#it's bad enough that i cannot google anything or go through tags without danger

[spacelessbian]

I swear I won't put any silly DS9 headcanons or theories on tumblr ever again before watching the whole thing, cause I don't want to be told I actually got it right :D

[lifeofroos]

Part 43. Slowly but steadily getting there boys. 

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, Dionysus explains more about the voices in Nico’s head. The story can also be found on AO3 and FanFiction.net! And in Tumblr tags like Dionysus, Nico di Angelo, Therapy, etc. 

This might be crazy: Chapter 43: Demeters’ Divine pear Juice

Dionysus gave me a juice box when we got to the Big House. We sat down on a side of the porch where people rarely came, from which you could see the forest. 

I put the straw in the juicebox. ‘I think you are going to tell me what you and dad think is going on in my head,’ I said, a little shaky. 

‘Yes. After that, we will decide what to do about it.’

‘Okay.’ I took a sip. Oh, pear juice. ‘I want to know what it is. I have noticed you and Hades take it quite seriously, so…’ I shrugged, unsure how to finish that sentence. 

Dionysus stared at one of the trees. Someone put it big, red mark in the middle of the trunk. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

He nodded. ‘Hades and I think that the faces  and voices are coming from the Elder Gods. The Elder Gods are gods who were before, but are not anymore. Selene and Helios are examples, but there are also gods who got reïncarnated a few times. Eh, I am one of those. There have been two Dionysusses before me.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Sorry to I interrupt, but that must be weird as hell, knowing that.’

He shrugged. ‘I live with it. Anyway, these Elder Gods are supposed to be in a place not even the gods have ever seen. All we know about it is that it is not always in the same place. It moves. And when it does, sometimes a few Elder Gods get themselves stuck in Tartarus.’ He took a break to sigh. ‘The only way for them to get out is if they find the doors of death. Yet, for sóme reason, they always try to contact someone in the hope that person will come down to Tartarus to break them out, even though no-one can do that.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘If their target actually goes down to...’

‘Hadestown?’

‘...Tartarus, it usually does not go over well.’ He slouched a little. ‘And Hades and I think that target is you.’

I took a few sips of pear juice. ‘But there is something we can do about it,’ I said, trying to visualise a solution. 

‘Yes, luckily. Multiple ways, even.’

‘Otherwise, you would not be so calm.’ I think. 

‘Very observant. Probably the best way to get rid of them is via the diplomatic route.’

I pulled my legs upon the chair. ‘Does that mean that I will have to talk a bunch of primordials down?’

‘Elder Gods. Primordials are something else.’

‘Elder Gods, then?’ 

‘Diplomatic means without violence, in this case. How it is done is that you attract the peaceful spirits who are in the Elder Gods’ resting place, so that they can keep the spirits in Tartarus at bay. That does mean that you might still hear a voice sometimes, but those voices will be peaceful and wise. Taking the violent route means that you do not hear those voices either, but it will also give you traumas the diplomatic route won’t give you.’

I thought about that for a second. Would I mind a voice if it was peaceful? ‘Would the voices be near constant?’

‘No. They don’t talk much, and when they talk, it is usually enlightened babbling.’

‘It would be completely gone if I chose the violent route. But I assume that will cause hefty PTSD?’

‘Among other things.’

‘Alright. Then I trust that you are right.’

As soon as I said it, it felt like a stone sank into my stomach and I realised I did not, in fact, fully trust that he was right. This was something big, something dangerous. I could trust him, I knew that, of course, but... ‘Eh, that being said, what exactly are we going to do? How will I attract these peaceful Elder Gods?’

‘We will go to the underworld. Near the Styx lays a platform from where you can contact the peaceful Elder Gods. You will go into a trance. I will be the one to guide you through that state. You will make contact with the right voices and notice the bad ones leave. After we are done, the nasty voices will fully go away over the course of a few weeks.’ 

He said we’ll have to go to the underworld. Near the Styx. I knew Dionysus had never done anything to me, but somewhere inside I was afraid that he would hurt me. That he would throw me into the Styx and leave me there. I would be in trance, or otherwise said, unable to defend myself. 

‘Nico, do you have trouble trusting me on this?’

I took a deep, deep breath. ‘Yes. I know I can trust you, but somehow I don’t.’

‘The fact that you told me shows that you indeed trust me. Now, I know your father would be willing to come with us, so that there is more than one person to witness what is happening.’ He shifted on the chair. ‘There is also a contact platform on Olympus, if that makes you more comfortable. However, there will be people walking around and trying to see what is going on there.’ 

I did not want to go to Olympus. I’d take the Underworld. At least I knew that place. ‘A third option, which can be combined with either of the previous two, is that I ask Hestia to come along,’ Dionysus continued. Hestia. I could trust Hestia. She would never hurt me. Yet, could I ask that of her? ‘That is not a strange thing to ask. She often comes along when someone has to meet the Elder Gods, because she calms people down.’ 

I squeezed my juicebox. ‘If that is so, I want Hestia to be there. I can trust Hestia. Yet, I think dad will want to be there too. Eh, and I understand that you will still be the one guiding me.’

‘Then that is what we are going to do.’ He stuck out his hand. I shook it.

‘Yes. Then that is what we are going to do.’ 

I didn't really know how to feel. I felt a cocktail of different emotions. Fear most of all. 

‘I understand it if you feel strange. I am proud that you are still here.’

I nodded and drank a bit of pear juice. ‘It is a lot.’

‘I reckon.’

‘Eh, when will we do this? Right now? Tomorrow? In three weeks, three months?’ 

‘The only limits I set is that you must give me time to speak to Hestia first, I want it to be over with this very week and I want it to be right after you’ve had a meal. For that meal, you should stuff yourself. Eat too much, even. If it isn’t enough you might faint.’

‘Okay. Tomorrow then, if you can reach Hestia by that time. Right after breakfast. I want to get it over with and I do not want to chicken out.’

He smiled. ‘Very well, Nico. Very well.’

Will slept in my cabin that night. ‘Maybe now it can finally get better.’

‘Maybe it will.’ I moved closer. ‘I am afraid, Will. It sounds like a whole operation. I mean, Dionysus was pretty calm about it, which makes me think it cannot be that bad. But…’ I sighed. 

Will kissed me on the top of my head. ‘I’ll be right here to hear it all once you're done. I’ll drop everything I am doing. I’ll let someone die if I am in the middle of an operation.’

I understood it was meant as a joke, but I was not really in the mood. I closed my eyes. ‘I want to sleep.’

‘Then you can sleep, Nico. You are safe.’

A/N: Kinda on the bridge about whether I’ll upload a chapter where Nico talks to Hestia or if I should get it over with and then write a chapter about Hestia. Update from future Rose: Hestia chapter will be there. Next up. 

Okay boys I feel like I am kind of dragging this arc. Sorry for that. As said before, Hestia will be next and then I’ll get to The Thing and after that to the other Thing (Not saying much but it’ll be cool). 

It suddenly hit me that Nico and Will being a couple was a whole shock in America, when in the Netherlands there was this book where someone (very obviously) had a mother in a relationship with a (non-evil) stepmother in like... 2008 and no-one batted an eye (Lena Lijstje, for all my Dutch readers) (I googled it. It was damn 2002). 

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Pinnacle

Prompt: Whumptober Day 8, Stab Wound

Summary: Google Chrome and Yandereplier are at a seedy club when a fight breaks out. It's not long before one of them gets hurt.

Warnings: Blood, violence (I mean, the prompt is “Stab Wound,” so :p )

Tagging: @peribloke (ask to be tagged!)

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

~

Contrary to what the name suggests, “Pinnacle” is one of the seediest, shadiest clubs in the city. It’s got a name flashy enough to attract careless tourists, and a reputation that attracts the patronage of the least respectable people in the city.

Which is half the reason Yandereplier likes it there so much. The other half is that they never check IDs.

“This place is gonna get shut down before the year is out,” Chrome mutters from his seat at his and Yandere’s two-person table. Yandere smirks, fruity cocktail in one hand.

“According to the regulars, Pinnacle’s been around forever,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “It was here before you were made, and Yami’s even been here before for business.”

“Business?” Chrome raises an eyebrow. Yandere laughs and leans in closer to Chrome.

“I’d bet about half the guys in here belong to some gang or another,” Yandere says, hushed but still grinning, “Employees included.”

“Great,” Chrome growls, slumping into his seat in annoyance. Yandere laughs again and ruffles Chrome’s hair with his free hand.

“The safe clubs are boring,” Yandere tells him, “Places like these are where the fun is.”

Chrome does have to admit that the club is at least clean, and the music isn’t too bad, either. It’s a bit of a cramped space, though. There’s people pressed all around him and Yandere at other tables, and the dance floor is packed. It’s the reason Yandere is sitting here drinking instead of dancing; there’s no space available yet. But it isn’t that late, and Yandere can party later than most humans care to. He’s prepared to wait, so long as he has something to drink. Chrome wishes he could get drunk; maybe he’d have more fun.

His attention is eventually grabbed by something happening near the center of the dance floor. Several people have stopped dancing, and seem to be conversing – no, yelling. It’s hard to tell through the volume of the club.

“What’s up, Aka-kun?” Yandere asks him, noticing his staring beyond Yandere.

“There’s some guys arguing on the dance floor,” Chrome answers. Yandere turns around in his seat to look, just as the argument becomes loud enough to attract attention from the other patrons without enhanced hearing.

“Huh,” Yandere says. He thinks. “I wonder if they’re gonna fight.”

“That seems like a strong possibility,” Chrome sighs.

Sure enough, the men arguing start shoving each other, and before Chrome can comment on it, he spies a flash of something silver. The patrons nearest to the fight start shouting, too, and start trying to leave. But the crowd is still impressively thick, and the escape is slow. The men fighting must be in a gang, because other people around the dance floor and at tables start pulling out their own weapons. Mostly knives, but Chrome spies a few pairs of brass knuckles and even a revolver. The other people around begin to shout and panic, too, and before long, the club is swarming with gangsters brawling and people clamoring to get out.

Yandere observes the scene with a slowly spreading grin. He looks over at Chrome with red eyes.

“I told you, Aka-kun,” he says, “This is where the fun is.” He pulls something out of his shirt; not his katana, but a shorter, fatter knife, better for close quarters.

“Yandere,” Chrome warns, “I swear if you even thi–”

It’s too late. Yandere’s already jumped into the fray, knife in hand.

Chrome growls under his breath as he gets up to follow. He’ll admit to being a little worried about Yandere’s safety, but mostly he’s just annoyed at having to stick around in this club. The heaving mass of panicking people is hard even for Chrome to wade through; he imagines it’s only Yandere’s small size and agility that’s enabled him to move deeper into the club with such ease. Chrome’s not really in the mood to get stabbed tonight, so he treads as carefully as possible, avoiding those with weapons.

Before long, though, he bumps into someone with both a pair of brass knuckles and fighting glare on.

“Watch it, asshole!” he yells, rearing back to punch. Chrome catches his fist before it comes close to his face.

“Have you been punching everyone who runs into you? In this packed, tight space?” Chrome deadpans. He tightens his fist, and the man howls as his hand is crushed in Chrome’s. “Have some sense and fuck off.”

The man bolts – or tries to, the crowd is still thicker than syrup. Chrome lets him leave and continues into the fray, but snippets of conversation reach his ears.

“Did you see that? That guy broke Tito’s hand!”

“Let’s show ‘im what happens when people mess with our boys!”

“Fuck me,” Chrome mutters under his breath.

Moments later he’s swarmed by gangsters (it must be easy to get through the crowd when one’s waving weapons around). It’s hard to fight in such close quarters, but Chrome is designed to be good at it. Unlike the first gangster, though, the others don’t flee when Chrome breaks their noses or snaps their knives in two. The energy of the crowd makes them feral, and the support of their metaphorical brothers in arms makes them reckless and relentless. Eventually, though, all have retreated but two, and their attack pattern is nearly unpredictable. Chrome has to wonder if the pair are brother and sister in normal life as well as gang life; it would explain their synchronization. One plays offense and one plays defense, but they switch every second, and they’re both good at avoiding a punch. Chrome knows he’s not as strong as he could be right now, either; the club is hot, so sweltering from the packed bodies that Chrome’s hardware is on the verge of overheating.

Chrome is busy blocking a slash from the man when the woman sneaks underneath and stabs him in the chest. Chrome chokes, body stuttering, as his pain sensors register the damage. What genius decided to make robots that could feel pain? he thinks as he grabs the woman who stabbed him by her ponytail and twists her head backwards. He dispatches the brother next, fully sick of this fight and tired of letting his assailants escape alive. He looks down at himself, at the gash near the center of his chest, and watches black oil flow out. All at once, vertigo hits, and Chrome staggers, slamming a hand down on a nearby table to ground himself, other hand instinctively moving to cover his wound. He isn’t squeamish, why is he reacting so strongly? Warning alerts pop up in his mind:

DANGER: Core breached, functionality at 91%. Repair immediately!

Fuck.

Now that Chrome knows that, he can sort of feel the notch in his core from the woman’s knife. Of all the things that knife could’ve hit, his core is the worst. Where humans have their hearts, Chrome and his android brothers have their cores: Spherical blocks of metal and hardware about twice the size of a human heart in the direct center of their chest. They store battery power and disperse it accordingly, circulate antifreeze, and keep the unit functioning. A Google unit can lose limbs, have senses destroyed, or sustain traumatic brain injury, and still survive if they keep calm and get repaired within a few hours. But cores are delicate things, and even the slightest damage can be catastrophic. If an arm is severed, the oil can be diverted away to elsewhere in the body to keep from bleeding out. But a core cannot delegate its own functions, so any injury quickly gets worse and worse as the core keeps working. And for a core, expected functionality is no lower than 98%, ideally more, at any time. Anything even slightly lower is cause for concern. 91% is far beyond concerning, and Chrome knows it’ll only get lower from here.

But dammit, Yandere’s still somewhere in the club, and like hell Chrome’s going to leave without him. He’ll probably need his help soon, too, with his core functionality dropping by the second.

The crowd has thinned to a degree since Chrome’s fight started, and the only people still in the club are in pairs or groups, beating the tar out of each other. A few people are sprawled out on the floor, unconscious…probably. Chrome doesn’t care enough to check. None of them are Yandere, so it doesn’t matter. Chrome’s body doesn’t want to move; energy is being diverted to his core, so much so that his fingers and toes start to feel numb and useless. But he pushes himself forward regardless, struggling along to find Yandere. Eventually, a gunshot rings out from the back of the club, and people scatter once more, abandoning their fights to escape. Chrome distantly remembers seeing a gun in someone’s hand earlier in the night, he’s surprised it took them so long to use it. Among the throng of people running from the back to escape the building is, finally, Yandere.

“Hey,” he says, practically skipping up to Chrome. His clothes are splattered in blood that isn’t his, and his eyes are bright red, pupils blown wide. “Some idiot tried to shoot me, can you imagine?” He laughs, but quickly notices Chrome’s listliss posture and how he’s holding his chest. “Aka-kun, are you okay?”

“Got stabbed,” Chrome wheezes. Talking is harder than he thought it’d be. “Nicked my core.”

Yandere’s expression instantly changes to shock. He knows how cores work, Chrome told him about it ages ago.

“What’s the functionality?” Yandere asks, eyes already darkening back to brown.

“Seven…” He sways, only barely catching himself. “Seventy-six percent.”

Yandere says something in Japanese, probably a swear, but Chrome can’t concentrate enough to translate. Yandere goes to his side, pulling the arm Chrome hasn’t pressed to his wound across his shoulders.

“I’ll get us home, don’t worry,” Yandere tells him, “Let’s go out through the back. It’s closer and safer.”

Chrome nods, and the simple motion makes spots appear in his eyes. He’s really in no position to protest Yandere’s decision even if he wanted to. He keeps walking alongside Yandere, trying not to lean on him too much, but he feels duller and heavier with every passing moment. At one point, his vision blinks out for a few seconds and he nearly collapses into Yandere’s side. Yandere yelps and only barely manages to keep him standing.

“Hey, don’t pass out, Aka-kun!” Yandere cries, “You have to walk with me, I can’t carry you!”

Chrome knows. He’s too heavy even for Yandere’s above-average strength. But the thought flits out of his head a moment later as more and more of his energy goes to support his fluttering core. His feet and hands are numb now, hard to walk on, hard to grab with. By the time Yandere gets Chrome to the employees-only back door, the numbness has reached Chrome’s elbows and knees. Yandere pushes the door open with the shoulder Chrome’s not leaning on and pulls him into the night air and out of Pinnacle. Chrome can hear the crowd on the other side of the building, hear sirens in the distance getting closer.

“Dammit, of course,” Yandere mutters, “Now we have to go through the alleys to avoid the cops.”

Chrome’s body is just about done moving, though, and he sags, slumping against Pinnacle’s back wall.

“Can’t go,” Chrome gasps. He coughs, and oil comes up.

“Okay, okay,” Yandere says, frantic, “I’m calling Yami, he’ll get out of here.”

Chrome can feel his core pulsing painfully. The notch has morphed into gaping cavern, leaking power.

“Core’s…” Chrome coughs again. “Thirty-eight…percent.”

A core doesn’t need to hit zero for an android to die. It can happen any time once the functionality hits 20%. Chrome’s chest feels like fire. It’s the only thing he can still feel.

“You’ll be okay, Aka-kun, you’ll–” He pulls his cell phone away from his ear, face drawn with anguish. “Chikusho! Answer me, Yami!!” He presses a button and puts his phone back to his ear. “It’s only twelve-thirty, you have to still be up!”

“Wilf…?” Chrome can’t finish the question. Too much effort.

“He shot his phone yesterday and hasn’t replaced it yet,” Yandere answers, shivering with nerves as he waits for Dark to pick up. Chrome suddenly realizes that Yandere is crying. “Oh god, fuck, fuck, he has to pick up, I can’t get you home in time–”

“Yan…” Chrome gasps. He tries to lift his hand to wipe Yandere’s tears, but his arm won’t move anymore. “Onii-san…s’okay.”

Yandere bites his lip and brushes Chrome’s hair out of his forehead. There’s oil on his hands. There’s oil all over.

“I’ll be okay when you are,” Yandere tells him, voice shaky. “So just stay awake for me, okay, otouto?”

Chrome nods weakly, leaning into Yandere’s hand as it moves from Chrome’s hair to his cheek.

“Yami?” Yandere suddenly gasps. “Oh my god, Yami, I need your help! Aka-kun and I are at Pinnacle, at the back door, and Aka-kun got stabbed! It hurt his core and he’s dying Yami, please–”

There’s a rushing of wind as something like a black hole opens up in front of Chrome and Yandere. In only a moment, the rushing dies down and the smoke clears, leaving Darkiplier standing there, phone still in hand.

“Yami,” Yandere gasps, relief heavy in his tone.

Chrome is glad that Yandere is relieved. He’s almost forgotten that he’s the reason Yandere’s upset in the first place. Everything feels distant now. His body is beyond being numb; it doesn’t feel like his. Even his chest, even his sputtering core feels dull and chilled. The gash continues leaking energy, festering in his chest. Objectively, he knows this, but he cannot feel it, he cannot speak, and he cannot keep his eyes open.

Dark, meanwhile, doesn’t say a word, only teleports the group back to Ego Inc. in a flash of dark smoke. The void, for all its cold and emptiness, feels no different to Chrome than the night air outside of Pinnacle. It only looks darker, and darker, and darker, and Chrome cannot stay awake long enough to see where Dark has taken him.

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium: Noctilum

Ego vocem tuam. (I hear your voice.)

Nobody was keen on fighting in the jungle continent. Both sides agreed that it was too beautiful to be tainted by the shadow of war. But it was too dangerous to be a safe haven, so he had to be careful, lest the wilderness claim him as a sacrifice.

He lost his breath in Prim’ala-dor’ias, but continued to run on sheer will alone until he reached the mouth of the jungle continent. He fell to his knees, his lungs screaming for air, his hands clutching the moist soil below. 

The voice returned.

“Well done. You will be a good fit for my plan.”

“Who are you?” He gasped, his own voice raspy and dry.

“I cannot consider myself an ally or an enemy in your war, but I can tell you I am a friend. I simply want this war to come to an end by any means necessary.”

“I want it...to end, too.” He admitted, “But I don’t...I don’t see how it can...anytime soon.”

“That is where I come in. I have a plan. You will become the key to ending this war, but first you must accept me.”

“How do I accept you if I don’t know who - or what - you are?”

The voice was silent. He took the moment to straighten his spine, observe his surroundings. The quiet chirps of avian creatures, the gentle splashes of water coming from a distant lake, the breeze passing through the many leaves in the flora...it was breathtaking, it was beautiful, and in that moment it was his.

“I am the ground you kneel upon.”

The voice suddenly returned, and his eyes widened. 

“I am the wind in the trees. I am every animal that has walked upon this ground, and every animal that has swam in the oceans, and has flown in the skies. I am the plants and insects, and I am the weather, the rain and storms and clouds.”

He stared out at the landscape, unable to believe his ears. “You...you are…”

“I am the planet you call home.”

He finally closed his eyes, letting the darkness embrace him.

“If you’re telling the truth...if you really are the planet...then show me how to end this war.”

“With pleasure.”

A spark ran through his brain and his body collapsed. His screams of pain were lost to the wind.

~

Pongo didn’t remember what happened the night before. L never mentioned it, because Pongo had enough on his plate for the day. He was assigned in the early morning to a tyrant mission in Noctilum, to which L asked if he could tag along. Pongo was excited to have the company, and never suspected L’s reason for joining. He never even asked why L kept a close eye on Pongo, on his Skell as the team flew through the crisp morning air. 

However, Mia did notice, and asked about it when the team had touched down near the Everwhelm Falls. She hopped out of her Skell - a Verus Cain, a gift from Pongo - and immediately made her way to L, nudging his elbow.

“Heya big blue, you’ve been making googly eyes at Pon since we got the mission briefing this morning!” She teased, “What’s up with that? Got something to confess?”

L shook his head, acting amused. “We are incapable of making our eyes ‘google’, but we admit, we have been intrigued by Pongo. He is our dear friend and we care for him very much. We do not see that as quite a confession, more of a factual statement.”

“I mean, yeah, you guys being pals is great, but I meant you were looking at him all like...lovey dovey.”

“Love akin to doves? Do you perhaps mean love akin to rock doves? Because we assure you, that love is much more complex and -”

“L.” Mira stopped him, raising both gloved hands with a smirk. “Buddy. Pal. I’m just asking if ya love Pongo. Y’know. Love him. As more than friends.”

L placed a careful finger to his chin. He hadn’t thought about his connection to Pongo in that way before, and he knew what Mia was suggesting. It would take a great deal of personal time to come to the conclusion she was making, time he didn’t have just yet. His main concern was front and center. He decided to tell Mia part of the truth.

“We are not interested in pursuing the topic of rock dove love at the present time. Our mind has been egged and scrambled as of late, so mayhaps in our thoughts we have inclined our gaze towards Pongo.”

“Deny it now, but when you two get together you owe me fifty credits,” Mia winked, “I won’t push it for now.” Noticing that Pongo was finally exiting his Skell, she called out, “Hey PonPon! Where’s our big baddy?”

As he placed his feet on the ground, their fourth teammate, Lin, also jumped out of her own Skell. L recalled how Pongo had originally invited Elma to join their mission. She was suddenly pulled away by an urgent Reclaimer meeting - L had heard rumors of a large White Whale database washing ashore at the northernmost tip of Cauldros. Lin had jumped in at the last minute to fill the gap. After all, three people couldn’t take on such a large tyrant on their own. A four member team was a favorable option.

Pongo pulled out his comm device, and as they approached him L saw that he had a detailed map on his screen. A red circle was blinking, moving slowly away from their location.

“North of here,” Pongo replied, “But before we go in with guns on fire, remember that we have limited data available on this tyrant. We know about those Ovis that seem to follow it, so we might have to take them out too. I would like to avoid it, if possible.”

“We doin’ this on foot or by Skell do ya think?” Mia asked. 

“By Skell, for sure. I can stay on the ground to provide decoy through Ghost Factory, but we are definitely going to need the heavier fire from your mega weapon, Lin, and your G-Buster, Mia.”

“We are in possession of a Phoenix,” L added, against his desire to stay near Pongo, “If it is desired we shall also move our efforts to the sky!”

“That would be fantastic, though please be careful when you use it, the flame is big enough to aggravate enemies we do not wish to fight,” Pongo told him, “So then, three Skells, four if we need the extra offensive power. If you all focus on Pyotr, and it focuses on you, then I should have no problem giving you those buffs from the ground.”

“It’s like attacking bees versus a tiny nat,” Lin stifled a giggle, her attitude quickly changing with a simple realization. “That puts you in a dangerous spot if it does prioritize you, Pongo, you sure you’ll be okay?”

Pongo nodded, switching the comm device in his hand out for both of his dual guns. His photon saber was also strapped to his belt, a weapon L knew he favored. “I have full tension points on both the guns and the saber, enough for Overdrive and a bunch of buffs straight off the bat. Despite this, please do not do anything reckless - this is still a big tyrant, one that has taken down teams in the past. Keep in touch over comms, everyone, and best of luck out there.”

Everyone nodded, a sign of respect and of mutual preparedness. In their parting ways, Lin shared a quick glance with L, and immediately he knew she’d seen the connection. Elma had truly taught Pongo well, and it showed in his leadership. It was hard to think that he was the same person that L had stumbled into that one fateful day on the Noctilum road, a timid and soft spoken rookie. 

And it was even harder to think that he was Mira’s new avatar.

With that thought weighing heavy on his shoulders, L turned away, began to head back to his Skell. But he saw Pongo pause, his guns still in both hands. He was looking down at them, a glazed look to his eyes, and L called back to him after Lin and Mia had gotten into their own Skells.

“What would be troubling your mind, Pongo?”

Pongo blinked away the thoughts, rolled his shoulders, and didn’t meet L’s gaze. “Nothing, nothing, just...Pyotr was recorded to be a peaceful tyrant just a few weeks ago. I just wonder what could have caused its demeanor to shift…”

In understanding, L nodded, and a breeze picked up suddenly. He smelled the faint hints of rain on the wind and knew a storm was going to pass soon. Even without that knowledge, L could feel within his gut that something was going to happen, something bigger than any of them could fathom. He wished away the bad feeling before entering his Skell once again and taking to the skies, where Lin and Mia were hovering.

The intercom whirred to life as L found Pongo’s Skell in vehicular mode, dashing across the grassland. “Alright, team, our target is straight ahead. Remember to focus attacks on Pyotr and not the Ovis - we want minimal damage to the surrounding area if possible.”

“Right on. We’ve got your back,” Lin confirmed, “If you can get those buffs in quick then we could probably G-Buster Pyotr on a focused point on his body to maximize damage.”

“We are aware of the back side being a weakened point,” L suggested, “Let us focus our ignited ferocity there first!”

As Lin and Mia gave their agreement to the plan, a shadow appeared over the horizon, a large hulking figure with long limbs and a compact face. Moss grew around its crevices, over its back, its forehead, its hands and feet. There was no doubt in his mind that this was Pyotr, the Shepherd. And there was no doubt that the two figures prancing underneath its feet were the two forewarned Ovis - Claire the Sheltered, Heidi the Lively. There was no way that they’d leave their shepherd to die, L knew at first glance. And with Pongo on the ground, there was a high chance he’d be the first to deal with them.

Something stirred within L. He had felt it before, dark and heavy.

Fear.

“L, NOW!”

When had Lin and Mia prepared their G-Busters?! No matter, L was quick to slam down on the corresponding arts button, and in quick succession, the three flying Skells drew their massive swords and slammed them down onto Pyotr’s backside. Unassuming and unprepared, Pyotr screamed, and a part of his back was sliced clean off. Pongo’s cheer was clear on the comm.

“YES! Keep hitting him where it counts - Ghost Factory!”

He was out of his Skell and on the ground, the familiar shadows echoing around him as he raised his guns out on both sides. L flew a full circle around Pyotr, looking for more weak spots as Lin drew his attention away. Maybe the knees should go next, he thought, maybe it would be worth it to knock him down and get him staggered, or better yet, toppled -

“Chief, the Ovis are riled up! Watch your back!” Mia shouted across the comm, and L noted that as he feared, both Claire and Heidi were charging Pongo. A swing and a miss from Pyotr’s massive fist diverted L’s attention before he could see whether Pongo heeded Mia’s warning. Everything moved faster than he could comprehend, and everything suddenly felt heavier, that feeling of fear consuming his body. His eyes widened when he made eye contact with Mia’s Skell, well above his own, and watched as Pyotr made another swing, this time directed at her. She wasn’t as lucky in avoiding it, taking the majority of the punch in her Skell’s right arm. She cursed over the intercom, but quickly assured them that she would be okay, it wasn’t enough to rip the arm off.

As the human saying went, she should have knocked her hand on a wooden surface.

Pyotr made another quick uppercut, nailing Mia’s Skell right in the cockpit. She was able to get one more curse over the intercom before she went radio silent, before L saw her smoking Skell fall from the sky. Lin cried out her name, and in that moment of prolonged distraction, Pyotr swung wildly at her Skell. L’s heart caught in his throat as he saw both Skells now toppling to the ground, smoking, damaged. 

“Lin, Mia, help me out! L, keep him distra - oW -”

Pongo’s orders were cut off. L knew why. The Ovis were becoming a problem, little ticks on his skin that he couldn’t shake. L decided in a moment of clarity that being a distraction would be a suicide attempt, that he should move his efforts to the ground and help them where he could. His Skell landed, and he jumped out before Pyotr could knock him out of the sky.

Instead, Pyotr decided to knock him right back into the sky. Ten feet away from his Skell, the enraged Sylooth kicked at his tiny body. The impact sent him flying towards Pongo, flying towards the Ovis and straight into the ground. L coughed up dirt - and, was that blood, that blue taint there? - but forced himself to stand up. His right arm ached and he grabbed it with his left, feeling something swelling underneath his sleeve. He looked up after feeling the damage. 

And there was Pongo, a tiny little thing, standing alone in front of Pyotr. His guns had lowered in defeat, his photon saber lying deactivated meters away. Two destroyed Skells had crash landed too far away, but he saw both Lin and Mia’s forms outside of them, each sporting their own collection of injuries. They were in no place to fight, none of them were. Pyotr roared as he realized he had won, Claire and Heidi joining with chirps of their own. Pongo’s form shook with fatigue and stress. He should have fallen, but something was keeping him upright. Pyotr noticed this, raising his fist, preparing to end what they had begun. 

Barely standing, L’s mouth opened, a silent scream. But Pongo spoke first.

And it was in a language L knew wasn’t human. 

He knew it wasn’t one the planet would translate. But L knew it, he knew what Pongo was saying, and in his awe he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt.

“Wait, please!”

Pyotr’s fist stopped in the air, unclenching as Pongo shouted. It blinked once, nearly as confused as Lin and Mia appeared to be. Unaware and unassuming, Pongo continued, “Please, spare my friends! We were only acting on orders!”

And finally, Pongo became confused, for L heard Pyotr respond in a deep rumble, a language only they could hear. 

THERE HAVE BEEN ATTEMPTS AGAINST US BEFORE. WE ONLY WISH FOR PEACE.

“...Then why have you been hurting us?”

YOU HAVE SCARED US INTO FIGHTING. THIS CONTINENT WAS ONCE A PLACE OF PEACE, A HAVEN FROM WAR. WE ONLY WISH TO COEXIST WITH THE LIFE AROUND US.

And with those words, L’s body became heavy, weighed down by millenia of memories, millenia of suffering and pain. Did Pongo know the weight of Pyotr’s plea? Had Mira granted him that knowledge? He simply fell to his knees, unable to raise his head and watch the encounter unfold. 

“That is our wish too, to be at peace with the life around us…”

THEN WHY HAVE YOU BEEN HURTING US?

There was a pause, and L managed to lift his head high enough to see Pongo, the tears falling down his tired face. “We...We never meant to hurt you. We were just trying to protect ourselves…”

AND WE, TOO, HAVE BEEN STRIVING TO PROTECT OURSELVES. YOU ARE FOREIGNERS TO THIS WORLD, AND WE HAVE FELT THREATENED BY YOUR EXPANSIONS, YOUR WARS.

“The Ganglion were the ones who -”

YOU ARE AS MUCH A PART OF THIS WAR AS THEY ARE. DO NOT PLACE BLAME FOR A TWO SIDED WAR ON ONE SIDE, FOR YOUR KIND CHOSE TO FIGHT BACK.

“We had no choice but to fight back! Peace was never an option with the Ganglion, if we did not fight back we would have all died!”

The hulking form of the Shepherd went quiet. Claire and Heidi bounded up to its feet, rubbing against the false tree bark skin. They dared not speak. L saw Pyotr’s chest rise and fall, heavy breathing, an eventual sigh that stirred the air around them.

IT SEEMS ALL CONFLICTS MUST BE RESOLVED WITH VIOLENCE. IT PAINS US, KNOWING THIS. 

Pongo stifled a sob. “It hurts me, too. We have lost so many innocents, just like I imagine you have. But...could we at least work towards peace now? Come to an understanding?”

There was no hesitation.

IT WOULD BRING US GREAT JOY TO SPEAK WITH YOU. BUT WE DO HAVE A QUESTION FOR YOU, BEFORE OUR NEGOTIATIONS START.

“Absolutely! What would you ask of me?”

YOU ARE NOT LIKE THE OTHER HUMANS. WHAT ARE YOU?

L’s eyes widened, forcing himself up into a kneeling position. Pongo hesitated - no, he didn’t know his true nature, and L expected him to answer as such. Even so, L knew what he had to do. After this was said and done, he’d pull Pongo aside, shed light on his darkness. Pongo had a right to his truth. 

“I am simply a kinder human than most, I would like to think.” Pongo eventually responded, “Now if I could ask this of you: might I tend to the wounds of my friends before this conversation? I want to make sure they are okay.”

OF COURSE. MY APOLOGIES FOR DESTROYING YOUR...AVIARY CONSTRUCTIONS.

Pongo quickly turned and made his way towards Lin and Mia, who drilled confused holes through his brain. L stayed put, trying to focus on his breathing - in, out, in, out. His team had almost been wiped out and they were about to sit down and have a chat with a Miran native - of course his nerves were about him. 

L almost didn’t acknowledge one of the Ovis stepping up to him. Only when she nudged his shoulder did he blink and await her prompt.

YOU ARE ONE OF THE F’LENLA A’SLEGN, AND YET THE HUMAN WHO SPOKE WITH US IS NOT. HOW IS HE ABLE TO SPEAK THE LANGUAGE OF MIRA?

L looked towards Pongo, making sure he was out of earshot before he responded.

“Our dearest friend, it is because he is not human at all.”

[communiteabooks-onlinestore-blog]

Our Democracy in Practice

Hey,  America I have an idea: Regardless of the influential scale of your impact, regardless of whether its effects are great and wide, or individual and minute, regardless of whether you're concerned you might look bad to your peers instead of consistently looking for someone else to blame for (y)our problems—personal or societal—why don't you focus on what your role is in creating those problems. The political price tag has gotten to be too high, because whether or not anything on C-span directly affects the majority of our lives, we are allowing it to affect our lives, and, of course, in cases of school and workplace shootings and other senseless deaths we really are beginning to experience a phenomenon that will not be remedied from the top down. It is way too easy to blame others, to focus on the misdeeds or irrational understandings of those that we might disagree with, and to justify our behavior with our own developed sense of social morality. The American party system has become so manipulated and so divisive, and that divisiveness has become so commonplace that we do not even recognize that our ship is sinking. It has nothing to do with Barack Obama or Donald Trump or Mitch McConnell or Bernie Sanders or Hillary Clinton—nothing. We are too focused on blame. Somewhere along the line the American people became convinced that our way of life, and our society, our American dream no longer existed, and instead of actually looking at it, instead of stopping to say, “Well, sure it does.” We started blaming each other. It’s the Democrats, it’s the republicans, it’s the African Americans, it’s the immigration issue, it’s the gun control issue, it’s the LGBTQ community, and it’s that George W. Bush, Barack Obama, and Donald Trump—it’s not, it has always been us. Our indifference and our lack of accountability. I liked Obama, I voted for him, twice, but a lot of his policies did ignore the intentions of the constitution; however, I am quite certain that when most conservatives argue in favor of that point they have no idea what they are actually talking about, they are simply repeating sound bites that they happened to hear making the rounds through the social mediasphere, and if they do [claim to know what they are talking about] then their indifference now completely outweighs their sense of social service. I am a proponent of social liberty—for everyone. It’s nonsensical to say that, “I am a proponent of social liberty, well, except for blacks, and homosexuals, and the transgender, and…” with that said, it’s not the place of the federal government to decide for the American people what your sense of social liberty is. Racism and sexism and other prejudices are a form of ignorance, there is no doubt about that, but if the United States is going to establish law in favor of-, or against various social liberties—though it’s something that the U.S. should never do—it can only be done at the state level. Obama did ignore that. Is that prosecutable? No, I’m sorry, it is not, and neither is it forcibly divisive. As I have mentioned, that personally, I do understand the frustration of ignorance, and the desire to force a sort of…re-education, but it cannot be done, forcibly; that is a fine line to cross, and we have to maintain the distinction—and if for no other reason that we are sometimes too different in our perspectives from one another. I can appreciate the necessity of the 2nd amendment though I cannot, for the life of me, understand why conservatives are fighting so hard to keep semi-automatic guns available to the public, it makes no sense to me whatsoever. The argument that you can keep it simply because you have the right to, is, I mean, it’s apathetic and careless, and borderline dangerous, actually, at this point, it is beyond borderline. There are more than enough alternatives available to the American public without the ‘freedom’ to unload and unreasonable amount of ammunition sailing towards a deer or a target attached to a barrel of hay. You don’t need it. Even the Founding Fathers disallowed weapons in some situations and institutions, too many people conveniently ignore that, inasmuch as they ignore the language, “A well-regulated militia…” the first lines of text in within the amendment for, “…shall not be infringed.” When it is undeniably clear that the act of infringement, in this case, refers to the amendment in its entirety, and how not regulating gun control is in actuality an infringement on the amendment. Yes, we do need a 2nd amendment, people do need the right to “bear arms,” but some of y’all need to be reminded that there is a difference between pride and freedom. I am pro-life. Do you know what that actually means, to me at least? It simply means that I am against death, well premature, unnecessary, and senseless death. It means that I am against the acts of “police brutality,” abortion, and the death penalty—and I have a sleuth of issues with our judicial system, specifically the correctional department, and how people are imprisoned for life for non-violent drug crimes, I mean come on—isn’t that what healthcare’s for? Oh, wait, we can’t even figure out our healthcare system either. But, why? It should be simple: we have a capitalist economy, right? Well then why isn’t healthcare privatized? Only then would the sick actually get the quality of healthcare they deserve. The United States is too big for Universal Healthcare, especially if our federal government is focused on making everything a federal issue. And look, no, I don’t agree with abortion—I’m prolife—however, I’m also male, which in-and-of-itself kind of eliminates me from having any sort of practical understanding, and therefore opinion on the issues, especially considering that I am prolife, not just pro-birth. The point that I’m making with all these personal political confessions is, well, 1.) That there needs to be a distinction between our social and our political lives, but more important 2.) Most of your opinions are based on sound bites that mean nothing, if you established some sort of linear “How Did I Come to these Conclusions” outline for your political beliefs system it wouldn’t make any sense, because it’s not based on anything. ​And although it seems that I am using republicans as a series of examples of what not to do (I'm about to do it again), I am, by no means, only referring to republicans, this is a bipartisan problem, democrats are just as responsible, you are a mirror image, only, to your political counterpart. I mean a major aspect of Republican Dogma is moral family values based greatly on the teachings of Jesus Christ, while there are 11,000 immigrant children that have been removed from their parents and locked up in warehouses across the southern most part of our country. Congressman are not even aloud to tour these facilities. And you shrug your shoulders and whine about immigration? And that’s justifiable to you? Jesus was Middle Eastern, why don’t you try Googling “People Born in Bethlehem,” and after weeding through the various paintings of Jesus and pictures of American kids recreating The Nativity, tell me what you see. ​And I’m even a proponent for having, and enforcing better immigration laws, but come on, let’s do things the right way, hmm? So instead of getting on Facebook and sharing fake news articles, or real news articles and expressing your feelings of intense distaste towards something completely irrelevant to our everyday lives, why not stop and think about what you really want your role to be, and what your role actually is, and through this exercise maybe you’ll learn to take some accountability. Because is it really Obama or Trump that’s dividing this country? Or is it us? So, let’s try that, and see were that takes us.