#besides from many not surviving the transition

[dayurno]

hey! so i read your fic casket fresh and i love it!!! i was just wondering if you could explain the vampire drop and transition thing? it happens multiple times? is it like a monthly thing is kevin basically on his period

BASICALLY ON HIS PERIOD GHNSDFJGSKDF nooo noo ok let me tell you. please bear with me for a second a lot of casket fresh was written from a hospital bed. suspend your disbelief with me ok

the transition is basically just the vampire venom spreading through his body and quite literally killing him a little more every time, with the drops being times where it is circulating at peak capacity. the transition should last at most half a year (it's longer for vampires than for werewolves, and more painful too; there's a reason they're such a small population and kevin is the only vampire in palmetto at the moment of the fic) (though you can guess yourself who is the other vampire still kicking post-riko's death) (it's jean) and it's a very vulnerable time physically and emotionally, which is why it's court-mandated that the vampire's sire stays with them and nurses them through the transition lest they become a danger to humans

andrew stepping in as kevin's sire after riko dies is akin to voluntary work for his community, and actually a really big responsibility. i can't for the life of me remember if i included this, but kevin *was* assigned other handlers before andrew, and it didn't end well because his position of vulnerability made him feel threatened and caged in. kevin actually attacked his last assigned handler, which is why the court allowed him to stay without a sire before andrew stepped in

[goodqueenaly]

Let’s give Team Black the best case scenario where they win the war uncontested and there are no betrayals by any dragonseeds- where do you think Nettles would fit in the regime after the war? Ulf & Hugh get to be knights and have holdings while Addam is taken under Corlys’s wing, but Nettles is now a (presumably) non Valyrian lowborn dragonriding female- she’s kind of a conundrum for the powers that be.

Jace’s call to action is gendered- “…vowing that any man who could master a dragon would be granted lands and riches and dubbed a knight. His sons would be ennobled, his daughters wed to lords, and he himself would have the honor of fighting beside the Prince of Dragonstone against the pretender Aegon Il Targaryen and his treasonous supporters.”

Do you think the plan could have been marriage as opposed to knighthood for Nettles? But then that introduces the sticky situation of essentially giving dragons to other noble houses. I thought maybe Alyn (assuming Addam survived in this scenario), but I’m not sure.

(Obvious preface that this is not about That Other Show and anyone using this to talk about That Other Show is getting blocked.)

You ask an interesting question, because Nettles very clearly stood apart from the other non-Targaryen dragonriders in ways that I think would have left her without an obvious place even in a world where the black faction was victorious. Addam of Hull (and, by extension, his dragonless brother Alyn) fit most comfortably in the black faction’s political calculus: as the acknowledged bastardborn “grandsons” (really sons) of the Lord of the Tides, helpfully introduced just after that same Lord Velaryon had lost his designated male heir, Marilda’s sons could follow the same path as so many aristocratic Westerosi bastards before them (including knighthoods, lordships, and aristocratic marriages); moreover, as very evidently Valyrian descendants (with one riding a Velaryon dragon, no less), these boys could be logically accepted as Valyrian-blooded dragonriders. While neither Hugh Hammer nor Ulf the White displayed so open a connection to any such Valyrian heritage, their lifetime residence on Dragonstone and seemingly “natural” bond with their respective dragons (not to mention Ulf’s silvery hair) allowed for a satisfactory narrative which cast them as dragonseeds, ancillary dragonriding scions of House Targaryen akin, if not specifically equivalent, to other royal and aristocratic bastards. While it doesn’t appear Rhaenyra had specific careers, so to speak, in mind for either Hugh or Ulf - both were knighted and given small holdings seemingly only after the Rosby and Stokeworth inheritance dispute - their identification as male dragonseeds could, to some extent, smooth their transition into a level of aristocratic life for them within the black faction. 

However, where could Nettles fit in this socio-political universe? Nettles’ scheme to ride Sheepstealer did not simply demonstrate her cleverness (though it certainly did) - it also provided Nettles with a unique, indeed perhaps revolutionary, path to personal power. Rejecting Jacaerys’ proud declaration that “only Targaryens ride dragons” (emphasis in the original), Nettles, by her shrewd tactics,  argued that one did not necessarily have to be a Valyrian descendant to be a dragonrider. The singular Targaryen mastery of dragons, which constituted the source of their dominance during the Conquest, the cornerstone of their diplomacy afterward, and the foundation of their religious Exceptionalism, now potentially lost its potency; if anyone could ride a dragon, why should the Targaryens rest at the top of the feudal hierarchy? The black faction, in any post-victory scenario, would need to grapple with the presence of a woman whose very existence as the sort of dragonrider she was opposed the Targaryen royal narrative, even if she herself was no rebel against the black faction or the Targaryen political system. 

Furthermore, Nettles would still be subject to a variety of prejudices even in a post-victory world for the black faction. Sexist Gyldayn’s disgusting and typically derogatory commentary aside, Nettles certainly came from what Westerosi (and specifically blue-blooded Westerosi) would consider a rather unsavory background: “a bastard of uncertain birth”, potentially “the daughter of a dockside whore”, “foul-mouthed” and apparently considered ugly by Westerosi standards (at least in the opinion of the openly pro-green Septon Eustace, who in all likelihood never actually saw her). Hugh and Ulf might have been just as lowborn, to be sure - Hugh is identified as a “blacksmith’s bastard”, while Ulf is described as a man-at-arms, in other words a low-ranking soldier - but since Westerosi patriarchy is gonna patriarchy, these men could pursue careers and have levels of social standing that Nettles, simply by virtue of her gender, never could; consequently, these men could also be moved up the social ladder, to at least a limited extent, with some ease where Nettles, by contrast, could not. Even if Nettles never actually worked as a sex worker (again, Gyldayn can fuck off with any such notion), the surface-level associations would always be there, certainly in the eyes of those already prone to look down on Nettles - she was the (presumed) daughter of a whore, living alone on the streets without any obvious trade or skills, so of course she was no more than a whore herself, or at least so onlookers would assume. In a world where even aristocratic women born to power and privilege have a harder time than their male counterparts in asserting their rights and claims to authority, how could the orphaned, lowborn girl Nettles be left to enjoy the sort of independent power she had as not just a dragonrider, but as what we might call a self-made dragonrider?

Too, because Nettles was a person of color, she was that much more easily othered by Westerosi society. Rhaenyra might have been the most blatant in using Nettles’ appearance (which is to say, her race) to undermine her, Nettles’, accomplishments - calling her a “a low creature” and declaring that “[y]ou need only look at her to know she has no drop of dragon’s blood in her” - but Mushroom, Munkun, and indeed Gyldayn all define Nettles first by her race, in a way they very obviously do not for the non-POC characters. With the racial xenophobia and prejudice which can permeate Westerosi society - see, for example, the dismissal of the current generation of Westerlings for the “doubtful blood” inherited from their Essosi great-grandmother, or the exotification of the Myrish Taena Merryweather, or the long history of antagonism against the people of Dorne from their non-Dornish Westerosi neighbors - Nettles might have found herself very much alone even among a triumphant black faction. Would she too be seen as a lesser dynastic prize, or ineligible for holdings in her own right, by virtue of her race, someone excluded from the upper echelon of Westerosi power politics because of the color of her skin and the foreign ancestry it represented? 

So I could see where, even in a victory scenario, Nettles may not have found herself totally or indeed at all welcome among the black faction. Nettles was a young woman who challenged the expectations of Targaryen draconic power, and who did so despite her race, sex, and class all assigning her an otherwise likely permanently low-ranking position in Westerosi society. Sadly, Nettles’ actual choice at the end of the Dance IOTL demonstrates the limited options she faced even as someone ostensibly so powerful as a dragonrider; her best case scenario in a post-Dance world was to live in permanent exile from the only home she had ever known, among people who were completely alien to her in custom, religion, and background, left to be isolated, worshiped, and feared as a local god. 

[pinetreegoblin]

I have a silly and indulgent Very Important People fan theory:

Very Important People!Vic Michaelis is extremely insecure and lonely as shown by their dialogue throughout many of the currently released episodes. They seem down on their luck and frustrated by their lot in life especially in their career and their personal connections. They seem like the perfect character to go through a classic “self growth through a journey of meeting crazy characters” plot. 

Each of the characters seem like out of this world caricatures of people they could meet out in the world, and some (like Denzel and Vic’s Grandma), seem like representations of those in her actual life (I also have a fun theory that the dolls were her childhood dolls). Many of the characters themselves point out that Vic seems to be down on their luck and unhappy, and in some way preventing themselves from happiness. Off the top of my head, Vic has referred to their father being murdered, a divorce from their husband, and struggling to get a “real reporting career.” 

If I had to construct a story of how they got to this point I would say the death of their father pushed VIP!Vic into grief induced isolation and loneliness, which inhibited their personal connections as they were stuck in survival mode. The murder of their father inspired them to become a reporter, as an attempt to help other victims of violent crime, but they are struggling to find a foothold. Their unbridled grief and obsession with retribution for their father has put a strain on their marriage and their partner asks for a divorce. Maybe in their exasperation and the chaos of life they are spurred to follow a lead they have no business or jurisdiction to follow and they end up injured. It is in this injury they are experiencing this hallucinogenic state.

The VIP set itself feels very cultivated and its “old-fashioned” eclectic style gives it a vibe of a surreal manufactured reality. Each episode starts with Vic idly messing with some aspect of the set, before realizing the camera is on and putting on the reporter mask. In my memory, none of the people “on set” ever say anything, besides Vic and the interviewee, even when Vic audibly asks them questions. Additionally the cutting off to infomercials gives an uncanny feeling of parody, someone concocting the stereotypical formula of a show. Finally, there are the moments where there is an abrupt cut to a transition card from a more intense scene, almost to redirect the emotional plot. Overall, it has given me a kinda WandaVision vibe of a dreamlike state manufactured in VIP!Vics head in order to address their loneliness and disillusionment with life.

The closing question especially points towards this specific idea of VIP!Vic being stuck in this fugue state looking for answers: “What is the meaning of life?” This is both impactful if we go with the idea she is injured and experiencing this all in an unconscious state (almost "deciding" whether to wake up) as well as just in them searching for the next direction to go in their frozen life. What is the meaning of life amidst grief, loneliness, fear, and unfair circumstances? How can Vic find meaning? In creating this dreamlike fabrication, VIP!Vic is trying to recover and find a version of themselves who can live a more fulfilling life as they let go of the past which has held them back. “Remember to always be yourself, unless you'd rather be somone else” 

TLDR: Vic Michalis is having some sort of surreal, unconscious dream where crazy characters are attempting to help them heal from their father's death, their fucked up social situations, and to find meaning and happiness in their life. Through the interviewees eccentricities they teach Vic their personal meanings of life so Vic can find their own.

(This is all just to be silly, I know a lot of it is just stylistic choices of the show and the nature of the type of show it is, but I just love the show a lot and this little theory came to me)

[fantasy-so-far]

(Count)Down to Dawntrail - Heavensward

            Evie sat back in the beach chair and stared out at the calm, glittering water. While she had hoped to get more balance practice on the waves, she was content enough to watch the day waste into the horizon. Beside her, Eerie wasn’t quite as content.

Since they met at the All-Saint’s Amateur Tournament in Ul’dah, the pair had been forging a strange relationship. They were opponents in the tournament who became peers in the pugilist guild after. They transitioned from training partners to traveling cohorts as the guild sent them out on assignments. Now, as they both took passive roles in the guild so they could pursue other callings, they were simply friends sharing drinks on a beach.

“I leave tomorrow,” Eerie reminded Evie for the third time in a few bells. “I cannot believe I am going back.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Evie asked easily.

The sincerity of her offer touched Errette deeply, but her response was the same every time they had this exchange. “No. You wouldn’t be treated well. The nobles of Ishgard follow the Holy See blindly and while you might be welcomed with the other travelers from the south, if you are seen with me that would be short lived. My family…my people…they will not bow. But if there is really hope of peace between Ishgard and Dragons, then I must be there to see it. Or I must be there to protect my people when it all goes to shit.”

Evie studied Eerie quietly while nodding slowly. She looked back out at the water, finding calm and grounding. While she had been born in a landlocked place, something about the sea made her feel like she was home at last.

“But you will take the linkpearl, right?” Evie asked when she started to realize that feelings of home were precisely what called Eerie away.

“Yea, but I am still pissed you bought it,” Eerie grouched. “You need to save your damn gil to find a place to live. You cannot just stay camped on the beach. You will either find a place to work or live here, or you will return to the guild. Do you hear me? This little tumbleweed routine you have going on is getting ridiculous. How do you even get the sand out of your pants?! I have been here for a whole three hours, and I am convinced I will be carrying the beach with me when I leave.”

Evie laughed and raised her coconut when she shrugged. “I guess it comes with living in the desert.”

Eerie rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair while taking a spiteful sip of her own drink.

The timer was reset for the moment, but in the hours before Evie saw Eerie off at the aetheryte she would have a version of the same conversation five more times. Eerie was viewed by many as a taciturn and severe woman, but Evie could practically feel the waves and wake of anxiety that churned around her. Right before Eerie left, Evie grabbed her hand and looked up with tears in her eyes.

“When there is peace, and I do mean that, please send for me. I want to come and see your home. I want to meet your people. I want to celebrate with you. You are my friend, and it would mean the world to me if you would share that with me.”

Eerie refused to look at Evie for a few moments as she fought a losing battle with her own. She managed a stiff nod before pulling away and taking her turn to travel along the rivers of aether.

Evie believed there would be peace, and while eventually there was, Eerie’s call never came because she didn’t survive to see it. Their moments at the Limsa Lominsa aetheryte plaza and the days on the beach before, were the final memories Evie would make with Errette Chauntelle, and the final call from Eerie’s linkpearl was actually placed by a cousin. He reported sadly that Eerie had died during a failed siege on Ishgard. He gave Evie the location of where Eerie’s remains would be buried but cautioned against visiting. The call was a calloused courtesy for the young man, a dying wish fulfilled in all technical definitions.

It wasn’t until months after the defeat of Nidhogg that Evie made the trip to Dravania. When she stood at Eerie’s grave, she stood alone. Her tears turned cold on her cheeks as she read the epitaph that stood in honor of her fallen friend.

“Here lies Errette “Eerie” Chauntelle, whose life now blends with the heavens to paint the sky upon which dragons take wing. Until we soar together again, sister.”

[acourtofthought]

I find it so strange when readers try to pit Elain and Gwyn against one another, acting like one is better than the other when they've had extremely similar journeys so far:

Catrin was always the strong one. The smart and charming one. After our mother died, she took care of me. Looked out for me.

That sounds a lot like Elain and Nesta's relationship right? Where Nesta was the strong one when it came to Elain? Where she looked out for her?

We were raised in the temple as well. I never left its grounds until … until I came here.”

For Elain, I wouldn't say she was quite as cut off from the world as Gwyn was and she did experience the loss of her mother and poverty at a young age however, I don't know that she suffered the greatest burdens that came about from those things as Feyre did (and to some degree, Nesta). So again, both she and Gwyn had a somewhat sheltered childhood.

“I have been broken once before,” Gwyn said, her voice clear. “I survived it. And I will not be broken again—not even by this mountain.” / “A commander from Hybern raped me two years ago. He had his soldiers hold me down on a table. He laughed the entire time.” Tears gleamed in Gwyn’s eyes. “Hybern attacked in the dead of night. We were all asleep when they broke into the temple and began the slaughter.

I think what Gwyn went through hits home for a lot of us and that's why so many connect with her story. But Elain's experience is not less traumatic just because Cauldrons do not exist in real life (technically temples full of fae priestesses harboring a piece of said Cauldron do not exist in real life either). What happened to Elain is metaphorical for anything being done to someone against their will, for having their choices taken away, and for losing the life they planned on and hoped for in the blink of an eye:

"Fear like I had never known entered my heart as the men dragged my sisters, gagged and bound, before the King of Hybern. / But there they were—in their nightgowns, the silk and lace dirty, torn. Elain was quietly sobbing, the gag soaked with her tears. / Elain was shaking, sobbing, as she was hauled forward. Toward the Cauldron. / Lucien staggered a step forward as Elain was gripped between two guards and hoisted up. She began kicking then, weeping while her feet slammed into the sides of the Cauldron as if she’d push off it, as if she’d knock it down—/ Elain’s foot hit the water, and she screamed—screamed in terror that hit me so deep I began sobbing / Elain was still shivering on the wet stones, her nightgown shoved up to her thighs, her small breasts fully visible beneath the soaked fabric. Guards snickered.

I've seen it said that Elain's experience was only "being dumped into a Cauldron" therefore it wasn't that big a deal. But that ignores everything we're told of the experience:

Of course, there are risks—the transition can be … difficult. But a strong-willed individual could survive.”

“I saw it,” Rhys whispered. “Felt it. Everything that happened within the Cauldron. / And I saw … felt … what it took from her.” / He met Cassian’s stare unflinchingly, his eyes full of remorse and agony. “Her trauma is …” Rhys’s throat bobbed. “I know,” Cassian whispered. “I guessed,” Rhys breathed, “but it was different to feel it.”

Gwyn and Elain were both forcibly held against their will and had their bodies violated.

“I’ve been here for nearly two years"

We don't know exactly how many months went by from the time Elain was made until she started interacting with the outside world but my guess is about 4 / 5? Elain started getting better after Lucien made an appearance in the NC however she didn't leave the townhouse until it came time to seek shelter for the humans prior to the war.

Elain and Gwyn stayed in a place they felt the safest until it was time to do more. For Gwyn, she wanted to train as it was something her sister would have done and Elain wanted to find a place for the humans:

Nesta straightened her fork and knife beside her plate. “Can’t you spirit them away somewhere south—far from here?” “That many people? Not without first finding a safe place, which would take time we don’t have.” Rhys considered. “If we get a ship, they can sail—” “They will demand their families and friends come.” A beat of silence. Not an option. Then Elain said quietly, “We could move them to Graysen’s estate.”

Gwyn and Elain were both traumatized a second time in the series. For Elain, it was being kidnapped again, stabbing someone and seeing her father's murdered body and for Gwyn, it was being kidnapped and taken into the Rite.

But in both instances, the females stepped up to do what they had to do.

Gwyn waited on its other side, bloodied and in a warrior’s clothes, face filthy and torn, but eyes clear. (Gwyn after leading the beasts to the Illyrians)

And then walked to me and Nesta, who pulled back long enough to survey Elain’s clean face, her clear eyes. (Elain after helping to save Briar and kicking the beasts which saved Briar and Az).

Gwyn showed additional bravery later in the Rite as did Elain when she stabbed the King.

Gwyn has made it known that she no longer wants to take the safe road though we know she's still processing new traumas from the Rite (which probably played a role in why she wasn't sure she'd attend Nesta's mating ceremony) but all that does is set her up for her story. SJM FMCs start at a low point and work their way up.

It is confirmed that Elain still has trauma though she has shown signs of progress since the war. She's out and about in Velaris, helping it's people. She was willing to search for the Trove when even Nesta was afraid to, she joined her sisters in the Hewn City even though the cruelty there bothers her.

Elain is not 100% fine (again, a perfect setup for her own book) but she has had progress that cannot be denied.

And finally, both females stood up to Nesta in SF:

“I don’t need to be coddled. Only spoken to like a person.”. “I doubt you’ll enjoy the way I speak to most people,” Nesta said. Gwyn snorted. “Try me.” Nesta looked at her from under lowered brows again. “Get out of my sight.” Gwyn grinned, a broad, bright thing that showed most of her teeth and made her eyes sparkle in a way Nesta knew her own never had. “Oh, you’re good.” Gwyn turned back to the stacks. “Really good.

“You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.” / Elain cut in sharply, “I am not a child to be fought over.” / “Oh, fuck you,” Nesta snapped, and then choked. Elain blinked. Nesta blinked back, horror lurching through her. And then Elain burst out laughing. Howling, half-sobbing laughs that sent her bending over at the waist, gasping for breath. / Elain held up a hand, wiping her eyes with the other. “You’ve never said such a thing to me!” She laughed again. “I think that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

I do think Gwyn and Elain are headed down different paths, Gwyn's being that of a warrior and Elain (in my opinion) one of a healer / peacemaker between courts. And Gwyn definitely seems a bit more irreverent (but not in a negative way, she just doesn't seem bothered by someone's standoffish personality which is why she seems better suited for Az) but outside of that, it's difficult not to note their similarities. Gwyn is bookish what with the research she does alongside Merrill, Elain is canonically wise and observant (so both intelligent in their own ways), they're not as bold and brazen as Nesta or Feyre however there is evidence to support that they too are curious about sex, and they each take solace in creature comforts (bracelet making and singing for Gwyn and gardening and baking for Elain).

When someone insults Elain, they are insulting Gwyn and vice versa and it's too apparent that the reason that happens in the first place is readers are blinded by their ship to pay attention to what SJM has told us about both females as individuals.

Out of the possible pairings I do think Az and Gwyn are more compatible but at this point, she's even more similar to Elain than she is to Az.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)

Chapter 7: The Lengths That I Will Go

Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the shape of your former best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.

You can’t afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you’ve missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same.

Chapter 6 // Masterlist // Gif Credit // AO3 Version // Chapter 8

Left eye swollen shut, you spat out the blood that had seeped into your crooked mouth and tried not to think about how your dentist was gonna look at you if you needed another tooth replacing. Your captor took time away from your face to exploit your ribs, which you were certain had transitioned from bruised to broken thanks to the knuckleduster he had slipped on just minutes ago. You’d been counting them for the sake of passing the time. All that torture training resurfaced for the first time in a eight months, and you resolved yourself to the pain – your only ally besides the inside of the hood that allowed splinters of light through the minute gaps in the woven fabric.

First rule: never give your captor anything.

Second rule: give into insanity.

It didn’t matter how many of your team survived right now. Because if you imagined hope for a fraction of a second, imagined that they were coming for you, you had something to be broken by and you would not be broken by this. Right now, you didn’t know how many of your team had made it. You could afford to lose yourself. Therapy would bring you back-

No, stop it. No therapy, no hope, this is it.

And you knew why it was harder to compartmentalise this time than last year. You’d let your emotions slip out before you were out of the storm, let yourself get so damn sentimental over Price and your history together. Now, instead of having a good cry about it in your office or sleeping off the stress on a flight home, you were stuck here with a fucking bag on your head and injuries that would only aid your captor’s attempts to chip away at your resolve.

Your eyes had dried about two hours in, no room for instinct amidst the flourishing bruises and ringing ears. Tears had dried up with the blood staining your skin and soaked the hood; every punch no doubt cracked the blood into flakes.

Mercifully you were lifted under the armpits and dragged across the floor. You counted two doors opening and closing and an elevator in between, the concrete cutting off to mosaic tiles that trapped and tripped the toes of your boots that grazed over them. Only when the dragging stopped and you were forced stand up was the hood removed from you. At last you got a look at your captor – incredibly unremarkable compared to the man you both shared a room with.

Čiernik was laughably attempting to position a webcam atop an ancient laptop in the corner. As you were forced to stand in the centre of the room, he moved aside and you stared down at the monitor where someone was depicted staring with their gormless face smeared in blood.

Oh. That was you.

Your zip ties snapped off your wrists, but you didn’t start swinging because another prisoner was being shoved in front of you and you could tell from the uniform who it would be.

A similar state of affairs, Price had his hands in zip-ties, his shirt already removed and the sack on his head taken off shortly after. His absent boonie bared his face beneath the low hanging light bulbs. A stream of blood ran from his temple to his bushy jaw. Somewhere inside of you, there was a discordant pang. You ignored it and slow blinked at the corner of the room above his head where a few strands of spider web swayed in the air-conditioning’s flow.

“You will fight,” Čiernik stated.

Sluggishly, you looked at him. He was pointing, rather comically, at the laptop where he’d switched to another tab. Bronze was depicted upon it, breathing to your relief but it looked to be a massive effort on his part. Head slumped over, he was held under the armpits by two gruff looking bastards. He’d been stripped to his under shirt, more brown than white around the tear where he’d been shot.

“You will fight,” repeated Čiernik as Price’s zip-ties came off.

As you returned your stare to your would-be opponent, Price mouthed something at you and he put up his hands, gesturing for you to come at him. You didn’t catch what he was trying to tell you. Instead your head, with its defences lowered, filled itself with memories of easier times, how Price always beat you in sparring. Closest you ever came was drawing, both of you pinned in a position of pain and neither of you tapping out until your commanding officer at the time demanded you both let go. He was the best. Best of the best.

Your left eye, stinging and sealed off, was throwing off your depth perception as you swayed on the spot, fists up. Čiernik’s crooked glee

Hit first and hit hard.

You landed a solid blow to the side of Price’s head, sending him stumbling. Bloody saliva fell from his lips, splattering onto the ground as you threw another punch and crushed his fingers beneath your boot. If he didn’t have a concussion from before, he definitely did now. Something stirred gleefully in your stomach at that.

Finally, he met your attacks with defence, locking you into a grappled and hunched over stance. You shook it off, trying to keep up the charade of fighting your friend. He wasn’t going easy but neither were you, smashing your skull heard into twice before he swung you around and onto the floor. Your feet skidded on the concrete like you were on ice.

“What the hell is this?” The authoritative American accent from across the room came through glitching as it emitted from shitty laptop speakers. Čiernik spun round to face the laptop.

“You bomb my men and think you can get away with it?” His sneering face moved close to the webcam’s lens, “You want them? You come and get them yourself.”

Then he muted the caller. But you’d already pieced together who it was and why Čiernik was Zoom-ing your forced fisticuff.

Two menforced you and Price to face one another, an inch apart like you were pitbulls in a ring, growling and snapping teeth, their hands tugging back your heads like leashes.

When you heard John on the radio, the day that he died, you knew how Orpheus felt in that split second of distrust and relief at seeing Eurydice there, just a fragment of time as he shouted down the radio then let out a cry and was cut off from you, sealing you apart with Price in the Underworld and you cursed to remain on the mortal coil forever. Now you were stuck in Purgatory together without a obol between you to get you out of here.

“I only need one Captain to make a deal with. Keep going.”

On Čiernik’s command, you were both released to continue the brawl. A high-pitched whine shot through your head as Price slammed his fist to your chin. His turn for “hit first and hit hard”, it would seem. Your trousers started sliding down your hips and you grasped at your arm where a rag replaced your makeshift tourniquet. Hiking the trousers back up, you launched yourself at him and swiped at his legs to knock him off his feet.

You should be biting his ear off or digging his eyes out, reshaping his face like it was made of clay beyond a few punches. Your teeth were gritted in your jaw in an attempt to satiate your sudden bloodlust. A burning desire to strike him over and over was stoked strong inside of you. But somehow you were holding back, and so was Price. Even as he got you in a headlock, breathing hard against your ear, spit splashing on your lobe, he could’ve done so much worse than the knee to the chest you received. Could’ve used his boots for a start or aimed for something more juicy, like where the sledgehammer had gotten you. It still hurt like a son of a bitch yet it could’ve been a direct hit. He was holding out hope, making you do the same, and it was putting you both in more danger.

Heard over a painful cry, the sound of the door flung open snatched your attention. A spewing smoke canister bounced off your bullet wound and onto the floor as you seized Price around the middle – away from a lunging Čiernik.

Unceremoniously, you were both hauled away from the smoke and into a blinding light.Your blurred vision pieced together Gaz and Crash barricading the door behind you. Bullets began denting the metal hull of the doorframe. You swung your head around to find Ghost, his hand just now removing itself from your shoulder – sore from how he’d yanked you in his rescue.  

“Good to see you,” He said casually.

Crash pushed a pistol into your hands, “It’s not just the villa. It’s every villa. They’ve taken the whole town.”

Brain barely blunted by the shortest capture you’d ever faced, you recalled those papers with postcodes and house numbers, the ones you’d walked past without a single indication that you were already within the trap.

No wonder your team only just managed to catch onto Čiernik; Shepherd clocked him first, made him more obvious by soaking up his spread of occupation on the border of Russia.

“Can you shoot?”

“Sky’s still blue, right?” You tucked in the earpiece Crash handed you next, “They’ve got Bronze. Ghost, you and Gaz will clear the way for us. We’ll scout ahead for where she could be. She lost a lot of blood back at Shepherd’s villa. Price, you and Crash will cover our backs. Have we got an exit plan in place?”

“Laswell’s sending reinforcements. New exfil is twenty klicks south-south-west of the original.”

You didn’t ask why Soap was absent, or if Chance had made it out. No time.Reinforcements were swarming on your location.

First two rooms were left vacant but recently let if the bloodstains dragged across the stonework were anything to go by. All following rooms required a spray of bullets before checking it, your wound stinging more and more. But the shackles on the walls and the array of weapons on call told you this was a torture floor, and you had to find Bronze-

“I’ve got Bronze!”

You lurched around at where Ghost had called from. He already had Bronze over his shoulder. Time to bounce.

Crash took over on the lead, continuing onwards rather than backtracking. More of Čiernik’s arseholes were thrown at you from the staircase above so you had no choice but to spill out into the streets. All hopes that civilians wouldn’t be caught in any crossfire died back when Crash had revealed the expanse of Čiernik’s real estate reach. Your only hope was the row of parked car outside the back door. You pressed against the front tire, scanning in the rear-view mirror (ripped off from the vehicle for convenience) for a potential way out. You had two seconds to view the street before the mirror sparked out of your hand, shattered by a high calibre bullet just as Price finished the barricade, giving you a minute to get out of dodge.

“Manhole,” You told Gaz with a nod of your head to the right.

Gaz nodded back, “Cover me; I’ll get it open.”

Brave bastard, you were tempted to steal him from Price as he dodged hellfire to crowbar open the manhole cover. Ghost, Price, and Crash covered him well enough whilst Bronze slumped up beside you

He slurred out, “Cap?”

“Keep going, Bronze. We’re nearly out.”

“Huh,” He leant his head on your shoulder, making you wince internally, “Feel like we’ve been nearly out for hours.”

One by one, your colleagues funnelled down the hole while you covered him.Even with your left eye out of action, you managed to nail the bastards hunting you down, even with Ghost’s hulking figure drawing attention as he lowered Bronze down, until it was time to drag over the manhole behind you.

Through the sewer system, surprisingly amazing brickwork curving overhead. It wasn’t worth a damn fragment of your attention, even if half the team weren’t dragging barely conscious through a miles of shite. The static around your arm spread up your neck at the stench surrounding your team.

“Bronze?” You called out ahead without coughing on the stench.

“Still hear, Cap.” It came out faintly but he was still conscious, thank fuck.

“Crash?”

“Still goin’.”

“Gaz?”

“Alright here.”

“Ghost?”

“Not broken.”

“Price?”

“Still standing.”

Within the hour, you were overground once more in the arse-end of Nemšiná, having added an extra two klicks onto the journey if your calculations were right.

So it was a respite you welcomed when a hijacked van skidded over to your team with a grinning Scotsman in the left-hand driver’s side. Still, no Second Lieutenant in the passenger seat.

Your team loaded on quick and got out of the town quicker. Soap swerved around and looped back on himself three times whilst you and Crash administered first aid on Bronze, sewing him up to the best of your abilities against a rocky road. Then you arrived at the new exfil point with a Chinook ready to take your Sergeant to the nearest hospital. A bag of A Positive and a needle welcomed him aboard and you bade farewell for now.

A phone was stuffed into your grasp by a soldier in uniform you took a second to recognise – Odristan Special Forces. Thankfully you recognised the caller ID faster and addressed General Fernandez the second your voice reached the received.

“You broken, Captain?” He asked.

“Fit for duty, sir.”

“Your black box did its job perfectly.”

“Any news on Chance?”

“She’s been getting the rest of Sierra team ready for the final push.”

“Any other updates I should be aware of? Or can I check in with the team?”

“You’re free to go. This is still your op; they’ll follow your command.”

Fresh from capture and still calling the shots, you felt quite pleased with yourself for that. However there was little time for that kind of thing before the so-called final stretch. There was however time for a power nap and an energy bar before you started planning anything.

The rest of Sierra were bundled into a large camo green tent nearby, cleaning their weapons, arm wrestling, talking in hushed voices. The second you entered one of their sightlines, they rippled in a wave of standing to attention, their feet stomping like falling dominoes – including Chance who stood out by the hand she held over her abdominal.

“At ease,” You said firmly, “Carry on. Chance, a word.”

She almost trotted over to you with a drone under her arm, her voice low beneath the chatter of your team behind you. “Captain. You look like shit.”

Ignoring her comment, you asked, “How’s the gut?”

“In pieces, but I’ll live. You still good to finish this?”

“If you’re my eye in the sky,” You gestured to the drone then to her stomach, “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“You too. Medical’s set up over there if you want to get yourself checked.”

You followed her suggestion. The last thing you needed was to charge into an assault then slipping on your own vomit, spinning in your nausea. And of course, the universe placed you in the bunk besides Price who was icing his jaw and his left knee.

He waited until you covered your left eye with an ice pack to speak: “You hit hard.”

“You hit like you’re riddled with arthritis.”

“Well, you did stand on my hand,” and Price held up his hand, wiggling his fingers to display the lack of tape and gauze. You hadn’t broken a thing.

That angered you more than anything that transpired in Čiernik’s basement. You channelled those sudden bubbles into a restrained reply:

“I’ll stamp harder next time.”

“And I’ll kick harder,” Price chuckled, leaning back into his ice pack. Against the plastic, you could see a faint purple amidst the red on his cheek.

How easily you were forgiven, it was almost insulting. Why couldn’t you do the same despite saying the contrary? Perhaps you could unpack that to your new therapist, that and your apparent fury that was just below the sealed surface that was still pushing up towards your throat. You swallowed hard as you fumbled in your pack for your spare watch. This was the final stretch. You just had to get through it then you could figure this out. Releasing the ice pack from your eye and laying back to balance it against your ribs, you rubbed at your wrist then slapped it with a sigh. Čiernik had stolen your watch.

_____________

AN: Thank you again for your patience with this! I'm writing during half term so this is nearly finished and I can't wait to share it.

In other news, I saw "Boys from the Blackstuff" on Thursday and it was brilliant! I love live theatre so to see such a stunning production was a real privilege. Bonus points were seeing Barry perform (I was shaking with how good he was). Not only did I paint him as Yosser, but I met him at stage door and got to give that painting to him! He was very kind to my starstruck ass. I'll never shut up about it lmaoo

______________

Tag-list: @mockerycrow and @entertain-my-lvst

[evolutionsvoid]

The species is referred to as the "Longmen Dragonfish," with some just sticking with "Longmen" or "Longmen Fish." Indeed, many of the locals call it "Dragonfish," which always gets people wondering why the species isn't just called that. To further the point, the Longmen Dragonfish is only called its full name by researchers and outsiders who come and visit the region, so thus raises the question of why the locals don't get to name their own species. Well, the answer comes in a couple parts. First off, the locals did get to name the species, as that is where the name "Longmen" comes from. Second, species with long names very rarely ever get their full names said out loud by anyone else besides researchers and the occasional tourist, so just because someone shortens it doesn't mean that is how it should be. I mean, have you heard anyone else besides me say the name "Great Mottled Caecilian?" Because I sure haven't, but that is its name! And thirdly, do you have any idea how many "dragonfish" are out there in the world?! We can't just call this species "dragonfish" because it would confuse so many other people from different regions. Turns out, almost every region on this planet has its own dragonfish, which they just simply call dragonfish. So you see why we can't use that simplified name? And if any idiot out there thinks we should just pick one of the many and declare that the real deal dragonfish, I suggest they personally visit every culture that has one and try to tell them their beloved species is not a "real" dragonfish and that this other one on the other side of the world is the authentic one. Best of luck to you on that!

The Longmen Dragonfish is incredible species of fish that is found out east, spending most of their lives in saltwater. This may come to a shock to some folk, who only know this species from their legendary migrations up river. With all the images and stories of them in freshwater, people assume they are always in lakes and rivers. This is not true, but I can understand the confusion. While the Longmen spends most of its adult years in the deep sea, very few people actually ever see them there. That is because their feeding grounds are far off and rather deep, thus they are not often caught. It is only when they pack the rivers and waterways that we see them and decide to immortalize their journey in art and folklore. However, we can't get to that yet! Possibly another reason why people don't think of them much as saltwater fish is because even if someone did catch one far out in sea, they would never think to call it a "dragonfish." They aren't exactly something you would equate with the elegant and powerful nature of a dragon. Dull red scales, a thick pudgy body, nubby "horns" and a face more befitting a carp. Show most folk this fish, and they would think it nothing more than just another bottom feeder. This is what the majority of Longmen look like, swimming through the depths for small fish, critters and plankton to feed on. If this was their entire life, well, this wouldn't be much of an entry! Like I mentioned before, there is a time when they go to freshwater. Or more specifically, a time when they return to it.

When a Longmen Dragonfish reaches maturity, it will get the drive to head towards shore and seek out the freshwater rivers that dump into it. They know how to find these waterways because these freshwater streams are where they were born, and where they exited from when heading out to sea. Now they hear the call to return to their waters of birth, and the Longmen heed it. They arrive in force, rushing towards the rivers in the thousands. As they encounter the drop in salinity when they get close to where the rivers meet the sea, they undergo changes to survive the transition from saltwater to freshwater. Their bodies grow stronger to handle the coming journey and their scales brighten in color. When the Longmen come home, every being in the region knows it. The rivers are packed to the shores with their squirming, jumping bodies. Some folk claim there are so many of them that you could walk across a river on their backs. You could watch this journey and swear the river had turned from blue to red, as there seems to be more scales than actual water. This desire to return home and breed, however, is not an easy one. There are plenty of obstacles in the way, be it rocks, waterfalls or hungry predators. The rivers they travel are treacherous, fierce currents, roaring waterfalls and jagged stone. The Longmen care not about these things, as they simply swim as hard as they can and jump as high as they can whenever the situation calls for it. They will push against the strongest of currents and leap up powerful waterfalls without a single care, because all that matters is making it to the end. Each obstacle will claim a chunk of the swarm, but with such numbers, it hardly seems to matter. Even when every meat eating animal in the region comes rushing to these rivers for an easy meal, the Longmen swim on. While some species believe in "safety in numbers" the Longmen believe "better odds in numbers," as each individual hopes that there are enough others amongst them that the hungry hordes will take them instead.   

No matter the losses or the obstacles, the Longmen Dragonfish press on. Their journey goes on for miles on end, seeking to reach the innermost waters of the land. They want to make it there because the further inland lakes and rivers have less predators and competition, which makes for better odds for their young. So they seek to get as far as they can, no matter the cost. If you were to follow their journey and see the individuals as they get further along, you would swear that they are changing. The scales are brighter, that is for sure, but their bodies are different too. Their snouts appear to elongate, their chubby forms becoming more serpentine. Collect the dead ones from along the rivers and compare them to those further inland. You will see that this is true! Their bodies are still changing as they migrate and brave the hostile waters. This change makes them stronger and faster, which is good for avoiding toothy jaws, hungry claws and leaping over impossible rocks and falls. However, it comes with a cost. The Longmen work their bodies into overdrive, and sooner or later their flesh cannot continue. Their energy fades and their muscles give out, and many will not finish the journey. Where ever they fall, they release their eggs and sperm, hoping that at least something survives from this sacrifice. If they made it a good distance in, there is a chance some young may survive, but the real good odds are at the very end of this insane trek.

Of the millions of Longmen born with each run, only a meager percentage will make it to adulthood. And of those thousands who take the journey on their own run, a similarly low percentage of them make it to the spawning waters. They will reach their destination exhausted and dying, but it will all be worth it. Here they will spawn, releasing eggs and sperm. These waters that are barricaded off by waterfalls and fierce currents means that their young have less competition with other fish and creatures, and thus a higher chance for survival. Once this act is done, so are the Longmen. With their next generation secured, they finally let their bodies give out, and the whole lot of them perish. Rivers and lakes once filled with vigorous and eager life are now graveyards, with countless fish corpses drifting about. There is a bit of tragedy to this, to see so much death, but the local wildlife would scoff at our mourning. For them, this is the last feast of the season, and they happily partake and eat their fill. The life that was once born in these waters has returned, and here is the final resting place for them. 

But not for all...

For almost all Longmen Dragonfish, the lakes and rivers that sit at the foot of great mountains are the end goal of their entire lives. They prepared during their youth to gain the strength to make it here, and sacrificed everything to reach these shores. Well over ninety percent of them will die here content, with their young laid and ready to be born into the world. But there seems to be a rare few that don't stop here. While the others rest in these waters and begin to spawn, there is a small school of Longmen that will not pause in their journey. Instead, they seek a different haven for their young. But that is behind one last obstacle. In many of the spawning grounds of the Longmen, there is a great waterfall coming off the mountain that feeds into it. Towering in height and intimidating in its fierceness, it is an opponent no fish would ever dare challenge. And yet some do. We currently don't know what drives some of these Longmen to attempt this obstacle, if it has to do with health or energy, or if it is predestined amongst them. Perhaps something in their lineage calls for them to dare the impossible. These fish will throw themselves at these great falls, again and again as they seek to climb its roaring currents. It is no easy task, and many will fall. They will give up and return to the great spawning to spread their young there. But, against all odds, some will succeed and make it to the very top. They will climb and fight onward, leaving most of their brethren behind, and they will find a different kind of spawning ground at the end of it all. A tranquil lake awaits them, a sacred pool of water atop the mountain, where few others can reach them. Here is where they shall lay their eggs and spread their seed. Here is where they finally stop to rest. But even then, it isn't the end. Many Longmen die on this journey back home, but those who reach these sacred pools will not. They have a new purpose.

Though their bodies exhausted and energy depleted, something about these mountain lakes keep them alive. Perhaps the water quality, or the temperature or some factor we haven't figured out yet. Or maybe because they aren't alone here. Though they are weak, they are safe, as these waters are protected. Great serpentine forms swimming around them, warding off any predators that would try to finish the job. A current theory is that these great fish are what keep the newcomers alive, maybe releasing some kind of trigger to keep them going and to encourage their final transformation. Their size grows, their horns sharpen and their bodies turn long and powerful. Scales harden into armor and the snout of a carp becomes that of a great beast. Here, upon the mountain, the simple fish from the sea becomes a dragon.

What survives in these mountain pools is what people mean when they say "dragonfish." They very much look the part! Long serpentine bodies, with gorgeous scales, a fierce toothy snout and elegant whiskers! In these lakes, the Longmen feed and regain their strength, while also protecting their eggs and young from predators. While the others down below leave their young to chance once they perish, these ones stick around to guard them. Not only that, but they seek to protect all. Those that become these true Longmen Dragonfish will be in these waters during the whole run, swimming alongside their smaller brethren and protecting the hordes the best they can. Predators who swoop in for an easy meal may find themselves on the menu instead, when the frothing waters burst forth and a great fish lunges out and seizes them in its jaws. Okay, "protection" may seem like a strong word, as these dragon adults are actually preying on the animals that come to feed on Longmen, but the end result is still the same! They stalk the rivers and lakes during the run and feed on whatever is lured into the feast. And as the run comes to an end, they make for that tranquil mountain pool to await the new arrivals. Those that make it shall join the breeding stock, as both the transformed and non lay their eggs and seed. They then remain in this lake, watching over their young until they are ready to depart to the ocean. The Longmen Dragonfish will escort them down the river, once again feeding on anything that dares threaten their young. When the freshwater meets the salt, the adults break off and the young vanish into the deep. The guardians have done their job for this season, and return to their life in freshwater. 

For these special adults, the locals tend to call them "ascended." Not "adult Longmen" but "ascended Longmen." These ones spend the rest of their lives in freshwater, living a more predatory lifestyle, going after larger prey. Their jaws are long and powerful, perfect for snaring and crushing prey. Their scales are like metal armor, warding off claws and even blades! Along their bellies are special sacs that they can inflate with a gas they produce, which lightens their weight when they leap from the water. By swelling these up as they jump from the water with their powerful tails, you would swear they could fly! Such height! Such grace! They practically hang in the air and slowly come crashing back down to the surface. While it isn't true flight, it is perfect for leaping over waterfalls in a single bound or even jumping across land to reach new water bodies! It allows them to master what the smaller ones struggle to overcome, which makes them effective guardians when the run is underway. The run is not a challenge for them anymore, it is simply a part of their life now. They forever swim these waterways to devour those who would harm their kind and ensure their species continues on.  

First off, anything with the name "Dragonfish" is already guaranteed to make an impact with the local culture. Add to that this incredible migration and tale of perseverance? Why, the metaphors and legends write themselves! The Longmen Dragonfish is the star of many myths and stories, of the simple carp that became a dragon. Their ascended forms are seen with awe and gather great respect. The runs themselves are times of festivities and excited observation. Folk will line up along the river to watch the horde of them swim through! In many areas, the fishing and taking of live running Longmen is forbidden, as it is interfering with this sacred migration. Those that fall or perish naturally may be collected, and you will find many folk sifting through the countless dead. While mounds of dead fish sound like a free dinner, most folk don't eat them. Rather, the scales may be ground up for medicine or other purposes, while the flesh is turned to fertilizer. I feel there is something poetic there, of returning them to the earth, nourishing the environment they were born in! The fishing or harming of an ascended Longmen is strictly forbidden, which frustrates trophy fisherman to no end. Sadly, this does not mean that this species is perfectly safe. 

When you have something so big and legendary as an ascended Longmen Dragonfish, people are going to develop an interest. Many rich nobles and high class members of society see them as symbols of royalty and power, and thus want a part of these fish for themselves. Some have tried to keep them in massive aquariums, as incredible displays in their collection. However, most of these fare poorly in captivity, as they need a huge amount of space and a whole lot of food. Even those that survive and are given these things are noticeably smaller then their wild brethren. When legends say that a single scale of an ascended Longmen will bring you luck and protection, then a whole lot of folk will try to make armor and amulets from them, which means poaching. Killing of these fish for their valuable parts is not uncommon, nor is collecting their young to sell in the pet trade. It is not a pretty thing. Even worse still, the sacred mountain lakes they transform in once became the obsession to many, who thought these waters had healing properties or could bestow a number of blessings onto those who bathed in it. Suddenly, many of these sites became spas and highly fought over property, which dealt a devastating blow to the Longmen population. Thankfully, though, smarter minds prevailed and realized their beloved icon was going to perish because of this. These spas and opulent water front properties were seized and turned into shrines, and the waters were restored to nature. Efforts to help boost the Longmen populations back up were a success, and that old injury has almost completely faded! Now these pools are under protection, but you can still visit them and marvel at the great fish that swim in them. They do have some fountains and small pools that folks can dip their fingers into to get a bit of that blessed shrine water. Obviously, fish-filled water doesn't provide special healing and stuff like that. And obviously I still partook in some anyway! I mean, you still got to test your theories!      

Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

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

"Longmen Dragonfish"

Back at it with the dragons! Except now fish!

[sentientgolfball]

Silly little ghoul headcanons

Apologies for how long this is I have too many thoughts

Little content warning there are mentions of death and murder

-elemental transitions are extremely difficult and dangerous to perform. This is because in order to change the very core of a ghoul one must be completely taken over with the desired element.

-so to become a fire ghoul one must be engulfed with flame. For water one must be submerged until the water takes them. Buried alive for earth. Accepted by the storm for air. Basically a ghoul has to be brought to the brink of death using the desired element.

-it puts the body into survival mode and the only way to survive something as intense as death by elements is to adapt. That’s why transitions are so rare. Most ghouls don’t even attempt them because of the risk, but if they do they better hope their will to live is strong enough

-there is also no known way of transitioning to quintessence. Quintessence ghouls are already extremely rare due to their unique creation. There isn’t much known about them

-quint ghouls are the only ghoul type to not be created as just a beast of Hell, but rather a human who died young and traumatically with a powerful desire to live. They have no memories of ever being a human, but it is very common for them to have strangely detailed dreams of people they’ve never seen before. No one knows what may happen if a quintessence ghoul were to remember their past life

-they may understand the fact that they were once human if told, but it really means nothing to them since they have no recollection of ever living like one. To most, they’ve just always been a ghoul simple as that though some have gotten curious and have attempted to find ways to remember to no avail

-multi ghouls are also rare-ish but for a different reason. They don’t have a core element, sure they can learn small bits of elemental magic if taught how but besides that they are essentially blank slates. In the hierarchy of the Pit, that makes them the weakest. They have to fight to survive way more than an elemental ghoul

-they are typically solitary, being kicked out packs if not just just straight up killed. It is not unheard of, though, for small packs to be formed

-they’re also the most commonly summoned. Everyday in the Pit is a fight for them, so they typically hang around the cracks in the world waiting for the magic to burn bright so they can escape

-now obviously since ghouls are creatures made in Hell they look a lot different between the two worlds. On earth, they’re pretty much squished into a form that’s actually sustainable (mostly humanoid body shape, horns, tails, fangs, greyish skin corresponding to their element) but when exposed to their element their magic is a bit stronger giving them a bit more of a monstrous look

-for example, when a water ghoul is submerged they’ll gain extra fins, webbed hands and feet, bioluminescence etc. or when an earth ghoul is surrounded by nature they’ll start to grow various plants on their bodies and leave trails of grass and small flowers where they step

-the element of a ghoul also affects how they appear on earth. Fire ghouls generally have reptile like skin with blotches of scales and spaded tails. Water ghouls have shark-like skin and must regularly submerge in water to avoid drying out. They have the thickest tails with fins at the end. Quintessence ghouls have fur that ranges from peach fuzz to full pelt. They can have either furred or spaded tails. Air ghouls have splotches of feathers around their bodies and are unnaturally light due to their hollow bones. They either have long, elegant tail feathers or a whip like tail that ends with a tuft of feathers. Earth ghouls are typically very large and unnaturally strong even for a ghoul. They have a thin layer of fur. Their tails either end in spades or with fur. Multi-ghouls have human-like skin and are drained of color. While elemental ghouls skin and hair color are affected by their core element, multi ghouls are left in greyscale. Though, when using magic of an element their eyes will change color to match. Their tails either end in fur or spade

-generally speaking, ghouls typically have paw like feet with retractable claws on both hands and feet. However, any ghoul (minus water) can have hooves though it is most common in earth ghouls

-speaking of water, they need the most care after being summoned. In their Hellish forms they live in the lakes and oceans meaning they don’t have legs. The method that seems to be working so far is to throw them into the lake immediately upon summoning so they can learn to swim with legs first and then learn to walk. This also means many water ghouls need mobility aids, even after learning to use their legs on land. They also tend to have joint pain/problems

-ghouls are also pack creatures meaning they have no concept of personal space. Being accepted by a ghoul is like living with a clingy cat. They WILL follow you around everywhere and they WILL break into your room and lay on you with their full weight at 3am because they’re bored. They will also attempt to clean you at random times to show their care. Do not be surprised if you wake up to a ghoul trying to lick you.

-this has also led to many talks about privacy. It tends to be an issue with new summons that once they learn humans take showers to get clean they may try to casually hop in the shower with you to help to show that they like you

-it’s also pretty uncommon to see a ghoul by themselves. They’re almost always either with another ghoul or a human they particularly enjoy. If you do catch one alone either something is wrong or you’re about to get jumped, either with affection or murder it depends

If you made it this far I thank you for reading because I am constantly having thoughts about ghouls and I need to get them out of my brain :]

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Things I Noticed While Writing Light The Fuse: Part 9, Episode 3

I love how they did this scene so much, the editing in this show is one of the reasons why I fell so hard in love with all of it and not just the Phoenixes

Crowdin' ya? But really if I turned and Johnson was suddenly beside me like that I'd crash the car

I know it's so then they could do this cool as hell scene but I wanna know why it was Johnson who suggested this? In my fic it's for plot reasons that're slowly getting revealed, but why is it so complicated for canon Johnson to need this? I need a full week of interviews with everyone who wrote this show as well as these men before I lose my mind, my curiosity can't survive this many unanswered questions

They're so fucking close 😳 but Matty giving them that look, fully convinced he wouldn't have done them without Johnson suggesting it

POV of me giving into peer pressure because of Matty Reprisal 😳 also closeup of his ring! It's so pretty, I wonder its meaning (Johnson gave it to him for his 6th anniversary as a Phoenix) what who said that

I like this shot x1

Thanks Matty you guys definitely won't crash now that the driver's high

I like this shot x2

I like this shot x3

God he's so pretty here

I like this shot x4 😳

Okay let's get back to the details and not the pretty men. Full disclosure, first watch I missed so much because I was only looking at Johnson, I completely missed this speech. Just, right over my head, totally blocked out everything they were saying about the opening of the entire show.

Johnson is so interesting here, again I have him acting a -aheem- different way in my fic because this topic is hard for him, but why interrupt Matty when he's in the middle of explaining it? He's either even more distant or vibing while Matty talks, but when he does talk it's about Katherine or the cause, everything else he leaves to Matty

I have an extreme fear of spiders and I get caught looking at it every. Single. Time. Instead of at the safety of Matty right there. Still it's such a cool shot though

I went back to get the gif above and realized why I always look, goddamn Johnson is right there on the previous shot so my eyes are still there on the transition, I've been betrayed

I like this shot x5

I like these shots x6, I could watch Johnson forever during this, I wonder what Ethan is seeing to make him get up so urgently, I also can't get enough of them all switching seats lol it's cute

I like this shot x7, and I'm holding back from saying so many thoughts right now because the story is only half over, so let's just look at Johnson for now and the fact that this is where I caught on that that's not Betty with the roof down it's a completely different totally white car while I was writing this scene

I like this shot x8, he's so pretty I wish he'd stayed in focus a bit longer. This entire scene is so interesting to me because this is what Matty believes, and what he believes in, and it's just a lie

I love this shot x9

This is why I'm in love with Matty. He heard all of this and fell in love with the idea and the desire to wanna be a Brawler, Burt's betrayal and campaign for peace and takeover, how he could find what he was looking for with them, and he did. He found family with Johnson and Meredith and even Joel. He's not a Brawler but he's a Phoenix and he can still have everything he was looking for with them, and he needs Ethan to believe that he can also have that with them. And this is why Burt can never be forgiven to me for what he does to him.

I'm also in love because this is what I myself want, and have been looking for for a long time. If by some miracle he showed up on my doorstep and gave me this speech I'd follow him anywhere, not because I really wanna kiss him, but because I believe it too. And if Hulu refuses to give him and Johnson and Ethan a proper happy ending then I'll sure as fuck do it myself

I love this shot x10, this is the face of someone who's finally starting to get it

And now it's back to the river, Matty's out of it, Johnson is staring at Ethan but also Matty the moment he looks back, and Ethan now has to drive without crashing

Another full episode, I adore this show so much and it's only episode 3, thankfully ep4 has less so it should be wrapped up in 2, since I love Ethan and Meredith's scene a bunch and might end up paying special attention to it 💙💛❤️

[murahel]

My good friend suggested I put my thoughts on Blacklist (TV show) here, so here I am.

Before I start piecing this together, I have to say something about the Redarina theory. First, I think it will never be confirmed canon because of bigotry, and also the show has ended and the true identity of Red wasn't brought back on the table since Elizabeth's death. That's two seasons completely abandoning the mystery at the center of the show. Second, I think Redarina should not be considered canon in the whole show because there are clearly contradictions, most likely because the show hesitated on what was the answer to "Who is Red?". Those contradictions and the way Katarina is talked about would make Redarina theory lean towards "women want to transition because of misogyny" terf discourse, which should not exist in the first place.

For Redarina to exist, Katarina cannot be a cis woman. Period.

Thus being said, here is a recap of my conversation with my good friend. Keep in mind I'm no expert, I'm not in the head of the writers and maybe I got some things wrong, so don't come around @ me.

I think "Cape May" is the friendlier episode of Katarina = Red because it is an episode between Katarina and Red.

There are no other characters present. It's the first time true Katarina is introduced (albeit as an hallucination). The whole episode is a replaying of what happened to Katarina the first time they were here alone (got attacked by mercenaries).

It's just so personal between them.

Katarina had come here to commit suicide after having to abandon Elizabeth to protect her. Red is here because Elizabeth just died. "Cape May" is where they go when they lose Elizabeth. No one other than the parent of the lost child would react that way.

Besides, Katarina abandonned a necklace on the beach when they came to Cape May, alone, with no one else to testify of it. And years later, Red finds it when he comes to Cape May and recognises it. The only person who could have known that is Katarina themselves.

Red = Katarina stays the only viable explanation left at the end of the show, especially after s8 finale. Watching s8 finale, I felt like the show had finally decided on a response to "Who is Red?" and that that response was Redarina, especially with the overlapping of Katarina and Red. Then the last two seasons left that mystery to rot and never gave a clear answer, which I guess is understable since Elizabeth died and she was the main character concerned by this (Agnes is too young to be concerned I guess?? Even though it seems Elizabeth told her ThingsTM, which is yet another thing the show will never explain).

Anyway, there are many hints that Red was very close to Katarina, knowing things about Katarina no one else knew and stating he was present in situations where Katarina was supposedly alone.

For example, when Elizabeth was a kid, she was in a house with her parent, Katarina, and her dad, the true Raymond Reddington. Long story short, Katarina and the true Raymond Reddington fight, a fire starts and the true Raymond Reddington dies. Katarina got Elizabeth out of the house, both of them getting burns in the process. The only person left who knows what happened inside that house is Katarina, since Elizabeth was too young to have clear memories of everything.

But then Red knows what happened. He even engaged someone to erase Elizabeth's memories of the night. Even more so, Red was present because he has burns from that night. So since the only person other than Elizabeth who survived the night was Katarina, they are the only candidate left as a response for "Who is Red?"

I'm passing all the other details such as, Katarina's husband wanted to kill Red and immediately let go of the idea after Red whispered something to him, Katarina's allies are allies of Red meaning that all the people who could have taken the role of Red are out there being their own selves.

Also, Red visits Katarina's father, who asks to have his child back, and Red says it's impossible. In s8, Red states that Katarina is still alive and living somewhere out there, so if it was true he could have gotten Katarina's father and Katarina reunited. Hell there's even a wholeass season where a woman impersonates Katarina and if Katarina was still really out there, the best way to get rid of the problem would have been to bring the true Katarina back but he doesn't because Red. is. right. there.

The show has established all the characters evolving around Katarina. The true Raymond Reddington? Dead, there's a whole season about identifying his squeletton. Katarina's husband? Was running around to get Red killed, so obviously he can't be Red. Katarina's handler? He's seen having dinner with Red. Ilya? He's still out there standing right next to Red. Kaplan? She's right there standing next to Red too. The season "Katarina" is introduced and you see her standing in the same room as Red? It's not the true Katarina!

Literally all the characters introduced by the show who could have been Red are not. The only one left is Katarina. The only option left for Katarina =/= Red would be a stranger, like an actor, because all Katarina's allies and relatives are still themselves, but someone not related in any way to Katarina would never care so much about Elizabeth. Or a character not introduced by the show at all, but then what's even the point.

I'm not even starting on the whole discourses Red gives about parental love and what not and how some of his words are sometimes literally the same as Katarina's words.

Then the show also imply, sometimes heavily, that Red would have a romantic/sexual attraction towards Elizabeth, which is disgusting and should never have happened, because the show kept hesitating about the response to "Who is Red?" Lizzington ends up being straight up incest and that's just a big No.

Again there are contradictions, because in one of the early episodes Red makes a house explodes. That house, is the house the true Raymond Reddington shared with his American family, his first family before he met Katarina. In this episode, Red gets inside the house and remembers quircks of the house from when he lived in it (leaving his hat on the hand of a door, a metallic something on the floor creaking under his shoes, etc.) and that are things he shared with his first american family, things from the true Raymond Reddington that Red/Katarina supposedly wouldn't care about.

So there are episodes like that that go completely the other way, even though there's later an entire season dedicated to proving Red is not the true Raymond Reddington.

Anyway, I'm not over the bull ending.

[greetingfromthedead]

C47: Glimpse of the Past

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Series Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Chapter: 47/84

Words: 2.1k

No particular warnings for this chapter.

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You stare blankly at the profile before you. Status: Deceased [Unconfirmed]. Lines of text blur together, but your mind still picks them up; they hold general information about you, your age, your place of birth, and the occupation you had. And your name. You stare at the words on the screen—a name that, for so long, had been erased from your head—the name you grew up with, the name you bore before your life was forcibly altered. You hear it ringing in your ears, from a different time, from a different part of the universe. Voices soft and cheerful call out to you, a woman, a man, a little girl. Your family, your friends, your people.

Your eyes blink, trying to clear away the tears forming in them as distant memories of home creep back into your head. A little wooden house by a river in the midst of old woods, a path running along it to different roads connecting you to others like veins. The chill of cold water, the whispers of trees, the song of the water. Your little feet feeling the softness of moss, and your fingers twirling a little white flower between them. A life so different from what you have known. The images flash through your head—no order to them, just glimpses into the past. The house you grew up in slowly falling apart, the paths carved through the forest worn down by your steps. Seasons change, snow comes and goes. How many years were you there, and how did you get here? Not all comes back as you wipe your face into your forearm and look at the picture besides your information.

The figure with a general ship uniform in the photo still mostly looks like you, the face is almost the same, minor tweaks to your features and birthmarks that are no longer there, you notice the texture of your skin and the marks of simply living. You look human. The change in you now has never been as apparent to you before, so clearly you're something else, far removed from who you used to be. You cast down your eyes and take a deep breath.

"So you've always been this pretty. And your name... it's beautiful. It suits you so well." Vash's voice is soft and full of wonder and admiration. "You were a survival specialist on the ship? I didn't even know there was someone like this on the crew."

His words help to lessen the overwhelming intensity of the moment, and you look at the screen again. Indeed, your profession is marked down as "Survival Specialist", and you notice your Birth Place at the very bottom is marked as "Sagittarius 7J23". Memories of walking through the forest come into your head. Surrounded by greenery, you felt safe until something feather light touched your nose. It looked like snow, but as you touched the spot with your finger, it left a dark mark behind—soot. You remember running back home as fast as you could, only to find the forest on fire. The dilapidated building you grew up in engulfed in flames. You hear screams in the forest over the loudness of the blaze. You run towards them, hoping to see the people you care about safe, but the people you find are not the ones you expected. Still, you help them nonetheless.

You touch the planet's name, and it opens up an extensive article on it, but you push past the general description and history to the very end: "Destruction of Sagittarius 7J23".

The successful space colony of Sagittarius 7J23 was wiped out due to widespread fires across 75% of the planet's surface. The root cause is unknown. The colony was believed to have been destroyed within days of the incident, and a rescue mission was not dispatched. A research ship sent to investigate picked up a single signal from the planet and found a group of survivors. 124 people from the planet were saved and moved to Earth, 4 died in transit. The refugees credit their successful survival to one of their members...

You stare at your name again, unable to move on. You are reminded of the dark and gloomy days in the little town. Most of the houses were burned down, but one survived in decent condition thanks to some miracle. The basement was used as a bunker and storage for the preserved food people could scavenge from the ruins of the surrounding settlements. You remember cooking with other people, the stew bubbling in a large pot. You remember how crammed it was and how every surface was covered in soot. You were a teenager then, but you carried that burden. You had found a number of these people wandering the burnt forests looking for others. You had brought them together, you had helped them overcome their shock, and you had put them to work with the sole goal of surviving. You had lost everything in this calamity, helping others was your only purpose at that point. You remember people dying, the lack of food and water, and their lungs being too damaged by the smoke and embers. You sang old lullabies to the children when they couldn't fall asleep. The months of hardship flood your mind and make your hands shake.

Vash takes a step closer. You feel him against your back, his hand stroking down your upper arms before wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into a hug. His cheek presses against yours, and he feels the wetness on them. He doesn't know what to say, he can only imagine what all this means to you, what memories it could bring forth. At this point, he is just happy you haven't completely shut down like you have previously.

"This is me..." Your quiet voice finally speaks. You're still too stunned, your thoughts racing in your head, the memories, and some of the voices from the screaming in your head get put together with their owners, people begging to the gods to save them, to spare their children, to guide their loved ones to a better place. You hope some of them get to rest now, you've remembered them and their anguish, you will carry their memories and prayers.

Your fingers move over the console again, closing the article on Sagittarius 7J23, and you're left with your profile again. Something happened to that person to become you. Pressing more buttons you open up the folder that has an overview of every article and log that is linked to you. Generic documentation of the Project Seeds mission, lists of crew, protocols, plans, and timelines. Scrolling downwards, you find a whole bunch of video logs, and you see yourself in them talking to someone else. You open one at random and see a younger version of yourself sitting across a table from an older man.

"You're celebrated as a hero. You should be very proud of yourself. You saved a great many people on Sagittarius 7J23." The man flips through some documents on his tablet and asks, "How do you feel now?"

"Empty," the younger you has her eyes nailed on the table.

"How so? Don't you feel at all relieved? Happy? How does Earth make you feel?"

"I guess I am happy to not have the responsibility anymore. I never wanted it. I don't like Earth, it reminds me too much of my home."

"What would you like to do now? Where would you like to be in 5 years?" The older man seems to take notes as you give your short answers.

"I don't know. I don't really care."

"You are skilled and think on your feet. You have natural leadership abilities. You could have a very bright future." The man looks up at you tentatively.

"If you say so, I just did what I had to."

"What do you mean by that? Why do you feel like you had to?"

"Because I couldn't just let them die. What would it make me if I just left them there, scared, with nowhere to go?" You look at yourself, so stoic and so sad.

"Weren't you scared yourself?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. I just did what had to be done, feeling scared didn't change anything."

"Would you like to continue? With your base skills and abilities, you could be at the frontier of new human colonies. Someone like you would be very valuable in the early days of human settlement, you have proven to have great adaptability, you function well under pressure; and with some training, you could be among the names forever etched into human history."

"Does it mean I get to leave Earth?"

"Indeed, you would get to go to a completely new planet that humans haven't stepped onto ever before. You would be among the first." The man looks at you and goes back to the tablet. "You could help set up the colony, you have insight that machines don't, you get to adapt; you protect the early settlers; you lead them towards a brighter future."

"Alright." Your voice has remained flat during the whole conversation, you don't seem to care at all, there's no sign of childlike excitement or even that what you're offered is being registered.

"Your position would be Survivalist Specialist, you would go through some extensive training in the next 5 years. The curriculum includes physical and combat training for foreign fauna or wherever else it is needed for, more survival training, and of course the general human studies everyone goes through, history, math, physics, all that kind of stuff. It won't be easy."

"When do I start?" You still haven't looked up from the table.

The video automatically switches to a different one, the title is the same as before, but with the appendix "_followup". You see the same older man, he doesn't seem to have changed at all, but you look the same as in the picture on your profile. Years have passed, and they've changed you. This time you look at the old man, your expression neutral.

"It's good to see you again." The man smiles. "I'm blessed to be the one to conduct your onboarding progress. Today we're here to see how far you've come and to assess a few things left open from our last conversation. I want you to answer honestly, I'm not here to pass judgment."

"Except that's your whole role—to judge if I am a good enough fit for the position. There's no room on the ship for people who aren't good enough," you say sharply.

"Very good," the man says, taking notes. "So how do you feel after the training? From the notes, I see you are praised by everyone as a hard worker, focused, and skilled both in the academy and on the extra missions."

"I'm not sure how to answer that." You say clearly, with no hint of shame or hesitation.

"I meant, if you were put in the same kind of situation you found yourself in on Sagittarius 7J23, would you be better prepared? Do you think you could have saved more people? Maybe even re-establish the colony with the people you had?"

"By my estimate, the number of survivors wouldn't be that much larger now, we were limited by shelter and the availability of food and water, the crops had burned; and winter was around the corner. There weren't enough resources to go around, and with more people and lower temperatures, disease would have run rampant, wiping out possibly more people. And with that group of people and the lack of said resources, there would have been no way to establish a healthy and thriving colony."

"Good, good," he says, looking through his notes again. "Why did you take up the role of their savior? Did you care that much? You were just a kid."

"Instinct... duty. It wasn't love, I just couldn't turn them away, my conscience wouldn't allow that. I didn't want to carry the guilt, but it wasn't because I deeply cared... honestly, I didn't feel much of anything. I still don't. I have pretended to care about things for so long that I don't know if I would recognize the real feeling."

"Very well." The interviewer takes more notes, his face doesn't show any change of emotion. "Those are good qualities to have for the position we're offering to you. No sentimentality to cloud your judgment, an analytical mind to base your decisions on, strong intuition, and a sense of duty... You're perfect."

The man looks up from his tablet at your unwavering expression. He seems to measure you for a moment, like he's choosing his words carefully.

"This has been just the beginning of the onboarding process. There are many more interviews, tests, and evaluations left to do, but I will give my strong recommendation of you to the parties involved. We will see each other again. You will be informed of the next steps by my partner. It has been a pleasure."

The video closes without starting another, and you're left in shock by that short interview. The way you had looked at him, your own cold words ringing in your head like an echo.

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[davnittbraes]

The Third Step - Chapter Twenty

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (not this chapter but this series as a whole)

Word Count: 3300

Warnings etc.: introspection, Grogu being too fucking adorable, reference to past violence, mention of slavery and discrimination, ANGST because what else do I even write

Notes: Pax is actually a star system in canon but the uninhabited dwarf planet described is mine. So that means I can do whatever I want with it (cue argument between my imagination and logical thinking: DRAGONS - no Davnitt calm down be reasonable - RAINBOW DRAGONS - *sigh* ok maybe)

Mando’a translations at the end of the chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

It takes him a minute to get his bearings. 

For almost as long as he can remember, he’s woken up in a cold bunk, or the pilot’s chair, or any number of trees, caves, dunes and whatever else might be found on the random planets he’s tracked quarry to. 

It’s always been a quick snap from unconsciousness into awareness, an unnoticeable transition. So smooth he sometimes doubts he’d been asleep at all until he sees physical evidence of time passing in his surroundings or the landscape or the Razor Crest’s navigational computer. 

It’s a habit that has saved his life many times, the ability to go from deep sleep to immediate action. 

From dreaming to aiming his blaster at an enemy’s head. 

He’s not used to this. 

This slow meandering into the world, this gradual slip from the dark of dreams to the warmth of life. 

To the warmth of you. 

It’s pitch black, the ship still in night cycle, but he can sense you. There, beside him, in your little corner of the hold. 

You’re curled up tight, knees drawn to your chest, pressed along his side with your back to the wall of the hold. Only an arm - curled around his - has broken free from your defensive position, your breath warm and steady against the fabric of his underlayer where you’ve tucked your face into his bicep. 

It’s obvious your subconscious is still processing what you did tonight. Even in sleep, you seek to protect yourself from harm. 

The fact that you still reached for him, still pulled his arm close as if it was a lifeline, says more to him than any words in any language. 

He looks up at the unseen ceiling of the hold, thoughts drifting as he comes into wakefulness. 

Not that long ago, on Nevarro, he had lain next to you much like this. Then, he was in turmoil, fighting to stave off the infectious regret threatening to consume every thought of you. Hardly managing to keep it contained to his broken oath. 

He can barely even feel that regret any more.

And he should. He knows that. 

But… 

It’s difficult to believe The Way is important over and above all else when you’re lying next to him like this. 

After trusting him with parts of you that you’ve never shown anyone else. 

Believing in his trust. 

Believing in him. 

When has anyone believed in him like you do?

His lungs fill slowly, empty with a quiet sigh. 

He used to think The Tribe did. 

Now… now he wonders if maybe their belief was more in his skills. In his contributions to the survival of their people. 

Once, not long ago, he would have thought there was no difference. 

His ears prick at a soft sound coming from the direction of his bunk.

The kid’s awake. 

Carefully, he extracts his arm from your grasp - the movement is still enough to wake you, questioning murmur muffled by his underlayer. 

His hand finds your cheek, cups your face as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Stay here. I’m just getting up.”

Another wordless mumble, tone sleepy but insistent, making him smile. “Go back to sleep, tionas.”

He waits for you to sigh in acceptance, your form shifting to get comfortable again, before slipping out from under the blankets. 

His knees crack as he stands, back creaks in response. Yeah, blankets on durasteel just isn’t going to work for much longer. 

But he’ll take the sore knees and creaky back if he gets to sleep next to you. 

He picks up his helmet - he knows exactly where it is in the dark, an instinct born out of habit. Quietly shuffles through the stack of his armour - there, his vambrace.

The beskar helm settles over his head, the visor’s night vision activates with a press of a button. 

A sense of familiarity and comfort wash over him. 

There’s a little tremor of something like disappointment in there now, though. 

Making his way toward the bunk, he keys the door open. The kid is sitting up in his hammock, ears perked and eyes wide. 

With distress, it’s obvious in the deep wrinkles in the little guy’s forehead. 

Concern floods his chest, hot and cold at the same time. 

He keeps his voice pitched low, aware of you sleeping just around the corner, cursing the sharp crackle of the modulator. “Hey, pal, how are you feeling?”

The kid chirps, tiny arms reaching, and it’s second nature to lift his little body out of the hammock. 

A quick onceover doesn’t show any signs of physical injury. So why the distress? 

Should have put his vambrace on, he left it beside you - one of the filters on the visor would give him temperature readouts, point out any injuries he’s maybe missing - 

The kid squirms almost violently, grunting with the effort to break free. 

“Ok, ok, don’t hurt yourself.” He gently sets the little guy down, concern shifting into confusion as the kid takes off at a quick shuffle. 

Toward your corner of the hold. 

Oh. 

He bends down to grab the kid’s hand, and big eyes turn to look up at him. “She’s ok. But she’s sleeping.”

Those ridiculous ears droop, tilting down at a sharp angle. 

Sympathy shoots through his chest with a sharp spike. 

Dank farrik. 

“Fine. She’ll probably want to see you, too.”

The kid seems to understand, lets himself be picked up again.

You sit up as he approaches, either having heard the conversation or just drifting along the surface of sleep, arms already reaching for the kid. 

His steps pause for a moment. 

The night vision filter strips everything of colour, dimension, painting outlines of shapes in sharp contrasts, enough to see an enemy during combat. 

But memory overlays his vision. Memory of your face, in full colour and beauty, features relaxed and open and your very soul shining through your eyes when you said those words that mean so much more, now. 

Everything is different with you. 

The kid babbles happily, practically leaps into your waiting hands, and your chuckle of surprise echoes around the hold. 

You settle him in your lap, fingers fumbling in the dark to trace the curve of one ear, smile fading just a little at the corners. “Are you ok, kiddo?”

The kid coos in reply, tiny clawed hand grasping your thumb. 

Relief is evident in your voice, your expression, as you settle back against the wall of the hold. “Good. I’m glad.”

Then you look up at him, somehow finding his gaze in the dark, just like you do through the visor, as if your eyes can always see him despite the layers of shadow and beskar. 

His heart stutters in his chest as you lift a hand toward him, that same open expression painting your features with a deep vulnerability that he saw earlier. 

When you had bared your body to him. 

When you had hesitated to remove your shirt. 

And when you’d realized the blaster bolt had barely missed piercing your heart. 

His hands suddenly ache with the need to touch you, to reassure himself that you are still here, in this world.

It’s an oddly coordinated shuffle, considering he’s never done it before. 

He settles into the blankets as you worm yourself under his arm the kid squirming into your now-combined laps. 

It’s funny, he doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t tense up anymore, when he feels the warmth of your body seeping through his underlayer.

Your soft laugh of amusement gently vibrates through his chest where your shoulder is pressed over his heart. “Guess you just wanted to cuddle, huh, buddy?”

The kid murmurs softly, sleep already stealing into his voice, pulling his eyelids shut again. Your own eyelids draw down, the call of your dreams not far away, beckoning you back. 

He doesn’t even think about it, just tilts up the edge of his helmet to kiss your temple. “Go back to sleep, cyar’ika.”

You surprise him, turning your face to catch his lips in a kiss so tender it hurts his heart. “You too. We’re safe, now.”

Then you tuck your head into the curve of his neck, body relaxing against his, lungs already shifting into the steady rhythm of sleep. 

And he sits there, staring out into the hold, random shapes of the objects and items scattered about nothing more than lines in the night vision of his visor, blurred by the tears that sting the corners of his eyes. 

His words from earlier echo through his thoughts. 

You destroy me and heal me in the same breath. 

He’d heard it. 

Back in Zirgan.

The sharp, cracked inhale of your lungs as you realized what was happening, thoughts just a split second behind your body. 

The barely-there whimper, the tiniest of sounds squeezing past your throat. 

And the rush of an exhale as you stumbled out of the bolt’s path. 

It was worse than anything he had ever felt before. Any wound, any pain, any emotion. 

The pure, ice-cold terror that gripped his heart tight before you had stumbled away from that ominous, glaring-bright red. 

That same terror threatens to overwhelm him now, claws at his chest, screeches in his ears. And underneath it, echoing, the sound of what should have been your last breath.

We’re safe, now. 

His own breath slows, steadies.

He looks down at the kid, snoring lightly, splayed across your laps, whole and hale. 

And you, one hand on his thigh, the other resting over his on your hip. Limbs finally relaxed, comfortable.

We’re safe, now. 

He repeats that to himself, over and over, until his own eyes grow heavy and his head falls back to rest against the wall, and sleep crawls slowly over him. 

The words circle and swirl as unconsciousness pulls him under, into the beginnings of a dream where all three of you are safe, together. 

Where the kid is just a child, playing and laughing and living free of fear and obligations, free of the shadow of the Empire. 

Where your eyes never again show the pinch of pain, only the sweet, openness of your gaze when it met his through the visor as you asked him how he makes you feel so strong and alive and real. 

Where he meets your gaze without barriers, without black and beskar and cracked oaths with jagged edges that threaten to bite into his soul and you can see the mirror of your own expression on his face. 

*****

The pale lines of hyperspace illuminate the cockpit through the transparisteel, lending a certain aura of morning to the small space. Appropriate, since it’s only an hour past the start of the day cycle, and you’re trying to convince the kid to eat his breakfast. 

“Come on, buddy. I get it, no one likes ration bars. But it’s all we have right now and you gotta eat something.” You wave the piece of bar in front of his face, sigh when he turns away from it decidedly. 

Mando glances at you and the kid as he finishes keying in commands to the navigational computer. “I like ration bars.”

Your snort of disbelief makes the kid giggle, even though he probably doesn’t understand the context. “Right. As much as you love HoloNet dramas?”

“Even more.”

“Ha. Busted.” You wiggle the bar in front of the kid again. “If your dad is willing to finally admit to his obsession with trashy entertainment, you can at least swallow down a bit of this.”

The kid ignores you, gaze fixed to the computer’s display. Ok, not gonna win this round, try again later. “Great question. Where are we going?”

Mando flips through the holographic display to the end of the current plotted route. “The Imps will be looking for us after Zirgan. We lay low for a couple days, then refuel and get out of this sector. So I was thinking Pax, it’s only a few hours away.”

“Pax sounds perfect. Mostly because I’ve never heard of it.”

“A small star system, only one inhabited planet, low population and still recovering from Separatist occupation. Think that’s too risky, though.” He manipulates the display, centres in on a small planet. “But this. Dwarf planet, no official name, no sentient population. Just forest and mountains, couple oceans.”

You hum in approval. “And as we know, mountains are optimal ground cover for the Crest.”

“Exactly.”

“Pax it is.” Reaching into the kid’s pod to idly rearrange his robe, you subtly shift closer to him, keeping your hand with the ration bar out of sight. “What do ya think, kiddo? Shall we check it out?”

The kid looks at you, eyes bright and ears perked, opens his little mouth to chirp excitedly. You move fast, pushing the piece of the ration bar between his tiny teeth. He freezes, chirp immediately shifting to a grumble, muffled by the bar. 

You shrug one shoulder. “Might as well eat it at this point.”

His little sigh of exasperation is incredibly hard not to laugh at. 

But you do smile when he starts chewing, distracted by Mando’s gloved hands moving across the control console in a pattern you’re beginning to see as familiar, despite your best efforts to avoid looking too closely at the console and risk your curse on all things mechanical transferring to the ship. 

A thought drifts into your mind, seeing the kid’s focus on the console and the computer display, big eyes scanning over the letters and numbers filling the screen in Basic. “Do you think he knows how to read?”

The helmet flashes with the glow of hyperspace as Mando turns in his chair to look at you. “The kid? I’m not sure. It’s hard to say what he understands. Sometimes I think he knows what we’re saying, other times I’m not so sure.”

“I know what you mean. Though I have a sneaking suspicion he understands more during those other times and just refuses to listen anyway.” You lightly poke the kid’s arm, grinning at the look of pure innocence he gives you, all wide eyes and perked ears. 

Mando huffs a laugh in agreement, orange-tipped fingers tapping against the control console. “Why do you ask?”

Your stomach dips, memories filled with anger and frustration and pain bubbling up until you shove them back down again, take a deep breath. Focus on the present, right in front of you. 

The helmet tilts - he noticed your reaction. Kriff, you’ll never get anything past him. 

Clearing your throat, you sit back in your chair, forcing yourself to relax. It’s still a little jarring, talking about your past. “I think we should teach him. Or try to, at least. Maybe his species doesn’t speak, maybe they communicate through writing.”

He’s silent for a moment, as if waiting for you to continue. Which of course he is. Not pressuring you to do so, just giving you the opportunity.

Which you should take. Which you want to take. Because you’ve held all of it back for so long and now you see how it feels to let someone see this part of you.

Taking a steadying breath, you let yourself say what you want to say. “And it’s important, knowing how to read. You wouldn’t believe how much information isn’t available to you without that skill. It’s second nature for so many people, because they’re taught at a young age. But for -“ Your voice catches, but you push through - “for people like me, who weren’t taught, or even given the opportunity, the galaxy is a terrifying place if you’re on your own.”

The kid murmurs softly, picking up on the pain of faded memories in your voice. 

You give him a reassuring smile. “I wasn’t allowed to learn, as a slave. So when I escaped, I had to navigate the world of signs and instructions without any idea what all the markings meant. It took me a couple years to teach myself, and I was at the mercy of others that whole time. For someone like him?” 

Taking his tiny clawed hand in yours, you squeeze it gently, voice softening with the weight of your words. “Despite his powers, I think he needs every advantage he can get.”

The cockpit is quiet for a moment, light flickering faintly with the movement of the hyperspace lines outside the ship. 

Then Mando moves, reaching over to take your free hand, holding it just as you hold the kid’s. “We’ll teach him.”

A sound from the control console draws his attention and he turns away to pull up the navigational map, flashing in warning of the pending drop from hyperspace. The kid reaches for the rest of the ration bar, sitting inside his pod where you had dropped it. He takes a healthy bite as he watches Mando prep the ship to move into real space. 

The blaster burn twinges just a little as you sit back in your chair, watching them both. 

Kid is eating, Mando practically admitted to loving HoloNet dramas. You’re going to teach the kid a skill that saved your own life on many occasion. 

Small victories, but you’ll take them, even just as reminders that you’re still here, with them.

*****

Dawn is just breaking as the Razor Crest touches down on the no-name planet, a single sun peeking over the mountain range in the distance. It’s light washes over the natural clearing on the forested mountain Mando chose for a landing pad, beaming through the trees. The way the sunlight catches on the leaves, making them glow bright with the angle, draws your gaze as soon as the crew door slides open. 

Wait…

You take another step down the ramp, squinting up at the trees. 

It’s not a trick of the light, they’re actually glowing. 

Another moment, a blink of an eye and they start to fade, the light shifting as the sun continues to rise, leaves dimming to a pale blue. With the silvery white of the tree trunks, the forest looks like a mirror of the sky above, pale blue dotted with white, fluffy clouds. 

The kid coos softly from his pod floating beside you, his gaze also fixed on the leaves. 

You hum in agreement, tugging the pod along as you step off the ramp. “You’re right, kiddo. It’s beautiful.”

Mando continues his scan a few paces away, helmet turning in wide, steady sweeps. “No large life forms in the area. Few smaller animals, nothing that should be a threat.”

The skittering of movement through nearby branches pricks your ears. “Tell that to the smaller animals. We’re big, noisy intruders in their home.” 

Another rustle in the leaves above and you catch a glimpse of a silhouette, a small creature about half the size of the kid. Whatever they are, they’re obviously watching you. “And tree-dwellers like that still have teeth and claws.”

Mando looks in the direction of the creature, helmet tilting on consideration. “Do you think they’ll be a problem?”

The silhouette shifts quickly, disappears behind the trunk of the tree. Curious, but skittish. “I don’t think so. We should try not to disturb them any more than necessary, though, any animal will defend its home if provoked enough.”

Mando turns back to you. “We’ll stay here for a few days, then.”

A cool breeze rustles through the small, slender leaves, exposing their silver-white undersides, and for a split second it looks as if the trees are sparkling before your vision adjusts to the movement. 

Initial assessment of your surroundings done, your senses widen, lungs filling with fresh air tinged with the scent of growing things, morning sun already warm on your skin. A few days on a beautiful, uninhabited planet? Just you, Mando and the kid?

Yeah, you’re good with that plan. 

Excitement and anticipation flutters your heartbeat, curves your mouth into a smile. “Is this a vacation? I’m calling it a vacation.”

“Call it whatever you want, tionas.” His amusement is obvious, even through the modulator. 

You glance at him out of the corner of your eyes. “At least I don’t have a house to blow up this time.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

***** Mando’a translations

tionas - question

cyar’ika - sweetheart

***** Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[thysia]

Monotheistic fantasy settings seem fairly rare, but I guess it isn’t hard to understand why. Even beyond the first hurdle of initial association with abrahamic religion and associated baggage there’s an issue of conflict. If an unopposed god has an agenda how can the world look any way other than perfectly in line with the god’s will? Why does the god not simply create a paradise? Obviously this argument exists in real life theology and thus has a great multitude of answers to pick from or be inspired by. That the divine requires man to endure or overcome worldly strife to some or another end is easy to work with and seems to ring true for many people.

Even still, while I was thinking about retooling the cosmology of my setting to explore monotheism and the transition from polytheism to monotheism, it remained tempting to undermine that idea. The desire to have a god that survived the divine conflict as an adversary, or cthonic gods who weren’t in heaven when it occurred and were thusly spared, or even to have an alliance of gods win the divine conflict and become a new pantheon instead of a singular god. The singular god — dictator of ultimate truth by process of elimination — is I think necessary to make exploration of the idea at hand worthwhile. Anything less undermines the entire exercise.

With that kind of set up there’s still a lot of room for the exploration of human theology, I think. Especially if the desire of the god is to create a crucible for man instead of a paradise. Besides differing interpretations of the god, there may be those who hold that the others gods still live and continue to worship some combination of them. Or those that know the other gods are dead but continue to worship them anyways in opposition to the reigning god. I already had the Obliterationists — a sect of antitheist necromancers using a mix of eternal unlife and spiritual annihilation to wage war against the divine regime — and they fit pretty nicely into this too.

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters from Watson, Catching Up

The Gloria Scott part 2:  the fun bits

- Trevor is going out of his way to spend time with his teenage son and his son’s only friend. He’s an involved dad, and that’s both sweet and tragic given that he does not survive this tale. - Holmes is not staying with family during the rest of vacation... or at least, he says he’s staying in “my rooms in london” where he was previously staying on or near campus during the school year, probably. The victorian equivalent of a just-off-campus apartment could fit both living situations, but having to sign a year’s lease, prove months of income, and include a deposit was not really a thing then. He could have moved. It’s possible that he was staying with Mycroft, who is both older than him and likely already starting his london career, but I have no data on that. - Based on his organic chemistry experiments and the fact that Watson’s list of his “limits” in study in scarlet probably includes his courses of study in college and university, I think Holmes intended to become a chemist (NOT a pharmacist, brits, a person who studies chemistry for a living), possibly specifically an organic chemist, before he decided to become a detective.  - Organic chemistry was a fairly new and exciting field at the time: The synthetic dye industry had kicked off in the late 1850′s, when Holmes would have been a child, medicines were being synthesized, and plastics were about to become actually useful. (Holmes would have been exposed to them in his course of study, ACD probably knew a little bit about the first few attempts from his own studies or popular science media because the first plastic, Parkesine, was exhibited at the 1962 International Exhibition in London, where it won the bronze medal.) - He could also have intended to become a pharmacist (chemist, to speakers of UK english) but again. No data to suggest it’s likely. - Back to poor Victor, whose father is dying of apoplexy (stroke) or nervous shock (more vague but probably referring to sudden changes in behavior... read stress, trauma, probably also hypertension given the stroke.) Remember that Victor is still legally a child, with no adult relatives other than his father, and no friends besides Holmes, also a child (even by Baring-Gould’s timeline, though then as now the late teens are socially and legally a transition period into adulthood,) but one living more independently than Victor. He probably seemed very worldly, living on his own in London for the summer! - Hudson follows the pattern of many of the villains of Holmes’ adventures by making the maids at Trevor’s estate feel unsafe via crude language and public drunkenness. If you learn one thing from these stories, it’s that you should sack anyone who makes female servants feel uneasy, no questions asked. Victor doesn’t have any recourse if his father lets Hudson stay, other than physical violence. 

- That “grotesque” letter sure looks less silly now. Especially since it’s a very trivial cypher, which also a feature in these stories, almost always employed by somewhat-organized criminals, almost always ludicrously simple for the severity of the crimes alluded to. Still, the Victorians had SO MUCH correspondence, and the easiest way to hide a cypher is for nobody to think the cyphertext is important. Given the rest of the context, the postmark probably gave Trevor as much information as the message itself.

[ofescapisms]

(Lily Collins) [THE SECLUDED]. Please welcome [RUBY DECKER (SHE/HER)] to Huntsville, WV. They are an [34]-year-old [RESIDENT] who lives in [TOWN]. You may see them around working as a [SHEEP FARMER]. They are looking for [EMRYS ROSSER] their [HALF-BROTHER] and [TEDDY COLLINS] their [EX]. Poor unfortunate soul. We’ll see if they survive.

Bio:

Ruby’s parents were 15 when they conceived her, and since neither teenager was up for the task of raising a child, she was raised by her paternal grandparents until her father was settled enough to do more. Her grandparents were wonderful people, kind and loving, but they had struggled financially their whole lives. So although Ruby grew up with very little, she still had everything she needed from her grandparents who made do with what they could. Ruby barely ever saw her mother, she knew where the woman was but she really had no desire to interact with the woman based on how she was leading her life. Besides, once she was old enough she was far too busy doing what she could to lend a hand to her family financially by working part time jobs. But when she was 15, she found out her mother had given birth again, she now had a little half-brother named Emrys. Even though she felt no connection to her mother, Ruby immediately felt protective of her brother, wishing she could do more to help him. Around the time Emrys was born was also when Ruby started dating Teddy Collins, her first boyfriend. It was exciting and a dream come true at first, that someone like him would even look her way when she felt like so many looked down on her, but as time went on they just both had different priorities. She was working part time to save money to buy Emrys things he needed but that the boy’s parents were too careless to get him, and Teddy’s focus seemed more on Celia. Eventually the reality of her boyfriend spending more time with another girl than with her just caught up to her and she dumped him. After high school she started juggling two retail jobs in town so she could save as much as she could, then when she was 20 she found out her mother had run off and abandoned Emrys with his father. With her brother just being 5 years old, she made sure to go see him and check on him as much as she could, bring him food and any little thing she could afford to provide for him. Then a couple years later the paradox hit. By then both her grandparents had passed so she still lived in their house with her father, but she always had bedding ready for whenever Emrys wanted to sleep there instead of at home. Eventually she saved up for her own little one bedroom apartment, the couch there always available to Emrys when he would accept her help, or at least whenever he needed somewhere to stay where he could be sure the runes were put up properly and the doors and windows were shut. Ruby worked where she could as often as she could to help the town during this weird transition time, but eventually she realized she wanted more. So she worked at it and eventually moved to a little old house with some land, got a couple of sheep, and started her own little farm. She knew the clothes the town had wouldn’t last forever if they couldn’t get more in, so wool would become very useful. And eventually her sheep count grew. She actually much preferred working with sheep to doing her various retail jobs anyways, she had grown so sick of dealing with people. But she never stopped keeping an eye on Emrys and trying to help him in any way she could.

[iviarellereads]

Artificial Condition, Chapter 6

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Murderbot Diaries, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

In which we get close to some answers.

MB escorts the humans to the private docks. Art found a privately owned craft that seems to be used as a charter, allowing Rami, Maro, and Tapan to leave without identifying themselves. It might be safe enough to take a public shuttle, but MB is paranoid, and this shuttle has an augment pilot as backup for the bot.

As they go to board, Rami asks if MB isn't going with them. It says it still needs to do its research here. Maro asks how they can pay it. MB says they can leave it a note on its social feed, it will find them when it goes back to the transit ring. Tapan is conflicted, tense, and says they can't stay, but can't give up, and their work is so important.

MB says, more forcefully than perhaps necessary, that sometimes you just have to survive the hits and go forward. They all stare at it for a moment, but Maro and Rami nod to each other. Rami says they've started over before.

MB herds them onto the ship, and then makes for the tunnel that should lead to Ganaka Pit. Art says it will mostly be focusing on the shuttle for a while. MB can't quite figure out why it feels so uneasy, besides being near too many humans, without armour or drones, and not even "my Giant Asshole Research Transport"(1) to complain to. And, it failed its last mission, sort of. Alright, the humans are still alive, but they didn't get their data back.(2)

MB gets a transport as far as it can, then spends an hour or so hacking cameras and going into different abandoned tunnels, looking for one that might be connected to Ganaka Pit. As it finds a likely candidate and starts going down it, the feed access cuts out, but it doesn't feel like a suppressor. More like this tunnel is so deep, there are just no boosters near enough to get a signal.

Following the tunnel, it comes to a passenger tube, with power still, though obviously unused for a long time. It checks for security, then activates it, and waits as it travels. Eventually, the tube stops because of a blockage. MB unseals the lock, noticing the signs on the barricade: radiation, falling rock, and toxic biological warnings.(3) It finds a gap, and squeezes through. Onward it goes, into the old installation.

My human parts were experiencing a cold prickling that wasn’t comfortable. This place was creepy. I reminded myself that the terrible thing that had most likely happened here was me. Somehow that didn’t help.(4)

Besides the detritus and the old, damp dust, MB finds the lack of feed access unnerving. It's glad it had Art modify its data port, just in case.

It finds the central hub, but feels no familiarity for the area. The human remains have all long since been removed, but who knows what's been left behind. It goes into the storage rooms, and finds that the SecUnit cubicles are still there. MB's performance reliability drops, and it's frozen to the spot at the sight.

Reminding itself that the SecUnits were too valuable and dangerous to abandon, it slowly opens the ten cubicle doors, finding them all empty. In the end, it's not even sure why it came in here.(5) It finds nothing in the weapons lockers, and heads toward the offices, for data storage.

Finding the feed interface units(6) it thanks human clothes for pockets, something its armour never had, and uses a toolkit borrowed from Art's crew storage to start opening its arm to connect it energy weapon's power to the console's emergency power input. The regular SecSystem files have been wiped, but it finds some cached in MedSystem, a trick MB has used to help make files disappear from company notice.(7)

It skims most of the data, but one conversation catches its interest. Two techs discussing a rogue bit of code, uploaded from onsite, and whether it's malware. The conversation ends mid-word as one tech says she's going to notify the supervisor.

MB wasn't expecting rogue code to be at fault. It had assumed its governor module malfunctioned, but could it really have taken out nine other SecUnits, and all those humans, and any other bots who intervened, by itself?

It saves that conversation to its personal storage, but finds nothing else of interest in the cache. As it leaves, it finds impact markings on the walls, implying quite a confrontation, and wonders if some SecUnits hadn't been affected.

Near the crew quarters it finds four smaller cubicles, for ComfortUnits. The doors are all open already, meaning the ComfortUnits were inside when the emergency hit. MB uses its energy weapon's power again to power the cubicles' emergency data storage. It's meant for error and shutdown information, but it was used, by the ComfortUnits. It recorded the records of communicating with each other.

I stood there for five hours and twenty-three minutes, putting the data fragments together.

The ComfortUnits got a third-party patch, which the techs ordered them to apply despite looking suspicious. The patch was malware, and used the ComfortUnits to jump over and corrupt SecSystem, at which point the SecUnits, bots, drones, "and everything capable of independent motion" had gone violent.

While the mass murder was happening outside, the ComfortUnits were analyzing the malware themselves, and found its true purpose: it was supposed to disrupt the hauler bots, and sabotage the installation, not cause the massacre. They observed that none of the bots were acting in concert, and manually resetting SecSystem to factory default might be their best option.

However, while ComfortUnits are stronger than humans, they're not as strong as SecUnits, with no combat training and no weapons.

One by one the file downloads had stopped.(8) One had signaled that it would try to decoy SecUnit attention away from the others, and three acknowledged. One had heard screams from the control center and diverted there to try to save the humans trapped inside, and two acknowledged. One had stayed at the entrance to a corridor to try to buy time to reach SecSystem, and one acknowledged. One reported reaching SecSystem, then nothing.

MB gets a low power signal of its own, and realizes how long it's been holding the storage active. It unhooks itself and leaves the room, bumping into the doorway.(9) It wonders what arrangement there might have been, if the one who sent the malware paid the damages and bonds, and that company went under, and MB's (former) company thought that was sufficient punishment.

MB goes back to the passenger tube, starts a recharge cycle, and turns on its last interrupted episode of Sanctuary Moon. The tube runs out of power partway, but MB has made it back up to 97% charge, so it runs, even though it takes an hour longer.

One it gets out far enough, feed access resumes, and Art says they have a problem.

=====

(1) Once again, MB claiming people, even constructed intelligences, as its own, but only sideways. (2) And this, this is one of the most telling lines in the book so far. Not just "I took this contract myself, so I can't just abandon them". This is so much subtler than that. It took the job, and got to know, even like the humans. And it feels badly that it couldn't help them achieve their goal. A semi-abstract guilt that it did the job they bought, but not the one it wanted to do for them. (3) Laying it on a little too thick to put almost every warning in the book on this mine. (4) I don't think I'd find that very comforting either, but bless MB for trying. (5) One of the most human things it's done since the beginning of the series, I think. Sometimes you just have to know, regardless of the consequences. (6) Computers, with screens. (7) Callback to the ways it had the humans use MedSystem in book 1 to hide from HubSystem while they analyzed stuff, after its true nature was revealed. Presumably, its knowledge of the trick goes back even further. (8) Their bravery is immeasurable. They were bots. They had no reason to try to help, except the one MB formed after this: they cared. And they were smart enough to use the tools at hand, even if unsuccessfully. (9) I dare say all that information would be a bit disorienting.