#information just transmit itself into my brain

[leonardcohenofficial]

me when sitting down to write the dissertation so i can receive the degree that i have been working towards for almost six full years actually requires time and effort

[kanaevamon]

Tabris/17th Angel/Angelworu reference sheet 2024

Ref sheet for the current design of my take on Kaworu's Angel form

height chart alt / backview - Wings of Light alt

(infodump about his biology and design under the cut)

Disclaimer: all the information in this post applies only to my AU version of Kaworu, don't take this as canon info about his biology as an Angel.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

Feel free to take inspiration from the design or any other supplementary info in this post (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

Introduction: Kaworu Nagisa is a genetic hybrid of human and the 1st Angel - Adam, born as a result of the Contact Experiment. He has lived and looked like a regular human up until entering the Central Dogma. The proximity of another Angel (Lilith) has resulted in a sudden change in gene expression, activating dormant Angel genes. The result was some kind of a rapid transformation/metamorphosis from an almost fully human body to that of an Angel. It has been referred to as Tabris, the 17th Angel, with this particular form being described as the High Angel Gene Expression form.

Anatomy and physiology: Standing at over 3 meters tall, Tabris is the second smallest Angel after microscopic Ireul. Its limited growth compared to other Angels is a result of constraints put on its body by the human part of the DNA. In general proportions, Tabris resembles Adam and subsequently - the Evas, with the exception of its overtly elongated limbs. Like Adam, it emits light, though not nearly as bright, and sprouts Wings of Light, spanning over 18 meters in width with an additional tail-like structure

During the metamorphosis, its core has resurfaced to the center of the chest, changing its position from the one more akin to that of the human heart. The central core containing S² Engine is very tough and resistant to damage but very sensitive to touch. It can become malleable and flesh-like if the AT Field is lowered enough. Instead of beating, it produces a soft humming sound similar to that of the Sun. Two smaller cores underneath it seem to help redirect generated energy to the lower parts of the body.

Additional core situated inside the neck area works as a transmiter, condensing energy from the S² engine before relaying it to the head. Such adaptation is a result of a much higher and centralised brain function compared to other Angels, which requires more energy to work properly.

Excess energy manifests itself in a form of three halos - two vertical ones with spike-like extrusions above the head and a horizontal one around the neck core.

As a member of asexually reproducing species, post-metamorphosis Tabris lacks any sexual characteristics, both internal and external.

Due to the volatile state of its DNA, there is a possibility of further mutations occurring if not killed or removed from the Central Dogma in time.

With enough damage delt to the central core, the transformation can be reverted, though not completely. The resulting form known as the Low Angel Gene Expression form (sketch of this form) is almost identical to pre-metamorphosis Kaworu, with the exception of visible main core and red markings adorning his body (basically looking exactly like the draft sketch) It is a result of the damaged core not being able to provide enough energy to sustain its fully changed form.

Thanks to the extremely powerful AT Field, Tabris' main core can be completely destroyed only by either him voluntary lowering the AT Field or being pierced by the Spear of Longinus. Destruction of the S² Engine results in Angel’s death.

Design notes: It is by no means a wholly new design, just a mere evolution of the ones that came before it. Two main inspirations for the design (like always) have been draft sketches and Adam. With Kaworu’s body being that of a human and Adam being a humanoid entity, I've decided to stick with a clearly humanoid design for Tabris. As much as I love more abstract Angels, I feel like this Angel/human duality is essential to Kaworu's character.

The most drastic change in this instance of the design is its shoulder area. I think these pylon-like structures work much better than spikes as it likens Tabris more to Adam (from what I gathered, these serve as restraints for Adam and Evas but I don't really care :v). Same goes for the change in proportions. Lengthy limbs add to the uncanniness and distance the silhouette from that of a regular human.

Here you can check out my design inspo board I went for with this iteration of Tabris

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

Bonus info:

Here are some design explorations for Tabris that haven't been posted before + bonus Kawoshin :3

A few years back I've made sort of a rough storyboard for a short transformation animation, check it out here

At one point I had plans for a comic for this AU, which plot has been - I kid you not - revealed to me in a dream xD It has never come to a fruition because I suck at writing compelling stories

When it comes to its identity, Tabris would identify as agender and use it/its and he/him pronouns

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

That's it for this long-ass post, if you're still here thanks for reading :D If you have any questions and/or suggestions, feel free to shoot me a DM or an ask (I'll probably come up with some shit on the spot because there's no rhyme or reason to any of this lore, it's just a bunch of random ideas rattling around in my head xD)

[1ore]

of course i continue to rotate that beast in my mind. tamahuaq thoughts because i can't catch a break to draw hardly anything of substance

It would be very funny if Tamahuaq’s ability to parasitize others was limited to gods, endlings, and mages, because they all have exposed/dissociated “souls” to some degree, and Tamahuaq eats god’s blood i.e. “souls” i.e. metaphysical bodyjuice. One (1) human normie walks into Old Sond and the plantfungus loses it. doesn’t know what to do. Heterotrophs are so SCARY!!!!!!!!!!!

Tamahuaq’s emotional world is made of many bodies that are only kinda assimilated into one body. I think it is big enough that it can’t really afford to centralize physically or mentally. So it can pass around impulses and selectively access information from different parts of its network, but if one daughter colony is cut off from the main mass, that physical/emotional/mental space is typically lost to the rest of the body.

Being a part of Tamahuaq is frightening, not because one is a passenger to its hunger against their will or anything like that, but because Tamahuaq is like an echo chamber for one’s own fears and desires. Most of the gods imprisoned in Sond are already resentful of their wardens, if not certifiably off the shitts in pain, so they are already primed to lash out. but they don’t realize how far they’ll go until they’re taken out of it.

IDK how the endlings extract gods and other beings from Tamahuaq, but I think it might be as simple as cutting off that “limb” and peeling off as much plantmycelium as they can. At a certain point, there just isn’t enough Tamahuaq to functionally feed anymore. I think Tamahuaq (or rather its satellite flesh?) self-terminates or jumps hosts when it can no longer justify hitching a ride on that particular host.

The constant risk of losing satellite limbs brushes shoulders with its need to explore and forage, so it has become very efficient at partitioning itself into smaller spaces using simple directives and selective memories to puppet a scout around. A lot of these satellite bodies carry a basic compulsion to get back to the rest of the body at some point, but are also less coordinated and easier to dissociate.

Because of the Boiling Rage shared by its primary food source, Tamahuaq is thought to be hateful and angry and generally motivated by revenge. But it isn’t, inherently. It is apparently able to exploit anger and other emotions-- or at least transmit emotional memories-- but whether human emotions are intelligible to it, or it has just learned thru pattern recognition how to get what it needs is hard to say. It does have its own interior emotional world, but it has been largely diluted by its hosts (and is difficult to understand outside of basic needs like “I don’t want to die” and “I am so hungry all of the time”) For his part, the Tamahuaq depicted in oral tradition is anthropomorphized and has ~human-like motivations.

(in reality Tamahuaq is like a vessel of the pain of his ancient enemy, the very first endling, beloved folk hero twisted by resentment when betrayed and locked up in Sond as Tamahua's keeper. but we will not discuss him further.)

When the endlings do finally succeed in cutting out the “heart” of Tamahuaq—its original body and the closest thing to a central “brain” that it has—the rest of it rapidly dissociates into smaller and smaller functional parts, and decays. Tamahuaq’s psyche also shrinks in a rather violent and disorienting way, as trahearnexpy finds out. This sudden smallness is AHHHH VERY SCARY to the plantfungus, and it loses many of its formative memories that have been scattered across this wider network. Its sensory world shrinks, too, in that its funnie plantmonster body is experiencing the world thru touch, taste, smell, and some rudimentary thermoception, where it used to be able to sense. Probably anything it wanted. I think this is part of why it clamps down on tree boy and does not let go. You WILL interpret the world for me (because im too scared and small ahhhhhh I cant do it myself )))): )

eventually it learns the power of love and being small, but in the mean time it is so scared of heterotrophs. It is so scared of heterotrophs. It is so scared of h

[isolatedgirlthing]

OK so have you read the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy? SPOILER WARNING but during the book it is revealed that earth was build artificially as an organic supercomputer. i promise this is going somewhere

(everything beyond this point speculation that im too lazy to explain any doubts just ask about it) (and the following section is also spoiler free)

metacognition is basically a system that encodes itself. we as conscious being are a complex system of biochemical relations that self perpetuates, but also knows about itself. the information that is encoded in us (through genetics, neural development, social development, etc) has within it a representation of the system that we are.

if we take a closer look at this system of our, and the relations that in encompasses, we see that we are made of independent, smaller living things. the units that build us, cells, are themselves alive in their own way, but they do not have the consciousness that we do, yet they still encode our own. losing them may result in alterations or loss of our consciousness. in a way, WE BASICALLY LIVE AT THE CELLS.

SO. we may ask ourselves. can it happen again? can consciousness arise from the social relations we are developing? we built really complex networks of sharing of resources and information with each other, just like a living organism, and if we posit that consciousness can happen in any system if the conditions allow for it, then consciousness of something beyond a human level may be possible. if biochemical reactions in our brains encode our feelings, then why can't sociopolitical relations encode the functioning of the something?

to be clear, i am not saying "we might develop a super intelligence, and it's gonna be so beyond us we won't be able to comprehend" no. not at all. the process i'm describing would have us literally be the thing. THE SOMETHING BASICALLY LIVES AT US. we are it's cells. it's components. it's thoughts are processed through our living and our actions, and just as a neuron doesn't the thought it transmits, we won't understand this consciousness and it may not understand us, just like we are with cells.

wow. that's a long ask. just some final remarks: no, i don't think this is anywhere close to happening. it's just cool to wonder its possibility. it may even not be possible, but i have my own (also very long) opinion on that (that i may inflict upon y'all some other time)

i should probably stop thinking and/or become a science fiction author

oh fuck im really high right now

i dont think thats the correct usage of "encodes"

also im pretty sure this is what happens at the end of armored core 6

[almost40ffs]

I can see my face changing when I look at the woman I am in the mirror. What I see is the little girl I once was shining back at me and blowing me a kiss. She says you are beautiful and that's from the inside out. I haven't recognized her face in years, our mindset was so different back then. It's like when I look in the mirror I am saying, I recognize you but I haven't seen you in forever. It has taken some time and scary moments where I had to tell myself at least I know my name is Cassie because I cannot fathom if I had woken up that night and forgotten my name or my parents. They kept my heart alive and my mind worked hard to keep me afloat. 🥺 That shit was scary, dude. Now, we have a little girl to love and to heal. Her smile was so beautiful and she was carefree. I haven't seen that girl in so long.. 😢😢❤️❤️❤️ my heart.. bless my heart, lord, because I am coming back home. I feel whole again. This journey is beyond personal because over 20 years later, what I lost is coming back to me.

I can see my face changing when I look at the woman I am in the mirror. What I see is the little girl I once was shining back at me and blowing me a kiss. She says you are beautiful and that's from the inside out. I haven't recognized her face in years, our mindset was so different back then. It's like when I look in the mirror I am saying, I recognize you but I haven't seen you in forever. It has taken some time and scary moments where I had to tell myself at least I know my name is Cassie because I cannot fathom if I had woken up that night and forgotten my name or my parents. They kept my heart alive and my mind worked hard to keep me afloat. 🥺 That shit was scary, dude. Now, we have a little girl to love and to heal. Her smile was so beautiful and she was carefree. I haven't seen that girl in so long.. 😢😢❤️❤️❤️ my heart.. bless my heart, lord, because I am coming back home. I feel whole again. This journey is beyond personal because over 20 years later, what I lost is coming back to me.

You never lose what you lost because those pieces will come back to you to help you understand and grow. What you lost at given moment from traumas will be gifted to you when you need it most. This is what is coming back to me. What happened to me is unfolding itself and showing the pages of what remained unsolved and silent for so many years. I can see clearly what I am supposed to do. I just have to be careful not to let it mess with my mind today. It's scary when you realize you had some things knocked out of you and they come back throwing you for a whirlwind. You never know what to do or how to react and it scares you. No doctors to tell you what to do or how to proceed. No doctors that would understand or notice that something was wrong because they did not understand your history. Sigh, that is why it was so dangerous for that cop to talk to me after the car accident. Just as it is dangerous that I realized the connections today. I noticed all the signs coming back home. Instead of healing at home, I left and it's not a bad thing because I still had my core memories. It's just now, the traumatic memories are back and it's not just remembering from the accident and on. Coming back home has been opening parts of me and while we were not prepared for some questions to be answered several years later, we are still standing. So onto healing.. the tingling could be part of anxiety but it could also be parts of my brain transmitting information and receiving.

I can feel my mom watching me from the side. Only thing I ask is please don't show me what you see... It is too hard feeling a loved one near by. I feel like I am literally sitting between my momma and Miss Crusader. They are watching over me. And my daddy, too. 🥺

[kazuhasbunny]

Giiiirl, imagine you are on Baal's side, you are a general and commanding an army against the rebels' own general, Gorou.

You are all cocky and confident, your years of experience just keeping you aware enough so you won't be consumed by your pride. But oh, your face, when after all of those carefully thought out strategies and intensive training, you end up losing to that mutt.

He is insufferable. Even though his face and body is caked in a mixture only war can give-- blood, sweat and dirt, his smile is the biggest, smuggest thing you have ever seen in your life as a warrior. It does not help that you are on your knees, back stretching forward as the grip he has on your jaw tugs you up with such a force you won't ever believe an archer, a long distance fighter, would posses. The bodies of both sides lay scattered on the defiled land, but the purple spots decorate the most, as his last men stand straight and proud behind him, just as yours do, but the lack the attentiveness. Their tired and bored countenance ticks you in a wrong way. Why they don't look happy by this result?

Does your failure was already predicted? As if this end was something that was already calculated. Taken in account.

The man holding your jaw in a bruising grip let go of you, a mere blink of respite as the next second your left cheek explodes in pain, your vision swaggers for a second as you fall on your right side from the streght of that blow. You shut your eyes and concentrate on your breathing; the fight left you completely drained, as much as your brain screamed at you to stand up and attack that man, your bones and muscles protested as you tensed in hopes of getting up, but ultimately you only made yourself look pitiful.

Gorou turns to were his men are, his gaze lingering for a second on your laughable attempt. His focus switches to the army as he starts to pace from one side to the other, the victory was already decided, but the energy from the feat itself brought a surge of emotions within him.

Another quick glance at you, and something on his mind switched. He was wondering what to do with you; killing you off felt as a meaningless action, as the Shogun won't care for someone as low as yourself. You only were deployed to fight against them to gain time for the real force, to prepare and learn how strong the rebels actually are. With how confident you looked hours ago, it seems that your benevolent Shogun forgot to grace you with such knowledge before sending you off with a bunch of newly trainees.

"First of all, congratulations, my friends, for this well earned victory" Gorou began. The group of men on front of him quickly acknowledge his words, paying attention to what he had to say.

"Even if the outcome resulted as to what we--" He turns around, your eyes opened when he began speaking. You both made eye contact, and Gorou's smirk transformed into a full smile. Was it okay for him to fill such giddiness at the sight of your equally wounded pride and body? After all, he was the one to bring you into that state, he was the one to put you in your rightful place with just one arrow, kneeling on the dirty battlefield as the geo power incased on the arrowhead did its job in petrify you.

The glint of defeat on, dare he say, those gorgeous eyes of yours really made them stand out. Actually, as he approaches your form, he's starting to see some other appealing features he couldn't notice from a longer distance. What was the Shogun thinking, in even allowing you a spot within her number when you clearly weren't made for war?

"--Expected" his pause brought your attention to what he was actually saying. So they had all of this calculated...

"But now, all that is left to do, is tend to the wounded and take care of the dead. Yours and their sacrifice will bring an end to this stupid decree in no time. We need to prepare for tougher, real..." He gives you a glance "...battles from now on. Don't let this win get in your head"

The crowd quietly cheers between them, some of them patting each other on the shoulder for a job well done. All of that camaraderie made your stomach hollow, as you recognise the same speech you have told to your former men after a battle well fought. Those piercing blue eyes of his made you painfully aware of the consecutive part of giving a victory speech, about what is waiting for the losing side, the pit in your stomach grew in size and you really wished that it could swallow you whole before the man in front of you does.

Gorou thrills in your despair. That pretty face of yours plunging into dark dephts, your mind weaving one horrifying destiny after other speaks a lot of your character, as only those who have layed a cruel end to those before them can conceive. He knows what kind of thoughts those are, but as much of a monster as you are viewing him now, he won't do such a thing. He was quite merciful while deciding what your fate will be, even if he didn't pondered a lot in the few minutes after your fall, you are but only a child with a weapon, sent to die by that horrible woman.

And something he prides himself of, is learning from mistakes. He won't throw away something that can fulfill very well other duties than warfare ones.

"Sir! If I may--" a voice spoke between the masses of helms and spears.

"I know, I know. The general" Gorou waves off his hand, his eyes never stranding away from your form for far too long.

A groan escapes your body as his foot steps on your ribcage, not too hard but your weak body sense as if he had nails attached to the sole, your skin felt cold and as if it was being prickled by a ton of needles. He pushes your your body with a gentleness unexpected from an enemy, until you were lying on your back. The new position put pressure in the arrow wound on your right/left shoulder, your dominant arm, and for a second you were grateful of the rigidness granted by the geo element yet covering half of your arm or else you are sure you would have cried in pain, the last thing you want now is to show more weakness that what you are displaying.

"What I am going to do with her... I didn't know myself when we first begun this battle" Gorou continued. He removed his shoe from your chest to your side on the floor, so you'll be cage between his legs while he looks down on you. His arms crossed across his chest and he tilted his head to the side, as in assessing you, taking on your face just as covered in grime as his but not diminish your beauty in the slightest. He really made a good decision in regard of your fate.

The soldiers stood still, the atmosphere felt heavy like the air on a hot summer afternoon that feels stuffy on your lungs as your breath in. Their general had an unseen aura surrounding him, his usual careless actitud makes everyone forget that there's an animal side to him, although they aren't sure they will presence it for the first time, their captain is definitely switching towards that side... they even feel a little bit of pity for the woman under him.

"But as I see her like this, beaten, it makes me remember something of old, that the victorous usually sow. Can you guys guess what it is?" He squats over you, sweetly combing a couple of strands of hair out of your face.

Whispers break among the army after the question. One of them raised his hand, no barely 18 years old as he was one of the shortest in comparison to his bigger and wider shouldered comrades. The young recruit promptly lowered his arm as the general wasn't looking at their direction but that didn't stopped him from answering, eyes shining with excitement:

"They take something as a token of their victory, sir!"

Gorou hummed in affirmation. "Yes, they did. A spoil of war, if you may"

Dread washed over you. He wasn't going to kill you, as a way to demonstrate their superiority? To be taken as a trophy, a possession... He surely won't mean that, right? They are going to torture you and extract every drop of information that you have, until the last thing left in you is blood to shed on their hands as your usefulness is cut short like your troath.

You needed to say something. Anything, as long as it would arise anger within the young male, anything as long as you aren't degrade far from what you have been.

Gorou raised his eyebrows as you coughed. He wasn't expecting a monologue from you but neither silence. Your sudden wish of speaking made the men jump into action, their spears pointing at you with such terrifying speed made you realise furthermore that this battle was destined to end like this, another stripe to the tiger just like a new blow to your pride.

"Just kill me already. I won't say anything, and if given the opportunity, I will end it myself" you spat. You tried to transmit all of your pain, hate and shame in one stare, you won't go happy until you make that man see what you feel, how big your abhorrence is to his being.

All the males stare in silence, until the general himself chuckled. Your cheeks burn with rage, your teeth clenched together as you tried yo surf this flare of emotions. How dare he laugh like that! He already won and you won't speak a thing about the Shogun, why acting like that? Isn't the rebels supposed to act with nobility and fairness?

Gorou took a breath in. He's happy he didn't went for the traditional route and killed you.

"Aw, now you just proved me correct, sweetheart. I'll enjoy making you into a proper wife"

All of that just to say "Imagine being taken as Gorou's prize and he makes you his whore wife" LMAO

(Also? In the part that reader coughs? I wanted to put that Gorou spits on your lips because you looked thirsty AODJFJDC)

THIS 🙏 yes i’d love to be gorou’s housewife he should really take me in and train me to obey him . please i’d do anything for him

AND pleasee omg ... if u actually put that in i’d die on my chair it’s too hot i can’t hjnhnggrh

[everdreamart]

Read my Thoughts

The journey through Aeor only gets more confusing as eye powers are thrown into the mix.

OR

An accidental telepathy fic where Caleb shares a bit too much to a certain drow.

Relationship: Caleb Widowgast/Essek Thelyss (Shadowgast)

Rating: Teen and Up

~~~~~

Things in Aeor are strange. Magic Especially. A teleport can send you miles away from target, and a spell gone wrong can make you bald! However, Aeor's atrocities were put on the backburner when Jester's weasel turned out to be her 'god' and the red eyes adorning the Empire Kid's bodies started to show power.

Darkvision was one thing that was quite startling to Caleb. He hadn't really noticed it with the constant flow of light emitting from Caduceus' staff and his own globules. It wasn't until Beauregard said something that it really occurred to him. Even more surprising was the telepathy. The ability to transcend one's thoughts into the mind of another. A mental link for shared knowledge. All sorts of possibilities flowed into Caleb's mind. How useful this could be in their upcoming battles with Lucien.

"Woahhhh Caleb I can literally HEAR your thoughts! Slow down a bit!" Jester marveled.

"OH Oh Beau! Can you read my thoughts??" Yasha exclaimed.

"Hey let's give it a try-" Beau smirked.

"Ok who do I love? Oh wait thats dumb.." Yasha mumbled. The rest of them started to laugh a bit.

Caleb shifted his gaze over to Essek. The drow's soft features focused on the commotion going on around him. A confused expression painting his face - no doubt from the sudden talking weasel - in a show of momentary openness. Throughout their travels in Aeor, Essek had slowly let the shadowhand persona slip away. Caleb liked this version much better. The way emotion displayed itself on Essek's face was new and nervous, but the man was truly trying to change. That alone caused something to swell in Caleb's heart.

Immediately, Essek's head snapped up and looked over at Caleb in surprise. Caleb looked away as soon as he turned his head. Did Essek hear him? He needs to get a better hold of this power. Fast. Swallowing hard, Caleb simply nodded, before turning his gaze back to their laughing friends.

-----

After a day of hard trekked travel, the Mighty Nein stumbled into the tower for a night of much needed rest. It was then that Caleb's mind started to wander. What exactly is transmitted through this telepathy? Feelings? Words? Images? The beginning pricks of worry started to crawl into his throat. Would he have to wrestle every one of his thoughts down so the others wouldn't be plagued by his memories? He glanced at the glaring red eye adorning his palm. Thick red lines seared into his skin flawlessly. Watching. Staring. Certainly these powers come with a price. And Caleb didn't know what that price was.

There's nothing he can do right now. Stay on task, Widowgast. Maybe something from the papers he picked up earlier will have more information about their enemy. With an idea for distraction in place, Caleb floats up to the library to begin opening the amber. He settles on a couch opposite from a crackling fireplace as he does so, the comforting warmth washing away the stress of the day.

Piles of books and papers fill the floor in front of him. Excitement and curiosity begin to tug at his mind. Caleb reaches out and grabs one of the dusty old tombs, tracing the foreign writing in awe. So much knowledge, packed in the papers around him. So much information to be learned and so little time.

"It's quite incredible, is it not?" A soft voice comes from behind him as Essek glides over to Caleb, staring at the collection of books.

"Ja. After our business is concluded, I would love to study more of Aeor's history and research."

"Well, we have a few moments now, do we not?" Essek smiled softly as he looked at Caleb.

And just like that, they were off. Reading through ancient texts, occasionally bouncing theories back and forth. The constant whirring of intellect trying to process the thoughts of mages from far beyond their time. It was invigorating.

However, from time to time, Caleb found it hard to keep his focus. His eyes constantly wandering back to the drow sat beside him, nose buried in a book. His thin white brows creased into a focused expression, eyes full of wonder and curiously, devouring the age old texts. The way his mouth would curl into a subtle smile when he found a particularly interesting section of text. Or how he would nibble at his lower lip when frustrated about something. He wondered if those lips would feel as good as he imagined. How soft and delicate.. Oh how glad Caleb is to have moments like these, just him and Essek.

At some point while Caleb was lost in his thoughts, Essek looked up. Violet eyes meeting blue ones.

"I uh.." Essek clears his throat. " I found a section that you might find to be interesting." He smiles and looks away.

Oh.

How much did he hear? How many of those thoughts slipped through in his tired state? Apparently enough for the subtle hints of purple creeping on the edges of Essek's ears to catch Caleb's attention.

"I think it's time for me to head to bed. I require more sleep than you do, after all," Caleb said as he stood up. It was awkward, for a moment. The silence was heavy, and he didn't dare steal a look at the drow beside him.

-----

Having your thoughts known to others feels like quite a violation of privacy. Caleb thought as he laid in his bed. I need to get a hang of this.

It took a while for him to get even close to falling asleep, for his mind was racing with thoughts.

He was on the edge of consciousness when he heard a small knock on his door. Surely all the nein are well into their sleep right now, so that means that the only person this could be is… a lump formed in Caleb's throat as he opened the door. Essek stood in front of him, a foreign expression adorned on his face.

"I hope I wasn't disrupting your rest. I would like to talk… if you don't mind?" He spoke softly as Caleb gestured him into the room.

It caught Caleb's attention immediately that the man wasn't floating, but walking instead. They sat on the couch as he responded, "Ah, I was having some trouble sleeping. You weren't interrupting anything. What is it you would like to discuss friend?"

"I ah.." He fidgeted with his fingers. The drow wasn't wearing his usual mantle, but instead the more comfortable robes that were provided to him from the tower. Caleb let his eyes momentarily linger on the way the clothing frames Essek's small figure. The way the deep blues and purples frame his gorgeous dark skin. Caleb promptly tries very hard to stuff these thoughts down.

"I took notice of the recent… developments of the eyes on beauregard's and your bodies. It… concerns me. The acquisition of such powers surely means that something was taken in exchange, and I am unsure of what that was." Essek says with worry laced in his voice. His eyes rise to meet Caleb's.

"..ja. I too am a bit uneasy about the current situation. Though it just makes our goal that much more important, does it not?" He replied, flashing a faint reassuring smile.

"I guess it does." The other wizard's gaze falls to his lap.

'That's not really what you came here to talk about. Is it?' Slips from Caleb's mind before he can even think to stop it.

The drow visibly flinches in surprise, then sighs slightly. "There was something else on my mind, yes."

Caleb slowly, ever so slowly, reaches his hand over to touch Essek's. "I'm here if something is wrong."

He is very aware of what Essek was referring to. However, he doesn't know what is going through the other man's brain, as thin smooth fingers meet his calloused ones halfway. A slight smile plays at the corners of Essek's mouth, and Caleb once again feels his focus begin to slip. He focuses on the feeling of Essek's hand in his. Soft skin, clearly not used to the harsher weather of the frozen wasteland as of late, his fingers only rough in the areas where one would hold a quill.

Strands of silver-white hair hover on his forehead, slightly covering vibrant violet eyes. Oh it is a sight to behold. Dark skin growing impersivibly darker. How he works at his bottom lip nervously. Caleb finds himself fighting back the desperate want to feel this man against him. To hold him close and study his features on a much more intimate level. Essek's ear twitches.

"I ah… I thank you for your.. Compliments..?" He stutters out as his face flushes an even darker shade of purple.

Something inside of Caleb breaks, and he finds it becoming increasingly harder to hold back the growing need to bring the wizard close.

"I apologize for not being able to return such… appraisal," the drow mumbles out, looking anywhere but Caleb's eyes. His other hand raises up Caleb's arm, settling on the crook of his neck. "I hope I can live up to your expectations, Widowgast." He smiles nervously.

Caleb's mind goes blank. Soft lips brush his own and his restraint vanishes. They crash together in feverish movements, a warm pressure on his lips that grounds him in the moment. It's so much better than he could've ever imagined. The sensation of Essek's mouth on his is something he wants to savor forever. He wants to memorize every movement and feeling of the man pushing against him, as if this was a rare slip-up and it would never happen again. Maybe he was dreaming after all, but the feeling of Essek starting to nibble at his lower lip quickly reassures him that this is very much real.

Something sharp catches Caleb's lip, and he recoils a bit in surprise. Essek immediately pulls back, a flash of worry crossing his face.

"Fangs." Caleb mutters out, breathless. "I was not aware you had fangs."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" he gets cut off by Caleb leaning in once more, capturing his mouth hungerly. His fingers lace through Essek's hair as he pushes onto him, desperate to be closer. More. He wants more.

Apparently Essek heard him, as the drow parts his mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Caleb runs his tongue over the sharpened points of Essek's fangs, feeling a shiver as he does so. They merge together, desperate to taste each other. To explore every inch. It's perfect. Absolutely perfect. He wants this moment to last forever.

They pull away after what feels like hours, but still isn't long enough. Essek's breath dances on Caleb's lips, mere inches away. Caleb smiles and presses another quick kiss to Essek's mouth.

"I think you far surpassed my expectations, Thelyss."

[floralquafloral]

Watch out it's random splatoon headcanon time again

I was thinking about splatting and respawning recently, and @acid-hues used no less than Three looking emojis when I asked if anyone would want to hear my thoughts about how that stuff works, so here goes. Warning for potentially fatal quantities of pseudoscience, since I'm not a biologist or a chemist, just a goober who likes the squid game too much ;P

1. What is splatting?

Splatting is a reflex in inklings and octarians that occurs when they're been critically injured. It allows the cephalopod to escape and recover from a potentially fatal situation, effectively unharmed. Almost all of their body mass is liquefied to ink in a similar process to squid-form transformation, but it's all lost, resulting in the characteristic splatter. The only remaining structure is the "squid soul", which isn't actually a soul so much as a balloon-like vessel that can (under the right conditions) develop into a whole inkling body again.

2. What is a squid soul?

Squid souls aren't actually incorporeal souls, they're just very complicated (and lightweight) biological structures that contain all the mechanisms and information necessary to create an inkling body. Kind of analogous to an egg: given food and time, an egg can turn into a whole animal. Squid souls are just a great deal more precise, in that they generate an inkling body almost exactly as it was before, including the brain and all the inkling's memories and such. The squid soul itself, like an egg, isn't really comparable to an actual inkling - the soul can't talk, or eat, or think. The squid soul doesn't have a brain, and it only has just enough nervous system to seek out a location where it can respawn into a proper body. It uses a rudimentary form of the same senses that allow for the Turf Map. Because the squid soul isn't conscious, getting splatted kind of just feels like a very violent form of teleportation.

More information on the processes & technology behind respawning under the readmore :)

3. How does a squid soul respawn?

Squid souls can only develop into a proper inkling body if they can access two things: A bunch of biomass, and a bunch of electricity. Biomass is necessary because almost all of the inkling's original body has been exploded all over the place, so you need a bunch of stuff to make a new one. A large enough well of pure ink can contain all the necessary material for a body, but most respawn tech uses solutions of ink with other useful things dissolved into it. Respawning from a well of pure ink doesn't feel very good. Pure ink doesn't contain a very good amount of vitamins, iron, etc., so the new body will probably have less of that stuff in it than the old one.

Electricity is necessary to separate different compounds out of the ink, and to provide the energy required for some of the chemical reactions that need to take place - you can't just mush a bunch of ink together and get a body out of it.

4. What could prevent a successful respawn?

This part is pure headcanon, since there's nothing from the base game that relates to this, as far as I'm aware.

Some sources of injury won't trigger the splat reflex; the most common example is prolonged exposure to small amounts of water. Getting caught in heavy rain for hours can dissolve the body without ever triggering the splat reflex, so you just... don't come back.

Old age or severe illness can inhibit the reflex as well. If a young and healthy squid gets hit by a bus, they will explode and come back at the nearest respawn point. If someone whose splat reflex isn't working gets hit by a bus, then they just get run over, which very bad. Alternatively, in some cases the splat reflex could fail to generate a squid soul, so you'd just explode and not get to respawn, which would be exceedingly terrible.

For the kind of squid who would sign up for Turf Wars, there's basically no chance of this stuff happening, but there are still mandatory physicals before you can sign up for a Turf War just to make sure.

Lastly, of course, if someone gets splatted too far away from a viable respawn point, the squid soul will expire after only a few minutes.

5. What kind of tech allows for a respawn?

There are four different places you can respawn in-game: In the online battle maps (5.1), in the Octarian domes (5.3), in the Deepsea Metro's test stations (5.4), and from a Grizzco Tank (5.5). There's also presumably some way to respawn if you just, like, fall out of a tree and get splatted in the public park or something (5.2). There's also the floating respawn-thingies from the Splatoon 3 trailer, but since I don't know how they work in-game yet I don't have anything to make headcanons around. 🤷‍♀️

5.1. Turf War respawn pads: They're cheap to make, they work quickly, and they can handle dozens of squids getting splatted during a single 3-minute battle with no need for oversight during the game. It's worth remembering that the squid soul isn't sapient, it has no regards for the rules of a Turf War - so what prevents someone on Yellow Team from respawning at Purple's base? The answer is that, under most circumstances, the biomass requirement for a respawn can only be met with ink that matches your colour. Different colours of ink have different chemical compositions, so a squid soul that's seeking out a viable location to create a yellow squid won't be able to sense the purple respawn pad as a viable location.

The limitation of the Turf War pad is that they're not perfectly reliable. Occasionally it just won't appear as a viable respawn location to a squid soul, so someone will end up respawning outside the battle, which forfeits them from the match. (i'm only including this because i'm proud of coming up with an in-universe explanation for disconnects)

5.2. City respawn pads: Outside of inksports, it's still a good idea to have respawn pads all over the place so that if someone gets splatted they have somewhere to respawn. City pads, unlike Turf War pads, are designed to be 100% reliable and work for any ink color. Their natural drawback is that they require constant oversight. "Respawn operator" is a job you can have in most major population centers, that mostly involves sitting around, making sure nothing looks broken, and greeting anyone who shows up at the pad.

Getting splatted outside a battle isn't especially common (splatting someone outside a battle is a pretty serious no-no), so any given pad in the city will usually only get 1-2 respawns a day, if any at all. When someone shows up, the operator is supposed to write down their name, the time they respawned, and the reason they got splatted. If it was because of something legally messy like a road accident, they'll have more work to do to get that sorted out. If it was because of a Turf War pad failure, they'll contact the Judds to get that cleared up. If you were with someone when you got splatted, it's common courtesy to send a text or call once you respawn so they don't have to worry; since you won't have your phone with you when you respawn that's something the operator is also supposed to help with. Respawn operators are pretty helpful in general - if you tell them "I don't know how to get back to my house from here", they can usually give you a map or directions or something.

To allow for anyone to respawn at a City pad, they're filled with a very bright and saturated brown ink solution. This colour is unique in that basically any other ink colour can change into it very easily; if you get splatted while you've got red ink, you'll show up at the city pad with brown ink. This is why bright brown ink isn't frequently used for inksports (definitely not because the developers didn't want it to look like they're using poop for turf wars).

5.3. Octarian Checkpoints: As electricity is a precious and scarce resource for Octarians, their respawn pads are designed to use as little of it as possible. An Inkopolis respawn pad has a current running through it constantly, which combined with the large amount of ink, allows squid souls to perceive it as a viable respawn location. In contrast, Octarian checkpoints don't offer any ink or electricity when inactive. They only switch on when a nearby Octarian soldier gets splatted, using a signal transmitted by the Octarian's equipment. When they turn on, they temporarily fill with ink and run an electrical current, allowing the soldier's octo soul to make its way over and respawn before the checkpoint shuts down again.

The signal receiver of the checkpoints has a vulnerability that allows it to be overridden, which will fill it with any colour of ink solution and render it unable to receive power-on signals. The Hero Tanks worn by Agents 3 and 4 do this automatically when the agents get close to a checkpoint - this is why they're black before an agent gets close, then change to match their ink colour. However, once the checkpoint is overridden, it still doesn't provide electricity, and in fact can't be activated at all. The Hero Tank allows them to be used regardless by putting an electrical charge into the squid soul itself, so that it only needs the well of ink solution. It can only store up to three respawns worth of charge, though. If an agent gets splatted while the battery is empty, they're toast.

Octarians, of course, can't respawn at a checkpoint that's been overridden, not only because it won't power on but also because it doesn't match their ink colour anymore. Only one checkpoint will receive the power-on signal when an Octarian gets splatted, so when an overridden checkpoint is the one that receives the signal, there will be nowhere on the base for the Octarian to respawn. Instead, they'll end up in another dome, or in a civilian respawn pad. The agents aren't murderers, okay?

5.4: Deepsea Metro Test Station Checkpoints: The testing stations in the Deepsea Metro are adapted from Octarian checkpoints, but with some tweaks to reflect the different priorities of Kamabo Co. as opposed to the Octarian military. Metro checkpoints have their remote-activation functionality stripped out, and instead permanently activate once the test subject reaches them, filling with ink solution and receiving a constant electrical current. They probably still have the same vulnerability as the Octarian checkpoints, but Agent 8's has no means of exploiting it, and no reason to anyways - the checkpoints are already configured to match her colour, since they're there for the express purpose of respawning test subjects.

Because Metro checkpoints always match Agent 8's ink colour, the sanitized octarians in the test courses have nowhere they can respawn. Instead, they are simply replaced as needed.

5.5: Grizzco Tanks: I'll be honest, I can't come up with any good explanations for this one. The way it traps the squid soul inside it probably has to do with the same interference that blocks the Turf Map, but the explanation for why you have to shoot it to activate a respawn is beyond me. The best I can do is list what can be ruled out:

It's not because it's using the ink from the shot for mass. If the Grizzco tank itself doesn't contain enough ink for a respawn, then there's no way a single Inkbrush swing would output enough to make up the difference.

It's not using the kinetic energy from the shot to trigger some sort of chemical reaction. Getting hit by a Steelhead bomb or a Flyfish missile don't revive the player, even though they surely have more kinetic energy than something like a Bloblobber bubble, which can.

The weapons themselves aren't providing an electrical charge. If Grizzco could modify a Splattershot to output enough electricity to enable a respawn, then the tank would be capable of doing that itself without needing to be shot.

Whatever it is, it's probably not very good for you long-term to respawn like that. Grizzco just gives off those vibes, like working there is totally gonna mess up your health when you're older.

[greekgeek21]

Percy Jackson & The Avengers: Convergence - there is a fight scene included

I am not dead, just extremely busy. My summer lacrosse season just ended, so hopefully I get some inspiration to write some new chapters. In the meantime, I hope this will tide you over for some time.

Keep in mind, this was written weeks ago, so I am not in the mood to answer any weirdly specific questions about my artistic choices. In other words, if you don't like it, you don't have to read it! I know, it's a truly monumental realization.

For my kind & loyal readers, don't forget to comment, like, and follow!

- your author

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Avengers or PJO!

Ω ♆ Ω

By the grace of the gods, the group managed to pass the sirens without an issue. It seemed like the mortals had finally accepted that it was in their best interest to listen to the Seven. So, as soon as Percy warned everyone to fill their ears with wax, they filled their ears with wax. Of course there were a few complaints, but that was expected. Nobody was perfect (no matter what Narcissus insists).

From there on out, the nerves were building. Percy had informed the team that their next stop would be Polyphemus' island, and everybody, mortal and demigod alike, knew what that place was. It was where the most infamous cyclops lived, but most importantly, it was where Annabeth was being held, if Percy's father was to be trusted.

Since it would still be another two hours or so, according to the sea expert, until they reached the island, the group decided to try resting. Some tried to nap, while others sharpened their weapons or hung out on the deck. It was futile, but they were trying to prepare themselves for a situation that they had never before encountered, not even Percy.

It was safe to say that everyone was scared shitless.

Ω ♆ Ω

Leo had decided to go downstairs and tinker with some stuff from his belt as a distraction from their impending doom. It was working too! He was in his own little world that only machines could enter. That is, until Tony Stark walked up to him.

"Whatcha doing, kid?" he asked, peering over Leo's shoulder to catch a glimpse at the boy's creation.

"I'm making a mini automaton to help us find Annabeth when we get to the island," was the answer.

Taking a closer look, Tony started to see it. It was a very small machine, but if you looked closely, it was clear that it was made of metal. The automaton was about the size of a quarter, and looked like a celestial bronze spider. Leo was currently adding the last two legs to it when Tony walked up.

When Leo looked up, he held up his creation with a proud smile. "This baby can be our spy. It's eyes are tiny cameras, and it's made almost completely of celestial bronze. We can send this in, and then know where Annabeth is before we storm the place."

Tony nodded, "Yeah... Pretty good idea, kid."

And ok, so Leo was freaking out a little bit on the inside because one of his idols had just complimented his work. But on the outside, he just smiled a little wider.

"You haven't even seen the best part. You've gotta see it after I turn it on. I added stealth-mode so nobody should even be able to know it's there," Leo said, grabbing the spider and flipping it over to press a button.

As soon as he had, the spider flipped itself over in his hand and started crawling up his arm. Tony was a little creeped out, but it was blocked by the fascination for this new kind of science the demigods had. The spider should have to be controlled by a human, but it was moving like it was almost...thinking on its own. There was no way it had an AI, but that was the only solution his mortal brain could come up with.

"Is it an AI?" he asked.

"Nope. It's a greek automaton. They don't need AIs. I programmed it to listen to a few simple commands when needed, but if we don't order it around, it'll just stick around me waiting for orders. Pretty cool, right?"

"Awesome," Tony whispered, in awe of how smart this seventeen year old kid was.

"Thanks. I think I finished it just in time because I heard Percy calling us back upstairs," Leo said. Before he had even finished he was walking towards the deck, not a care in the world for the metal spider crawling around on him.

"Oh, I'm definitely becoming friends with this kid," Tony muttered to himself before following Leo.

Ω ♆ Ω

"Did you get it done, Leo?" Percy asked as soon as he had seen him.

"Yep. Here it is." Leo held up the automaton-spider.

Percy smirked. "Oh, Annabeth's gonna love that."

Leo shrugged, acting clueless. "I have no idea what you're talking about. The spider was just the first thing I could come up with."

"Sure it was," Piper snorted.

Leo fake-gasped. "Beauty Queen! How could you ever think I would lie?! I would never!"

Clint whispered to Natasha, "The kids clearly have a strong bond that only comes from fighting for their lives with each other."

Frank turned to them, surprising the spies that he had heard them, "No shit, Sherlock."

Before anything else could be said, Percy reclaimed the entire group's attention. "If you look to the right, you can see Polyphemus' island. We're going to dock on the south side of the island because that is the only way to get on without climbing a cliff and facing carnivorous sheep. Hazel should be able to disguise the ship until we invade the base, so don't worry about being seen. Leo will send in his spider to check things out and then we'll follow after we know where Annabeth is. Everybody got that?"

At the noises of affirmation, Percy nodded. "Good. Suit up if you're not already."

Of course, Tony had to break the calm solemnity by saying, "Cap, I thought that was your line?"

Everybody collectively rolled their eyes.

Ω ♆ Ω

After they docked, Leo released his spider with specific orders to find Annabeth Chase while staying hidden. That was working until Polyphemus' stupid super-senses could smell the celestial bronze. Leo hadn't known that a blind cyclops would be able to smell metal, but you learn something new everyday, right?

The spider lasted all of five minutes in the cave before Polyphemus smelled it and crushed it under his giant smelly foot. Percy had thought that the cyclops would take longer to reform, but when had he ever been that lucky? Something that completely baffled him was how the mortals got him to not eat them. The dude had been pretty desperate for food the last time Percy had run into him, so how had the weird boss guy gotten him to hold off?

The only thing he could think of for them to feed him would be...nope! He's not going there right now.

The last thing the spider had transmitted to the group was a picture of a mortal holding a gun to Annabeth's head while she was gagged and chained. It made his blood boil.

"I'm going to kill them," He growled, starting to get off the boat and storm the place.

Jason stepped in front of him before he could, "Easy, Perce. You don't know what you're walking into. They want you to go in half-cocked, so we can't give them that. You know Annabeth can handle herself, so just take a breath and we'll figure out a plan."

Percy took a shaky breath, but it did nothing to cool his anger.

"Jace, if you don't step out of my way in the next two seconds, I will be forced to move you, and trust me, you don't want me to do that."

The son of Jupiter stood his ground, "I'm not moving. I know you Percy. Hurting me would go against your fatal flaw. I'm your best friend; your family. I know you would never intentionally hurt me."

Jason glanced over at the rest of the group, who hadn't dared to move if it upset Percy even more. The guy was a ticking time bomb, and they needed to defuse it before it went off and destroyed any chance of getting Annabeth back safely.

Percy almost looked in pain as he spoke his next words, "Jason, I love you. You're my cousin, but Annabeth is my everything. I will hurt you to get to her."

Jason sighed, expecting that answer. "Then at least let us come with you on your suicide mission. I'm not letting you die without me."

"Fine, but hurry up. I'm leaving now," and Percy shoved past Jason and started the trek up to Polyphemus' cave.

Jason turned to the others, who were all staring after Percy with shocked expressions. "Well you heard him! Move your asses!"

That seemed to startle them awake. Everyone but Bruce started moving.

Ω ♆ Ω

By the time the team had been able to catch up to Percy's fast pace, he had already reached the nearest entrance to the cave. It was a dark, narrow path that had walls of rock on either side reaching up for hundreds of feet.

"This is the part in the horror movies where I start screaming at the tv to not go in there and they still go in there," Piper whispered.

They were all just staring at the darkness, and it was getting awkward. For someone who was so hasty to get to Annabeth, Percy was sure taking a long time to get there.

"Are we gonna go in or..." Tony said.

Percy sighed. "Yeah. We're going in. Just don't separate from the group."

He led the way into the cave with Steve right behind him. Percy appreciated having someone else who could take some of the responsibility off his shoulders. Almost his entire time in the godly world, he had been expected to be the leader because of his father, and he had stepped up, but that doesn't mean it didn't weigh on him. Annabeth was the only one who had been able to help him with the stress, and without her, he was losing it. He had already been barely hanging onto his control over his powers, but now without her, what he was doing could barely be called control. It was more like holding back a rampaging bull with a string.

Ten minutes later, they found themselves hiding behind the wall that led to the room where the gang was waiting. Just as the spider had shown them, Annabeth was kneeling under the gang leader's feet while he held a gun to her head.

She looked murderous, so at least something was still normal in the world.

Steve poked his head around and gave a quick scan of the room before turning back to them, "Ok so we've got at least ten humans, with five monsters. One of the monsters is as tall as a building so I think he's the largest threat. Tony, Clint, Nat, and I will deal with the humans if you guys handle the monsters. The main priority is getting Annabeth to safety. Percy, that's your job."

Saying that last bit was just to clarify for everyone else, though they looked like they didn't need to hear it. Percy had a determined look on his face, one that said he wasn't going to allow anyone else to have his assignment.

"You got it, boss," Tony remarked. "Do you just want to storm in there?"

Before he could get an answer, Percy charged into the room, leaving his friends entirely unshocked, but the Avengers were looking a little mad.

"Don't worry, plans aren't really his thing. Even if we do make them, they never go our way. It's better to go with the flow when fighting with Percy," Hazel reassured, and then turned to follow her godly cousin. The rest of the Seven followed, leaving the Avengers to just stare at each other in confusion.

"I like their style," Tony said before flying into the room.

Natasha sighed. "I'm really starting to regret meeting these kids."

Clint smirked at her before leaving, closely followed by Steve and the Black Widow herself. For all three of them, everything about this mission was against their nature, but there wasn't much they could do about it. They were in unknown territory with a group of newly-allied teens and no backup. It was a shitshow before they had even left.

Ω ♆ Ω

Frank was fighting a dracaena, and it was making it super annoying. The thing would not stop talking about grocery stores. It was quite distracting when trying to kill it.

"Seriously! Can you believe how nobody can see how bad those chains are?!" it exclaimed.

Frank sighed, ready for it to be over. Whenever he would try to stab it, it would just slither away right at the last second, all the while continuing to complain.

He decided to use his shapeshifting abilities to catch the thing off-guard. In reality, he could probably deal with it in seconds, but when he really used his inner son of Mars, it drained him. He needed to save his strength if he was going to fight Polyphemus.

Speaking of, so far, the cyclops had stayed out of the fighting. He was just sitting on his throne made of rock, picking at his teeth with what Frank really hoped wasn't a human bone.

Frank changed into a squirrel for a second, climbing up onto the back of the dracaena with the animal's speed and before the monster could react, he changed back into a human and stabbed it through the back with his spear.

"Huh. I guess you can shut up," he remarked as the monster turned into dust.

After, Frank turned to help Hazel take down an empousa. She had already defeated four before that, so it was a pretty easy fight. He had been keeping an eye on her throughout his fight. Sure, he trusted she could take care of herself, but it was also his job to watch her back.

"Thanks," Hazel told him with a quick peck on the cheek after they finished.

Believe it or not, that kiss on the cheek was a major improvement. It had been a real adjustment for Hazel to learn how couples expressed affection nowadays, and it had taken even longer to start showing it herself. It helped that Frank preferred words over touch, too.

"No problem."

Ω ♆ Ω

"Get some, térata!" Leo screamed, running up to the manticore and sending giant, continuous blasts of fire at it.

He had heard of Dr. Thorn from Nico, Percy, and Annabeth before, and had somehow retained the knowledge that it was extremely durable on the outside. That meant that he had to think smart in order to beat it.

So far, Leo was distracting it and holding it off with his fire while he thought of a plan. However, he could only hold it off for so long. He would eventually tire out.

Come on, Leo, THINK!

Then it hit him.

It was so simple! He had been told the story of how the Nemean lion was defeated at Camp. Now usually, he would totally ignore any schooling he was given, but the stuff they were taught at Camp was much more interesting than algebra. So yeah, he remembered some stuff.

So, he decided that his best shot at beating Dr. Thorn was landing a large enough hit inside of him. That meant he had to figure out a way to get him to open his mouth. That wasn't really the hard part, though. The hard part was figuring out how to not die when he had to get closer to the monster.

"Estoy jodido..." he muttered before taking a step forward, never once stopping his assault on the beast.

The Manticore didn't seem to be moving back from the intensity, but rather reveling in the fact that he hadn't gained one burn from the fight. He was just waiting out Leo.

That was not a fun revelation for the son of Hephaestus to have.

And that was when the thorns started attacking him. He should've been expecting it, really. The guy had a tail of poisonous thorns and he hadn't used it yet? Something should've registered in his mind. But that was past-Leo's mistake. Present-Leo had to deal with the super tall, scary, poisonous, and royally pissed-off greek monster in front of him.

Dr. Thorn let out a war cry and swung his tail around, releasing a line of spikes at Leo, who managed to just barely duck out of the way. He was not keen on becoming swiss cheese!

"Ok. It's time to end this." Leo sighed in annoyance, jumping back up and charging.

He swung his battle hammer up and lit it on fire, deciding that he might as well stick with the common theme of stupid ideas. He managed to keep dodging attacks all the way up until he was within ten feet of the manticore. Then, he threw his weapon at the monster, praying to Apollo for good aim. He had fixed the sun chariot plenty of times, so the god had to owe him at least one favor.

Once again, Leo's stupid demigod luck kicked in and the hammer somehow embedded itself in the monster's mouth, which had been opened in a prideful roar. Honestly, the son of Hephaestus didn't know HOW he did it, just that it worked.

With the distraction of having a flaming hammer in his mouth, Dr. Thorn didn't see Leo running up with his arms raised and prepared to fire. By the time he did, it was too late because long blasts of fire were flying straight towards his open mouth.

The monster was able to mutter a silent curse before he disintegrated into dust, once again sent to Tartarus.

"Take that, bitch."

Ω ♆ Ω

Piper was absolutely sure the Fates were laughing at her. They had to be. There was no way that she just happened to be stuck with the two empousa. It didn't help that Jason was struggling to not drool over the girls. She just had to keep chanting in her head that the monsters were using their charm powers on him, and he was not actually attracted to the disgusting things.

After the two monsters tried to both swipe at her at the same time, she growled and shouted, "Jason! Get your head in the game and come help me!"

He had been blinking and shaking his head for the past two minutes and it was getting quite frustrating to have these donkey-cyborg-vampires ganging up on her with no back-up. Once this was over, she was going to make Jason work to get back in her good graces.

With just a little bit of her charmspeak added into her order, Jason was finally able to break free from the empousai's spell. He quickly willed his gladius to be a javelin and launched it through one of the monsters, which made it explode into a shower of golden dust. A traitorous part of Piper's brain insisted on calling that move hot, but she was able to school her expression back into a scowl before her boyfriend could notice.

The other empousa let out a shriek and said, "You MONSTERS! That was my sister! I'll make you pay for that!"

They only had a second to appreciate the irony before she launched herself at them with even more fervor than before, fueled by the rage of losing her "sister."

Jason couldn't help but notice how she was wearing a cheerleading costume. It was very ripped and destroyed, but it was clearly a cheerleading uniform. And as he was deflecting her claws, the ADHD part of his brain realized that the logo on the uniform was for Goode High School, Percy's old school. He almost wanted to laugh when he remembered the story of Kelli, an empousa acting as a cheerleader during Percy's freshman orientation. Percy had always said the monster had a nasty habit of coming back quickly, but Jason had just thought it was an exaggeration. But no, he and Piper were really fighting Kelli, one of Percy's recurring monsters.

It would be hilarious later, truly. But for now, he had to actually kill the thing.

Kelli had backed off when she realized that attacking out of rage wasn't going to work against two experienced demigods, and that also gave Jason and Piper a chance to make a plan themselves.

"Got any ideas?" he asked Piper.

She grinned with a terrifying amount of murderous glee. "I thought you'd never ask."

And then she told him her plan, which was essentially just using him as bait while she got to do all the killing. The prideful Roman part of him wanted to insist on him killing it, but he managed to reign that in when he saw the look on Piper's face. She was not asking, she was telling. Who was he to say no, especially after he hadn't been able to fully resist the empousai's charm?

A scary thought told him he was turning into Percy. He brushed that off for later nightmares.

"Come get me, bloodsucker!" He shouted, raising his arms up in a taunting manner. If he was acting like Percy, might as well go all the way right?

With yet another shriek, Kelli stormed at Jason, completely disregarding the daughter of Aphrodite that was stepping back and preparing to literally stab the monster in the back with her dagger.

Sometimes Jason wonders how a creature could be so stupid. Their plan was so obvious!

It went off without a hitch, technically. Piper let the empousa get a little too close for comfort before she killed it, but he trusted her to get the job done and she came through. Kelli had been prepped and ready to bite into his neck right before she exploded into dust.

It was one Hades of a trust exercise, that's for sure.

"Please don't let it get that close next time, Pipes," he breathed out while he put away Juno's Gladius.

Piper gave him a quick peck on the lips, "Not a chance, Superman."

Ω ♆ Ω

Considering the circumstances, the Avengers weren't doing half-bad. They were actually fairing pretty well. They knew how to deal with humans, so their job wasn't that hard. The only difficulty was that there were four of them and ten of the bad guys. They were sorely outnumbered.

Currently, Steve was fighting two at once, with a third opponent already knocked out a few feet away. He was blocking one with his shield while punching the other in the face. He then switched roles, instead kicking the first attacker and driving his shield into the gut of the second. The one he gutted gasped and fell to the ground, and was knocked unconscious was a simple hit to the temple. While he was distracted with taking down his partner, the still-conscious bad guy recovered from the kick and was able to land a hit to the back of Steve's head. Clearly, the fighter had been prepared to have achieved some form of disorientation from the Captain, but all he got was a pissed-off Avenger.

"That tickled."

It took less than five seconds for Steve to take him down after that.

Natasha also started with three adversaries. Key word being 'started.' It had taken barely any time to take down the first two. And all she had to do for the third was a scissor kick and hold until he passed out. She had just finished doing that when a call from Clint got her attention.

"Nat!" he shouted.

She turned on instinct and threw a throwing knife at the person running up behind her straight into their chest. They stopped with shocked features before falling to the ground in a heap, dead weight pushing the knife even further in and no doubt killing them faster.

"Getting rusty, Clint?" she teased, throwing a look over at her friend.

"No," he defended. "I'm just making sure you're not getting rusty!"

The archer hadn't realised one of his two attackers had sneaked off to go after the "bigger threat." He would never let Nat know he thought she was the bigger threat, though. That would be fueling an ego he knew was somewhere deep down in her.

Tony had been given two people to fight as well, and he was doing pretty well. He had the obvious advantage of being in the air, so all the gang members he was fighting could do was try to shoot at him with their guns, and his armor was designed to withstand a nuclear bomb. Bullets weren't gonna do much damage.

"Guys, seriously, we should just talk this out. We both KNOW I'm going to be knocking you both out in five seconds, so why don't you surrender instead? It'll be so much easier for the both of us!" he said, raising his hands and readying his repulsors.

As expected, the bad guys didn't show any sign of slowing down their useless attack on him. With a roll of his eyes and an obnoxious sigh, Iron Man shot them both in the chest, knocking them out cold.

"That felt too easy. Did that feel too easy to you?" He asked the other Avengers as they gathered back together.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with Tony," Natasha said, "That fight was too good to be true."

Now that the truth had been revealed to them, the Avengers could blame what happened next on the Fates.

Ω ♆ Ω

There it is! I hope you liked it

other chapters :)

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Acceptable Parameters

Whereby guilt is learned. Next part of the “adopting a CSU” story. Also available on AO3 in chronological order. 

Constructive criticism welcome and much appreciated.

I woke up and promptly fell out of a chair.

It took me a few seconds to sort out why the hell I was sleeping in a chair in the first place, and by then all the aches and stiffness associated with doing so caught up with me. So did the memories of the previous few hours. I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep, so it might have been an hour ago or three days.

"Oh, shit!" I scrambled off the floor with a groan just as a throbbing headache made itself known behind my temples. A quick look around the bridge revealed that I had left the place in shambles before apparently passing out from exhaustion. The nameless CombatUnit still sat strapped into the co-pilot’s chair, so I hadn’t hallucinated that part. It looked up at me with wide, unreadable eyes. I smiled affectionately at the construct. “Morning! Er… Day? Evening?” I frowned and checked the time. “Sorry for startling you. I swear I’m not usually this clumsy.”

Kris was nowhere to be seen, but that was fine. He wasn't required to babysit Serenity — the ship knew what it was doing, we were here to provide backup and deal with people.

"How're you feeling?" I asked the SecUnit.

Meanwhile, my scattered brain noticed the loose wires on the floor, and I groaned at the prospect of cleaning up the mess I made while trying to get myself hooked up to Serenity. That had been a hell of a ride, and I still wasn’t sure how everything fit together. As far as I could tell, the connection was holding with duct tape and magic.

When the only other living being in the room didn’t answer straightaway, I tried a different tactic. "Um… Let's see… What's your current performance rating? Was that right?"

80% and holding steady.

"Thank you," I said encouragingly. "Um, when I ask how are you, it's kind of the same thing. I want to know your overall status." I bustled around the bridge, putting away tools I didn't remember haphazardly dragging onto the floor. "Oh deity! Speaking of. We never tended to your injuries."

This unit's performance rating is within acceptable parameters.

I froze midway through shoving a wrench into its rightful place. "You got shot! That's not… within acceptable anything."

This unit has caused damage to its handler and should be punished for injuring a superior officer.

I blinked for a few moments, confused and disbelieving. "What do you mean? You obviously didn't hurt anyone since we met you. You can't even move. I don't…" My brain must've been moving at half-speed.

You.

Oh. "You didn't hurt me." I looked down at myself just to make sure I wasn't lying. "It's fine. I was exhausted before, but that's normal. Humans can't handle acute stress for long periods of time. You didn't do anything wrong."

Understood.

My sluggish thoughts finally caught up, and I wondered if someone had told the SecUnit that it had been responsible for… hurting me. I decided this was a terrible time to think about any of this, and my stomach growled just to reiterate the point.

"Serenity, please release the SecUnit and spin up our medical cubicle."

"XO Kris has requested that the SecUnit not be moved or released without his permission," the ship informed me.

Serenity understood the chain of command as a vague, half-formed idea rather than as something strict and well defined. The ship had a crew, and it listened to its crew. When it got conflicting commands, it sometimes turned off all the displays or ran the recycler. It knew me as the captain, and I had an override for moments like this. But I couldn't exactly travel with people I didn't trust because dealing with BS daily was untenable.

"Right, of course. Serenity, please disregard the XO's last command. Also, where is he?"

"Command deleted. Kris is currently in his cabin. His vital signs indicate he may be sleeping."

I grinned. He probably needed the rest. "Thank you."

"Captain, I am detecting nearby debris of unknown origin approximately three hours from the wormhole entrance," the ship said before I could open my mouth again.

This got the SecUnit's attention.

"Better report that to the station, Sere. Just in case." I plopped down into the pilot's chair and pulled up the controls, hunger completely forgotten. "Are you seeing any active beacons out there?"

The momentary silence while the ship scanned for any comm traffic was maddening. Ugly and desperate what-if scenarios cycled through my imagination, starting with the most horrifying: an escape pod falling into a wormhole. Yeah, that was nightmare fuel I didn't need right now.

"One beacon is transmitting, and I'm detecting faint vital signs."

"Set a course for the beacon, Sere. And probably wake Kris up, too. He's not going to love this."

This would delay our schedule, and while I didn't much care if the clients had to wait an extra day while we performed rescue operations, I knew it mattered to Kris. He was more rigid in that regard — nervous about pissing off clients and suspicious of their intentions. His gut rarely led us astray, though.

[lightholme]

That's a great way to describe the nature of human nature. A lot of our instincts stem from useful shortcuts like that.

Human brains didn't evolve to handle the vast interconnectivity, complexity, and nuance of the modern world. Hell, the brain can't even really handle more than ~150 meaningful personal connections.

We operate deeply by back-of-the-napkin heuristics that solve our early evolutionary problems, but they're not very accurate. It's easier to get it right 70% of the time in one second than it is to get it right 100% of the time in thirty seconds. When a snowball (or lion) is flying at your face, moving at all is better than sitting around while you verify the threat's trajectory precisely.

Unfortunately, our tendency to align with those around us (a convenient heuristic sometimes still) isn't the sole problem here.

Some of these heuristics/instincts are naturally buffered. For example, one might imagine that the tendency (or inevitability) for people to bifurcate and fracture larger groups into less-than-150 sized groups is enough to minimize the problem, but just because it feels fine doesn't mean the result is fine. We form tribes on the spot for all sorts of reasons. Team A, Team B. My group, your group. Soccer teams, military platoons. Clades of styles and habits bloom and wither like algae tides. As a species, we crave that aspect of tribalism so deeply that sometimes a well placed "us" and a weaseled in "them" is enough to draw the lines that become a riot. This tendency can be positive sometimes (sometimes), sure.

What about our tendency to over-value sugar in a world where calories are no longer worth storing? That is a known-and-visible problem, isn't it? And how about the fact that a single mouse-click can show you more naked ladies than one's ancestors saw in their entire life - multiples more, in fact? It seems obvious that distorting such critically important evolutionary impulses miiiiight muddy the waters a bit even if we allow ourselves to believe that we handle it fine, that all is well, or that it's even somehow ideal.

Even these examples of specific and "obvious" discrepancies between our bioevolutionary hardware and our socio-technological elevation is a small enough as an idea to share with a stranger over a beer. The Real Heavy Shit™ is so unwieldy that a scientist-philosopher would struggle to gaze at directly, let alone transmit to others in a format smaller than a series of structured TedTalks.

The reasons for the issues we're facing (and in a sense have always faced) are myriad, but in recent times I think a new dynamic has been born, magnified, then bootstrapped itself into life beneath our notice - all within a single human generation. Information has become a danger to us. Any information. It is an emergent property that rises from the quasi-computational substrate of human social interaction.

Problem: When the complexity of an idea rises above the level of one's ability to conceptualize the 'entire thing' at once, we have to take the parts we can't see on faith.

With the proper framework, foundation, and a well-trained instinct this isn't an entirely disruptive phenomenon - it's even obvious and expected, right? One cannot hold the entire subject of 'science' in their head at one time. One cannot even hold the entirety of 'geology'. And even if one could, you'd be unable to truly understand geologic mechanisms without understanding that the elements that make all those fancy rocks came from dynamics that stem from astrophysics.

These things cannot be held, but they can be traced and compared and tested (if someone cares to do so in the first place). Even then, misconceptions easily bloom like cancers in the absence of an effort to validate.

Now consider the idea of an informational construct that is not so easily proven by mere effort and time. Imagine one that isn't built specifically to avoid misconception like science is. (which - unfortunately - still results in vast misconceptions by layman and scientist alike). When we cannot hold an idea in our head from start-to-finish, we also cannot verify that it exists distinct from itself at all. One can't tell a snake from an ouroborous. And unless you have something to compare it to, reference it against, the difference between a cancer and an organ is negligible. It's only in the context of an organism that a cancer is even harmful, even deadly. A cancerous tumor, viewed in a vacuum, is - for lack of a better term - successful as fuck at what it's doing... Perpetuating itself at all costs, regardless of benefit, regardless of consequence.

Ideas are not just informational nuggets. They're active, living systems which 'compete' not unlike living creatures do through the rules of their unique brand of quasi-evolutionary pressures. Ideas are both organs and cancers. And when billions of thinking beings are unable to easily determine the difference between an organ and a cancer, well... It's not so difficult to imagine that problems might arise.

To the elucidated or aware, it's horrifying to see someone running around trying to share a poison with others, claiming it to be something it is not. It's confusing to imagine how such a delusion can not only exist at all, but to spread with a veracity greater - far greater - than Real Deal truths. I will admit that part of that is because these sort of ideas empower the thinker. Real truths are either boring or frightening (or both). Aliens and crystals, gods and secret societies are so much more comforting than acknowledging that nobody is really at the wheel, that society is a ship in a storm rocked by systems - hydrodynamics, meteorological - far too complex to grasp, far too large to be defeated by comparatively meek human drives.

There's certainly more than one reason that someone interested in particular subjects (flat earth, for example) tend to also be interested in toxic conservative politics, religion, ancient aliens, so on. Many of these sort of meme-laden ideas are fundamentally incompatible with each other, yet you commonly find them in the same place. I personally use invented terms like "psychological antivirus/firewalls" since the concept of common sense alone doesn't have the load-bearing capacity to address this level of metastasized information.

Again -- A cancer is successful in a vacuum. It is optimized for relentless growth in absence of both usefulness and sustainability. Modern pressures (namely a social density vastly greater than what our brains can handle and the fast-paced war-for-attention nature of the internet) are now selecting ideas not for value or consistency, but transmissability.

Close your eyes and apply this metaphor to the rest of the world. Taste the horror of this truth, then consider that the issue can barely be described at all, let alone compressed down and shared to the world like some sort of hotfix. Following the metaphor, it'd be like writing a well-worded essay to convince your immune system to recognize an autoimmune disorder. You can't "Hey, bud. We need to have a talk." to a virus.

Christ, we can't even convince people to vaccinate against an actual virus that can be seen and verified as both real and harmful. This informational plague of idea-viruses is not only not-visible, hidden by abstraction, too recent to be intuitive, too large to even be named - some are seen by its victims as positive, absolute, worthy of defending with one's life even as one denies it exists at all.

Unfortunately, even this is just one of the many reasons why/how the modern world is simply too much for the smart apes known as homo sapiens.

TL;DR - Modern pressures (namely a social density vastly greater than what our brains can handle and the fast-paced war-for-attention nature of the internet) are now selecting ideas not for value or consistency, but transmissability. Some people are more ideal as carriers and vectors than others, but most of us have felt the sensation of being drawn into something or slowly waking up from a stupor we were born into.

[myacademia-susuganan-deku]

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⭐A Target Package is short for Target Package of Information. It is a more specialized case of Intel Package of Information or Intel Package.

✌ THE STORY ✌ Its and Jeremy Camp (K.J. Apa) is a and aspiring musician who like only to honor his God through the energy of music. Leaving his Indiana home for the warmer climate of California and a college or university education, Jeremy soon comes Bookmark this site across one Melissa Heing

(Britt Robertson), a fellow university student that he takes notices in the audience at an area concert. Bookmark this site Falling for cupid’s arrow immediately, he introduces himself to her and quickly discovers that she is drawn to him too. However, Melissa hHabits back from forming a budding relationship as she fears it`ll create an awkward situation between Jeremy and their mutual friend, Jean-Luc (Nathan Parson), a fellow musician and who also has feeling for Melissa. Still, Jeremy is relentless in his quest for her until they eventually end up in a loving dating relationship. However, their youthful courtship Bookmark this sitewith the other person comes to a halt when life-threating news of Melissa having cancer takes center stage. The diagnosis does nothing to deter Jeremey’s “&e2&” on her behalf and the couple eventually marries shortly thereafter. Howsoever, they soon find themselves walking an excellent line between a life together and suffering by her Bookmark this siteillness; with Jeremy questioning his faith in music, himself, and with God himself.

✌ STREAMING MEDIA ✌ Streaming media is multimedia that is constantly received by and presented to an end-user while being delivered by a provider. The verb to stream refers to the procedure of delivering or obtaining media this way.[clarification needed] Streaming identifies the delivery approach to the medium, rather than the medium itself. Distinguishing delivery method from the media distributed applies especially to telecommunications networks, as almost all of the delivery systems are either inherently streaming (e.g. radio, television, streaming apps) or inherently non-streaming (e.g. books, video cassettes, audio tracks CDs). There are challenges with streaming content on the web. For instance, users whose Internet connection lacks sufficient bandwidth may experience stops, lags, or slow buffering of this content. And users lacking compatible hardware or software systems may be unable to stream certain content. Streaming is an alternative to file downloading, an activity in which the end-user obtains the entire file for the content before watching or listening to it. Through streaming, an end-user may use their media player to get started on playing digital video or digital sound content before the complete file has been transmitted. The term “streaming media” can connect with media other than video and audio, such as for example live closed captioning, ticker tape, and real-time text, which are considered “streaming text”. This brings me around to discussing us, a film release of the Christian religio us faith-based . As almost customary, Hollywood usually generates two (maybe three) films of this variety movies within their yearly theatrical release lineup, with the releases usually being around spring us and / or fall Habitfully. I didn’t hear much when this movie was initially aounced (probably got buried underneath all of the popular movies news on the newsfeed). My first actual glimpse of the movie was when the film’s movie trailer premiered, which looked somewhat interesting if you ask me. Yes, it looked the movie was goa be the typical “faith-based” vibe, but it was going to be directed by the Erwin Brothers, who directed I COULD Only Imagine (a film that I did so like). Plus, the trailer for I Still Believe premiered for quite some us, so I continued seeing it most of us when I visited my local cinema. You can sort of say that it was a bit “engrained in my brain”. Thus, I was a lttle bit keen on seeing it. Fortunately, I was able to see it before the COVID-9 outbreak closed the movie theaters down (saw it during its opening night), but, because of work scheduling, I haven’t had the us to do my review for it…. as yet. And what did I think of it? Well, it was pretty “meh”. While its heart is certainly in the proper place and quite sincere, us is a little too preachy and unbalanced within its narrative execution and character developments. The religious message is plainly there, but takes way too many detours and not focusing on certain aspects that weigh the feature’s presentation.

✌ TELEVISION SHOW AND HISTORY ✌ A tv set show (often simply Television show) is any content prBookmark this siteoduced for broadcast via over-the-air, satellite, cable, or internet and typically viewed on a television set set, excluding breaking news, advertisements, or trailers that are usually placed between shows. Tv shows are most often scheduled well ahead of The War with Grandpa and appearance on electronic guides or other TV listings. A television show may also be called a tv set program (British EnBookmark this siteglish: programme), especially if it lacks a narrative structure. A tv set Movies is The War with Grandpaually released in episodes that follow a narrative, and so are The War with Grandpaually split into seasons (The War with Grandpa and Canada) or Movies (UK) — yearly or semiaual sets of new episodes. A show with a restricted number of episodes could be called a miniMBookmark this siteovies, serial, or limited Movies. A one-The War with Grandpa show may be called a “special”. A television film (“made-for-TV movie” or “televisioBookmark this siten movie”) is a film that is initially broadcast on television set rather than released in theaters or direct-to-video. Television shows may very well be Bookmark this sitehey are broadcast in real The War with Grandpa (live), be recorded on home video or an electronic video recorder for later viewing, or be looked at on demand via a set-top box or streameBookmark this sited on the internet. The first television set shows were experimental, sporadic broadcasts viewable only within an extremely short range from the broadcast tower starting in the. Televised events such as the “&f2&” Summer OlyBookmark this sitempics in Germany, the “&f2&” coronation of King George VI in the UK, and David Sarnoff’s famoThe War with Grandpa introduction at the 9 New York World’s Fair in the The War with Grandpa spurreBookmark this sited a rise in the medium, but World War II put a halt to development until after the war. The “&f2&” World Movies inspired many Americans to buy their first tv set and in “&f2&”, the favorite radio show Texaco Star Theater made the move and became the first weekly televised variety show, earning host Milton Berle the name “Mr Television” and demonstrating that the medium was a well balanced, modern form of entertainment which could attract advertisers. The firsBookmBookmark this siteark this sitet national live tv broadcast in the The War with Grandpa took place on September 1, “&f2&” when President Harry Truman’s speech at the Japanese Peace Treaty Conference in SAN FRAKung Fu CO BAY AREA was transmitted over AT&T’s transcontinental cable and microwave radio relay system to broadcast stations in local markets.

✌ FINAL THOUGHTS ✌ The power of faith, “&e2&”, and affinity for take center stage in Jeremy Camp’s life story in the movie I Still Believe. Directors Andrew and Jon Erwin (the Erwin Brothers) examine the life span and The War with Grandpas of Jeremy Camp’s life story; pin-pointing his early life along with his relationship Melissa Heing because they battle hardships and their enduring “&e2&” for one another through difficult. While the movie’s intent and thematic message of a person’s faith through troublen is indeed palpable plus the likeable mThe War with Grandpaical performances, the film certainly strules to look for a cinematic footing in its execution, including a sluish pace, fragmented pieces, predicable plot beats, too preachy / cheesy dialogue moments, over utilized religion overtones, and mismanagement of many of its secondary /supporting characters. If you ask me, this movie was somewhere between okay and “meh”. It had been definitely a Christian faith-based movie endeavor Bookmark this web site (from begin to finish) and definitely had its moments, nonetheless it failed to resonate with me; struling to locate a proper balance in its undertaking. Personally, regardless of the story, it could’ve been better. My recommendation for this movie is an “iffy choice” at best as some should (nothing wrong with that), while others will not and dismiss it altogether. Whatever your stance on religion faith-based flicks, stands as more of a cautionary tale of sorts; demonstrating how a poignant and heartfelt story of real-life drama could be problematic when translating it to a cinematic endeavor. For me personally, I believe in Jeremy Camp’s story / message, but not so much the feature.

=============================================================

[notquitecanon]

hello! i hope you’re doing well and staying safe!! i was wondering if you could do a imagine/fic where y/n is also in the bau and gets hurt on the job, and spencer is super worried, protective and sweet when they finally find her? thank you so much!! i adore your work and honestly can’t wait to read loads more!! 🥺👉🏻👈🏻🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

This is way longer than I anticipated. Sorry I got a little carried away.

TW: uh, blood, guns, basically if you can’t watch criminal minds, don’t read this??

_____

Everything hurt as you started to come to, confused and out of it. Slowly, you remembered what happened, raising a shaky hand to find warm, sticky blood on your temple where you had been hit. It was hard to keep your eyes open, even the dim lighting of the basement was too much for your throbbing head. Nevertheless, you pried them open and looked around for anything you could use against your attacker- who, at this point, was undoubtedly the unsub. 

“I knew filling in for JJ while she was on maternity leave might be a little more dangerous than teaching at the FBI academy, but I didn’t expect to get hit in the head just for showing my badge-  I know I retired from the field early, but I used to get a lot farther before someone tried to hit me.”  You thought, wincing as you tried to sit up- everything from the neck down was hurting, “What did he push me down the stairs too?” 

Finally, you were able to push your self so you sat against the wall- which you tried to ignore the dark red smeared and splattered stains on- as you heard the unsub stomping around upstairs. If you strained you could barely hear him talking to himself, definitely delusional, those are the most dangerous types. Delusional or not, he knew you were FBI (and judging by the sun flitting in through the one, tiny window you’d only been out a couple hours) so it wouldn’t be long before people came looking for you. 

Peeling off the blazer you had worn that day, you took a deep breath. You just had to stay alive until they found you.

_______

Meanwhile at the local police station:

Spencer tiredly popped his neck before taking a sip of his coffee (the station hadn’t had Tea and he needed the caffeine), relishing the short mental break before he went back to the board. Morgan was with Lewis going over the latest autopsy results while Rossi interviewed a couple of parents in one of the station’s waiting areas- so the conference room they had taken over was unusually quiet. Not that the genius minded. Those meticulous eyes raked over the map where he’d originally designed the geographic profile, but they’d exhausted every possibility in the area. He glanced over his shoulder at the fresh map where he had been trying to come up with another one, but something didn’t feel right. He knew the original geographic profile was right, they just had to be missing something. 

In his peripheral, he saw Hotch slip into the room with a folder in his hand- like Reid, his mind was stuck on something too- a missing person's case. The only person in the whole town who fit their profile went missing five years ago at fifteen. They’d already interviewed the man’s parents, who just explained that he was a troubled individual and slipped away in the night. That didn’t sit well with Hotch, so he sent you back to their house to ask some follow-up questions since they hadn’t been answering their phone- he just forgot to tell Spencer. 

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment of his arrival, and Hotch gave him a nod, not even looking up. The doctor tapped a finger on the map of the suburban town they were in, sighing “I feel like we’re missing the one piece of information we need to solve this case.”

“Isn’t that how it always goes, though?” Rossi teased lightly as he sauntered in, the three agents could hear the latest victim’s mother sobbing as she left the precinct. They all grimaced but carried on. 

“Yes, but I agree. We’re definitely missing something.” Hotch agreed as Morgan and Lewis rushed into the conference room. 

“You’ll never guess what we just found.” Lewis announced as she pulled two evidance bags out of her coat pocket, tossing one to Hotch who shared with Rossi and one to Spencer. The clear bags both contained a stained scrap of paper, but the writing was clear. 

“I’m Still Here.” Reid read aloud, throwing Morgan a questioning look. 

“These were hidden in the last two victims throats, the ME is reexamining the other victims as we speak.” Morgan clarified, “We only found this because a different ME examined the lastest body.”

Hotch frowned, remember the lackluster medical examiner they first encountered. As the team threw around ideas about this new find, Spencer looked around the room realizing a voice was missing. 

“Hey, has anyone seen (Y/N)? I haven’t seen her since she left to revisit the dumpsites.” He asked, not paying attention to Morgan’s teasing. (You and Spencer had been dating for months before you got asked to temporarily join the team, and the team had only found out about it recently. Hotch agreed to let you stay, since your work with them was only temporary and JJ would be back in two weeks anyway.)  

Hotch glanced at him, furrowing his eyebrows, “After she did that, I asked her to follow up with the Greys since she was already on that side of town.”

Spencer turned his head to gaze out of the large window at the setting sun, Hotch seemed to follow his line of thought, “That was hours ago, has anyone heard from her?” 

The air in the room turned tense as everyone drew up blank, everyone in the room could see the lines of worry and stress tension rapidly appearing in the youngest team member as he left the room. Minutes later, he came back looking even worse, “Guys, her phone is going straight to ‘caller unavailable’”

Hotch pressed a button on the conference rooms phone, near immediately Spencer’s claims were confirmed with a monotonous, “I’m sorry the number you're attempting to reach is unavailable please try again at a later date.” 

Morgan was quick to do something similar, switching to speaker as the line connected this time to a bright, cheery voice as Spencer began nervously picking at his fingernails, foot-tapping as she greeted them, “Hello, crime fighters, what can I do for you!” 

“Baby girl, we need a location on (Y/N)’s cell phone.” Morgan was quick to cut to the chase, negating their usual banter. Even over the phone, Spencer could feel the hacker’s mood change only confirmed by the immediate clicking of keys followed by muttering. 

“Oh, ok, oh no, that’s never good.” She whispered as she worked, “Oh! oh...”

“What is it?” Spencer pressed immediately, almost tripping over a chair leg as if getting closer to the phone would give him answers faster. Rossi tried to comfort him with a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but Reid didn’t even notice it. 

“That last transmitted location was 5 hours ago.” She informed them,  “Address is on your phones.” 

Spencer did the mental math in a fraction of a second, five hours ago was around noon. You’d been missing since noon and he’d just found out? A flash of frustration went through the doctor before melting into an even greater sense of worry- a lot could happen in five hours. 

His genius brain was working so fast in a downward spiral of all the terrible possibilities that could happen that he almost didn’t hear Hotch announce, “That’s Mason Grey’s parent’s house, she was there to ask some follow-up questions.”

“The kid that went missing?” Rossi asked as the missing piece clicked in Spencer’s brain. 

“I’m still here! What if Mason Grey didn’t go missing, but his parents just hid him. He was showing early symptoms of mental problems, and we’ve seen it before.” Spencer almost shouted. Garcia was still on the line, and announced, “And, the house is in the middle of the kill zone” 

“Neither one of the Grey’s showed up to their jobs today or yesterday. That’s not a good sign is it.” 

“That kind of isolation could drive someone crazy, especially if they were already mentally ill,” Lewis added. Spencer had already made up his mind, and every minute that they weren’t on their way to you was slowly driving him crazy.

Hotch only thought about it for another minute, “Vests on, we’re leaving in five minutes.”

Spencer was in the car in two.

__________

You could barely see the sun setting through the tiny basement window, but it didn’t bode well as it was your only source of light. Your attempts to explore hadn’t been very fruitful, as once you finally managed to stand up you were made painfully aware that your knee was dislocated. Nevertheless, with a huff you resigned yourself to limp around. 

Fruitful or not, you made some discoveries. First, you found the remained peices of your destroyed phone- considering it was in four large pieces you didn’t even attempt to turn it on. Next, you discovered the tiny window was sealed shut so you couldn’t even attempt an escape. Lastly, you found a locked room in corner of the room with an all too familiar rotting smell seeping from under the door. That must be the Grey’s you decided solemnly. The door itself was old and rickety-splintering in some places, even with bad leg you figured you could probably get it open. I could probably use my shoulder and ram it down, bodies or not, there might be a window in there that isn’t sealed. 

“Get away from there!” 

A shout startled you, and instinctively you ripped your hand off the doorknob you were jiggling. You didn’t have to turn around to know he had a gun, you heard the safety click off. Holding your hands up, you were quiet. With these types of unsubs, it was best to let him call the shots. 

“T-turn around.” He demanded so you did, slowly. Greeted with the face you’d only briefly seen earlier before he’d hit you over the head with a bottle. The same face from the missing posters Hotch had shown you. This had to be Mason Grey, the missing teenager from five years ago- he’d be something like 20 years old now. He was using both hands to point a gun-your gun- at you, hands shaking as he glared at you. 

Softly speaking, you rose your eyebrows, “Are you Mason?”

He didn’t answer, using the gun to motion you to kneel down. You were already at a disadvantage, and you didn’t like the added weakness of being on the ground. 

“You’re FBI.” It was a statement not a question, but you nodded anyway. 

“Yes, I am, and my team knows I’m here. If they get here and you’re pointing a gun at me, I promise you, it won’t end well for you.” You informed him, voice stern but not malicious. It was a fact, not a threat. 

“What if you’re dead when you get here?” That wasn’t a threat either, a genuine question. Somehow, that was scarier.

“Well, since your parents are behind that door and they’ll connect you to at least five victims? It still won’t end well for you.” You calmly informed him as he moved one of his hands to nibble on his dirty fingernails. His forehead was sweating, eyes darting around, and hair greasy. He was scared.

“You were never missing were you?” You asked quietly, voice soft and sympathetic. His head shook.

“Did your parents make you stay down here?” 

This time he nodded, lip wobbling as he took a sharp, deep breath, “I was different and they didn’t want people to know, so they made me stay down here. If I tried to leave, they’d lock me in there. Once they figured out I was leaving at night to go see my girlfriend, they tried to lock me up again. So I locked them in there, to see how bad it was.”

His girlfriend? Mason Grey’s real girlfriend died shortly after he went missing, maybe he saw all his victims as her? But you couldn’t worry about that, towards the end of his explanation his voice turned angry, erratic. 

“If the FBI comes here. They’ll lock me up too. You’re gonna lock me up! I DON’T WANT TO BE LOCKED UP AGAIN.” He was yelling, inching closer to you and jabbing the gun towards you. He was distracted, so he didn’t hear the sirens approaching. But you did. 

I just have to hold on a little longer. 

“Mason, I don’t want to lock you up. If you put the gun down, I can help you. I’ll tell my friends what happened to you and that you cooperated and didn’t hurt me-” You tried promising him, but you were cut off by the sound of squealing breaks in front of the house. Your eyes flicked to the tiny window, it was dusk which allowed you to see red and blue flashing lights. 

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” He bellowed, for a moment he clawed both hands into his short greasy hair. Nervously, you strained to hear stomping feet above you. Then you heard the basement door open, and at the top of the stairs, you could see those unmistakeable converse paired with Morgan shouting behind him. 

“Mason Grey, FBI.”

Spencer was here. You thought, sighing in relief, but it didn’t last long. You could see their feet, but not them so they definitely couldn’t see you- couldn’t see the gun. A moment too late, you saw Mason erratically wave the gun towards them, towards Spence. 

“NO!” You shrieked, jumping up and grabbing his arm as you tackled him. The noise and pain came at the exact moment you hit the ground with him, almost immediately rolling off of him and grasping at the warm, wet, extremely painful wound on your stomach as your eyes screwed shut. 

“(Y/N)!” You heard distantly as you tried to bring yourself back to reality, “We need an ambulance!”

You cracked your eyes open to Spencer crouched over you, eyes filled with worry as you brushed the hair off your forehead, behind him Morgan was shoving Mason up the basement stairs, probably rougher than he had to. 

Breathing heavily, one of your hands pawed at the source of pain but Spencer instead took it in his, “You’re gonna be ok, you’re going to be just fine.”

You barely nodded, trying to slow your breathing as the genius grabbed the blazer you had discarded earlier. Balling it up, he pressed against the wound to stop the bleeding. You cried out in pain at the sudden pressure reflexively squeezing his hand, Spencer winced, “I know, I know, I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” 

Everything was hazy after that, you honestly didn’t remember much, just flashes of his face, the EMT’s, him kissing your forehead begging you to stay awake, until finally you were allowed to slip off into a dreamless sleep.

_________

Spencer was sitting in the waiting room, hands still bloody as they clasped tightly. To the untrained eye, it would look like he was praying, but really he was mentally recounting everything he could have done different. I could of asked where she was earlier, I could have snuck behind him instead of letting Morgan announce us, I could of gone with her to the dumpsites so I would have been with her when Hotch asked her to go to the Grey’s home. I could of asked her not to take the job with the BAU. Derek was sitting across from him, watching him carefully and sympathetically. He was the one who had to physically hold him back from following the doctors into the surgery area, besides a whispered apology the younger agent hadn’t said anything to him since the doors closed. 

Spencer had ridden in the ambulance with you, while Derek and Hotch took an SUV behind. Rossi and Tara stuck around the Grey house to finish up the case and were still there. 

Derek watched as Spencer’s knee bounced faster than he thought was possible, the kid’s fingernails were nubs from being bitten, and Spencer had bitten his lip so much that it had started to bleed. The older agent wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how. “Kid-”

He started, but was quickly cut off by Hotch striding back into the waiting room- he had left earlier to demand information, “She’s out of surgery. The doctor said that even though it hit an artery, the bullet missed all her organs. She’s going to be fine.” 

Derek had never seen Spencer look so relieved, he practically melted back into his chair before bowing his head. Hotch continued, “They’re getting her settled into a room, but I asked them to come get you when she’s allowed, visitors.”

Spencer just nodded allowing his eyes to close as Hotch turned to Morgan, “I’ll call Lewis and Rossi if you’ll tell Garcia.”

Morgan chuckled before agreeing, but all Spencer could think about was that you were going to be ok. 

______

Two hours later, Spencer was sitting beside your bed while you dozed- he’d been informed that you would wake up soon and decided that he wouldn’t move until you did. After the team had all come and checked on you (Spencer might be in love with you, but they were all worried as well), Derek had driven Lewis to your hotel to gather your belongings. Rossi and Hotch periodically checked on him but gave him some privacy by waiting in a lounge down the hall. 

Absentmindedly thumbing through a well-loved copy of War and Peace (the Russian Translation mind you), in two hours he could have read the book four times over if was actually focussed on it, but he was still struggling through the first half of the book. Every time you so much as sniffed in your sleep, the book was discarded not to mention that he was so caught in thought he wasn’t reading anywhere near his usual 20,000 words per minute. Sighing, he moved his eyes back to the top of the page, forcing his eyes to read the lines he’d long since memorized and mentally translate them to English. 

“You look like shit, honey.”

War and Peace clattered to the floor as his head snapped up to meet your eyes.  You hadn’t moved much, but he was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. Still a little fuzzy from the anesthesia, you just watched him read trying to ignore how tired and anxious he looked. 

Without thinking you trying to sit up, but both the pain and the man next to were quick to convince you to lay back again. Spencer’s touch was gentle (it always was, but more so than usual), like you’d break if he used to much force. That was going to get annoying quickly, but you’d enjoy the doting for the moment. 

“H-How long have you been awake?” He asked as he sat back down, scooting the chair so close to the bed that his long legs had his knees pressed to the underside of the bed. You smiled softly.

“Not long, I just opened my eyes and you were muttering Russian under your breath. You only read aloud like that when you're worried.” You answered, smile turning sassy as you played with his fingers- something that always calmed him down. He managed the slightest chuckle. 

“Well, when my girlfriend has a GSW, a concussion, and bruised ribs, I get a little anxious.” He nodded, watching your hand in his. 

“Don’t forget the dislocated knee,” Hotch announced from the door, getting yours and his attention. Hotch, Tara, Rossi, and Derek (who was holding Garcia up on facetime) were waiting in the hall. You nodded in stride. 

“Oh, can’t forget about that. Is that all? Nothing much to worry about then.” You halfway shrugged, but threw a glance to Spencer and squeezed his hand as if to silently promise him, I’m ok. 

He just smiled, raising your hand to his lips to press a sweet kiss to your knuckle. Your cheeks reddened, Spencer had never been one for PDA especially in front of the team, so he must have been really worried.  

“Derek Morgan, if you don’t hand me to (Y/N) right now, I’m going to scream!” Garcia demanded, bringing your attention back to the team waiting in the door. You sent Spencer another smile before receiving the phone and tuckering in for a long, classic, Garcia ‘i was so worried’ speech. 

_______

After an hour of visiting with the team, Hotch decided it was time to let you get your rest. Derek ruffled your hair and teased you on his way out, while Tara only told you to feel better soon (you weren’t offended, Tara seemed lovely, you just weren’t near as close to her yet). As they filed out, Hotch poked his head back in the room. 

“We’re needed back at Quantico, but you won’t be cleared for air travel for some time. I contacted JJ, and she’s ready to come in. Once you’re discharged from the hospital, you’ll have to drive back. Reid, if you want it, you’ve already been approved some days off if you’d like to stay here as well.” He paused to smile, “Thanks again for everything you’ve done for the BAU. It’s been a pleasure working with you, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.” 

This time, Spencer’s cheeks turned red as he nodded, only blushing more when Rossi winked as he left, throwing a last remark over his shoulder, “Feel free to take the scenic route, lovebirds.”

With the rest of the team gone, it was quiet, but you didn’t mind. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a bit until Spencer spoke back up, “As much as I loved having you at the BAU, it’ll be nice to not be so worried about you all the time.”

“Yeah, there’s only room for one person getting shot at in this relationship, besides I miss my students.” You giggled, leaning back against the criminally uncomfortable pillows, “Just keep in mind that I feel that worried about you all the time.”

You hummed as he pressed another sweet kiss to your forehead before spouting off a long winded mathematical statistic about getting shot. You half-listened, but the complex math was going over your head, so instead, you just thought about having to go back to your old job. You’d miss the BAU, but you had plenty of stories to tell your students. 

Scooting over as far as you could, you patted the newly empty space beside you. Spencer looked skeptical, afraid to hurt you, so you used a tiny bit of guilt-tripping with puppy dog eyes and a quiet, “I’ve been shot and I just want to be near you.”

Reluctantly, he climbed into the tiny bed beside you after slipping out of his shoes. You giggled at the sight of his mismatched socks as he gingerly settled in beside you. He tensed as you moved to lay in the crook of his shoulder but having you so close, he couldn’t help just relax. His long arms reached over and picked his book back up, and as he started to read again he absentmindedly played with the ends of your hair. 

“So, what do you think, wanna take the scenic route with me? We just might get lost.” You smiled up at him after his arm finally, tentatively wrapped around you.  First, he glanced at your hand, which had reached up to mess with his fingers and then to meet your eyes. 

“Is that a promise?”  He asked, taking your hand in his, “Because I kind of like the sound of that.”

“Spencer, I’ll always get lost with you.” You promised, deciding against your better judgment to stretch up to kiss him. You didn’t make it all the way to his lips, so you settled on his jaw before he fussed over you to lay back down. 

“Well, now that that’s settled.” You whispered voice strained at the light pain in your abdomen after you settled back into a comfortable position beside him and closing your eyes. “Read to me?” 

“Always.”

[spectrorganicsagency]

What Does CBD Stand For? And What is CBD Oil?

What does CBD stand for? And what exactly is CBD oil? As a matter of fact, the answer may surprise you. Both "cbd" and "oil" are derivatives of the same chemical compound.

Cannabidiol, also referred to as cannabis sativa, is a powerful natural antidepressant. It's one of the handful of known active phytocannabinoids in cannabis, accounting for up to 40 percent of the plant's overall extract. 

In addition to this, it has been found to be effective in a variety of neurological disorders including autism, Alzheimer's, and various sclerosis related problems. What makes CBD so remarkable, however, is that it is completely safe and without the toxic effects typically associated with marijuana.

What is CBD oil? 

It's another derivative of cannabis sativa. Like THC, it can produce euphoric, mind-altering side effects. In fact, in some studies, it has been found to be as effective at reducing emotional symptoms as marijuana itself! However, because CBD is an entirely natural compound, it has no serious side effects. That's why it's used in so many different ways.

In order to buy CBD oil online, however, you first need to understand how it's produced and what it's used for. First, the cannabis plant contains an enzyme called CBD that produces a very important chemical in the brain called "CBDA". CBDA is responsible for keeping neurons transmitting data to and from each other. When this chemical is impaired or "broken down", communication between neurons becomes unreadable, leading to various disorders.

People who buy CBD oil online get their supply from reputable online suppliers spectrorganics.com. The highest quality products have been created using a process called "hydrophyllification". This process takes away all CBD; it's useless inside the body. Many of the highest-quality CBD products are produced like this.

Hydrodynamic grade CBD products also go through an additional refinement process. This involves removing any solvents, pesticides or chemicals, as well as any volatile organic compounds (VOCs), which are byproducts created during distillation. Then, the product is sent to aregenerated batch line. The products are monitored at every step to ensure excellent product quality and consistency.

Why should you buy CBD oil online? 

As you may know, there are a lot of potential health benefits to buying CBD. It's believed that it can help people who suffer from debilitating diseases, including but not limited to seizures, dementia, depression, anxiety, chronic pain, Crohn's disease, fibromyalgia, MS, and Parkinson's disease. Some people even say it can cure cancer. But can it really?

I'm not an expert, but from reading a number of studies, including my own research, I believe that there is at least some evidence of CBD being effective in treating certain diseases. 

However, there's no clear-cut proof that it can cure cancer or even alleviate some symptoms of depression, especially if that person is not taking medication for those conditions. What does CBD stand for? 

It's up to you to find out for yourself. If you want more information about what does CBD stand for, including whether or not it's effective to treat your particular symptoms, please visit the website below.

My next question is - where can you buy CBD? 

Many people believe that CBD is available only in pharmaceutical products, but that's not true. In fact, it's now one of the fastest growing supplements on the market. There are now many places that sell CBD oil or CBD creams, supplements and other types of CBD supplements.

So what does CBD stand for? 

It's one of the chemicals that makes CBD oil effective. The reason why it's so effective is because CBD is a powerful inhibitor of seizures, anxiety, depression, irritability, and the most common side effect of marijuana, or pot, consumption. It's also been found to increase one's energy, improve concentration and short-term memory. 

And remember, we're not talking about just CBD oil; this is just one of the many nutrients and antioxidants that are contained in many popular online and off-line stores.

If you're looking to take advantage of CBD and other all natural supplements, then my advice would be to read up and find a reputable online retailer. Not all of them are reputable and the benefits they provide can also be found at your local health food store.

As with anything else, do your research and make informed choices. Your body is a precious gift that we all have and it's important to take care of it!

Hopefully this brief article has given you some insight into what does CBD stand for? The next step is to visit your local health food store (or even grab one from your grocery store!) and start shopping! After all, it's good for you, it's good for the economy and it's going to put more money in your pocket!

[tsarisfanfiction]

Grounded pt1

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Virgil, Gordon, John

Re-watched Buried Treasure and Venom and this little muse dug its claws in - Scott took a bit of a beating in the former, and then doesn’t pilot TB1 or even the pod even though speed is of the essence in the latter.  This isn’t finished - don’t know if the eventual thing will be a oneshot or multichap on AO3/FFN - or even proof read because it’s midnight and I’ll get yelled at if I don’t go to bed now, but muse wouldn’t shut up, so here’s 4k words of whatever this is gonna end up being.  Title is also still a wip.

It was an exhausted Scott Tracy that dragged himself into his shower at the end of what had been a day he honestly wished had never happened.  A trip into a trash mine had never been on his bucket list – and even if he’d known about the things before today, it still wouldn’t have featured on his bucket list – and after the chaos that had ensued, he would be delighted if he never had to enter one again.  Somewhere in the big brother part of his mind labelled Gordon was a mental note to make sure his second youngest brother never went in one again, either. While Scott was all for his brothers making friends, he had concerns about his budding acquaintance with the woman known only as Scraps.

He wasn’t entirely sure Gordon had told the truth when he said he’d never gone scavenging himself, and he certainly wasn’t sure Gordon wouldn’t if the opportunity presented itself. After the hydrofoil, the blond had gained a ‘if today was my last day’ attitude and refused to let new experiences pass him by; it was understandable, but more than a little stressful for Scott at times.

The mission had been a success, but it hadn’t felt like it when both his accompanying brothers were stewing in angry silence over the comms on the way back, Scraps (encouraged by Gordon) had insisted he fork out the quite frankly ludicrous price of the stretchy toy, and the owners of the site were breathing down his neck about destruction of their property.  Apparently they didn’t care that it was Scraps who had damaged their WRM when IR had wrecked their park and were well known to be the Tracy family – that is, known to be filthy rich.  It had been a very expensive day for both him personally and the family at large, and just to compound it all he’d come home to the news that while the Mechanic was now willingly working on the engine, the price of that had been the Hood finding out about their plans.

Brains’ furious lecture about the mole pod had just been the icing on the cake.  Scott had tried to save it and nearly got himself munched by the mechanical monster in the process, but apparently trying wasn’t good enough.  He understood – he did.  Every time Brains had to build them a new pod so they could keep functioning at full capacity was another delay on the T-Drive engine.  It was just one more thing he didn’t need in a day where the only highlight was the fact that at least their rescue hadn’t failed where it counted – Scraps was alive, and being treated for shock and a fractured rib at her local hospital.

Speaking of ribs…

Four long, gruelling hours after the rescue finished, Scott finally had the chance to peel his dirty, mud-splattered uniform away from his aching body and assess the physical damage he’d sustained.  His suit was reinforced and designed to protect him, but it had its limits, and Scraps’ shrill scream to stop forcing Gordon to make an emergency stop – just for the sake of a damned toy – had slammed his torso into the rigid exoskeleton of the dragonfly pod.

Just because their pods couldn’t stand up to a WRM didn’t mean they weren’t solidly built.  Very solidly built.  Scott had felt a sadly all-too familiar sensation of at least one rib breaking at the contact, but with their lives still decidedly in peril hadn’t had the chance to do anything about it.  Their frantic flight for the surface, where he had nothing but his uniform and what shelter he could glean from the front of the pod to protect him from their forceful resurfacing, hadn’t done him any favours either.

It spoke volumes that both his brothers were so annoyed with him – one of them for reasons outside of his control, which was very unlike Virgil – that neither of them had noticed how stiffly he’d been standing.  They hadn’t even glanced at him twice despite knowing that he’d been on the outside of a pod travelling at high speeds through a tunnel, and while there was always a part of Scott who hated to worry his brothers and hid injuries he found himself wrong-footed at the fact he’d got away with it.

The painkillers he’d popped the moment he was back in One, out of sight, had done their job to get him home, but after four hours they were wearing off, pain stabbing its way through his chest.  He should go to the infirmary, get a scan to see how bad it was and maybe even reluctantly tell someone, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that.  Virgil might be in a bad mood with him, but he’d instantly feel guilty for not noticing, and Grandma would not go easy on her favourite grandson for neglecting something as basic as a health check after a dangerous manoeuvre, no matter how annoyed he’d been with the person in question.

He had a stock of painkillers in his ensuite, like they all did, for minor things like bumps and bruises. They weren’t supposed to be used in relation to any unreported injuries, but Scott had already decided he couldn’t report it, and besides, he was the commander.  He could bend a few rules – it wasn’t his first rodeo with broken ribs, anyway.  He knew how to treat them.  Painkillers, ice if he could get some without causing suspicion, and rest when he could snatch it.

This was a case of snatching some rest – it was dinner soon, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d skipped Grandma’s cooking and it wouldn’t be the last.  It wouldn’t raise any eyebrows if he wasn’t there; he doubted his brothers would be if they could escape.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, it was clear straight away that he’d taken quite a hit.  Mottled bruising decorated his torso and shoulders – the first from the collision with the pod, the second from breaking through the surface.  Tentative probing with his fingers told him what he already knew as his chest flinched away from the touch with a spike of pain.  At least one broken rib.

He’d sneak some ice from the freezer once everyone else was in bed, but for the time being he had a long overdue date with his shower and popped a fresh dose of painkillers before easing himself under the water.  Ideally, Scott wanted a hot one, but the broken rib meant he kept it cool in an attempt to soothe the swelling.  Brown water swirled around his feet, finally washing away the dirt he’d acquired in the trash mine, and he let himself relax as the painkillers kicked in.

The mission finally felt like it was over.  He couldn’t say the day was over, because he still had the never-ending pile of reports for both the GDF and Tracy Industries to write up and there was never any telling when the next emergency call would come in, but no more trash mine, no more furious gardeners or landowners.

Just Scott and-

“Scott, sorry to interrupt your shower but there’s another situation.”  John appeared suddenly and Scott jumped, muffling a curse as his ribs informed him that painkillers or not, that was not appreciated.  He sighed instead.

“F.A.B.”  He rubbed his face tiredly, beyond glad their bathroom cameras didn’t transmit anything below the neck so his decorative torso was hidden from his ever-attentive brother… who had apparently also missed that he’d been slammed hard into the pod.  “I’ll be in the lounge in two.”  He wanted to say five, but it normally only took two minutes and longer would make John suspicious.

“See you there.”  John vanished and he let out another breath, turning off the water.  Strictly speaking, he shouldn’t fly with a broken rib, or go on a rescue at all, but as long as he took it easy it would be fine.

Two minutes later found him in the lounge, apparently the last one there.  Virgil and Gordon didn’t acknowledge his arrival and he tried not to let it sting.  They’d work with him on the rescue – it wasn’t the first time they’d gone on a rescue mid-row, and no doubt wouldn’t be the last.  The perils of living and working full time with siblings.  Alan, at least, gave him a big grin and he returned it as best he could before turning to John, who was hovering impatiently in the middle of the room.  He was always impatient when they weren’t all immediately available; Scott didn’t take it personally.

“Good, you’re here,” John acknowledged.  “We’ve got a collapsed mineshaft with a worker trapped inside in Cornwall, England.  His colleagues all got out okay but they don’t have the gear to get him out without risking a bigger collapse.”

“F.A.B., John,” Scott replied.  “I’ll go on ahead in Thunderbird One.  Virgil, Gordon, follow me in Thunderbird Two.”  Another underground rescue, and another mole pod needed.  Typical.  Still, if it was really only simple, he wouldn’t be needed for more than co-ordination. He could handle that.  “Virgil, have you had the chance to replace the lost gear from the trash mine?”

“All replaced,” Virgil confirmed, heading for his launch chute.  “We’re out of spares now, though, so we’d better not lose this one.”  Scott winced – that wasn’t good.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he said, reaching up towards his lamps and pulling them down towards his chest as always, glad that the painkillers had more or less kicked in so the movement didn’t make his ribs flare up in pain.  The last thing he saw before being whisked around into his chute was Alan, looking somewhat dejected at being left behind, again.

They’d barely needed Gordon for the mission – if Scott was at full health he would have entertained leaving him behind – so there was no reason to bring Alan.  Still, there was a scolding voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Grandma telling him he should have let Alan take Thunderbird One and take a rest himself.

If Thunderbird Three was needed while they were gone, Alan would be fit to pilot, he argued back.  Thunderbird One would be tough, but he conceded that there was no way he could launch into space with at least one broken rib.  The voice quietened but he knew it wasn’t pacified.

The painkillers diluted but didn’t entirely quash the pain of suiting up, but with no-one around to see he could gasp without fear of being caught, and soon he was scrambling into his pilot seat – still muddy; cleaning his ‘bird had been next on the priority list after the shower, because apparently his brothers had decided not to help him out on that front.

If suiting up was bad, launching was worse.  He’d anticipated that, throwing his comms onto mute – John knew better than to interrupt during the launch sequence unless it was truly urgent so there shouldn’t be anyone to see him – as he gasped for breath against the stinging of his chest. Full speed was out of the question, but as it was a rescue they already knew what they’d need, he didn’t have to get there much before Thunderbird Two, so he settled for an almost bearable Mach 10 and flicked his comms back on, hoping John wouldn’t ask questions.

Presumably John had reached the same conclusion as him, as his decision of half max speed wasn’t commented on when his brother made contact a few minutes later to continue the debrief with additional information coming in from the danger zone.

It was a textbook rescue, a fact Scott was incredibly glad for as he let Virgil take the mole pod down, followed by Gordon with stabilising foam to stop the mine collapsing any further.  In and out, no complications, no injuries.  The trapped worker emerged from the pod shaken but otherwise fine and Scott watched Virgil check him over thoroughly to be safe as he and Gordon secured both intact pods back inside the module, where they belonged.

“I’ll see you back at base,” he told his brothers as he headed back to his ‘bird.  Gordon gave him a crisp nod while Virgil gave no indication that he’d heard – as he was still checking the rescuee over, Scott hadn’t expected one. Gordon’s reaction told him everything he needed to know – the attitude was still professional-only.  He wasn’t yet forgiven for whatever transgression it was Gordon was mad at him about.  It was nearing midnight at home, though; they were all tired and Scott fully expected it to all blow over by morning, once they’d had some sleep.

The site supervisor was waiting for him as he approached.

“Just wanted to say thank you again,” the woman said, sticking out her hand.  He took it and hid a wince at her particularly vigorous shake.  It was too soon for more painkillers, but this particular dose was wearing off already; the flight home was not going to be fun.

“Just doing our job,” he returned, polite smile on his face, and carefully retracted his hand.  She let him.

“Your job’s an impressive one,” she winked at him, before her gaze wandered slightly.  Scott wanted to groan – he knew that look, and normally he’d play along, maybe even see if he could score if he was feeling particularly lucky, but he was physically tired, emotionally drained, and in pain. No flirting for him today.

He just nodded at her, smile slightly more genuine because regardless of the situation it always gave him a bit of a boost when he got attention of that sort – not that he’d dare admit that to his brothers, or they’d never let him forget it – and she laughed.

“I’d say another time, but I’d hope we don’t need your assistance again,” she grinned, and before Scott realised it was coming, there was a playful elbow in his ribs.  Nothing hard, not even something he’d normally react to, but his ribs screamed and he gasped, instinctively doubling over before forcing himself straight again.

He fervently hoped his brothers hadn’t noticed, but didn’t dare glance around to check.

“Oh, I’m so-”

“You’re right, hopefully you won’t need us again.”  He overrode her apology, sent her another small grin, and got himself back inside the safety of his ‘bird as quickly as he could without seeming like he was running away. His ribs burned and he eyed the first aid cabinet, sorely tempted, but squashed the impulse.  Piloting in pain wasn’t advisable, but piloting overdosed on medication was potentially fatal.  Taking a moment to settle, he opened up a link to Thunderbird Five.

“I’m returning to base now,” he informed his brother.  “Rescue complete; Virgil and Gordon are finishing up with the worker, but they’ve got it all in hand and I’ve got a shower to finish.”

“F.A.B.,” John acknowledged, a small grin on his face at Scott’s mention of a shower.  “I’ll see if I can get the world to wait on getting itself into any more trouble until you’re done, big brother.”

“That would be nice,” Scott grinned, settling back in his chair more comfortably and ignoring his ribs. They both knew John couldn’t control that, especially not with the Hood and his Chaos Crew running around, but sometimes it was nice to pretend.  “Thunderbird One out.”

He muted his comms again – against protocol, but he doubted Virgil or Gordon would be calling him up for a chat given the way they were cold-shouldering him and he’d already addressed John – before taking off.  VTOL launches were far gentler with the G-forces, but unlike earlier, he wasn’t riding high on the full effect of the painkillers, so it hurt worse as he accelerated.

Mach 8 would be plenty to get him home, he decided, unwilling to risk anything faster than necessary, and once he was cruising he unmuted his comms, confident he wouldn’t have missed anything.

“-ott.  Scott.  Thunderbird One are you listening to me?”

Virgil sounded furious. That didn’t bode well.

“Reading you loud and clear, Thunderbird Two,” he replied.  “What’s happened?”  He reached out in preparation of turning his ‘bird’s nose back the way he’d come.

“What’s happened, he asks,” Virgil steamed, hologram materialising.  He was standing firmly upright, arms crossed and one hand tapping on his arm.  “The site supervisor wanted to know why you’re working with a rib injury.”

Dammit.

“Virgil-” he started, not quite sure how he was going to deflect the accusation.  His brother didn’t give him a chance.

“Don’t Virgil me,” he snapped.  “Get back here so I can see why she thinks you’re injured.”

“It’s fine,” Scott lied. “Nothing serious.  I’ll see you back at base.”  He cut the call, which in immediate hindsight was stupid decision, but to his surprise, Virgil didn’t immediately call back.  Still, he switched his comms back to mute and eyed his speed.  If he wanted to get back before Thunderbird Two, Mach 8 would be enough, but if Virgil pushed his ‘bird, it wouldn’t leave him with much time to grab a shower and smuggle some ice.  Gritting his teeth, he pushed her up to Mach 10, swallowing the grunt of pain from the additional pressure.

Almost immediately, Thunderbird One started to slow.

“Hey!” he yelped.  The absolute last thing he needed was his ‘bird crashing.  It might give him enough injuries to hide the fact his ribs were already broken, but wrecking his ‘bird was not worth avoiding a lecture.  He tried to correct it, but her controls jammed under his hands. “Oh you’re kidding me,” he groaned, preparing himself to stand up and get to the reset.  What had even happened?  She hadn’t been damaged since the Icarus, and Brains and Virgil had both sworn through and through that she was fully functional again.  There was no reason for-

His holographic display lit up with the icon for Thunderbird Five.

Ah.  Dammit.  Virgil had got John on his case.

Reluctantly, he unmuted his comm and immediately got blasted with three brothers all yelling at him. The temptation was there to simply mute them again, but instead he sighed and leaned back in his chair, waiting for them to stop.

“-t mute your comms ever-”

“-swer us you-”

“-re you an idiot-”

They didn’t, but their voices were getting more and more frantic, and he realised they were starting to panic at his lack of a response.  He groaned.

“You don’t need to shout, I can hear you just fine,” he told them.  “John, what are you doing with Thunderbird One?”

“Landing,” his brother said abruptly.  “You’re just coming up over the Sahara so I’m putting you down there.  Thunderbird Two is en route.”

“This really isn’t necessary,” Scott complained. “Can’t we deal with this at home?”

“You mean in another two hours, providing we don’t get another callout or distraction so you can slip away again?” Virgil asked dryly.  “No, we’re doing this now, and if I find anything worse than a minor bruise you’re finishing the trip home in Thunderbird Two’s medbay.”

Scott groaned, having absolutely no desire to be subjected to that.  “Seriously, guys, I’m fine.”  Thunderbird One’s VTOLs fired as her speed dropped, and he felt her land.  Looking out of the viewing window, he saw sand and more sand.  The Sahara, as John had promised.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Gordon scowled.

“Thunderbird Two is five minutes out from your location,” Virgil informed him coolly.  “Stay where you are.”

Thunderbird Five’s insignia was still firmly ensconced in the holographic display, informing him that John had not retracted his override.  As much as he wanted to, there was no way he was going anywhere until his brothers had satisfied themselves.  He groaned again and eyed the medical cabinet once more.  It was still too soon to take another dose, but he knew there was no way any of them would be letting him pilot the rest of the way home anyway.

The relief from pain would not be worth the lecture from Virgil and then Grandma.  Reluctantly he turned away from it and closed his eyes, listening out for the engines of Thunderbird Two.  His brothers kept the channel open, talking to each other and occasionally shooting a question his way – presumably to make sure he hadn’t passed out on them – which he answered reluctantly.

True to Virgil’s words, five minutes after John had landed his ‘bird there came the sound of Thunderbird Two’s VTOL overhead, and he jabbed at his seat controls to leave his ‘bird, seeing no point in sitting and waiting for them to descend on him when he’d be dragged into Thunderbird Two anyway.  Some battles weren’t worth fighting.

“Scott!”  Virgil strode across the short distance between the two ‘birds, grabbing his arm as soon as he was in reach as though he thought he’d flee if given the chance.  With John still controlling his ‘bird, Scott thought the gesture unnecessary.  “You absolute idiot.  Thunderbird Two, now.”  The hand gripping his bicep didn’t give him much of a choice, forcibly guiding him towards the lowered hatch.

Gordon was waiting in the cockpit, arms crossed and eyes like fire.  Beside him, the cockpit’s stretcher had been lowered.

“Sit,” Virgil snapped, dragging him over to it.  Scott obeyed reluctantly, and scowled at the medical scanner immediately deployed.  It didn’t take long to flag up amber along his various bruises, and red at his ribs.  He didn’t hear what Virgil ground out under his breath, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t language he’d use in front of their grandmother.  “John, take One home.  Scott’s piloting nowhere.”

“F.A.B.”  Scott knew his brother well enough to hear the anger in those three letters.  His ‘bird’s VTOL roared to life and he watched her take to the sky through the cockpit windows.

“When did this happen, Scott?” Virgil demanded, setting the scanner to one side and tugging at his zip. Scott batted his hand away, taking over. He still had enough pride to not be undressed by his brother.  Two sets of brown eyes narrowed dangerously as the bruising became visible.

Caught, there was nothing to be gained by lying.  “Last mission, when the pod stopped suddenly.”  A flash of guilt swept across Gordon’s face.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” the aquanaut demanded.  He shrugged, then winced when his body reminded him that the painkillers were all but worn off.

“Didn’t exactly get the chance,” he said.  “Couldn’t do anything about it at the time because we were trying not to become WRM food, then there was the thing with the Mechanic and the Hood, and the landowner wanted compensation for the damaged WRM and park, and-”

“And most of that could have waited for you to get checked over,” Virgil interrupted, a gentle hand lightly touching his bruised torso.  Scott’s body flinched away from the contact unbidden.  “Why the hell did you come out to Cornwall?  Gordon and I could have handled it by ourselves.”

“It was a rescue,” Scott protested.

“Which you’re now grounded from for six weeks, minimum,” Virgil growled.  “Lie down.  What have you taken for the pain?”

He didn’t get a chance to protest before both brothers were carefully but firmly pushing him down onto the stretcher.

“Two Tylenol when I left the trash mine seven hours ago,” he admitted.  “Two more just before this mission, three hours ago.”  Virgil frowned.

“You’ll have to bear with it until we get home,” he said.  “Once the Tylenol’s out of your system, I’ll give you something stronger.”  Scott scowled.  “Gordon, get some ice on his ribs.  Scott, stay still.”  Virgil had the gall to strap him down, avoiding putting pressure on his ribs.  “We’ll be talking about this when we get home.”

It was a promise, but just before he turned away to head to his seat, Scott saw the one thing he’d hoped he’d be able to avoid: guilt.  Virgil was well aware he’d missed the signs because of his flare-up about the topiary, and wouldn’t be forgiving himself for it any time soon.

“Virg-” he started, only to interrupt himself with a hiss as a cool sensation spread across his chest. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them to find Gordon stood next to him, ice pack in hand.

“Not right now, bro,” the blond said quietly, and the same guilty pain was in his eyes.  “Give him time.”

“Gord-”

“And me,” Gordon interrupted him.  “Just… not yet, okay?  Wait ‘til we’re home and you’re all smothered better in the infirmary.”

Scott didn’t like it, but he understood it – they’d find it easier to deal with once they knew he really was okay.  Broken ribs sucked, but in the grand scheme of injuries, they were relatively minor.  The real fear his brothers carried was what if it had been worse – a punctured lung, for example.

In answer, he pulled a face, showing exactly what he thought of being ‘smothered better’ as Thunderbird Two roared to life beneath him.  A small grin tugged at the corner of Gordon’s mouth and he considered that progress, settling back comfortably as his brother’s ‘bird carried him home.

next...

[killingeveperspectives]

Perspective: Killing Eve Season 3 Retcon – Can a show Retcon itself into a different genre?

Recently, I learned about the term ‘Retroactive Continuity’ and I am pretty proud of it because now it sounds like I know what I’m talking about. Retroactive Continuity, or retcon for the intimate like me, is the addition of new information that changes or reinterprets events/narratives previously established, therefore opening new possibilities for the future. It can correct inconsistencies, change world/character limitations, or allow for a dramatic plot twist. For example, a character previously established as an incurable psychopath goes on an emotional growth journey. Killing Eve got fundamentally retconned season 3 and it changes everything. And I need to talk about it. (Look, it’s been a while I wrote this and re-addressed some points here :) )

Villanelle is not a psychopath anymore, I guess

Villanelle was written explicitly as a primary psychopath meaning she was mainly born this way®. Which is different from a Secondary psychopath, whose emotional developmental arrest is caused by disturbingly severe neglect and abuse in early infancy. The impairments in their brains and psychological development prevents them from thinking and, most importantly, feeling like a regular person do. They have a different subjective experience. Psychopathy is incurable in adults, which sets limitations to character development.

Villanelle can’t empathize, perceives people as objects and is very utilitarian. She doesn’t know how to show people she likes them, and her idea of love is possession. Endearing as she is, this is the character the writers wrote. And this is the character portrayed to us in the show. Villanelle is unapologetically a psychopath. She is remorseless, amoral, derives pleasure from killing, all the better to get paid for it. She is basically a self-indulgent goddess. This is enunciated repeatedly in Season 1. Of course, we are not just told, we are shown. Her face glimmers in every kill with enjoyment and cruelty. She is able to conjure any emotion to manipulate – depicted more terrifyingly with Nadia. She emulates emotions from others to connect with people like depicted in the opening scene. My favorite chilling moment is when she gives the “what it is like to die” monologue to Frank, just to terrify him before killing him. Or this face:

Season 2 dives deeper into her psyche where she tells us how she feels, or better yet, doesn’t. We establish she feels this overbearing boredom and seeks to feel anything, so she collects things (or people, no difference) that make her feel something and these things she cherishes by possessing them. The poverty of emotion is reiterated. Again, we are shown, not only told, time and again. The writers are quite clearly asking us to just accept Villanelle for what she is: a psychopath. Like Jodie Comer said herself during that season: “I think some people are bad and that’s what they are, and I don’t think she should be redeemed.” It felt impossible to make it more established within the narrative and the world building. She is, like all adult psychopaths, incurable. These are the character’s limitations, in a purely storytelling sense.

Then, Season 3 happened. In season 3 Villanelle’s character’s development is irreconcilable with the previous seasons. Much of the character’s limitations were simply erased to give her room to “grow”, starting early with one of my favorite scenes of the entire season:

It was marvelously shot and so symbolic. This time around she is gifting Eve something intimate and safe: a teddy bear. Then we have Villanelle by herself and vulnerable, stripping the layers of her feelings towards Eve, the mask of anger cracking as she tries to convince herself she wanted Eve dead, to finally giving in to longing. Her own words are repeated back at her in a loop in a little booth. It was an admission. The booth, the privacy, the lighting, the acting: It was a confession. More than that: it was a love confession. As if falling in love was something she could now do? I don’t want to entertain the actual nature of her feeling, but this is a level of emotional complexity she is just prohibited of displaying by the character’s limitations. And yet, it happened. And I will argue, all the elements of this scene deliberately lead the audience to believe these were romantic feelings.

But this is foreshadowing, and the major shift in perspective happens in her bottle episode. In this episode we see Villanelle display genuine empathy and care for her brothers, not only by sparing them but by giving them more than enough money to go see Elton John. A bonna fide display of correctly conveyed affection and consideration. Which, again, is prohibited by the characters limitations. Then the episode builds the narrative that her “psychopathy” was the result of her abusive upbringing, especially in the confrontation with her mother, when we are clearly asked to side with Villanelle.

Here is where the show subtly retcons Villanelle’s character. It cleverly never denies she is a psychopath. It retcons her ability to emotionally grow, by shifting the emphasis to childhood trauma. Nevertheless, for Villanelle as a character, the emotional growth is still prohibited – despite of trauma. The sleight of hand is passable because audiences (actually, any empathic human being) find it incredibly hard to grasp that trauma cannot be overcome. That’s why it feels plausible she has a very complex, deeply transforming emotional response to killing her mother, despite still being a psychopath. Because that is a response that feels plausible to us, the audience, despite being inconsistent with what is plausible for the character’s the inner experience of reality.

This shift not only changes all the interpretation of her character that was previously established but also changes all future interactions. Here is where we see Villanelle getting conflicted about killing, not in a utilitarian sense of it being impractical or boring, but in an emotional struggle. She starts to worry about how others perceive her, and specially that she is perceived only as a “monster”, pointing to a development of a moral compass, deeper self-awareness, self-evaluation and ability to feel remorse. This is all not only incredibly far-fetched: it was prohibited. This is a clear break in continuity from the character of previous seasons. However, after S3E05 it feels plausible.

Villanelle is a carefully crafted monster

We are, then, asked to believe that Villanelle was made into a ruthless killer, which logically follow can be unmade. Hence, her past needs to be explored so it can also be somewhat resolved, symbolizing the undoing of her atrocious (but delightfull?) persona “Villanelle” (the distinction between Oksana and Villanelle was useless before and should still be. But now it feels like it makes sense). Initially, it was established that her mother died, and she had an abusive drunk father who abandoned her in an orphanage. While I believe there was potential in creating a convincing traumatic abusive background from the established narrative, it may have seemed too unsettling to have a man mistreat an infant, which might explain the writers choice for such through retcon. Transferring the source of the neglect to the mother, might heighten the stakes, since daughters are expected to develop a strong bond and mirror their mothers. Thus, adding depth to their face-off and making her murder more symbolic. Addicionally, a full house – with her mother, stepfather and brothers –would allow Villanelle to flesh out her relationship to family and explore the conflict more thoroughly before confrontation. Despite the symbolic tension, in the end we have no definitive answer to the nature x nurture question, nor to what happened in Villanelle’s infancy, except that the metaphorical darkness may have been passed on from her mother.

Villanelle’s joy in cruelty is the most alienating aspect of her character – also the most gripping – and thus, in order for her arc to be more digestible and relatable, it also needs explicit retconning, which is mostly explored through her relationship with killing. Therefore, her cruelty is also displaced to her abusive upbringing. Most specifically, displaced to another character: Dasha. She is the source of the cruelty transmitted into Villanelle through severe trauma during her teenagerhood, ingeniously avoiding the gravity of discussing infant abuse (Dasha brings a downpour of plot inconsistencies). This is unmistakably conveyed in this scene:

Villanelle was something soft and whole that got broken and reshaped into steel, into a stone cold killer, by external forces. Thus, Dasha is an estranged mother figure from the past who tortured Villanelle into a killer, mirroring the dynamic between Villanelle and her mother. Since there is no clear narrative surrounding her early infancy, and her mother needed to be killed to spark the transformation, Dasha becomes the surrogate through which the conflict of Villanelle’s transformation can be explored. The story doubles its efforts to get the audiences to not only believe Villanelle can change, but also that she deserves to change. And here is where we enter dangerous territory.

 Killing Eve is not a spy-drama anymore, it is a rescue romance

I stand with the writers, Killing Eve was not a romance. Not until Season 3. The topic of how audiences, especially queer fans, perceive the show as a romance is worth a whole essay on its own. However, in Season 3, audiences are treated with a romantic atmosphere (remember the teddy bear scene?). Everything is toned down; the pace is slower and the investigation is put to the side. The cat-and-cat game is replaced with this reinforced sense of destiny, of fate, where characters seamlessly come together, as if all their actions were just leading them up to that moment. Their approach carries no sense of danger, their obsession is replaced with anticipation. Characters stop thinking about each other neurotically, that scrumptious voyeurism is gone. Character’s don’t need to be reminded of each other. There is no need for it anymore, it has been written for them. They will meet each other, no need to pursue.

Gone is also Eve’s curiosity and intrigue about Villanelle, along most of her character’s motivations, with one simple retcon: Eve wants to rescue Villanelle.

To which Eve replies: I don’t think so. Meaning “I believe there is more to Villanelle than killing and I will cling to that” (Why, we don’t know. But that’s for another time)

Previously, despite the irresistible attraction Eve felt for Villanelle, the story never portrayed Eve as trying to redeem her. It was precisely the fact that they are polar opposites that brings them together, each trying to quench a deep hunger through the other, in all the wrong ways. Eve pursues in Villanelle much of her unfulfilled impulses and is challenged to embody them herself. Eve’s never been attracted to what Villanelle might have of redeemable, she was drawn to what Villanelle had of profanely feral. On the other hand, Villanelle longs for the safety and intimacy she sees in Eve but has no way of even comprehending what it means.

This honesty to the character’s true desires and realities is what has allowed the show to explore an enticingly destructive dynamic while avoiding romanticizing it, which would downgrade the show to a disservice. However, ultimately, there is a writer trying to sell a story. And in this case, they are setting up a redemption arc within a romance, despite character desires and realities not aligning with that. But in season 3, Villanelle’s psychopathy got retconned to make her crush on Eve without it being too problematic and Eve’s past season character development got simply blissfully ignored so her crush on Villanelle could flourish without it being too problematic, and in the end, their attraction got stripped away from all it’s complexity and danger so they could bring characters together without it being too problematic. These characters got rewritten to give us the tease of a romance we have seen iterated one million times elsewhere.

The premise of the show was to explore the dangerous temptation to bite the proverbial apple. Still, at some point the tension needs to be resolved, and the writers decided to shift it to a rescue romance. A very slippery slope. A slippery slope to romanticizing disturbingly destructive relationships, to perpetrating the cliché that “Love redeems all”, even psychopaths can change if they have someone who believes in them – not only dangerously dishonest but painfully dull.  As if somehow having your life and your sense of self ruined for a person is some sort of martyrdom to match the person’s redemption itself. What a beautiful pair they would make, cozy in heaven. But damned be the day Killing Eve becomes cozy. While writing the redemption of the serpent and the power of female love despite the obliteration of Eden; they forgot the most delicious part of the story was the apple.