingness to jeopardize their upcoming court case. Only the circumstances surrounding the event itself could be detailed, and there is no better or more succinct way to put it than in the Captain’s own words:

“Anne gets dragged away from the side of one of my senior officers, I rush to get the ship there in time and go haring off after her… and when we come out of that room, my guts are hanging out, and she’s almost lost an eye, her mind, and still doesn’t even remember who I am.”

One can hardly help but question the circumstances; would this have turned out the same had their feelings not been a factor?’

“It’s bullshit, gorgeous. Don’t bother yourself over it.” Kirk went to blank the screen.

“Don’t,” Anne said, batting at his hand in irritation.

Fine, okay. He settled back into his seat, looking out the window again, until the next time she muttered something under her breath. “If it’s going to bother you that much, just shut it off,” he said, a little irritated himself.

She registered that irritation, because she stilled, then leaned on him. “I’m sorry. I just can’t look away. And it’s not like not reading it will be any better.”

Immediately, he felt like an ass. Of course she wouldn’t be able to help wanting to read it. She’d never seen herself through the lens of someone else’s writing before. Her writing, sure, but she’d always been careful to stay out of the public eye. He hadn’t been able to put down the first article he’d ever been interviewed for back when he’d first taken command of the Enterprise, even though it had eviscerated him for not getting to Vulcan in time as much as lauded him for saving Earth. And she was right-- if she wasn’t getting upset by the article, she’d just be getting upset over something far closer, and with a lot better and more concrete reasons. “No, it’s my fault. It’s weird seeing yourself like that, I know. Go on ahead and read it, and if you find anything really awful about it, let me know.”

“The worst thing so far is the craftsmanship,” Anne grumbled. “Really, trying to maintain a neutral voice by using ‘one’ as a substitute for ‘I’ is shoddy. I see why she’s done it, but for heaven’s sake, there are better ways of skinning that particular cat. Learn to use your words to better effect.”

Okay, he couldn’t help a laugh at Anne’s sneering. He kept it quiet, though. “What’s more irritating, the subject matter, or the way it’s written?”

Anne turned to look at him incredulously. “The way it’s written, of course,” she said, then looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should give the girl some advice.”

“I can’t think of a better way to guarantee we get a much less flattering article next time,” Kirk said, throwing his arm over Anne’s shoulders. He was glad of that in a moment, when the aircar started to plummet, not that they felt it. It just meant they were at Justice, and Anne knew that. She inched up even closer to him and blanked the screen, her body tensing. “It’ll be all right,” he said, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re going to be fine.”

“I’d better be, or Claudia will have someone’s head for all that wasted work,” Anne said dryly.

“I’ll let her take point on that one. Mainly because I think she’d do a better job of beheading someone than I would. She’s probably had more practice,” he deadpanned.

He couldn’t tell whether Anne was just playing along or whether she actually thought that was plausible when she replied. Hell, come to think of it, it was pretty plausible. “I’ll have to ask her about her time in med school. That seems like the most likely setting for a beheading, and I’ve always wanted to know the specific physical sensations involved. For verisimilitude, of course.”

The aircar came to a stop before the Justice building, and Kirk said, “1600 in front of the lower deck entrances, right?”

“1500, sir,” the driver said.

Kirk gave the guy a half grin. “Just checking.” The driver lifted a hand in response.

The crowd outside was, if anything, bigger than the one before. He suspected that article hadn’t helped things any, not with those women still feeding information to the press. Anne had been right about what she’d said, though-- if they left by a route they hadn’t previously been seen to use, they probably wouldn’t have to deal with the crowd on their way out. And then they could just wait out the press until the last trial was over. “All right, gorgeous. Stick close to me and don’t let go,” Kirk said.

Anne’s face was even paler than usual, but her mouth was set in a determined line, and she nodded. Kirk opened the door and stepped out, reaching back for Anne’s hand and tucking it in the crook of his arm as she exited the car behind him. The door slid shut, but by that time they were already walking, dodging reporters, Kirk breaking a path and Anne following behind. About three quarters of the way to the door, he felt a sudden jerk on his arm and heard Anne yelp. He immediately saw red, whirling to find Anne grabbing for his arm, looking behind her. He caught her seeking hand instead, yanking her toward him in a way that could have made someone with worse balance stumble; even in stiletto heels, she was barely fazed by it, her shoulder lightly smacking against his side as she skidded to a halt. Kirk immediately wrapped his arm around her waist, picking up his pace. “Did you see who did that?” he asked over the rising tumult of sound around them.

“No, but he won’t be walking very easily,” Anne said, rubbing at her bare arm. Red marks from the guy’s fingers were slowly fading. “I wore these heels for a reason.”

Kirk pulled out his communicator just as he saw a few members of his senior staff directing officers in the Starbase uniform to come and meet them. Immediately, he holstered it, beckoning two of the officers to him as he and Anne were surrounded by the rest. “You, and you, search the crowd. Whoever did that will be limping. Find him, and hold him on my authority. Notify me immediately.” The officers acknowledged and hurried past. “If they don’t find him, I want the surveillance clip from that timestamp examined until a positive ID can be made,” Kirk said, directing his order to the ranking officer.

“Are you planning to press charges, sir? I mean, ma’am?”

Kirk looked down at Anne. She looked shaken and sick, but not so upset that she was about to call this thing off. He almost wished that she was. “Yes,” she said. She tried to grin, but it was just a shadow of its normal brilliance. “Provided that someone who specializes in law can be found somewhere around here.”

“Federation Justice has several dozen representatives on hand at any given moment, ma’am,” the Lieutenant said earnestly. Kirk and Anne just looked at each other and then kept walking. To his credit, when the Lieutenant received no reply he seemed to catch on, looking a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said as they reached Uhura, Spock, McCoy, and Hayes.

“It’s all right. I’m afraid my wit isn’t at its best when I’m nervous,” Anne said, flashing a more natural looking grin at the Lieutenant, who gave her a tentative smile back.

“I’ll make sure that footage gets reviewed, Captain, ma’am,” the Lieutenant said.

“While you’re at it, you can tell Commodore Paris that we want a dedicated escort any time those women know where you are,” Hayes said. “This is really ridiculous. It was ridiculous last time and it’s even more ridiculous now.”

“While Medical gets a certain amount of leeway, the rest of us have to follow the established chain of command, Lieutenant Commander Hayes,” Kirk said pointedly. “I’ll take it up with Commodore Paris while I wait.”

“You’d better--”

“I’ll hold him to it, Dr. Hayes,” Uhura said.

“Good,” Hayes said. Then they were past the doors, and the din seemed to press closer in. The crowd was more orderly, however, with officers clearing a path and keeping the press well back. Kirk kept his arm around Anne’s waist, though, deciding that he didn’t particularly care about looking unprofessional at the moment. As soon as they were in the elevator, however, Hayes practically shoved him aside, looking Anne over, checking the arm the man had grabbed. “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“No, he just grabbed me,” Anne said, holding out her wrist so that Hayes could take her pulse. “It frightened me, that’s all.”

“I’ll have to run it by our judges, but I’ll try to get you a dose of anxiolytic before we start. Don’t you even open your mouth,” she said, cutting Anne off before she could say anything. “This cannot be called normal anxiety considering your recent experiences, and it could mean the difference between being able to go through with this and just suffering all the collateral damage while not actually being far enough under to get anything done.”

“If it means only going through with this once, I’m all for it,” Kirk said. “Any chance you can triple that dosage?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Hayes said. “Truth serums don’t exist, or at least, not in the sense of being unable to lie. The drugs we have depend on both lowering inhibition, and creating fear. It’s a balancing act, and if she has too much of the anxiolytic, it could inhibit the effects of one or both of the other drugs.”

No wonder Anne had avoided the topic so thoroughly in conversation with him. She had to have known he’d hate that. “Can’t we just get a brain scan done and--”

“No,” Anne broke in, her voice as thin and sharp as a blade. As Kirk opened his mouth to question, she interrupted him again. “I don’t want my brain on file, not even with Starfleet. It’s not an option.”

Between the set of her mouth and her serious eyes, Kirk knew better than to question further-- at least not right now, anyway. “What happens if they don’t think you’re telling the truth?”

Claudia answered him instead. “The normal process is that they’ll go through it a few times, at incrementally increasing dosages. I’ve been lobbying to try to get them to settle for one or two passes. It averages four, though. Never more than six. After six, you run the risk of self-harm even in restraints, unrecoverable mental damage, and cardiac events.”

Now he understood. She’d tortured the other women. It probably seemed only fair. Before Kirk could decide whether to call her on it, Spock broke in. “May I remind you, Captain, that I will be immediately available throughout and if Anne is too strongly affected, I will do whatever is in my power to mitigate her distress.”

Kirk almost spoke, then did a double-take. Spock had used her first name. He glanced over at Uhura, who just shrugged. “Thank you, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said. It was almost enough to take the edge off what Hayes had said.

“I’ll be fine, mon étoile,” Anne said softly, shaking off Hayes’ hand and stepping back up against his side. “Whatever they do, it can’t possibly be as bad as what has already been done, and I’ve recovered well enough from that.”

McCoy snorted, but didn’t speak. The turbolift doors slid open and they filed out, following Hayes, who seemed to know where she was going. As they did, Kirk looked down at Anne. “Your accent says you aren’t as calm about it as you’d like to be,” Kirk said, pulling her close. Damn, it was weird having her so tall. Well, relatively speaking. Her eyes were about level with his chin.

“And the polite thing would have been to ignore that,” Anne said, regarding him with a small frown. Regardless, she pressed into him, her body taut against his.

Kirk slid his arm back around her waist. With those shoes on, she was just a bit too tall for his arm to rest easily across her shoulders. “Maybe we should just give Sulu our apologies now,” Kirk said, studying her face.

“No. At the very least, we can go and say hello while we pick up dinner. Ben promised he was going to make me chòudòufu.” At his questioning look, Anne grinned. “Well, it was really more of a threat. Stinky tofu.”

Kirk sighed. “This is restaurant humor, isn’t it? Like telling Scotty you ejected a warp core while running maintenance on the cylinders or something.”

“Yes, mon étoile. I would never surprise you with something that… particular. No natto, no durian, no chòudòufu… Well, maybe natto. If you can eat gagh, texture certainly isn’t an issue.”

“Should you ever decide to make chòudòufu, I would be interested to try it,” Spock said, and Kirk couldn’t tell whether he was serious or not. “I find many human dishes to be lacking in flavor, perhaps due to my biology.”

“There’s nothing markedly different about your sense of taste,” Hayes said. “You’re better at handling capsaicin because of your higher pain tolerance.”

“He’s just a closet gourmand,” McCoy grumbled. “Tries to explain away his daredevil tastes by blaming it on being Vulcan.”

“I apologize, Spock,” Anne said, looking genuinely sorry. “It takes several months to make properly. Ben doesn’t have any either-- I would know, because I would have smelled it in their apartment by now. Even air scrubbers can’t get rid of that smell. I very much doubt you can get it on Yorktown at all, and it’s an absolute certainty that it isn’t on the synth logs.” She paused, thinking.

“Oh no you don’t,” Kirk said. “If it’s that bad, the last thing I want is for people to be able to synthesize it on extremely lengthy deep space missions. That would be like weaponizing the synthesizer.”

“It occurs to me that it could be to our advantage to be able to synthesize a potentially objectionable form of human food, Captain. Most specifically in diplomatic capacities.”

Kirk was tempted for a moment, but eventually shook his head. “In this case, I think the cost would outweigh the benefits, Mr. Spock.”

“Here we are,” Hayes said, stopping at one of the nondescript doors lining the hallway. “Now, Captain, you’ll be allowed to sit nearby, but not within arm’s reach. Leonard and I will be right there, so you don’t need to worry. If anything starts to look odd to me, I’ll call a halt.”

“Have you ever sat in on something like this before?” Kirk asked.

Hayes nodded. “And worked with people who have been through it. That’s where I developed the technique I used with Anne, among others.”

That, at least, was comforting. Hayes had been a stroke of luck in so many different ways. Kirk knew he should have at least tried to appear professional, but letting Anne go before he had to was just not going to happen. They walked into the lab, the others following behind.

Padded restraints. Barbaric. The examination table looked like a relic from another century. Vice-Admiral Landau glanced up from his padd as they stepped into the room, his lips thinning in a humorless smile. Councilor V’nula and Councilor Andrews looked on impassively as he spoke. “Good. I was notified that there was some trouble at the entry, but you seem sound enough.”

Claudia immediately sailed into her request for something to calm Anne, pulling up research and specific chemical interactions to justify the use of an anxiolytic. As Landau listened, a skeptical look on his face, one of the nurses approached Anne. “This way, please,” she said, smiling reassuringly. When Kirk started to follow, however, she held up her hand. “Just Ms. Hardesty, I’m afraid. No one is to have physical access to Ms. Hardesty apart from medical personnel from our initial scans onward, otherwise our results could be deemed invalid.”

She meant the possibility that he might slip Anne something, a contact drug of some sort, that might alter her ability to deal with the drugs. That didn’t make it any less insulting. Still, he didn’t intend to sit through this more than once, so he didn’t put up a fuss. Anne hesitated, then turned back to him and hesitated again, glancing at Vice-Admiral Landau.

He couldn’t help a little pang of affection. She wanted a bit of comfort, but she wouldn’t make him look unprofessional in front of someone who technically outranked him. It was good that he didn’t give a fuck what Landau thought. Kirk pulled her into an embrace, kissing her forehead and murmuring softly, “You’ll be okay, tiger. We’ll make sure of it.” Even if he wasn’t entirely sure, he wasn’t about to undermine her confidence by saying so.

She held onto him for a few moments, then pulled away, immediately walking toward that barbaric examination table.

A lot of nothing interesting happened in the beginning. Most of it was just scans and calculations. Hayes seemed to find something odd, but she shrugged it off after talking to Bones. Kirk contacted Commodore Paris and formally requested a security detail for Loche’s trial, and she agreed. She also complimented him on his handling of the media; apparently the article had been well-received.

So much talk about that stupid article. Kirk borrowed Spock’s padd and read it through while waiting for something to happen. That reporter had gotten everything right, and the writing wasn’t half as bad as Anne had claimed. He didn’t remember talking much about how they’d become involved, though-- Anne must have said something about it to Felden. Again, they’d gotten everything right. That didn’t improve his opinion of that reporter though.

He was wondering what to do next when he saw Anne arranging herself into those restraints, and Hayes shooting her up with multiple drugs. Seemed like the circus was about to get started. Kirk gave back the borrowed padd and kept his attention on Anne. She looked miserable, of course. Who wouldn’t be miserable? The restraints automatically adjusted to her limbs, trapping her. Hayes must have won the argument about the anxiolytic, because Anne didn’t immediately try to get out of them. There was a bit of shuffling and rearranging of where people were standing, and then Vice-Admiral Landau spoke quietly. “For the record, we need you to state that you’re here of your own free will and that you have not been coerced or compelled to be subjected to this procedure.”

Anne frowned, but complied. “I’ve agreed to this procedure of my own free will. I have not been coerced or compelled.”

“Thank you,” Landau said. He nodded to the doctor. Hayes and McCoy were both scowling so hard at that doctor that Kirk wondered why he didn’t burst into flames. Instead, he tinkered with a few of the displays before pressing another hypospray against Anne’s neck. Immediately, he loaded it up with something else and dosed her again.

It was evident when the drugs kicked in. Anne’s breathing quickened, her hands clamping into fists. Councilor V’nula began the questioning with simple things like Anne’s name, date of birth, and place of residence to get a base reading from her. Anne answered quickly, as if she wanted all this to be over with, and Kirk agreed completely.

Councillor Andrews stepped in with the harder questions. Despite her stern look, Kirk knew that she was a bit sympathetic at heart. She was the best choice for some of the things that were asked. Anne answered with as much detachment as she could muster, but by this point she was almost panting with fear.

“When you threatened Meredith, did you have any idea that you were pushing her toward suicide?”

“Yes. That was what I was told to do. He made me memorize how to push her buttons. He told me to make her feel worthless.”

“And why did you comply?”

“Because he had just cut me up and I was afraid he would do it again. More than once he told me he wanted to cut my back and legs or my face the same way.”

“So you played the role of enforcer with his other captives.”

“Yes.”

“Did you enjoy hurting them?”

“I don’t know. I hated them for being weak. I wanted to be away from them. I wanted to be one of them. It looked easier.”

“Did you ever attack them on your own initiative?”

“Only Brynna.”

“Did you enjoy killing her?”

“No. No. I never want to think about it again. I wish I could forget it.”

How could this not be enough? Anne was clearly unwilling. Even if she had mixed feelings about the other captives, she was consistently horrified by the things she’d had to do. Kirk had heard some of them; others he’d guessed at, and still others were a surprise. Uhura looked sick hearing some of the things Anne had done. Spock betrayed no emotion whatsoever; he’d been in her head for some of these memories. Bones was just watching Anne thoughtfully, and Hayes was unmoved by the things Anne said. Of course, Anne must have discussed some or most of them with her.

As Andrews finished up, the doctor began fiddling with his displays again, then shot Anne up again. This time, the results were far more visible. Anne was actively struggling against the restraints, her breathing shallow and quick, her movements jerky with all the adrenaline that had just been dumped into her system.

And they asked her the questions over again, digging for more details this time. Kirk could see why it was done that way, but still, these memories had been part of why Anne was so traumatized. This basically amounted to a form of torture.

“When you cut off Heather’s fingers, what were you feeling?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t remember doing it. I don’t want to remember it… she was screaming.”

“Why did you cut them off one by one?”

“Loche. He made me. He told me.”

“Why did you obey him?”

Anne broke down crying, and Kirk felt sick watching it. He’d almost stood up, but a warning glance from Bones reminded him of the consequences. He gripped the arms of his seat and waited.

“I had to. I couldn’t-- I-- He made me. He hurt me if I didn’t obey.”

“Did you ever try to disobey?”

“Yes. Five times.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I tried to escape. I failed. He punished me.”

“How did he punish you?”

Instead of answering, Anne started to retch. Kirk heard a crack, and realized he’d gripped the arm of his chair hard enough to break the plastic. The doctor rushed up and shot her up with something, and the retching stopped.

“How did he punish you?”

“He-- He-- I-- Lauren. She died, he killed her. He killed her with my hands. He made me hold the knife. He cut, he made me cut her face, she was still alive. He held my hand and made me. After that… After that I couldn’t. He wanted to make me sick like him.”

By that point, Andrews and Landau both looked unsettled. Uhura looked as if she was about to cry. Spock was Spock, of course, and Bones still looked more thoughtful than anything else. Hayes was scowling again.

Landau, Andrews, and V’nula huddled for a conference, and a disagreement appeared to happen. Kirk couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see that V’nula was insisting on something, and Andrews and Landau were against it. He had the feeling this was about whether they would do a third pass or not. In the meantime, Anne was silently crying, swallowing hard but making no sound.

The argument continued for a while, but eventually they came to a decision. “We have no need of further investigation,” Landau said. “It is clear that Ms. Hardesty was coerced and in danger of losing her life.”

The doctor began to adjust the displays again. Kirk tried to bite back his anger. There was no need for this. Even if this was what Anne had chosen, Starfleet didn’t have to go along with it. They could have looked at the evidence. They could have used a mind meld. They could have brought a Betazoid in to listen to Anne and find out whether she was telling the truth. He was walking toward Anne before he realized it, but no one stopped him. Before anyone could do anything, he’d hit the release on the restraints. Bones stepped forward, reaching for one of the hypos on a nearby table, but all Anne did without the restraints was sit up on the table, curling her legs under her, and look up at Kirk.

“Do you hate me for what I did?” she asked, her eyes brimming with tears. “I know it’s the drugs but I’m so scared--”

He cut her off by pulling her into his arms. “No way. I get it. Let’s just get you the counteractives and then we’ll get out of here.”

Her whole body was trembling. Kirk snapped at the doctor, and he gave her a few shots with the hypo, after which she started to calm down. Spock and Uhura approached, and Anne smiled weakly at them.

“Would you like this memory or any other excised?” Spock asked.

Anne shook her head. “Thank you for making the offer. I’ll get over them the old-fashioned way.” She looked over at Claudia. “Provided you’re still available,” she said uncertainly.

“Of course I am,” Claudia said, her voice low and even. “Remember, Anne, we all knew your situation. Knowing the details isn’t comfortable for a friend, but it’s not like any of this was a surprise.”

Uhura stepped up, laying a hand on Anne’s shoulder. “We took them all down. Don’t forget that.”

Anne’s eyelids were starting to droop. “I know,” she said softly. “But some things you just can’t make up for.”

“It’s all right,” Kirk said. She looked exhausted, and no wonder. He glanced over at Vice-Admiral Landau, wondering if they were released to go. It wasn’t quite 1500 hours yet, but he wanted to get out of here. He wanted to get Anne out of here. Deciding he didn’t give a fuck, he asked, “Do you think you can make it to the car or do I need to carry you?”

That earned him a little smile. “I can walk. Probably.” Kirk moved out of the way and she slid off the table, a little wobbly in those spike heels but all right.

Bones shook his head. “I hope this decision was worth it for you,” he said, his voice curiously free of the disdain Kirk would have expected with a comment like that.

Anne rubbed the tears from her cheeks. “I do too.”

“I want to see you tomorrow,” Bones said. “There was an anomalous reading I want to check out.”

“I don’t know if… could you come to our place?” Anne asked, her voice tentative.

Bones smirked. “Better than having you wreck my equipment again.”

Not that he wanted to be impatient, but Kirk wanted to leave. It was over, she looked like she would recover, and they were expected at Sulu’s apartment before they could go home. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Vice-Admiral Landau must have overheard him, because he approached Kirk and Anne. “I would very much have preferred that this went to trial, but I’m glad it’s over with and you’ve been found definitively, objectively innocent, ” he said. “I hope never to have to see you in a professional capacity again after Loche’s trial.”

Before Anne could answer, Kirk found himself speaking up. “This was unnecessary, sir. You could have received the same results by using a mind meld or calling in a Betazoid to read her responses.”

The Vice-Admiral shook his head, his eyes regretful. “If we used a sentient for this, it would be less objective. At best it would be filtered through someone else’s biases; at worst, subject to potentially relevant concerns about corruption or conspiracy. It needed to be absolutely unassailable to protect all parties’ rights. I’m afraid there was no better way in this case.”

Frowning, Kirk was about to make a sharp retort, but Anne spoke before he did. “I just want to go home, Jim,” she said softly, her eyes inexpressibly tired.

It was her exhaustion that stopped him. “You’re right. It’s not worth it now.” Kirk sighed and wrapped an arm around Anne’s waist. “Let’s go.” Kirk nodded to Landau. “Sir.” Without waiting for a response, Kirk headed off to the elevator with Anne at his side, making for the lower decks.

#James T. Kirk/OC #Jim Kirk/OC #Star Trek #Star Trek Fanfiction #dark romance #fanfic #ST:WW #Star Trek: Walking Wounded

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aikainkauna · 6 years

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Fatigued? In pain all the time? The little-known illness that is far more common than we’ve previously thought, especially among geeks.

This is going to be a bit long, but it's so incredibly important, and so very much not just a personal issue that I hope you will read it (and hopefully, also share it). I'm choosing to speak about this now because this is an insanely unknown, disabling and yet seemingly a fairly common illness, and I want more people to know about it, especially as it affects geeks--geeky women in particular. I’ll talk about my own variant briefly at the beginning, but don’t stop reading there, thinking this is just a personal post--there are lists of symptoms and resources at the end that I urge you all to look at, because they are *frighteningly* common.

I and the doctors have finally found out I've got Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.

Which means there is one, or there are several, genetic mutations in my body messing up the build of my collagen, collagen being the glue that holds your body together and which is found practically in all your tissues. So, technically, anything that can go wrong with your body might do *exactly* that, because that b0rked collagen is everywhere. This is why I've always been not only hypermobile (being good at yoga and able to bite my toenails and tie myself into knots while sitting down), but easily fatigued and have had trouble simply sitting, let alone standing or walking, because my muscles have to strain like crazy all the time to compensate for my connective tissues being too wobbly. (Every time I've participated in guided meditation, the exhortation to "sit up with your back straight, your body as relaxed as possible" has always been absurd to me, because I can't hold myself upright if I don't tense my muscles. Try it: lightly tense all the muscles in your body for a bit, and see how long you can hold that, and you will know what staying upright is like for someone with EDS). It's been said that having it is like the body having to do strength training with weights all the time, except, unlike on a normal person, the muscles never get to rest and recuperate fully (except during sleep, and even then perhaps not completely; to make it even more fun, sleep disorders are a common manifestation in EDS). I sprain things all the time--I do my back in even in my sleep, and get trapped nerves/sciatica just from walking; winter clothes, let alone bags, are exhausting for me to carry even for short distances. For me, lifting a coffee cup, due to the laxity of my connective tissues, requires the same amount of muscular exertion as it requires for a healthy person to lift a full pint. Et cetera. Plus all the other weird ailments, which I'll get to in a bit.

But the main reason I'm telling you all this is that you really, really, *really* ought to read up on EDS. The whole world does. But especially if you, or someone you know, suffer(s) from chronic fatigue and muscular pain and are bendy--*because it looks like this is actually the illness behind many (not all, but many) fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome cases.* I repeat, *this is now assumed to be the most common cause of fibromyalgia and CFS.*

And then there's all the other EDS-induced stuff, all freakishly common among geeks. Here’s a list of some of the most typical symptoms:

-Bendy? "Double-jointed?" Good at yoga (even without practice)?

-Gut problems/IBS? Leaky gut?

-Serious fatigue, unrefreshing sleep, body feels like it's made of lead? And is it unexplained by other conditions (such as a dicky thyroid or anemia)?

-Sleep problems, anxiety/panic attacks/PTSD, autism spectrum, AD(H)D?

-Bad PMS and awful reactions to the Pill and other progesterone preparations, health crashes after pregnancies, dysmenorrhea with godawful cramps (like you're giving birth to a demon baby every month), endometriosis, fibroids, pelvic pain and other gynaecological issues?

-Allergies by the bucketful? Multiple chemical insensitivities?

-Weird heart thumpages, blood pressure issues, fainting when standing up?

-Early-onset problems with eyesight?

-Can't go numb from anaesthetic, and/or are hard to put under for surgery (this is great fun)?

-Feel pain more intensely than other people (developing needle-phobia from horrid experiences when having blood drawn or being put on an IV drip)? Are all dentist trips and having gynaecological exams (even sex and wanking at times!) a nightmare?

-Or, as a bonus, has the weird pain response made you kinky or just crazily responsive to acupressure/acupuncture? Or just caresses?

-Have you got weird and/or excessive scar tissue formation? Keloids from piercings? Have your wounds healed badly; after surgeries, have your stitches torn spontaneously?

-Got hernias, squashed-up internal organs, including a heavy/tilted uterus, breathing problems like your lungs are squashed (but asthma inhalers don't seem to help much)?

-Weird bruises, and you have no idea where they came from? Excessive bleeding (including bleeding buckets during periods)? Varicose veins at a young age?

-Flat feet? Funny little round, soft bumps (piezogenic papules) on your ankles? Need sturdy shoes with high tops and arch support? Find it difficult or impossible to walk in high heels, due to wobbly ankles and/or the muscular strain it puts on the whole body?

-Constant sprains, muscle pulls/tears, dislocations, subluxations (=partial dislocations; just something going 'crunch', like when the bones of your hand or your vertebrae seem all scrunched up together and you need to pull them open), trapped nerves, monster headaches? Growing pains? Pressure in the skull?

-Just. Hurt. Everywhere?

-Weird adverse reactions to medications that are way worse than ordinary side effects, completely intolerable and/or causing permanent damage, even life-threatening situations?

-Even queerness/gender-atypicality (I am not joking; it goes with the neuropsychiatric profile)?

Guess what, they're all related to this exact damn thing! And just how common are they in fandom, among geeks?! Right? Weirded out yet? And this is *far* from being an exhaustive list, because again, this is a multisystem disease which can technically affect pretty much all your body parts and their functions. But if you said "yes" to several, take a deep breath and keep reading. Or if not, hell, keep on reading anyway, because it's likely you know someone with this thing--it could be as common as 5%-10% of the whole human population.

Even if you are born with this rubbish, people go undiagnosed for decades (I only got diagnosed at 38, and I’ve been sick ever since childhood!) and since it mostly affects women (although guys *can* be affected), it's ignored and/or psychiatrisised by doctors. And since the female body is a chaotic body horror movie anyway, many have just thought it's normal to always have little sprains and crunches everywhere all the time, and that the fatigue just has a merely neurological basis. That it's just depression or a part of having been born with XX chromosomes. But it isn’t.

And another main reason that it goes undiagnosed is the persistent myth that EDS *always* has to involve extremely stretchy skin and extreme hypermobility, which is categorically *not* the case for everybody. Even the sodding Wikipedia article (misleadingly) only uses photos of *extreme* hypermobility and skin stretchiness, of the usual circus performer contortionism EDS has traditionally been associated with but which is NOT WHAT YOU NEED TO HAVE TO HAVE EDS, I repeat, YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE A RUBBER PERSON TO HAVE EDS; you only have to be bendy and exhausted and ill. There are some people with it who are even *stiff.*

Thousands, hundreds of thousands of people remain undiagnosed even if EDS/hypermobility-related illness seriously messes up their daily lives--it can be debilitating. So, please, do yourself and your friends a favour and spread the word, and check out these links.

When to suspect EDS (blog discussion, also linking geekiness to this thing):

http://ohtwist.com/when-else-to-suspect-ehlers-danlos-syndrome

An overview on when to suspect, by a specialist (Dr. Bravo, PDF format):

http://ohtwist.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/DrBravoWhenToSuspect.pdf

Good brochure:

https://www.chronicpainpartners.com/brochure/

Another overview from the same site:

https://www.chronicpainpartners.com/what-is-eds/

Hypermobile EDS diagnostic criteria, with pictures showing how the bendiness level is scored (see how many you or your friend can do):

http://edsresearch.weebly.com/the-brighton-score-and-the-beighton-score.html

Good infosite:

https://www.edhs.info/understanding-eds-h

Pictures of a woman with typical hypermobile EDS, which is far more common than the actual contortionist stuff, and thus goes unnoticed:

https://mastcellblog.wordpress.com/journey/edsphotos/

A good overview of the problems hypermobility can cause by a specialist doctor who knows what up. This made me pretty much scream at the screen because I have one of those exact types of insanely painful mini-hernias that some doctors don't believe are there because they are almost impossible to see with normal imaging, but which my gyn saw during laparoscopy (PDF format):

https://www.dynainc.org/docs/hypermobility.pdf

Why hormones, progesterone in general (contraceptives, pregnancy, PMS) screw up the hypermobile body and may cause serious damage:

http://hypermobility.org/help-advice/hormones-hypermobility/

The official site of the biggest, worldwide EDS/hypermobility organisation:

https://www.ehlers-danlos.com/

UK support, including a toolkit for GPs on how to handle EDS:

https://www.ehlers-danlos.org/

Finnish EDS association:

https://www.ehlers-danlos.fi/

More info in Finnish, but this also has an embedded video clip (old but neat and short) from US telly (in English) to illustrate a family living with the disease:

https://eds-group.vuodatus.net/lue/2018/01/mista-voin-loytaa-tietoa-ehlers-danlosin-syndroomasta

(Hey, where have I seen eerie, elongated moves by a tall, bony guy before?! Yes, there are variants, like with the related illness, Marfan Syndrome, where people basically Look Like Cesare.)

And last but not least, the brilliant Dr. Sharon Meglathery's RCCX theory, which ties up all those illnesses I and others have noticed clustering around sensitive/artistic/neuroatypical/queer/geeky/triggered by everything folks, such as hypermobile EDS, fibromyalgia, endometriosis, allergies, IBS, sleep issues, stress hormone (adrenaline, cortisol) issues, CFS/ME, oh, you *know* the type when you read it. It's like a list of the usual Tumblr issues, for crying out loud--she might as well have called the PTSD-prone psychiatric profile that underlines these specific gene weirdnesses as "Triggered By Everything." Only it explains the links to the severe physical illnesses as well, and how and why they relate to stress hormone overload and why, thanks to problems with progesterone and cortisol metabolism, the physical illness stuff screws geeky women over more often than it does geeky men. And you owe it to yourself to read it.

https://www.rccxandillness.com/

I don't often say this, but reblog to save a life. These are geek illnesses, *our* illnesses. There are forms of this stuff that are lethal (causing stroke and heart attacks and organs going boom out of the blue at a young age), and the amount of suffering it can cause is ridiculous--I would have lived my life in a drastically different way, and would have never got so ill from the wrong medications and life choices, had I known I had EDS. (Just don't call me a "spoonie;" I'm not a fan of that thing--I'll explain later. Call yourself whatever you like; however, I'm still a ridiculous arctic chicken just as I've always been.) But there are still thousands of people out there who have all these symptoms and yet have never heard of this stuff, and for whom this knowledge can be life-changing, so *please,* spread the word.

Thank you.

#disability #ehlers danlos #ehlers danlos syndrome #chronic fatigue syndrome #fibromyalgia #autism #i really don't often make posts about my illnesses but the fact that this is so undiagnosed makes me MAD #and even if you don't normally reblog my rambles this is *important*#if a geek on my level--who's researched her illnesses and nutrition etc. like crazy #for the past twenty years for which I've had fatigue/hormonal issues might i add #only finds out this late... it's insane #and yes. yes. connie was hypermobile #it's a toss between marfan or vascular EDS in his case *hysterical disbelieving laughter*#i wish he'd leave me alone but nope...#i mean it about the potential lethality too #my mum's mum died at 29 from her aortic valve going boom and orphaned my mum as a toddler :(#and they couldn't treat it then (in the 50s) even if they knew she had a heart murmur #i have to wait 6-12 months to get to the genetic tests to see if i have that variant:/#but at least i'm going to have a heart ultrasound before xmas this year to check #still it's not fun to feel like a ticking time bomb #but please do read at least some of these/reblog bc this is common but 95% go undiagnosed

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regrettablewritings · 8 years

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Dating Bruce Wayne Would Include (Pt. II)

Because apparently more people love Bat Daddy than they’re willing to admit

Dates – or rather, the process of planning them – are a little weird for the two of you

Despite him being wealthy and having had a reputation as a philanderer, Bruce is still a very devoted businessman with an entire enterprise to run. This may or may not clash with your own schedule, depending on what you do, but it is more likely Bruce’s schedule that needs the most consideration when plotting out a date

Then, of course, there’s your lover’s obvious nighttime job. It’s not even necessarily that he can’t take the night off; it’s just that those nights are few and far in between. Though now that he’s getting older and has a significant other to appreciate in his life, he does attempt to make more of an effort to take at several nights or so per month off.

This may not seem like much, but considering what he does…

Most dates are what you’d expect: trips to the opera, dinners at fancy, high-end restaurants, museums, walks in the nicer parts of town such as the botanical garden

Others, not so much: You may be craving some fast food so you two wind up at a Big Belly Burger or just a coffee date at Jitter’s. You’ve even convinced him to take a couple’s art class with you a couple of times

He’s quite proud of the vase you made and the portrait of you he made. Both are placed tastefully in the living room on the mantel

He’s always sure to keep some percentage of himself on edge, however, as he doesn’t want to let his guard down only for you to get hurt or worse

You understand this, even though you wish he had the luxury of being completely, 100% chill

Despite clearly being one of the world’s most patient s/os (you’d have to be if you’re dating a vigilante), fights are still going to happen. There’s just no way around it.

It’s a common, natural part of relationships so long as they’re done within reason. Even in a relationship where one of you dresses like a demonic bat and beats up baddies until the candy comes out

The subjects, however, can obviously vary

Sometimes it’s over normal, everyday couple stuff like canceled dates, forgotten events, showing up late to important things, the occasional lack of communication, and so on

Other days, it’s over stuff that only couples composed of a normal person and their superhero s/o could experience like way-too-close calls, arriving home looking like Death escorted them back out of pity, becoming too ambitious and losing sight or even themselves, debates over conflicting morals …

One time, you really hurt Bruce on accident

You’d made it so clear that you didn’t approve of his new use of Bat Brands

“It’s just going a little too far, Bruce – it’s inhumane!”

Of course, he didn’t listen and it resulted in an argument when you accused him of being more animal than man and that wasn’t going to help anyone because he was just making things worse

Considering that one of his deepest fears is that this is all for nothing and he was losing himself as a result, he didn’t take it well. He went out patrolling without a word and didn’t arrive until 10 AM – way later than when he usually returns

You tried apologizing to him but he just kept quiet and broody

You suspect Alfred scolded at him for not giving his beloved a chance to redeem themselves because hours later he stopped leaving the room every time you entered it, allowing for you to apologize

You two had a discussion about it and decided to discuss the future of Bat Brands

Bruce, however, can accidentally be more biting and ruthless

He doesn’t mean to be, he’s just so used to coming off as imposing that it accidentally slips through. That doesn’t excuse his actions, though, it only explains them.

He especially got like this when he tried to get that you need to be more careful or stop being so trusting of figures like Superman

One such example was when you tried playing devil’s advocate for the last Kryptonian, a move you should’ve known was risky as hell considering how much destruction he’d caused, including to Bruce’s associates. But your sense of compassion couldn’t allow you to immediately determine that he was necessarily evil

This prompted Bruce, in growing anger, to tell you to wise up before you got yourself killed. Your “lovey dovey” nature didn’t apply to the real world and if there was a chance that Superman would kill anyone, he’d take it and you needed to pick which side you were on

You weren’t sure which suggestion you were most hurt about (that you weren’t dedicated to him, that you were being stupid), but cringed at the way he said “lovey dovey.” You couldn’t help but tear up because it felt like you were being kicked for something Bruce had previously praised about you

You gave the silent treatment for a week after that and spent the next few nights at your old apartment. If your “lovey dovey” nature was inapplicable, why waste your time?

Bruce obviously felt awful about it, but also felt a little too prideful to apologize. But then Alfred threatened to break his neck and forced the two of you to sit down and talk it out

Bruce had to apologize to you for a month both in words, items, and actions

He then owes you money after you both meet Supes and learn that he’s not a bad guy

You guys also get into arguments over how overprotective he can be and how it sometimes clouds his judgement, but those are usually settled a lot easier

You honestly didn’t move in to his place too quickly. A lot of people found it odd, considering how common it was for couples to move in together nowadays. Besides, it wasn’t as if you’d ever want for anything by moving in with the richest man in the city

But you had your reasons

Mainly that you enjoyed where your own apartment was: Near enough to civilization, which had coffee shops and bookstores and markets

Seriously, Bruce lives so out of city limits that spending the night at his place can require careful planning (and a constant refusal to watch scary movies)

It probably doesn’t even occur to you that you’ve 96% moved into his place until you’ve just taken a shower and casually gone through the dresser to find your favorite blouse. When you find it, it hits you that you’ve pretty much made a home away from home with him

But you keep your place because sometimes, Bruce just wants to get away from his place and just envelope himself in yours

Alfred makes you a few defense devices, both per Bruce’s request and per your own. The difference is that Bruce’s tend to be more like juiced up brass knuckles and advanced versions of stun guns, things meant to hold attackers at bay so you can escape them and get to safety. Your requests, however, have every intent on keeping them immobilized and begin to resemble Bruce’s own devices with a “(Y/N) charm” to them

Bruce tells Alfred to stop taking your requests because he doesn’t want you getting more involved than you already are so long as he can help it

Alfred doesn’t listen anyway

Speaking of Alfred, he adores you and sees you as the daughter he’d never had. Or, in this case, the daughter-in-law he’s snarked at Bruce to give him for literal decades

You two enjoy making snarky remarks both about and at Bruce, based on his actions and thoughts

Alfred also makes the two of you snacks while you’re waiting up for Bruce to return. He may not stay up as late as you do, being so used to Bruce’s nighttime antics. But if you fall asleep on the couch, Alfred will put a blanket over you

You get to touch the Bat Boobs™

Bruce is less than amused when he comes back up from working out and you begin to grope his pecs.

He stares blankly ahead, unsure of what to feel, when you jokingly complain about his boobs being bigger than yours

If you can’t sleep, there are multiple methods at your disposal

If the ASMR videos or white noise machines don’t work, and you don’t want to wake anyone up by sneaking into the kitchen, you may wind up pacing –

Which, if he was asleep already, may wake Bruce up because he no longer feels you next to/on top of him

Since you couldn’t fall asleep by just being held in the first place, Bruce decides on another method: Working out

After you threaten to destroy him for even joking about that nightmare routine, he settles on another method: Taking a drive

He sticks to driving around areas he knows are notably safer but still quiet

Having a family is a rather…touchy subject.

He’s still obviously very effected by the death of his parents, and this has led to an extremely ambitious level of protectiveness. He likes to joke that you’re enough of a handful

And considering what happened to his Robin …

This isn’t going to stop Alfred from lightly pushing the subject, however, which eventually causes you to occasionally bring it up

This is a subject for another time, Bruce insists

Though he’d be lying if he claimed that he never once thought about what a combination of you and himself would look like

He imagines they’d have his eyes, your hair, his athleticism and hunger for knowledge and your determination, interpersonal skills, and overall glowing personality – basically, the perfect Wayne who would never want for anything because they’ll get far in life with just their personality alone

Bruce prays you never ask him what he thinks your child would be like because he’d be too tempted to let this spill

For all the curly-haired sisters out there: You know Bruce has your back with all those costly hair products.

He’s less than impressed with the prices, not because he has to spend it all, but because it shouldn’t cost $16 for a tiny container of Kinky Curly or $300 for a keratin treatment that’ll help straighten your hair, should you desire so

Bruce also don’t play that Pink Tax shit

“They’re just razors. They don’t even cut like mine do – and I have facial hair–… I’m just buying you my brand, the only difference is that mine actually works.”

“… Why do sanitary products cost this much?” “Because patriarchy.” “It’s not a luxury, though. So what the hell?”

Still needs your instructions when he’s on his own getting pads for you – even if he’s shopping for an economy order online. But my god, does he try

Speaking of which, during that time of the month, Bruce is highkey lowkey panicky

Not because you’re bleeding from an intimate area, but because blood is unpredictable and can be hard to get out of silk sheets

Lightly tries to convince you to relocate to the couch, where he’s set up a comfort corner for you: blankets, heating pads, tea, chocolate, salty snacks, tissues, ibuprofen, and movies you enjoy as well as ones that make you tired so you can rest with background noise

Of course, you have to lay on a towel. Better safe than sorry

Nicking one of Bruce’s older capes and trying to mimic his dark and brooding actions and demeanor

He thinks it’s cute that you try to perch on the arms of the sofa or the edge of the bed

He thinks it’s less cute when you scare the crap out of him when he walks into the bathroom to find your perched on the bathroom counter just waiting for him

He’s torn between finding it cute and un-cute when you try to make your voice gravely and talk like him

“I am the night, the terror that stalks you down the alleyways your morality dwells in.” “Babe, I don’t talk like that.” “Yes, I do.” “When did I become a (insert-your-height) cape-swiper who still trips on it when they run down the halls with it?” “… Harsh.”

He thinks it’s just plain adorable when you attempt to dive-bomb him with the cape on so he can catch you. He’d never admit it, though, because he plays it off as an annoyance

He doesn’t have to admit it, though; you can tell by the look in his eyes

Obligatory “easy nights”

These aren’t necessarily dates unless you count spending the nights where he isn’t patrolling cuddled up and just enjoying each other’s company dates

You don’t even really play music of watch a movie or anything most of the time – it’s literally just you two holding each other and listening to one another’s heartbeats

Because the sad thing is, you don’t always know when it’s going to be the last time either of you hears the other’s

Of course, nobody wants to spend such an intimate and meaningful moment being broody so when you’re not basking in silence, you’re talking

There’s often times no rhyme or reason to your conversations, they could literally be about anything: How your days were, Wayne stocks, that one bitchy coworker of yours whom Bruce offers to spook (if you say no, he says he could just show up at your workplace in his civilian clothes and make them nervous by his mere, handsome presence).

Sometimes they’re jokes, other times they’re memories. And other times, they’re just philosophical views on the concept of life and free will, or what love is

And, as the night wears on and you get more and more tired, just plain delirious subjects like how Japan has mascots for nearly everything and how you think that, as Gotham’s prince, Bruce should apply the same to the city

“Wayne Tower can be a goat mountain-climber – because you’re always climbing to new heights!” “I’m surprised you didn’t say a bat. And soaring to new heights.” “ … Awww, blubber nuggets.” “ ‘Blubber nuggets’?” “Don’t patronize me, Brucifer.”

It’s usually at this point that Bruce insists it’s time to officially turn in for the night. You, however, object to this because you want to spend more time talking and cuddling – you already don’t get as much of this as you’d like

Ten minutes later (or even mid-sentence), you’re out like a light. Being in Bruce’s arms makes you feel so safe and warm and loved that you can’t help but melt into them and fall into the most assuring sign of trust there is: sleep

Chances are, Bruce won’t get up immediately because he doesn’t want to disturb you just yet. And because he likes to take these opportunities to just look at you

He shouldn’t have someone like you, he knows that. He’s done too many things that should’ve forbade him from ever landing any kind of long-term romance, especially with someone like you

But here you are, physically there and not just as a figment of his imagination, so far in that you’d even fall asleep in his embrace

Bruce has never been a truly religious man. But it’s moments like this that he can’t help but thank whichever deity is out there for giving him this one last chance at happiness

The next morning, like clockwork, Alfred comes down to make breakfast and finds Master Bruce asleep on the couch, cradling, as if you were a precious Faberge egg. He decides against making a ruckus and retreats back to his room for a cup of coffee

Bruce doesn’t get many opportunities to feel this safe and vulnerable; he needs this more than he’ll ever admit to anyone

#i think i either went too goofy with this one or too serious #oh well #i tried #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman v superman imagine #would include #batman v superman imagines #i hope this turned out alright #batman x reader #regrettablewritings #dceu imagine #dc imagine

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