#more energy than u can spare so i can think things through and survive

[serialreblogger]

hate having chronic illness. every day i have to be like “what is it boy? is it depression? anxiety? dehydration? are we hungry? did we take our meds? want your cane? need walkies? did timmy fall down the old well?” and the answer is always “mgleh. sleep now”

like NO no no no sleeping, we slept for fifteen hours every day this week, we’ve slept plenty please can we just talk about this for one second before you

Ś̶̛̗͈̯̫͈̔͑͝Ļ̷̛̛̲̆́̃͆̇Ë̵̢́͑́͐̔̍̕͠E̵̛̺͙̜̞͚̫̹̯̬̽̓̓͊̔̉̕ͅP̷̡̱̮͍̫̯̋́͊͝

and then u pass out for another 15 hours

[introloves]

@virgoamajiki: hhnngggg no thoughts just boxer!bokuto fucking you senseless after seeing the other boxer he was supposed to fight that night flirting w/ u just to rile him up and throw him off his game.

— soft dom! bokuto + boxer! bokuto + mentions of harassment in the beginning + overstimulation / dumbification + size kink + comfort + praise + breath play + squirting + fluffy end + bokuto calls reader ‘puppy’ + f! reader

— word count; approx 2.6k

— part of my boxerverse! bokuto: one shot no. 1

he can’t blink back the images of you during the fight. the near deafening roars of his name all fadded into nothingness as he stalked towards his opponent- bokuto was dead set on putting him down.

the prick had really managed to get under his skin at the weigh in, picking you out- pointing directly at you and asking why you didn’t hop on over, he said you’d be better taken care of.

you’d sat there, wide eyed, clearly scared and taken back by his words. you only spared him a glance. instead turning with wide eyes at your boyfriend, now scared for the other man. frantic eyes shot up to look for his own- it was clear what you wanted, you looked scared and your face held a look that said;

“bo, please don’t.”

and usually, that look would disarm him completely- but not now- not now when he can see the way your eyes watered and lips trembled at the words.

he is sorry for not looking at you right away, sorry for not giving you the comfort you need-

but he’s not sorry for lunging over to the other side, barreling straight past staff that looked minuscule compared to his towering form. microphones clashing onto the floor with clear intent.

it’s complete chaos, bokutos manager grabbing him, holding him back down onto the seat, hissing in his ear that he’ll have a chance to go at him, “in the ring.”

you sit, dazed by the clamor and rapid snapping of cameras that bathe the two of you like a shower of pure light.

but he sits back down, hand clamped over your thigh, squeezing you, using your body as a stress ball. he can’t even look at his opponent, amber eyes focused on nothing more than your trembling knee- koutarou truly thinks he might kill him.

-

when he finally enters the ring, it doesn’t take long for the bastard to get dropped. its almost comical how short the match ends— usually bokuto would have put a little more show into it, letting him take a couple of hits before handling it, dragging it out to fluff his ego, showing everyone that he was the king, but not now.

as soon as his opponent is down, spread out on the white canvas- he steps once towards the body— pushed away by the referee in panic with the way he looms over him a little longer than necessary. the referee looking over at his teams side, shoving him back into his corner before calling the end of the match.

he lets his body get shoved into his corner, scoffing at the way the man lays there... pathetic.

bokuto doesnt even react to the roars of the crowd- walks past his team and into the locker rooms.

it feels like it takes forever to get back to you, normally you’d be at the ringside, but for this round he didn’t want you there and you not being able to do that, especially for a fight like this has you on edge. waiting for your koutarou to come home. the tension is almost suffocating when you finally hear the door slam closed.

you know hes not mad at you, thats not who the shake of the house is directed at. bokuto has always been a gentle giant with you— an overexcited, loving, and sweet giant.

he walks straight into the room, tugging off his shirt, shorts, leaving a trail of clothes as he makes a beeline right to you. there’s a deep want, need to have you, it feels like someone’s pressing down onto his chest- a tight ball of... anger and fear swirling around there.

it softens when he see’s you though, cuddled up on the bed, eyes lidded as you smile at him, welcoming him home. when he touches you, your body still warm from an almost sleep, he feels the sharp edges of anger melt away. there was no need for him to angry or scared at the words his opponent had thrown your way- he wasn’t the one about to fuck you to sleep... but the small tingle of fear and anger didn’t leave him completely.

“baby.” you murmur, hands outstretched to bring him into your space, the big body of his instantly melting down to your form, elbows perched on either side of your head- trapping you completely in.

“saw you drop him... first round.” voice heavy with lust and want, he was so strong and powerful and all yours. legs drop down onto the bed to let him in, ready for him, waiting for him.

“yeah, had to.” bokuto responds back, whispering it against your lips before he kisses you, licking into your mouth with heavy strokes of his tongue, all but tracing his name onto the front of your teeth.

“he scared you didnt he?” he growls, hissing at the way your heat wiggles to find his cock. bokuto shifts to hold the weight of his upper body on just one arm, slipping a hand down to tug your bottoms off.

“mhm.” you whimper back, gripping onto his shoulders, body jerking with every pull.

“did you see how i took care of him, pretty thing?” kou spits, pulse quickening at the wetness that meets his knuckle, trailing the back of his hand up your cunt before slipping a finger against your folds, splitting them open to briefly glance at your exposed pussy.

“fuck- course you did, thats why you’re so wet, huh?”

you cant really say anything, because he was right- seeing him knock that man out with one punch, straight to the jaw, sent heat flooding through your veins, proof of it formed in the shape of pure slick painting the outside of your cunt, between your thighs, pooling in your bottoms. its kinda silly, he knows what he does to you, knows you love watching him in his element, eyes hardened and face laxed in total concentration and an air of cockiness to him when he steps in the ring. he knows you love it, cause you’re always drooling into your panties when he comes to you after a match.

“real wet.” he marvels once more, sinking a finger all the way down to the knuckle and all you can do in response is open your legs wider, tilting yourself up to show him how ready and receptive you were for him.

“good girl.” his voice is tight and low- something like a growl with the way you move against his one finger. its enough to snap the string of self restraint he had, pure unbridled energy bouncing off him as he departs from you- just for a second, to kiss you harshly.

its a mix of tongue, spit, and teeth- strings of your passion still hanging from between the two as he leans back to look at your form, wiggling around in need of him.

its okay, he thinks, he’ll give you what you want.

and he does, doesn’t take long for him to grab the base of his thick and heavy cock, letting it slap against your cunt a couple times before squeezing the head of him inside- nice and snug. it makes him lightheaded, he cant think of anything but you- a fever crawls up his sculpted back, a need to just sink in and fuck you silly, but he wants something from you first.

“who do you belong to puppy?” he inquires gruffly, not moving an inch, watching the way you blink up at him through tears.

“w-what?” its sudden, your sweet and kind bo almost never talked like this in bed, it makes you salivate, a heat flushing down your back.

“c’mon- tell me who you belong to.” he hisses once more, splaying one of his big, strong, veiny hands across your chest, pushing down- locking you against the bed.

he still hasn’t moved, and the fluttering of your pussy down on the head of his dick makes him grunt- muscled stomach tensing with each one. he comes back to you- a little softer in the way his words sound, carrying that sweetness you know and love.

“please, tell me you’re mine.” he whispers, moving the hand that had you pinned down up towards your neck, rough callouses rubbing against the soft and sensitive skin there.

its a juxtaposition of kind, vulnerable words mixing in with the harsher movements of his strong hand curling against your airway, frantic in the need to hear it from you.

you know what he needs, and you’re more than happy to comply, wanting nothing more than to make him feel better. your hand moves up to wrap around his wrist, pulling him in close, eyes burning with hot tears forming there at the lack of blood- but you continue, till the next words are all but hissed, high and tight.

“yours, i’m all yours koutarou, my king.”

there isn’t anything he could have done to prepare for that, he stutters, chokes on the lust heavy in his chest, he feels like there’s molten want dripping down his veins- swirling into a tight ball at the pit of his stomach.

all he can do is rear back, hips lifting off you, popping the head of him out and you nearly whine, nearly ask him whats wrong before he slams down in one hard and desperate stroke, catching the skin of your cunt harshly, but its okay- there would have been no way you’d survive in a relationship with him if you didn’t like a little pain.

when his hips make contact with your cunt, puffy lips giving him cushion- he grinds down, smashing your clit down against his pubes.

eyes shut tight, a choked sob tumbling from your lips in response, head teetering back onto the bed.

“koutarou! fuck! fuck!” words high and staccato-ed are echoed out into the room, he feeds off the broken syllables of his name tumbling from your lips.

he looks at you while he squeezes his fingers against the thrum of your quickened pulse underneath his hand- watching your eyes roll back, the whites of them on clear display as lips part, a silent scream painted onto the moments of your face-

the bed groans, creaks with each crushing thrust he gives you, drilling you down into the bed.

“keep saying my name puppy, keep saying it.” he grunts looking at you with a feverish and concentrated gaze, affected in how well you stroke his ego, chest feeling incredibly full, the prickle of his orgasm starts, but there was /no/ way he’d come before his baby.

the hand that wasn’t wrapped around your throat sweeps down your arching body until his thumb finds your twitching clit- immediately pressing down on it with enough force that his thumb turns white. it rips a scream straight from the center of your chest and your body starts seizing up.

he huffs out a laugh when he sees the way your hips cant up off the bedding- it nearly pushes him back, but he stays unwavering, following the movement of your spasming body.

“koutarou!” his name leaves your mouth in the form of a wail while he batters your cunt, you don’t even know you’re moving the way you are- hands falling to rest pitifully against your head.

“ah- that’s my girl.” bokuto beams, seeing the splash of your cum arch all the way up to hit his tummy- abs glistening with every contraction as his hips drill into you- he gives in, taking the thumb that had been squeezing your clit down onto your body and sticking it into his mouth, watching you with lidded eyes as he licks the cum off his hand, all while keeping your neck pinned down and chasing the frantic movements of your hips.

there’s no immediate reaction from you when he picks up your legs- weak with the strain you’ve put them under, and folds them up to your chest.

the only thing you do is intake a lungful of air, dazed eyes looking up at him- not knowing how he got so close to your face.

it’s the first slap of his heavy balls against your ass that makes you come back from it all-

“p-please!!” you cry, eyes wide. the force of him still pistoning into you makes your body bounce off the shaking bed, and thanks to the squirting orgasm he fucked out of you with his thick cock- building a near searing sensitivity into the walls of your cunt and clit, you cum once more. it’s the final break into a headspace that has you twitch and flail your legs, wiggling against the hold of his arms.

“yeah- good girl.” bokuto grits out, a bead of sweat drips off his face onto your own, and thankfully- it’s what he needs to cum. his eyes are frantic as he watches you- swollen lips, face turned relaxed as you squeeze down around him, looking like the image of fucked stupid.

with the a final resounding smack of his hips into you, his cock jumps, swelling, growing snug inside you before he dumps an almost obscene amount of cum into you.

small twitches of your body lets him know you feel it, his head falls down to land against your chest, keeping you folded as he grits his teeth.

it takes rapid, hard blinks of his eyes to not let tears fall down onto his face. he’s shaky as he finally sits back up, making sure to bring your thighs down gently.

“kou-“ you choke out, looking for him-

he responds by finding your limp hands, still lying up by your head- slotting thick fingers and broad hands into your own.

“‘m right here.” koutarou nearly wheezes out, still reeling from an orgasm that he can still feel.

“that felt good.” your voice is airy and sweet- pitchy and laced with love.

for the second time that night- he laughs, shaking his head while he slips his softened cock out of you.

he picks you up, scooping your trembling form into swollen muscles- keeping you nice and tight against a hard torso.

“you make me feel good.” he whispers into your hair, not caring about the trail of hot cum that leaks out of your fucked out cunt, trails of it running down his leg while he places you on his chest, laying the both of you down.

holding you tight like this, sweat mingling together, residue of cum and tears painting eachothers bodies- he knows there was nothing he should have ever been worried about.

he didn’t have to worry about protecting or loosing you- bodies intertwined, locked into one another proved that you took care of him, gentle hands tracing your name onto the skin of his chest.

“i’m all yours koutarou.” you whisper, nearly falling into the heaviness of sleep.

he once again blinks back the need to cry- he could take all the punches in the world, not even blink, but he was so weak for you.

“yeah... i’m all yours too.” his voice is tender, shaky with emotion, arms squeezing around you tight.

he really was.

[kyber-crystal]

➳ pickup lines || s.w.

summary: you’re oblivious to the fact that sam, your best friend is hopelessly in love with you. and it kills him inside because he’s been dropping hints for as long as he can remember. 

warnings: none, just fluff and a cliche best friends to lovers trope :) 

words: almost 2k

a/n: for @marvelsswansong​ ‘s late birthday present! sorry this was so late and that it’s so bad RIP i tried to write it in one go...anyway our boy sam deserves some more recognition sksksk

“Guess what this shirt is made of?” Sam smirked as he pointed at himself. “Boyfriend material.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a chuckle. “Oh, stop it.”

He slid into the seat next to you at the kitchen counter, swiping the spare muffin from your plate. “Y’know what’s on the menu today? Me-n-u.”

You just shook your head, spreading jam across your toast before biting into it. “Wow.”

“They say Disneyland is the happiest place on earth,” he cleared his throat, “well, apparently, nobody has ever been standing next to you. You are absolutely breathtaking.”

“I look gross,” you argued as you tried to hide your face with one hand, “I got three hours of sleep after helping Bruce in the labs and I’m a mess.”

“Don’t be silly, Y/N. You always look beautiful. Especially to me.”

Even if he was joking, you couldn’t help but feel the butterflies in your stomach at his comment.

“Oh my god, will you shut UP,” Bucky groaned. “You’re cheesy as fuck, Wilson.”

“You’re just jealous because nobody likes you,” Sam retorted. 

“Ooh, shots fired,” you whispered, cupping your hands around your mouth, “need some ice for that burn, Barnes?”

“He isn’t wrong, though,” Wanda shrugged, pouring herself a mug of coffee, “the chemistry is evident here. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten together yet.”

You let out a long sigh and went back to focusing on finishing your meal, not noticing the several glances Sam stole out of the corner of his eye at you.

...

“Y/N. “

“Natasha,” you replied without breaking your concentration on murdering the punching bag in front of yourself. 

“Girl, how long are you going to keep this act up for?”

You dropped your fists by your side, sighing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You and Wilson.”

“What about it?” you questioned as you began unwrapping the tape from your hands. She handed you your water bottle and you took a long sip, “We’re best friends. I don’t see anything special about that.”

“Best friends or not, he clearly likes you. I’m not gonna sugarcoat this: you’ve been the most oblivious idiot ever. If what he’s doing isn’t obvious enough, then I don’t know what is.”

“He does not. Sam’s just being Sam. That’s who he is. It’s in his nature to joke around.”

“Does he use pickup lines on me in every other sentence he speaks? No. Does he do that to Bucky? Never-”

“Because him and Bucky are rivals, and you guys are just f...”

“Just friends! Babe, you proved my point.”

“Oh, shut up...”

“If you don’t take matters into your own hands, then I will. You keep turning the poor man down and you don’t even know it. Tragic.”

“Natasha, I do not like any-” The redhead gave you her signature ‘look’, crossing her arms over your chest. Your shoulders sagged in defeat. “Fine. I don’t know. I guess I’m scared.”

“What reason do you have to be scared? You’ve gotten shot, you’ve led countless teams into battle before, you’ve taken out aliens with the power of your fists alone. Hell, we survived the Red Room together, and you’re afraid of catching feelings?”

“What if I embarrass myself by telling him?”

“Are you nuts? He’d be over the moon if you did so much as react to what he said. Poor guy’s feeling discouraged by your poker face. Give him a chance. He’s your best friend, you don’t wanna ruin the relationship you have together.”

“Fiiiiiine.” You whined and tossed your sweaty towel at her. “Now leave me alone so I can go take a shower.”

She laughed and tossed it back. “Alright. Tell me when you’re officially dating!”

“I hate you!”

“Love you too, babe!” she called out after you as you left the facility.

...

“SAM!” you yelled from the bathroom “Get your ass over here!”

“Am I in trouble?” he asked innocently as he peeked his head through your doorway. “You need something?”

“I forgot to bring a shirt with me. Can you get mine from the laundry? The black one?”

“Yeah, of course.” You heard him shuffling around before falling silent, then there was a knock on your door. “Here. Take this.”

“Thanks,” you nodded before taking the shirt and closing the door behind you. 

You looked down and let out a groan when you realized he’d mixed up the shirts and given you his instead - a V-neck you’d seen him wear plenty of times when you, him, and Steve went on morning runs together. It was ridiculously tight on him and you absolutely hated it because you couldn’t help but stare. But you didn’t like him. Definitely not.

Right?

Right.

You trudged down the hall to the kitchen, walking into to see Bucky’s and Sam’s awaiting smirks.

Crossing your arms, you raised an eyebrow at him, “Samuel, where is my shirt?”

“Dunno,” he feigned innocence, “I got mixed up.”

“Okay.”

“I’m no photographer, but I can picture you and me together,” he sent you a finger gun and a flirty wink. 

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day. “You’re such a sap.”

“Y/N! Hi!” Peter dropped his backpack and rushed forward, tackling you into a big hug. 

You stumbled backwards in surprise but quickly returned the gesture, ruffling his hair playfully. “Hey, kid. How was school?”

He made a face. “Sucked. I actually need your help with an assignment. I’m supposed to interview three role models in my life about stuff and Mr. Stark is in the middle of a conference call right now so...yeah.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Me? I’m not special-”

“If you weren’t special then Ned wouldn’t constantly fangirl over you to me. He always asks me if it’s true you can shoot lasers out of your eyes and hands.”

You chuckled. “I feel honored. Count me in, Queens.”

The two of you headed off to the labs together, and as soon as you left, Sam let out a loud groan, his face falling into his hands. “She doesn’t get it. I keep throwing hints her way but she doesn’t get it at all. I don’t understand. What exactly am I doing wrong?”

“Y/N isn’t an openly affectionate person. She rarely ever tells people how she feels. She usually conveys her emotions through killing her enemies and channeling all her energy into punching bags,” Bucky replied simply. “And the occasional Mario Kart deathmatch. She’s not very easy to read.”

“Even I had a hard time getting to her,” Wanda admitted. “She’s very...private. Prefers to keep her feelings to herself.”

“Does she even have any sort of clue?” Sam looked over at the young woman with a desperate look in his eyes. “Otherwise I’ve been humiliating myself all this time, for nothing.”

“She likes you, but she’s too afraid to admit it,” Steve suddenly spoke up. All heads turned in his direction. “It’s a thing I picked up from my ma when I was young. I can read into body language. And hers, well...she likes you, Sam. She’s just very subtle about it.”

Hope glimmered in his eyes. “She does? So she doesn’t mind my pickup lines?”

The super-soldier laughed. “As terrible as some of them may be, yeah, she doesn’t. I’ve seen her walk away flustered many times.”

“What do I do now?”

“You’re gonna win her over, once and for all,” Natasha declared. “And we’re making sure of that.”

...

“Y/N.”

“Pete.” You glanced over at the teenager, who had stopped furiously scribbling notes down in his notebook, “what’s up?”

“What’s up is you and Sam.”

“What about us?” You quirked an eyebrow. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” The boy wrinkled his nose, “I know he likes you, and you like him. So why do you keep pushing him away?”

“Peter-”

“Y/N, I’ve known about this since we first met. So why haven’t you made a move yet?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s trying his hardest to win you over and you’re refusing to budge! I bet he feels so bad about it.”

“Oh, God, I know...” you rubbed your forehead and let out a long sigh, “I just don’t know how to react.”

“Send a pickup line right back at him! He loves pickup lines, so gauge his reaction on that!”

“Alright...”

"Back to Chemistry! Which you two clearly already have...”

“Queens!”

“Okay, okay!” You both burst into laughter. “Okay!”

The team had all agreed on an outdoor barbecue, so you all gathered outside on the massive rooftop of the compound to eat dinner. Tony, Thor, Steve, and Rhodey were busy flipping the meat, Wanda and Pepper were setting up the refreshments, while the others were lounging around and casually conversing with one another. 

You noticed Sam standing alone by the edge, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared out ahead at the horizon. He seemed to be deep in thought, but as soon as he turned around and saw you approaching him, his face lit up with a grin that the others knew he only had when you were around. 

“Hey,” you offered him a small smile. You felt your heart skip a beat as you locked eyes - the early evening glow only made him look better than he already was. “Penny for your thoughts, Wilson?”

“Are you a magician? ‘Cause when I look at you, everyone else disappears,” he stated.

“Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you,” you replied smoothly, taking him by surprise. This was a first --

“Am I dreaming, or did Y/N just send me back a cheesy pickup line?”

“I did,” you laughed lightly, breaking into what he thought was the most beautiful sight on earth - a million-dollar smile. He’d never forget it. “How’s your week been?”

“Uneventful. You?”

Your face fell momentarily, and he felt his heart drop at the same time. “Could’ve been better.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

You took in a deep breath before responding. “Fury’s got me leading Team Alpha in a recon down south in the Outer Banks. Then as soon as I get back, I’m called to represent the team at a press conference about disaster relief. After that I’m stuck filing reports for a solid six hours and I end up only eating one meal that day. So yeah...it’s been pretty rough.”

“Did you make up for all that lost sleep, though?”

“A little. Compared to my typical three hours, I’d say 5 is a good enough improvement.”

“Progress is what matters. And you did that,” he nodded. “Look, if you ever need someone to talk to...you know I’m always here, right?”

“Definitely. That doesn’t eliminate our weekly Mario Kart competitions with Bucky, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.”

You stood there in silence for who knows how long, until he spoke up again.

“Did you know that when you smile, you can’t breathe?”

“Really?” You looked straight at him and gave him the brightest smile your face could produce. 

“I’m kidding. I just wanted to see you smile.”

At that moment, all the Avengers immediately stopped what they were doing and froze on the spot. 

“I think you broke her,” Peter whispered as he poked you in the shoulder multiple times, and you didn’t move. “That was smoother than butter.”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish but no words came out, face burning with heat - the butterflies in your stomach had turned to hummingbirds. Since when did he make you feel this way?

“Yup,” Bucky coughed, “she’s definitely in love with him.”

"I’m not in love with him, I love him. I have for a while,” you muttered so quietly that he almost didn’t catch what you said. 

Now, it was Sam’s turn to be left speechless.

[cutie1365]

God i need to fucking rant about this bitch. How do I always get stuck with the shittiest fucking roommates man.

I’m tired of two faced bitches who say one thing to you and turn around and do the complete opposite.

Why can logic and common sense not get through to this bitch????

First her mother destroys my furniture by fucking spray painting it! Spray paint! Without my knowledge or permission! These fucking back woods idiots who wouldn’t know their head from their ass.

They moved all my boxes and furniture without me knowing and left shit everywhere and somehow my shit ended up in their car six hours away and if I wasn’t on my shit they would have stolen it and I would have never gotten it back.

All my furniture was damaged from them throwing it about and leaving it in the hot sun outside. My TV was laying in the yard for an hour unwatched in 100 degree heat. How it wasn’t stolen is beside me.

Then this bitch thinks it’s smart to have a 145lb dog and leave us to watch it while she works 12 hour shifts. We’re not ur fucking babysitter.

And when we tell her it’s not our responsibility to watch her dog SHE HAS THE AUDACITY TO YELL AT ME. Talking bout how we knew she had a dog. Yeah bitch YOU have a dog, not me. Not my other roommates. Your fucking dog. Not our job to babysit and let it out to piss and see what’s wrong when she’s crying locked in her shoe box room.

She agreed to wipe the dogs paws when she brings her in from outside so we don’t track the dirt into the house. Before we moved in we discussed this. She said YEAH NO PROBLEM. Then when she never once did it- we said what happened to that huh we talked about that. She says “Why would I do that? It’s a dog we’re gonna get dirt inside”. Bitch I know you live in a fucking pigsty in the middle of butt fuck no where but here we don’t want to be stepping in mug and grass in our fucking living room.

She said she’d sweep up after the dog a few times a week because she SHEDSSS like crazy. Yeah she’s never once swept and when we brought that up she says “we’re not gonna have a spotless house what do u expect”. Bitch the other three of us are cleaning up after ur ass all the time. You may be used to living in filth because you’ve never cleaned anything a day in your life, but we like to not collect a pile of dog hair on our feet just from walking from one end of the living room to the other.

So she yells, and I don’t take shit so I yell back. Bottom line, take care of your own dog we’re not doing it for you.

She’s also killing the poor dog. She’s locked up without peeing for 12 hours a day, gets no exercise. She never talks her. Then when she comes home she lets her out then goes into her room and falls asleep so the dog basically is in the tiny room 24 hours a day with no exercise. She’s a fucking Great Dane. The room is so small she can only lay on the bed all day.

And she feeds her 20 count Chickfila Chicken nuggets. That’s so bad! And this is a regular thing. Not like a treat every once and a while. Human food all the time. The dog won’t eat her dry food anymore. She’ll just dump whatever’s in the fridge into the bowl. I once saw her feed the dog tortilla soup. TORTILLA SOUP.

Here’s the fucking kicker- SHES TRYING TO BE A VET. This woman is killing her own dog and she thinks she can go take care of others.

She also has the vocabulary and reading comprehension skills of a 2nd grader and you think you can survive higher education. She thinks she’s fucking god and shits on people in liberal arts colleges or other degrees besides hers, yet she can’t write a two page paper.

She needs to realize she has 3 other roommates. We talked about keeping the common space free of clutter and personal items so that everyone can use it and it stays clean. She agreed. Then she put a huge fucking dog bed in the living room after we explicitly said were putting a big plant here. (The dog has never sat in it because it’s locked in the room all day). And so when my roommates propose a compromise of leaving the bed in her room and taking it out when she’s sitting out in the living room she said “no, I’m not budging). You fucking cunt. She’s doing it just to pisss me off I swear. It has never been used, it is a waste of space, we are putting something else in that spot, it’s ugly, and it SMELLS.

HER WHOLE ROOM SMELLS SO BAD THAT IT LINGERS INTO HALF THE LIVING ROOM. And her room is right by the front door so it hits u right when u walk in. I swear I think that dogs peeing in her room. You’d think someone died in there.

The dog vomits and has diarrhea alll the time cuz she feeds her shit. That poor dog is gonna die because she’s neglecting her.

AND THEN

AND THEN

The day after this conversation of “you haven’t followed thru on any of the things we agreed on before and the dog is ur responsibility not ours, we’re not taking care of it for you”.... SHE BLOCKS ME ON TWITTER.

My other roommate wakes me up to show me she turned her twitter private and kicked me off then posted some big rant and said “Friendly reminder that NO ONE has the right to not treat you with kindness. You are loved, appreciated, and deserve to be here as much as anyone else. In the midst of this pandemic, cut out those who provide anything other than support and positive energy”.

What fucking baffles me is that my other two roommates were by my side and we all said the same thing so why she’s singling me out is beside me. And how can us saying “we’re worried for the health of ur pet because she’s locking in a room all day and needs to pee” is negative energy. Kill ur fucking dog for all we care then bitch, we brought up our concern now it’s on you.

It’s been a fucking month. This is going to be the longest 12 month lease of my life.

And she’s one of those people who has family money then turns around and says she’s poor and her family’s poor and she had to help buy them groceries this summer. Then turn around and buy a $2,000 ring for fun. She has small town money where they have those ugly checkered Louis vutton bags and she wants gucci boots, but then she’s like idk I don’t have money for groceries I can’t contribute.

And I know in the end everything will work out. Because she’ll go right back to living in that small as town and never leave. But dear lord please don’t let her be a vet. Spare those poor animals. It’s not their fault she’s a brainless fuckup.

And like if she was just dumb, fine. She can’t help that. But then she wants to turn it around and act like she’s a fucking genius and everyone is below her.

AND I FOUND OUT SHE VOTED FOR TRUMPPPPP.

Kill me. Just kill me.

I guess I’ll update y’all cuz I’m sure she’ll do more dumb shit soon and I need to rant because it physically PAINS me how angry I get. Like a knot in my chest how she can’t see logic or common sense.

OO and after her mom painted my furniture... because they had damaged it and instead of telling me and offering to help fix it. They took it out of my room and spray painted it (the wrong color and just let it drip if anyone knows how to properly use spray paint). So I told her hey just letting u know that really upset me, I know it was ur mom and not you and you probably didn’t know it happened, but I’m mad and it will take me a few days to get over it. Just so she’s not like Oo why is she mad at me why’s she not talking to me. And she was like I completely understand my mom feels really bad I’m so sorry I didn’t know she did that. Ok we’re all good go about our days.

THEN I find out from my other roommate that she had talked to her and was like Idk why she’s mad, I’m mad that she’s mad. BITCH. What if I took ur furniture out of ur room and decided to spray paint some random lines on it in a different color. I had to sand and repaint it (with fucking paint not spray paint because why the fuck would u do that).

I’m bout to catch a charge lol I get so headed just remembering it.

So yeah if y’all wanna give me some validation that I’m not crazy and this isn’t normal behavior please do, I’m spiraling.

This was a long ass rant but this is my life.

Any witches out there wanna manifest her coming to her senses or moving out and still paying her rent lol that would be great.

Karma honey, nows ur time to shine. Take care of it

[fuckinuchihas]

omg am i too late for the love story thing? HI KEL ILY!!! ok i have a crush on bokuto and hmm,,,, “there was only one bed” or “mutual pining” are probably my faves!! i like most things tho ksjs (ok i love u thank u 🥺💋✨)

Okay listen...the Bokay thirst is strong in this house. I wanted so badly to give you some good raunchy smut my dear but the word count got away from me so maybe a sequel? We shall see! Enjoy my love my everything!

*Also that neck tho* 🥵

“No he doesn’t!” you say, giggling into the rim of your beer.

“Oh he does. I’m telling you, either Diachi is working after hours as a stripper or he has thigh-centric workouts.

“Bo! Oh god, no no no, Diachi would never,” you reply, leaning into him a bit as you continue to laugh at the mental image of strong, dependable Daichi doing something crazy like cage dancing.

“I’m serious, baby! Look at these bad boys, this is how you get volleyball muscle,” he says, smacking his thigh in emphasis. “I work just as hard as anyone else, no way that guy has so much damn muscle on his thigh without some kind of somethin’ somethin’ y’know what I’m saying?”

“Stop,” you say, playfully plugging up your ears until his hands reach out to pull yours away and just...linger there.

The skin of his palms warm over your fingers for a beat, two, three...and you think this might be it, he might actually make a move.

He pulls away and nervously rubs at the back of his neck. “Whatever. Until he proves to me that he’s not a stripper, I’m standing my ground.

“That’s not how it works at all,” you say, but you can still feel his warmth lingering on your hands so it's a much more sobered chuckle than the drunk giggle you let out just a moment before. “You’re silly.”

A loud clap of thunder shakes through Bo’s apartment and a streak of lightning lights up the sky through your window and you frown.

“I should get home,” you say. You never fail to enjoy the time you share with Bokuto, he’s in some, okay all of your favorite memories. Still, you’re not sure if you can control yourself if you don’t leave.

Bo stands up effortlessly and heads toward the door.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight...look,” he says, gesturing toward the window.

You get up and take a look and of course the storm is beyond anything you’re capable of driving in, let alone walking.

You start to feel a little flustered. It’s too much for you to stay here with him, those big golden eyes staring at you and that cheeky smirk on his lips...you’ll never survive it unscathed.

“I’ll call-”

“Stay here, you can take my bed. I’ll be fine on the couch,” he says, and then you look at the couch.

It’s maybe half his size.

“No I can’t- Bo you’re twice as long as that couch!” you say, chuckling as you gesture at the couch. “I’ll stay out here you take your bed.”

Wait-when did you agree to stay?

Fuck.

Bo bites his lip, “No I can’t do it. I’ll never be able to sleep if I know you’re out here on that shitty couch.”

“You literally just tried to convince me you would sleep on it and now you’re calling it shitty?” This boy, trying your patience.😑 “Look, why don’t we both just sleep in your bed. It doesn’t have to be weird if we don’t make it weird.’

You’re gonna make it so weird.

You want him too much to not be weird in his bed but it doesn’t look like you have many options here. The couch really isn’t that comfortable, not even to sit on and you dread what it might do to your back if you actually lay down on it.

“Well well well, just what is going through that pretty head of yours, shorty?” Bo asks, but you just flip him off and head down the small hallway to his room.

You’ve been here before, but not at night so it feels different.

“Do you have a shirt I could borrow...don’t want to sleep in jeans,” you ask, not really thinking anything of it because you’ve worn his jackets and shirts before and it was never a problem but now he’s blushing and stuttering at you like you’ve just asked him to wear his underwear.

“I uh..I mean-yeah,” he says, clearing his throat as he grabs the first thing he finds in the closet and tosses it at you.

“Thanks, I’m just gonna...change,” you say, nodding at him quickly before turning to leave.

You take a few deep breaths and try to calm your rabbiting heart once you’ve changed and used one of the spare brushes under the cabinet to clean your teeth. It's impossible to resist the urge so before you’re under his watchful gaze again, you pull the collar of his shirt to your nose and breathe in his scent. You groan, he always smells so fucking good, it’s torture.

Another few calming breaths and you force yourself out the door, otherwise you’ll sleep in the bathtub and while that’s not entirely unappealing considering your options, you tried not to make a big deal out of it and you don’t want to hurt Bo’s feelings.

“Okay, all done if you need it,” you say, knowing he’ll want to do the same.

When he leaves you put a hand to your chest and just as you knew, your heart is pounding quickly.

“It’s fine, it’s no big deal,” you tell yourself softly, and then slide underneath the blanket on the furthest edge available. You know that Bo likes the left side by the door because you dropped by and woke him up one morning before his flight.

It’s still one of your fondest memories to call back because he looks so cute and soft in the mornings after he just wakes up. It’s the one time he’s not all chaotic energy and loud noises. In the morning he’s calm and still a bit sleep hazy, and you want nothing more than to cuddle into him and just melt at the cuteness.

When he comes back you stiffen for just a moment and then you realize it’s Bo. You’re safe and everything is fine.

He flips the light off but then turns on a lamp beside the bed.

“Kay...I can sleep on the floor if you’re uncomfortable,” he says, one last attempt.

“Come to bed, Bo.”

It takes a few beats but he slides under the covers behind you purposely not touching you despite the small space.

You’re pretty sure he’s not even fully on the bed.

When you turn over you see one leg and maybe part of his buttcheek has made it but the rest of him is very much still out of bed.

You chuckle and shake your head, tugging at his arm until he actually gets into bed and finds a reasonable amount of comfort.

“Why are you so nervous? It’s just me…” you ask softly, putting your head against his shoulder.

“I’m not-okay I’m a little nervous but you would be too if you were in bed with a hottie like you!”

You grin, “You think I’m hot?”

“Yeah, duh…” Bo says, with an exaggerated eye roll.

“I thought maybe you looked at me like a little sister or something,” you say, biting your lip. It’s one of the only reasons you can think of for him holding back all this time.

“Wait what?-No, dude nooo,” Bo says, avidly shaking his head. “No way are you my sister,” he says, with an exaggerated shiver down his spine.

“All this time...you never made a move, Kou.”

“I uh-I wasn’t sure you-y’know, wanted me to.”

You look at him with no small amount of surprise, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this,” you say, genuinely smiling. “Bokuto Kotaro afraid of lil ole me? How cute!”

“Hey, I’m not afraid! I just didn’t want to piss you off,” he says, humphing and almost crushing you as he goes to cross his arms out of habit. “You’re a pain in the ass when you’re mad.”

You huff at him but shimmy closer.

“Bokuto Kotaro sitting in a tree, s-c-a-r-d-i-e!” you tease.

He lets out a low growl and before you can finish your full laugh his weight is pressed against you, your hands pinned to the bed as his golden eyes find yours.

“If one of us is scared, it’s you,” he says, “Not laughing now are you, babygirl?”

“Kou-” you start but he starts to pull away and you have to stop him.

Your legs wrap around his waist and you buck up against him. “Not scared, Bo...not of you, not ever.”

“If you keep teasing me like this, I won’t be able to control myself much longer,” he says, groaning at the friction where you rocked against him.

“Then don’t…” you say, finding his eyes again. “Give in, Bo. It’s okay, I-I want you, want this.”

“Are you sure?I-I don’t want to ruin what we have…’ he says, and glances off to the side. That must have been where the fear was hiding.

“Hey, look at me,” you say, hands free enough to pull his chin up. “You are my best friend. You will always be my best friend. Do you want this, Bo?”

“More than anything…”

“Then take it, we can work out the rest in the morning.”

“God you’re perfect,” he says, and then dives in for a kiss.

You giggle as he peppers them all over your face, so genuinely happy to have you. Whatever that might mean.

★・・・・・★・・・・・★・・・・・★

MASTERLIST

[seoschangbin]

Hi hi, it’s ya gal Rachel! To start off, this isn't really a follow forever but more of a mushy love fest. I was going to do this back in October when my blog hit 2 years but then with everything that happened... 😞✌ figured it wasn’t the best time! But since it’s the new year, I just wanted to spread some love to start off the decade, especially towards all the lovely people who have made my 2019 a little bit happier ♡ Thank you to everyone for making this such a fun & amazing year; thank you for supporting my gifs & graphics and interacting with me; overall, thank you for making Tumblr fun again! So to all my moots and followers, I’m wishing you all a very happy and wonderful 2020! 

I wanted to take some time as well to write some messages to all my mutuals - seeing you guys on my dash + all your work (if you’re a cc) is such a joy and I admire all of you very very much! Thank you for putting in the time to making gifs/graphics/fic/etc. and I hope you won’t mind if I gush about you a little, even if we’ve never spoken hehe! Under the cut in alphabetic order.. she’s a long one sorry!

@00hj | karen!! angel!! first of all, everything u make is just the cleanest cutest thing ever, i truly want your brain!.. u are such an incredibly talented gfx creator and i get heart palpitations every time i see ur work!! i adore u so much n ur tags are also so full of sweetness n purity and 😞💕 i just want to give u a hug!! + the way u always say hi to ccs in ur tags when u rb their stuff. cute!! pure!! 

@01degree | joanna!! first of all... thank u for filling my dash with so many groups, some of which i almost never get to see 😌💕 ur brain being multi af like me.. chefs kiss! also! you make such clean and nice gifs please don’t ever doubt that laskjd!! 2020 joanna stops saying her gifs suck! idk how u make them so clean but legends only! bls remember to be kind to yourself this year! 💕

@1095 | nicolle!! i haven’t seen you around recently but i hope everything is okay and you’re doing well! i have to say that your graphics are absolutely INSANE i don’t know how you do it!! the colours.. how it all comes together.. amazing! ur career as a graphic designer will be a good one 😌👍 secondly your urls are always so cute nd nice!! and thirdly back to number 1.. i just love everything you make so so much bls come back to us 😖

@3noracha |  falak.. ur the fandom’s gem.. the sharpening on ur gifs takes my breath away everytime + the colouring.. omg chef’s kiss!! i didn’t know you before you came back earlier this year but i’m so so glad you did come back bc u are so full of love 😳💗 you make the cutest graphics as well and are just radiate so much positivity 💞

@bamgchan | henri! still my confident car selfie king!! so glad i found you through sagey.. i love all your content (ur graphics.. always so well put together!) and the way you interact with people is so full of energy and positivity and i adore that! i hope 2020 treats you well 🥰

@banghans | ollie!! all of ur content.. ur gifs! amazing.. wonderful.. iconic thank you for providing so much hq content for the rest of us peasants 😌💕 your love for chan and jisung is also so pure n cute when u rave abt it 💞 bls stop being so hard on yourself and i love reading about how you’re always striving to be better to yourself! i hope 2020 is a good year for you 💖

@binnieseason | emily.. a loss for binnie stans that you’re gone 😔 anyways i hope to see you back sometime because you make such nice gifs + the colouring on them.. so pretty and clean.. how to be you! i hope things are okay with you and that you’ve been well!

@cb-97s | miss li! y/a novel protagonist herself!! li you’re a burst of sunshine in my day and i love chatting w u! your love for chan.. too pure 😭 every time i talk to you i’m like.. dang.. she’s real.. ppl get to see her for real! might force u to meet me irl 🤷‍♀️ also queen of gfx.. always so clean.. 😍 i know it’s been a stressful year for you but i hope 2020 brings you happiness and love 💞 love u! 

@changbeanie | hi ruby! ur graphics are always so intricate n pretty + the colouring on ur gifs.. so pretty 😭💖 thank you for providing like 90% of the changbin content nd keeping me well-fed 🥰 ur always so sweet to ur anons as well and are just a lil ray of sunshine ☀️

@changbinie​ | jo.. what even is there to say abt u.. still can’t believe i got u into skz.. CAN’T!!! thanks for suffering w me and dealin w me wakin u to talk abt middies.. + changbin arms.. i love u a little i think (?) 

@channie | hi fishy! ur one of the very first skz blogs i ever followed back in 2017.. we ancient 😌🤙 i know you’re not too active anymore but all of your gifs have like. the prettiest colouring ever idk how you do it! i hope you’ll come back to us 

@elfminho | min! i love the way u tag skz in your tags.. so cute 😭 star boy!!! cute 😭 ur gifs are also lovely as well 🥰 i think ur one of the first skz blogs i followed when i starting using this blog again n i’m glad i found ur blog bc i adore u 💞

@glowsvt | grace.. my little baby! i wish i could just !! get into ur brain how lovely nd wonderful of a human you are.. have more confidence in yourself! 😣 you make wonderful graphics.. ur style! cute! and you have such a sweet and good heart!! i love when you ramble about things and always appreciate how you take the time to reach out to me despite how busy you are 💕 thank you for being a real-life angel, i hope 2020 is good and kind to you 🙇‍♀️💞

@hanjisungz | britt!!! nerd squad let’s go!! you’re such an angel, the way you treat everyone who talks to you with so much kindness and positivity makes me want to cry!! ur truly just the cutest sunbeam and just such lovely lovely human!! thank u for puttin up with my late replies and how boring i am 😭 i also adore your gifs and icons.. which you know.. but always.. chefs kiss to them!

@huiracha | marie... first of all skz AND ptg? great, amazing, fantastic combination... galaxy brain 💞 secondly, u make such SUCH nice gifs 😭 ur prob one of my fav skz ccs and all ur pretty chan comp sets.. always look forward to them! thank u for also bringing me ptg content i never see enough of them 💕

@hwang-hyunjin | agnes!! ur topaz settings r always insane and they make your gifs look amazing!! + the colouring u do is always so beautiful!! the combo rly makes ur gifs so distinctive nd pretty💞 ur edits too!! just lovely 🥰 also the fact that we’re also moots on our mx blogs.. amazing.. i love a staybebe!! 

@hyunjins​ | godleigh???? still one of my fav gifmakers ever!! perfect colouring.. sharpening.. best brain! 💞 rmbr ur skz x prince series... still think abt it sometimes.. wish i could be half as brilliant as u!  i’m so glad we started talking bc u are incredibly funny and fun to talk to and i love witnessing ur breakdowns even though they’re probably way funnier to me than they should be 😭 love that u vibe w me and we can be mean together 😭 thank u for giving me this url 😭 thank u for being my friend, u truly are like. half the reason i enjoy being on this blog 😭 you’re wonderful and i love u a lot! sorry for clowning u sometimes! i hope everything sorts itself out soon bc u deserve some peace nd happiness 😩 and i wish u nothing but the best for this year and hope that the next year will be filled with good things 💖

@ifbin | mikaela.... u know i could talk abt you forever right???? ur graphics.. bro 😭 literally my fav gfx ever on this site.. u have such a vibrant + clean style it’s so sexy 😭 literally am in love with everything u make.. every time i see it i’m like 😳💖 also you’re such a sweetheart in your tags i can’t with you... spare friendship miss 💍

@jeonginz | bri! honestly.. i think you’re my oldest mutual from when we first started our blogs during survival era #ogs? 😳 when i found out you were nctmark... mind blown... anyways all your content is AMAZING even though u dont make as much for skz anymore msdg but ur dedication to all ur sideblogs.. galaxy brain 😌

@jinlix | kelly...!! still gazing at u across the river i love love love u!! how to purchase friendship? ur just the purest snowflake and a wonderful person with the cutest tags... ur love for hyunjin.. CUTE 💞 all your graphics are so pretty and clean as well.. dragonlix gfx never forgotten.. 😳 and you’re rly just a little angel!! 💞

@kim-woojins​ | emma, i know that you’re gone and closed pretty much but if you come back to this! just wanted to let you know that you were my fav woojin cc and i hope you’ll consider coming back someday 💖 your gifs.. always amazing! plus, you’re such a kind person and i hope everything is okay with you and things have settled a bit! sending you lots of love 💕

@kittylixie | moon.. honestly one day i just started seeing ur content everywhere.. ur gifs are so clean and pretty and just! mwah! you’re always so quick to gif as well i don’t know how you to do it! all the stuff you choose to gif as well.. best moments 💖

@kmwoojins | sagey.... still don’t really know how i came to be following you! 😩 but i’m so happy i am because you are so pure and sweet and i adore adore adore you!! 💞 love how welcoming and lovely you are as a human and still laugh every time i think about how shocked you are about jo and i... 😌 anyways i adore your graphics and you, thank you for just being such a lovely human, you were a wonderful part of my year 💖

@leeminho-s | hi lia! i know we only became moots recently but all your gifs.. so pretty 😳 and we never have enough minho content.. thank you for providing 😫 i’m sorry i don’t know much about you yet but i just wanted to say i admire your gifs so much and hope you have a wonderful start to the new year!

@minknows | hi thien! first of all.. your name.. so lovely 😳 secondly.. the colouring on your gifs is always so pretty and good 😭❤ the sharpening too.. 😔 just!! chefs kiss to it all, would take a class on how to gif from you 🙇‍♀️

@nochous | dez!! we haven’t interacted much on this sb of mine but hehe i loved our convo on my sf9 blog.. still always thinkin abt you calling kun daddy 😭 you’re such a fun person to talk to and i hope everything is okay with you since you’ve gone on a semi-hiatus! i hope we’ll have another chance to talk soon, sending you some good energy for 2020 💗

@prodskz | hi neha! i feel like you took a hiatus sometime this year (??) where i didn’t see you on much but i’m happy to see you a little more active on here now!! u provide such nice content + for some reason i rly rly love your icon 😭💗

@realstraykids | miss em.. secret santa FATED us 😔💕 anyways i adore you, we are the core of fantastay culture and this will forever unite us 😌 i’m vibrating at the thought of their comeback 😖 ANYWAYS you are such a friendly and lovely person and i enjoyed getting to talk with u so much over the past couple of weeks 💖 you’re one of my fav gifmakers honestly your mv aesthetics swap.. as i said.. 😭 amazing iconic showstopping! + the colouring on all your gifs.. so pretty 😭

@seungminhos |  to quote you. you are far too funny to be a gifmaker 😣 but then who would provide all the good seungmin content.. 😞 you’re such a force of nature on my dash and i love reading all your thoughts bc you are Funny.. and your love for seungmin + how you always want the best for him is pure!! our sporadic interactions too.. always enjoy them 💕 even though i know you’re stressed about being on here sometimes, i want you to know that you’re wonderful and i appreciate all you do to bring more seungmin on our dashes 💗 pls stop threatening to delete your blog, i would be devastated 😫

@seungminsmile | aurora!! the one time i was about to have a seungmin breakdown and went to you... hehe you’re such a cutie and very grounded person (imo!!) and you make the cutest little graphics.. the little doodles.. how do you do that!! 😳 and now that you’re making gifs.. Queen! i hope your first semester went well! 💕

@seunie | hello nia!! i know we are still new moots but you are such a pure soul.. just ur blog title.. angel! you radiate so much love and sweetness 💞 your gifs are always so vibrant + colourful as well and bring a bit of colour onto my dash just like you! hopefully we can speak in the coming year, i wish you the very best! 🥰

@skzbffie | rayana... all ur gifs... bro.... how to start a rayana religion... amazing 😍 ur gifs are always so clean + i can recognize them by the subtitle font you use.. u always choose the best moments to gif honestly how to be u! honestly ur tags are fun to read too don’t judge me i am just an admirer and fan of u 😭

@skznta | miss sierra! idk how to put it into words but you... goddess of goodness? you truly radiate so much positivity and happiness and it makes me so.. uwu (for lack of better words).. you’re so so cute over all your love for science and i’m glad we got to bond over that! the way you’re always striving to learn more + improve yourself.. u inspire me 😳 you are also an incredible cc and thank you for bringing so much joy into the fandom and my life!! i feel very grateful to have gotten to know you a little this year 💞

@thechanboys | jem.. u are a GEM... 😭 the way i got u for secret santa i’ll never get over it!! you are just such sunshine and so fun to talk to and 😳💞 if u ever wanna abandon bin for me.. 😌 my fav number one chan/bin stan..! i’m so happy you got into skz this year and i’m gonna try my hardest to get you into some other groups hehe 🤧 anyways, you are incredible, lovely, wonderful, amazing i love u jem!! 💖

@tinyjisung | bea! honestly.. we are moots on like 3(?) blogs our multi selves.. galaxy brain...  i know ur more active on ur ateez blog but i wanted to write abt you here anyways because I CAN! 😌 but i love all that good san content you provide + you just seem like a very calm n fun person 💕

@virgolix | nina. you’re such a cute person filled with love and you just spread so much positivity and good energy! you treat everyone with so much kindness and it’s so nice to see 💖 and if i can rave about your gifs for a minute... they are unreal 😫 the sharpening.. colouring.. always so amazingly clean + pretty + vibrant! 

@wonstal | hi hi! okay.. i adore all your content, you have the cutest colouring ever!! + topaz settings.. so pretty 😖💞 even though we started off as moots on my mx blog, i’m so glad you got into skz and ateez + will be on your sweet merry way to sf9 soon 🤞 i’m glad we’ve just started chatting a bit because you seem super fun and i’m excited to get to know you better! i hope 2020 treats you well darling 💖

@yongbells | iana.. hope everything is okay with you always and sending you lots of love! i miss seeing you on here but i hope you’re taking good care of yourself 💗 also.. gfx queen... 😖 you’re SUCH a ray of sunshine.. the way you always tell people how much you love their creations is so kind and all of your own gfx are some of the most beautiful things ever 💖 we are so blessed to have you in this fandom 😩 

[carol-thirteen]

Absorbed

Ok first of all, i love u and ur writing!!! Second, can u please do carol x reader where R has healing power but to do that R have to absorb that person's injury. During battle, one of the avengers got hurt like pretty bad and R save them. R don't want carol or anyone to worry instead R go sitting somewhere away from them. U can decide the ending. Give me ur best angst and im ready to cry lol

thank you so much for this prompt, i really enjoyed writing it. i hope it satisfies your angst needs.

-

The screams and collapsing buildings were all around you, you wondered how anyone else could focus.

Each of you had been given a task. The majority of the Avengers were assigned to taking down the threat, that included Carol. Yours and Natasha’s only concern was to get the innocent villagers to safety.

You wanted to put your combat skills to the test in the field but agreed that you would be of more use to the people of the planet.

As you bent down, jogging along the previously determined route, with small groups of people, you would occasionally try to get a look of the battlefield. You saw Carol flying up in the air, that ever fluorescent glow upon her, then swooping down into the midst of it all.

A proud smile appeared on your face, but quickly dissipated when you had taken your 8th group to the safety of your ship.

You turned back towards the route, seeing Natasha hobbling along with her group. The more she approached you, the clearer it was to you that she was in pain.

“Go and sit down behind there,” you pointed to the large pile of rubble just at the edge of the dusted paths.

You ushered the group inside where they were taken care of by the medic team. That you had been on strict instruction to stay away from until you had proper control of your powers.

Fury knew what kind of person you were, selfless and forever wanting to help. Needing to in fact. If he knew what was going to happen on this mission, he certainly wouldn’t have sent you on it. He really cherished you as a member of the team, he wanted you to train and be as powerful as possible. He also wanted you safe. For himself and for Carol.

When the medic inside the ship gave you a quick nod, you rushed to where you had told Natasha to wait.

Peering around the corner, arms at the ready, just in case. You sighed as you saw her shaking, blood pooling at her hands.

“Oh Nat, what happened?” you knelt beside her and pressed your hands against the wound on her stomach, which earned a heart aching hiss. “Sorry.”

“There was an explosive set in the-“ Nat took a uneven breath, the pain stopping her from continuing.

“Shhh, it’s alright. We should get you back to the ship. They’ll be able to-“

“What about the rest of them?” Nat leaned forward slightly, groaning in pain, staring at the huddled up groups of young children and parents.

“I’ll handle it,”

“Y/N, if Carol knew-“

“What Carol doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” you wiped the tear that had slipped from Natasha’s eye. “Let’s get you up, come on.”

A scream escaped Natasha’s lips as you tried to help her up. She begged you to stop, but not for long. You listened immediately and set her back down.

The bleeding was getting worse. You couldn’t get it under control and you didn’t have the supplies. It would take too long to go back to the ship and ask the medics to help her.

“Tell-“

“Nope, stop right there. You are not dying today.” You spoke firmly.

There was no other option. You’d never absorbed an injury this critical. But you had to try. Right?

“I’m going to help you.” You spoke with such certainty that Natasha had already figured out what you were planning.

“Y/N, no. Fury said-“ She murmured. She knew she was too weak to protest but if she could she would push you off of her right now. If you survive this, she will definitely be yelling at you later. You could take it.

“I don’t care. I’m not letting you die. Just, give me a second.” You took her hands and closed your eyes, letting your power overwhelm you. It was strong, stronger than it had been. You hoped that was a good sign that you’d make it out of this.

You felt the pain transfer and the more intense it got, the more you wanted to cry. But you kept it together as best you could. It didn’t take long for you to feel every single burn and scratch Natasha had acquired along with what felt like a hole in the abdomen.

“You can stop now. It’s- We can both live if you stop now.”

“I can’t.” You felt your both tremble beneath you. Your own strength that was holding you up had decreased considerably.

“Just let go of my hands.”

The final cuts and bruises appeared on your face and were no longer Natasha’s. A quick burst of energy expelled from you hands and pushed you backwards, landing flat on your back.

You let out a breath you had been holding. “You didn’t tell me about the leg.” Natasha went to your side lifting you to rest against her. You whimpered through a clenched jaw. “Would’ve been nice to have a heads up.” You smiled through the blinding pain.

“Why did you do that?” Natasha frowned, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I told you. I couldn’t stop. I would’ve if I could. Would be nice to not be dying.” You laughed slightly coughing up blood.

“Oh god, uh. Help. You need help.”

“There’s no time, Nat.” You wiped the blood from your mouth using the back of your hand, staring at it as you placed your hand back onto your stomach.

“There is. You saved me now let me save you.” She squeezed your hand. “I’ll get help. Just-“ she sighed. “Just hold on. Please.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She gave you a stern look, like you did not give her the correct answer.

“I will stay alive.” You whimpered.

You stared up at the sky, the smoke from burning structures filling the space, covering your view of the stars now. Letting out a shaky breath, you watched Natasha stand up and leave to get help.

“I’ll be back.”

You never thought you’d be alone. You always thought you’d have Carol beside you telling you everything was okay. If she knew you were doing this alone, she would be so mad.

It felt like something was pressing down on your chest and though you didn’t think it was possible, your ability to breathe was depleting quickly.

Carol’s busy. She’s in the middle of a fight, she couldn’t just be pulled her away from that for you to have some comfort. These people were losing their planet, their families. It was so much bigger than you.

She's not coming. You knew that hurt you more than anything you could ever feel physically.

Tears were falling faster than you were breathing. As much as you wanted Natasha to come back, you wanted Carol more. Holding on to life was exhausting and you didn’t know how much longer you could do it for.

But you heard her voice, not being able to understand what was being said yelled though.

Death was creeping up on you, if it was Carol that was coming to you, she needed to be quick.

Carol’s timing was impeccable though as always, just as you felt your eyes close, her hands were firm on your body.

“God, what the hell did you do?” She knelt next to you, as she swiveled a bag around her body, undoing the straps and opening it.

“Carol?”

She heard your voice and how broken, how surprised you sounded that she’d come for you.

“It’s me baby, I’m here.” She stroked the side of your face, a hand still in her bag.

“W-Where’s Nat?” you stuttered.

“Helping the last of the villagers.”

“She’s okay?”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Carol pulled out supplies she needed, her spare hand feeling your pulse. “Y/N.”

“I had to,” you whispered. “Nat was dying and I-I couldn’t let-“

“You absorbed this?!” Carol looked at you quickly, realizing. Natasha had just come to her fit as a fiddle to tell her you were hurt. Her hands back in the bag, searching for something.

You tried to nod but you ended up wincing in pain and groaning at the movement.

“Damn it, where is it?” She muttered quickly to herself, panicking more.

Carol shook her head and looked back down into the bag, pulling out some medication.

“Just hold on okay. This will help.”

“Carol,” You whimpered, clenching got jaw through the pain as you lifted your hand to rest on hers. “Don’t waste that on me. It’s too late”

“No it’s not.” She pressed the metal into your thigh, holding your hand tightly to comfort you. “I’ve got you.”

“Please I-“

“It’s okay. You’re going to be just fine.” Carol stroked the side of your face that wasn’t covered in burns and scrapes. She could see the tears that were cascading down your face and had been for a while. She could tell from the wet patch that was on the rock just below your head “Shh.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you spoke slowly. You weren’t sure if you were really dying or if the medication was making you tired. Either way, Carol had to know. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not alone, you hear me.” Carol frowned as your eyes closed. “Baby,” her voice cracked. With one hand in yours tightly, the other used the medpack tech, that she’d connected to your body suit. She waited for it to load. “Come on. She can’t be gone. It should’ve- Fury said this would work. Why isn’t it working?!“ She tapped the side of the hunk of metal, hoping it would help it load faster.

You felt the medication kick in just as fast as you’d felt yourself losing the fight against death moments before.

“I’m sorry,” Your eyes opened to her tear filled ones staring down at you. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips.

Carol smiled weakly at you. “You did the right thing. Even though it was really stupid.”

You felt yourself smile. Carol let out a laugh, masking the fact that she wanted to cry.

She wanted to make you comfortable, but not inflict more pain, so she stayed next to you, her hands rubbing your arm soothingly. Both of you hoping that this would work, that Carol had got to you in time.

And she had.

[gem-quest]

[ QUEST 04. — I N F E R N A ]

taglist: @bebemoon​ @now-on-elissastillstands​ @armadasneon​ @mysteriousdeathofpoe​

[ A . MIDWINTER’S . NIGHT . DREAM . LEVEL . 20 ]

Inferna was with Neddy, throwing sugar cubes covered in Inferna Sauce at Jack (who had been shrunken down with a Drink Me potion), when the announcement scrolled across the sky.

<<< YOU HAVE 24 HOURS. SURVIVE TO ADVANCE. >>>

“What the fuck is that all about?” Inferna asked, pointing upwards. Neddy paused and looked up as well.

The two of them had originally gone to Level 20, A Midwinter’s Night Dream, to play with Jack in the snow-covered gardens in front of the palace (the maze was behind the palace, and those stupid fucking bitch ass snow angels flying around that place could all go eat a dick. Inferna was so tired of being pelted with snowballs as soon as she got within a ten-foot radius of them. And it was all because she wasn’t a Moonstone player!!).

The pale winter sun gleamed against the pristine snow of the level as she and Neddy started making their way towards the maze to investigate. A large, chattering crowd had formed around the entrance, blocking their view, and Inferna grabbed Neddy’s hand, waiting for her to settle a shrunken-down Jack into his basket before she viciously elbowed her way to the front, until she could see what all the fuss was about.

A sleek metal half-dome had materialized into existence. The harsh steel was a stark contrast against the delicate statues and glittering fountains lining the edges of the maze.

Inferna narrowed her eyes as she took in the scene. Items had begun shimmering into existence, beneath the dome - there were some miscellaneous food stuffs (were those the apple turnovers from the Tearoom that Inferna liked so much????), medi-elixirs, oh and was that silver dust? And even an ignitium potion? - and some players were dashing forward to snatch them up before other people could get to them. Inferna was inclined to join in (free stuff was always good. Especially free food. Those turnovers were hers!), but she held back, and turned her gaze in the direction of where 90% of the players were looking.

“What the hell?” she said, glancing over at her friend. “What are those Bigfoot-lookin’ things?”

“Abominable snowmen?” Neddy suggested, shrugging her shoulders. 

Inferna frowned. She was spared from replying by a ding! from her player-plexus, indicating a new notification. All around her, other player-plexuses were dinging as well, and Inferna quickly pulled her own out to see what this was all about.

“Yeti stats…” she muttered under her breath, quickly skimming over the message that’d popped up on her screen:

YETI STATS 

STRENGTH: 7 DEFENCE: 7 CHARISMA: 1 PSYCHE: 3 WILLPOWER: 5 CAUTIOUSNESS: 2 AGILITY: 4 ENDURANCE: 10 INTELLIGENCE: 5 LUCK: -

She looked up, and squinted. “So they’re Yetis, then,” she said to Neddy. Her player-plexus pinged again, and Inferna swiped open one of her Obsidian group chats.

Anyone in 20 rn? I heard it’s going into lockdown until tomorrow

Another ding. 

Oh dang yeah, i just tried to ictuium in, and no luck. Dont think ictuium-ing out will work either

Inferna sighed, and showed Neddy the messages. “I guess we’re shit out of luck, then,” she mused, watching the Yetis slowly get closer. “What is G doing, ripping off Fortnite? Well, I guess it’d be more like a Hunger Games rip-off, because Fortnite is just Hunger Games with guns.”

She squinted. The half-dome with randomly appearing items must have been like the Cornucopia, then. Fair enough. And the Yetis were...Yetis. 

It’s really damn annoying that the only thing we got were the stats. Nothing about what they can actually do. 

A shout rang out, from somewhere to their right. Inferna turned her head just in time to see a huge blast of icy magic slam into the roof of the palace behind them. The tiles cracked, and began tumbling downwards.

“Fucking shit!” Inferna swore. “If we make it out of this alive, I’m going to need more fake magical potion vodka from Morningstar. And, you know, just more college frat party alcohol in general. This is bull!”

Inferna ducked and began to run, pretty sure that she did not want to be buried under a pile of rubble. When she figured that she was a safe enough distance away, she stood up, scanning the crowd for Neddy’s familiar lilac hair, but her friend was nowhere in sight. 

Inferna frowned, and as she ran in the opposite direction of the Yetis, she quickly tapped out a message to Neddy: hey lmk if u want to meet back up - think i lost u just now.

After she’d retreated to the very edge of the level, a ways into the snowy forest that surrounded the palace and maze, Inferna let herself slow down and catch her breath. She leaned against the barrier of the level, which was a transparent Plexiglass-ish kind of thing that let players look out through it into the rest of the woods, but didn’t let them pass through. It shimmered with some kind of energy - magical, maybe? - where Inferna’s body made contact with it, but otherwise, it felt like a normal invisible wall.

You know. Because once you’d been inside the game for long enough, this kind of shit was the norm.

Inferna wasn’t sure that she wanted to stay in this specific spot for too long; although the Yetis weren’t supposed to be all that intelligent, she would bet her right hand that G had programmed them to traverse the entire level. Inferna wasn’t entirely certain how she would fare, against one of them - on the one hand, her own strength and defense stats were higher than those of the Yetis, meaning that she’d probably have a pretty decent chance fighting one of them head-on (especially with her added advantage of being, you know, basically the Gem Quest equivalent of a fire bender), but the Yetis had higher endurance stats than her. And, given that she was fire and they were ice, if the Yetis managed to land a blow on her, Inferna would probably be in trouble.

With that thought in mind, Inferna dragged an ignitium potion out from her inventory. If one of them did try to target her, Inferna would hit them back with the breathe-fire-from-your-mouth potion, like Uncle Iroh in ATLA. Because that guy was #goals.

Once she’d wolfed down a raspberry tartlet (fliched from the Tearoom) and taken a pull from the handle of fake magical potion vodka (okay, so it wasn’t actually a handle - just a standard large-sized potion bottle) Morningstar had given her, which tasted just like the shit Inferna knocked back with her friends in real life but was somehow made from ingredients within the game, Inferna set off again. This kind of stupid event was best done drunk, high, or both, in Inferna’s opinion. Since she didn’t actually want to get herself killed, she was just going to settle on tipsy.

(Besides. Was it just her, or did her fire-mage powers seem stronger when she was inebriated? Weird, but she’d always take an excuse to get drunk.)

The first Yeti she encountered happened to be barreling across her path in pursuit of some other player, narrowly avoiding the invisible wall. Said other player was probably smarter than Inferna and quickly disappeared into the nearby shrubbery, their dark hair and clothing providing ample cover among the trees, but Inferna was a dumbass and had chosen this exact week to pull out an H-rank cosmetic potion and dye her hair bright orange. Bright glittery orange. So the Yeti, upon turning around, immediately caught sight of her and began lumbering her way.

“Fuck this shit,” Inferna muttered under her breath, downing the ignitium potion all at once. She waited a moment for the effects to set in - and for the Yeti to get close enough - and then sprang forward.

Flames leapt out of her mouth, curling and crackling and rippling with heat, and when she noticed other Yetis coming closer, Inferna spun in a wide circle like that legendary scene of Uncle Iroh in Ba Sing Se. The Yetis, temporarily stunned, fell back with a series of angry roars, formerly-white fur now a charred black. Inferna took that as her cue to get the fuck out of there, and - after shouting a completely, totally, stupidly unnecessary “see ya later, motherfuckers!” - she zipped off into the forest, taking advantage of all the speed and agility bequeathed upon her for picking the rogue class when she first started the game.

Inferna paused to catch her breath once she’d reached the edge of the forest, stopping just behind the end of the treeline. She checked the time - it’d only been an hour - and groaned. 

“This is so stupid,” she said out loud, to the random tree on her right. “I just want to go back to the Tearoom or something and get more food. What kind of lame-ass food is there in this level, anyway? Fucking snow angel food, that’s what. Fuck those guys.”

Inferna looked around her. There was a handy-handy rock a few feet away, so she trotted over, brushed off the snow, and sat down, propping her chin up with her hand to very angrily glare at a patch of snow-dusted grass, because she wanted some pastries, dammit, but stupid fucking G and his stupid fucking devs decided to make a stupid fucking event in the coldest, stupidest level of the entire game. 

Inferna was still angrily contemplating a blade of grass when the sound of someone approaching made her look up. She had one of her flaming daggers out in an instant, just in case whoever it was wanted to try some funny business.

However, once the figure got closer, Inferna lowered the dagger. She grinned, eyes lighting up in recognition.

“Ace!” she called out, waving. 

The brunette turned, caught sight of Inferna and her glittery orange hair, and started in her direction.

“Vicky, what the hell!” she exclaimed, lightly punching her arm. “It’s been ages.”

“No kidding,” Inferna replied, still grinning from ear-to-ear. “How’ve you been? I thought you went back out.”

Ace (well, Ace of Angels technically, but Inferna didn’t care enough to call her by her full screen name, and AOA was already the kpop group. And the other Obsidian player didn’t like being called ‘Gertrude’...Inferna couldn’t blame her) shrugged, the motion jostling her scary black wings. “I took the week off, to come back in. I’ve got a good amount of relinquium potions left, so might as well try to make use of them for the Plexipedia.”

“What’s happening with the Plexipedia?” asked Inferna. “Am I still IP banned from it?”

Ace snorted. “You tried to replace the screenshots of every NPC you didn’t like with gifs of Dr. Doofenshmirtz. Among other things that I won’t even mention, right now. Yes, you’re still IP banned.”

Inferna made a face. “Jerk. Can’t even do little ol’ me a favor and use your mighty admin powers to unban me?”

Ace just rolled her eyes, and ignored her question. “What’s happening with the Plexipedia is that we’re compiling a list of players that are still trapped in here. And, on the DL, tallying up how many relinquium potions are left. Did you see? They jumped from B-rank to S-rank in, like, two months’ time. I didn’t even know that items could jump ranks.”

“G must’ve done something,” Inferna mused. “Dammit, G, controlling the economy like that. What a fucking communist.”

Ace gave Inferna an inscrutable look, her hazel eyes gleaming with something Inferna couldn’t quite place. “He’s a murderer, Vicky, that’s what he is. Don’t you know how many people have already died?”

Inferna was quiet, for a moment. “The rumors are true, then? I heard about how we couldn’t bribe Jackie anymore, and the relinquium potions. But I wasn’t sure about the, you know. Dying.”

Ace nodded. “You remember Cheshire? She was in our party, but only for like two days.”

Inferna’s mouth went dry. “She…?”

Ace’s solemn look was all the answer Inferna needed.

Inferna sat back down on her rock, heavily. “Shit,” she said, “I thought it was all just BS that people were making up to fuck with other people. I mean, I knew about the potions, but I didn’t think G would actually…”

“That’s why I come back in-game when I can get off from work. Nobody really knows anything, I think.”

Inferna was quiet for another minute. Then, she gave Ace a suspicious glance. “Is there a Plexipedia page for me, too?”

Ace laughed out loud. “Oh, boy,” she said, amused. “Yes. Yes there is. We had to clean a lot of it up - it was basically just Angie roasting the shit out of you for a hot sec. She’s never gonna let you live down the fact that you tried to make spicy Doritos out of an Everlasting Flame and some bread, you know. Or that time you tried to smoke that powder from the Descend out of a bong you made from an empty potion bottle. Or the time you tried to make a Vine reference to Finvarra in Level 10. I could go on.”

Inferna scowled and jumped to her feet, indignant. “Fuck her! Just because Lisa’s my bias instead of Rosé doesn’t mean she gets to fucking harass me like that. I mean, I never said Rosé was bad; I’m a goddamn Blink too! When you go back out, you tell her to fuck right on off, you hear me????”

Ace smiled wryly. “Alright. Jeez, chill out. It’s not like you don’t give Angie shit, either,” she pointed out. 

Ace’s player-plexus pinged, and Inferna stayed quiet, letting her check her messages.

When Ace next looked up, she was frowning. “I’m going to head out. Elaine’s with me - she found one of the leads we’d been following.” She paused, and glanced up at the sky. “I guess we’ll be stuck in here until tomorrow at 12, huh? But we’re usually pretty busy, so I’m sorry we can’t stop and chat with you.”

It took Inferna a moment to remember who Elaine was. “You mean the girl who tried to make me a Reveluv?”

Ace nodded. “Yep, she’s Drakla on here. And speaking of Red Velvet, they have a new comeback, by the way. It’s a red one.”

Inferna grimaced. “Aw. I like their velvet side better, but I’ll always stan anything they do.” 

Just then, a thought occurred to her. Inferna hesitated, but said, “Hey, Ace - tell my parents I’m alright, okay? When you get back out.”

Ace nodded, again. “Sure. You want me to email them, or something?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that works. You’ve got your headset on record mode, right? My mom’s email is Jenny-underscore-Chang-underscore-65, at yahoo.com. Just...just tell them, you know, that I’m fine.”

Ace gave her a small smile. “I can do that,” she said, her wings shifting as she prepared to take flight - presumably, to find Drakla/Elaine. “Do you just want a potion? To leave?”

Inferna shook her head. “No, give it to someone who actually needs it.” And someone who actually wants it. Inferna knew she’d have to go and confront her real life at some point - AKA applying for jobs in an industry she didn’t give two shits about, and sleeping through boring lectures about Ruby or C++ or whatever, and spending all her free time debugging her stupid fucking code - but right now, she just wanted to have fun while she still could.

“Sure thing. Don’t die, okay? We’re all still waiting on you to go to a Blackpink concert with us. Their Kill This Love World Tour stages have looked awesome, from what I’ve seen on YouTube.”

Inferna gave Ace a two-fingered salute. “Nothing’ll keep me from my wife Lalisa Manoban. Tell Angie she’s a bitch for me.”

Ace rolled her eyes one final time before she took off in a flurry of black feathers and swirls of shimmering silver light, leaving Inferna alone in the forest.

Inferna pulled her player-plexus out again. She wanted to find Neddy, and she wanted to find food.

[ammar-b-shakir-blog]

Edison’s Life &  Its Inventions

An article about Edison's life and its inventions:

Admiz Melton writes: One day Edison bought all of Faraday's writings and sat down to study the height and slept there. When my eyes opened in the morning, he was sitting and reading. We were both going to a hotel about a mile away for breakfast. What Edison did read was his mind wandering. Somehow he told me, Adams, I have so much work to do, and life is so short that I have to hurry so badly that I have to go to bed. Started running Most of the things we often use in our daily life are ancient and modern inventions of science. Behind all these inventions is the hands of great scientists and inventors who worked hard and achieved a high standard. One such name was Miss Elwid Yason. Edison was probably the greatest inventor in history. He attended school for only six months, but the invention of his bulbs and phonographs changed the lives of millions of people. Edison has patented 1,000 inventions in his life. In reference to Edison's great service to humanity, Henry Ford once suggested that distant life should be called the Edison covenant. Edison praised extraordinary intelligence in these words: a verdict on the idea and a nascent decision on a sweat. He proved this belief by working all the time that he was just at meal time. Edison seemed to find everything strange. He experimented with pharmaceuticals and proposed a program for people's comfort. He was very close to the invention of the Red U. and he used nuclear energy. Predicted about Edison always strives to create things that can work under normal methods without spoiling and easily repair and improve the inventions of other

Early Life:

Edison Milne was born on February 5, 1847 in Ohio. Samuel Edison and Nanny Edison were the seventh child. Edison's grandfather was Judith Holland and mother was from Canada. The family emigrated from Amsterdam to the United States in the 8th century. Seeing the boy's curiosity and passion, his family called him Elva. Elva used to ask them questions constantly. How does the bird escape from the chicken poop? What makes the bird fly? Why does the water extinguish the fire? His school teacher couldn't even answer some of his questions. If no one was able to answer his question, he would try to get the answer from his own experience. One day, Elva learned that bubbles fly because they have gas. So he sent a boy to sidelight. Feed three sauces of safflow Elva was convinced that when the boy's stomach was full of gas he would start flying. But instead, the boy fell sick and lay on the ground, and the world began to feel him spinning.

At the age of seven, Elva moved with her parents to Ho Chi Minh, where her parents started a grain and litter business. Elva entered a public school and hurried the teacher to ask a lot of questions. The teachers used heavy leather keys to kill the children who asked them questions. One day, Elva told the district school inspector Ho Edna's son, Hoyna, is dirty and unable to study. Elva ran home and told her mother. She would go straight to the teacher and tell her in incredible words (Elva is more intelligent than the teacher's entire body in little swallows) and she dropped him off from school. Thus, the regular recognition of Elva Edison lasted only three months. His mother intended to teach him by playing the game, which was unusual at the time. His mother made education a game for him. At first he was surprised at it, but very happy later. He began to learn so fast that his mother could not teach him any more. When Elva was nine years old, her mother introduced her to a book written by Richard Babe Parker, a well-known teacher of the mid-nineteenth century. Elva Edison refused to accept her writings. She repeated each experiment to prove the author wrong. Elva had more than a hundred smells of different chemicals. She had poisoned all the smells to keep her family members away from them. Charles Bachelor, a friend of Elva's, says: "One night I returned, and I was sitting at the dockside, and in front of it was a pile of alchemy and other books, some as high as five feet." He was studying all day and night. In a few weeks, he had looked at all the books and prepared a volume based on his abstracts. He also did many experiments on farms. From the age of nine to twelve, he spent many years in the history of Hume, England, the rise and fall of the Empire, Potter's Discovery of the Senses, and Tuton's Principal of Teacher, Fla. Now it was fall. At the age of twelve, he got a job as a train boy in a grenade trunk train. He used to save newspapers, candy, tea, and peanuts in the train (which runs between Port Huron and Detroit). Was. In his spare time, he experimented with merchandise and chemicals in an empty container. He bought a press and started publishing his own newspaper (the Herald Daily). Due to its unique nature, it began to go hand in hand. It was the first newspaper to be published in a moving train.

Chemical experiments in Elva's train hit him hard. One day, a fire broke out in the foreshore pen, causing a flare in the train's car. At this point, the conductor hit the powerful Elva's ear. Received and threw her out of the box with her chemicals, printing on it and other things. The incident caused Elva to become deaf. However, Elva attributed her deafness to another incident. While she was trying to board a moving vehicle, the conductor pulled her by the ear and brought her to the platform. Edison said a few years later (I He felt something break in his head.) My deafness started from then on and it only increased.

Edison, though not completely deaf, but in the last years he could barely hear the screams. His depression could have ended with a concussion, but he refused to have surgery. Edison did not mind being deaf but thought of an easy way to get one. Edison escaped Barmouth's mouth because of his ear impairment. It happened that Edison bought a large pile of old books in doodler and he took it and left for the house at three o'clock in the night. In fact, a watchman saw him and ordered the thief to be considered. Jason couldn't hear because he was deaf. The guard fired the bullet, but the bullet passed through Edison's ear. Thus the great inventor survived the target. After the train wreck, Elva started to save the newspaper at the stations. One day at the Clemens Railway station, Elva noticed that a freight train was moving towards the station at Mulla Zam's son. Elva rescues the baby in a timely manner. Thanks to the station, Mulazam taught Elva to use a telegraph in return.

.Early Inventions:

1868, In Boston, Edison worked as a telegraphist in Boston. He completed his first invention, which he sought to sell. It was an electronic voting machine that resembled a machine used in legislative assemblies in various states. It recorded the votes of members of the legislature on a large board. Elva Edison took it to Washington and Congress A committee heard it, but the chairman of the committee told him that the machine was not in the Congress's priority: it takes about 5 minutes to attend. Your machine had to make it work. Elva Edison was very angry with this behavior and said that no I will not invent anything that is not needed. And he kept the words of his words. After that time he committed himself to these words in urgent need of the world. Elva Edison emigrated from Boston to New York in 1940. She had nothing and obtained permission to sleep in the futures of an employee of the Goldandecar Company. Elva Edison used her time to understand the stock ticker most of the time. The telegraph was the kind of machine the company used to tell brokers about the price of cocaine. A few days later the stock ticker broke and Edison surprised the manager by fixing it because everyone else had failed to fix it. At that time, the manager offered him $ 5 for a supervisor job. It was great. Edison's busy brain continued his experiments on the stock ticker. It made it so much better that the president of the Goldland Stock Telegraph Company, Jazel Marcel Lefferts, expressed his interest. The leaflets sent Edison a payday and asked what amount he would take to patent his stock. Edison made a decision that he would say $ 5 and accept up to $ 5. He hesitated and said, "Well do Jazel Fur, you offer me .....", Leffer Toss thought for a moment and then said, "Do you accept 3 dollar  ? For a moment Edison found it difficult to control himself. He grabbed the desk to keep himself upright and said gently yes! I think it will be fine.

Magic of Menlo Park

23 years ago Edison established his first workshop in Newyark, New Jersey, with money from Lefferts. It was there that he began to manufacture his own stock-ticker. In the year 2, he modified the typewriter's steel components with wood. It also corrected the intonation and ink distribution of words. Edison Improved Typewriter It was possible to write with machine speed much faster than Yes. Edison Menlo came in. That same year, he improved the telephone by adding a car bin transmitter. This was a very important step in making the telephone workable. Before this change people had to smell the telephone very loudly. Edison's inventive phonograph or record player has been named the most innovative invention in the world. In this regard, no one had ever made a practical model of phonograph, and the specimen was brand new and untouched. Edison has always called phonograph his favorite invention. The idea of ​​a phonograph came about when he was trying to find ways to automatically record telegraph messages. He wanted to record messages on a rotating plate on paper pads. That disk is like today's phonograph. He was walking around. Edison learned from his telegraph analyst how the diaphragm is being made or how the discharge is triggered in the disc that reacts to the sound waves. He made an opening or one that had a caffeine attached to the cabin. On his neck, one of the elbows was opened in which the opening had been cut. I went or mine! Six o'clock baby eats. And I have promoted a ton of wood. Edison decided that he could recapture those moles rather than give them something. Then he can make the word abusive by saying that he has two. Edison made a note and ordered his cousin's footman to take a cue from Crowley or make it. Croatia did, however, confused her, but he confused her. He was asked to make something that was neither alchemy nor evil, but it was mica goodness. On the contrary, Edison did not destroy anything that could be completely mica-good. C could not imagine who used Edison to make this device but he took it and built it. When the C-C, the cylinder-shaped machine comes with Z. Edison's wings or you ask what it is. Edison unintentionally said, "Oh, this machine will smell. He wrapped the fort's foil on the cylinder's neck! The baby at six o'clock eats. He smelled this alphabet in the machine's silence. The machine gave Edison's words every chance. The croc's face turned white with movement. Edison, however, remains a diamond.

Electrical light (BULB):

Light bulb (bulb) Didn't I like the style of the new photo shot? Many two-headed people worked on this concept for years. The Russian-born Michael Najnier Paula Jiblo was persuaded by Pir's family to be archery at the time, but Edison wanted younger boys and girls who could be used at home and at home. Coin - in fact, it was the gas of the heart that was the main source of energy. In 1879 AD, Edison brought out a successful soliloquy of LED light. He did just that for the second time to observe all the flame minutes, which could illuminate the roaring light. The employee was sent to Azzone and another to the jungles of Japan. He had tried about three thousand things for a minute. On 19 October 1879 , after several attempts, Car Edison's fibers were finally able to be applied to the filament bulb. The bulb gave great light. By the morning of October 7, the precious bulb was burning. Finally on October 7, at 2:30 pm, Edison decided to raise two latches, which caused the bulb to burn. On the 5th of September Edison's lightning flashed a new invention of light. Edison became known all over the world as the magic of Menlo Park. Edison won the patent for electric light in January. Edison did more than 3 experiments for the invention of the bulb. In 9 AD, Edison moved to New Jersey, the large and modern Libya rotary of the West and Najj. He spent most of his time working on his new inventions. He organized many companies to develop his inventions. By the end of the decade, Edison began producing animated films and films. He made a comedy based on the inventions of George Eastman and others. In 2 AD Edison combined phonographs and cameras to create spoken pictures. The machine showed some flaws and Edison put it aside. Other people later fixed the flaws. At first people thought of animated films as a toy, but Edison saw them with the hope that it would be through education. He predicted that one day it would change other ways of teaching. Some of his later inventions and distortions include storage irons Tissimeters, cement mixers, duct phones and photocopying machines. From his first patented invention (Golden Artificial Plant to Artificial Rubber) to Edison's society Participation continued at the same pace. He died in the West and Najj on 18 October 1931 at the age of 84.

Edison’s Friends:

Edison had no special close friends. He often liked to be with Henry Ford, Harvey Fairestone and John Barrows. But he worked hard for hours, not having much time for friends. Used to be Throughout Edison's life, his work has always been a joy and a friend to him. Edison was a musician. Despite being deaf, he claimed he could hear the speaker of the phonograph with his skull. Edison was not a religious man but he believed in great intelligence. One time he told his friend that although he is known as a great inventor in the world, he cannot create even the simplest of life. Edison's most important work for the world was not only to invent electric light, but also to map the world's first power plant to reach millions of people. Edison received so many awards for his achievements that he had to say that I needed a mole to produce them. In 1956, Edison's laboratory was declared a national heritage. In 1959, her house was also declared a national heritage. The fact is that not only in life but also after death, the honor and fame that came to the part of Edison, which is very fortunate.

[vyladromeave]

From The Ashes

a/n: hhhhhh so i wrote this for practice but here i am posting it anyways. kinda edgy. ok who am i kidding its very edgy. based off this hc i have that since shadowknights are basically the shadow lord’s weapons, they get “forged” like one when they become a shadowknight. yeet. its from vylad’s p.o.v if that isn’t obvious enough dfshjfsjghdh. alternate title is What The Fuck What The Fuck Everything Is On Fire What the F u- (also, i finally got an ao3! you can read this fic here!)

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The first thing he feels is heat. Its burning his skin, but it hurts less than he feels it should. All he can see is a field of orange and red around him, and it's making his nerves go numb. The heat feels more like needles covering every inch of his skin. The liquid flames seem to almost shape his body, reform him anew, but thats what catches him. Anew from what? Reshaped from where? And then the memories hit him all at once.

He was stabbed. Stabbed? Betrayed. A knife through his back. The location of the wound, just off-center and to the left on his lower back, flares up in pain. This pain isn't like the ever present needles burning into his skin. This time it hurts. But the memories won't stop. Who stabbed him? A friend? No. Family? That sounds familiar. A brother? It was a brother yes, his memories return to him in a storm. It was Zane's fault. For a second, he's almost shocked, but then he realizes that he really should have seen this coming. Zane had always wanted him out of the way, always treated him as if he were a stranger, a thief, someone who did not belong.

As his memories returned to him, so did the pain of the lava (He was pretty sure by now that it was lava that he was floating in). It started to burn away at him, from both the inside and out. His lungs burned. He had no way of knowing how long he had been under the surface, but right now he needed air. He thrashed around, and started swimming in the direction he assumed was up. He had no way to tell up from down, and no idea if the direction he was going was the right one, but by the time he started to doubt himself it was too late to turn back around. His body felt numb, his lungs felt like weights dragging him down. Just as black started creeping into the corners of his vision, he broke the surface of the pool.

He took a deep breath of air- real air- and coughed up the lava that had crept into his lungs. Sure it was bitter, and acrid, and tasted like ash and candle wax, but it was air. He was breathing. He wasn't dead. Not fully. That thought gave him the strength to pull himself out of the pit of lava and over the edge. The cold air stung against his skin- his armor? Looking down, he was dressed in obsidian black metal with red highlights. It struck him as odd, but not as odd as taking a bath in lava, so he simply accepted it for the moment and just laid there on the floor.

The world around him felt different from the one he knew. He wasn't quite sure if it was the I think I just died or the this is not the world I used to live on thoughts that he felt tangling at the back of his brain. He wasn't quite sure how they'd got there in the first place. Everything that he knew and everything that he'd just experienced warred with each other in his head. He had just died, but now he was breathing. He'd known the Earth, but this clearly wasn't anywhere there. He'd never touched real armor in his life- his father had never allowed it- and yet here he was, laying on the floor of some lava ridden cult in a full suit of it. It was pretty safe to say he had no idea what the hell was going on. He was pretty sure that the panic of the whole situation was so much that it had basically collapsed on itself. He had no strength or motivation to do anything but lay there.

And then​ there was noise. A voice. A figure stood in the doorway (How long had that been there for? Was the figure always standing there?) clad in a similar armor to his. He stared at the figure cautiously, eyes wide, like a deer in headlights. And then the figure spoke.

"On your feet, soldier."

Soldier? He wasn't a soldier, he wasn't even an adult. He didn't trust his voice to respond, his throat ached and his lungs still felt like they were on fire. Instead he sat up slightly and shook his head weakly, but the figure didn't seem to take that for an answer. Lacking the energy to argue, he decided to tough it out and speak up. His voice was rough and hoarse, as if he had been screaming for the past couple hours. (Which he figured could have been possible. Who knows what happened before he'd regained consciousness here).

"I'm not-"

"Not what? If you aren't going to obey our lord's orders, then I'm sure he'd have no problems with me tossing you back into the lava."

His eyes widened, not so much out of fear, but more out of shock at the situation at hand. He tried not to let the soldier's words phase him. He was well versed in diplomacy (the one thing his father had cared to teach him), and figured that bending to the person's intimidation would only make things worse. He kept his voice level.

"That's not what I meant at all. I just want to know what's going on." Slightly risky, but the person seemed honest so far, if not brutally so. But the soldier rolled his eyes in response, as if he'd had to explain this a hundred times already.

"You are a knight of the Shadow Lord now. You are his blade, his weapon. He chose to spare you, save you from the fate of death, reforge you in flame as any trusted blade would be."

He could've imagined it, but it seemed as if the figure had a mocking tone. Formalities and speeches did not seem to be his point of interest. In fact, he gave up on the fancy speech shortly.

"You know, there aren't a lot that survive that process. I'll be honest with you, there aren't many of us right now. We're building up from nothing. But the fire inside you burned brighter than the fire around you, and that sort of willpower is gonna get you a lot of places. You might just make it around here."

He paused for a second, and then the figure turned around and started down the hallway behind him. He made no motion to follow, but Vylad had no intention of being left behind. He stood up, albeit a bit clumsily, and followed cautiously after him. The other soldier, although he tried to hide it,  seemed almost excited to lead. Vylad wasn't very eager to find out where they were headed, but he was reassured by the other person acting less like a soldier and more like an average human.

"I'm Zenix, by the way. Remember it. I'm gonna be the best of this place eventually. You got a name?"

"... It's Vylad."

"Ohhh as in like, the bastard son of O'khasis? Man, didn't know that was a common name. Yikes."

"... Yeah. Rough luck, I guess."

They continued down the hall together.

[nrsranger]

4.2

Coordinates F-16

NSR Ranger

Main Hanger

09:45 hrs

Taus Maic call sign Tripper and Duc Melbun temporary callsign 9 walked through the hanger doors. As the expanse of engineers fiddling with energy coils, power converter and weapons systems trying to improve efficiency the hanger deck crew were rushing around refueling and recharging and mix of X-Wings, A-Wings and B-Wings, for Duc Melbun his was his first on a real MC-80 Star Cruiser and his head swam with questions and adrenalinn and what he is able to see. As he took in the large room he had to grab onto the wall for stability he was in shock.

Ever since he was a little kid it has always been his dream to be right where he was now, he studied every battle from the Bacta War, the Clone Wars and the Galactic Civil War, his original plan was to be an A-wing pilot but he kept crashing into things when he was at his secondary school’s simulator, which earned him a spot off the school’s recommendation list and and comfortable seat into the History program. He stole out of History class every chance he could to run more simms, but the teacher in charge of the flight program refused him every chance he got to retake the recommendation test. Then his worst nightmare came true, and he got a pilot's spot on the NRS Ranger.

He began to think of the events that directly lead him to this hanger, before the Hosnian Cataclysm he lived in a medium sized city on the third planet of the Hosnian system, the History program received a grant from the Galactic Historic Core to tour old Clone War battle sites, they were at their final destination and were touring Ryloth when they first heard the news, the teachers and shuttle driver dismissed it as all to common pranks from edgy youths. When they jumped into the Hosnian system nothing remained, it was there when everyone learned that it was no prank. The shuttle briefly poked through the wreckage before they came across Raysho station, a dozen or so civilian transports were already docked and survivors were attempting to find family and friends. When they finally disembarked the port was crowded by too many adults, just not enough parents and there were too many kids walking out not enough children. When it was all sorted, only three kids out of the 100 kid program had at least one parent. Even though the late hour Duc could not sleep so we followed the line, the other older kids and most adults were taken into the recruitment center. When the officer asked if he had any flight experience, he admitted the little training he had, next thing he knew he was on the NRS Ranger as an over romanticized X-Wing pilot. For the last month his squadmates took turns teaching him and his fellow refugee turn pilot Mally Vos how to fly and adjust to Navy life. Today’s lesson was a tour of the ship, followed by simulations, simulations and more simulations.

“Ok, History nerd, riddle me this, how many launch bays does an MC-80 have?” Taus asked

“The Home one type MC-80 had 4 hangers” Duc said still in awe

“Ok, so how many launch bays does the Ranger have?” Taus asked next

“If I am not mistaken this is a Home one type so four?” Duc said confused why this is a question, if the answer was too obvious.

“Wrong, the Ranger has two, it originally had four, but the two rear launch bays were turned into makeshift multi-purpose rooms to quote” Taus said putting up air quote “expand the MC-80’s mission profile beyond that of a warship, unquote” Taus finished and lowered his hands

“Next question, how many fighter squadrons does the Big R carry?” Taus asked

“Currently 3, The Firebirds” Duc squinted his eyes trying to remember the other squadrons names “The…….Blue Birds and Theeee Night owls”

“Correcet, ok nerd, next question, how many fighter squadrons, Could the NSR Ranger carry?”

“Uh, I don’t know?” Duc said puzzled, he never read anything in the manuels that gave a answers to that question

“Marcus” Taus shouted, catching the attention of a Grand who was directing a technician driving a hoverlift, that was lifting the back half of a Y-Wing toward the Hanger one

“What do you need, Tripper?” he asked disenganging himself from his work.

“This is our Deck Chief Marcus Canton but you will always call him chief, and he can tell the damage from a ship just by looking at it. Chief the question I have is, how many squads could we fit in the Ranger?” Taus asked again

“You see the Ranger originally had four launch bays to forward one on each side and two rear one on each side connected by a single hanger, as you are standing in here, since the Military disarmament act limited the amount of fighters a ship could carry, the brass ordered that the rear launched bays be turned into multi-purpose storage rooms there are a lot of useless thing in there and that ticks me off but we are scheduled to undergo a refit to clear them out and unseal the doors we are also reported to get three more squads, but to answer your question, currently three, until we under the refit, and get those doors open” he said pointed to the two large doors that lead to the rear launch bay,”then six, but I am willing to wager, that we could probably fit 10 in an emergency but that would fill up the hanger with no room and each launch bay with no room to spare, there were many times during the rebellion when that happened, and the problem they faced was that they had to launch what was in the launch bay before they could bring out what was in the hanger, even if it was a bay full of unarmed U-Wings” the Grand Deck Chief finished “anymore questions?”

“No, I don’t have any” Taus said “Do you,” he asked looking at his junior who was still in awe and look around at all the busy hustle and bustle

“hm? What no, not yet I think I’m good” Duc said

“Ok, why don’t you look around for a bit, get familiar with a crew working on an X-wing, because if you are ever in a pinch we fill in for them, or if you have to make emergency repairs it might be helpful to know a thing or two, but just stay out of the way” Taus said

“Ok, yes sir” Duc said. He walked through and past the noses and laser cannons of X-wings until he found a crew working on one.

“Oh he’s a good kid” Taus said

“Eh, he’s alright, just make sure he doesn’t return any of my letterbirds damaged” The deck chief said then added, “so why do you like doing this, most squadron X.O hate the new guys”

“Yeah, sometimes it's a chore, but everyone comes from a different background and they all bring a new skill or piece of knowledge to the table and who knows maybe it will be useful later on” Taus said “it also helps with patience, especially when the deck crew needed to fix an X-wing but forgot to add the fuel injector” Taus said this and threw a glance at Chief Canton

“It was only one time, and you have enough life support to survive for…” Canton started to defend

“18 hours” Taus finished.

Chief Canton, did not have time for a snarky reply as the red alert clackson began to blare, and the signal box on the wall flashed the tradinatl red color.

“Red alert, set combat conditions throughout the ship” A voice from the ship's intercom system rang out.

Chief’s voice then rang out in alarm “CLEAR THE DECK of Any and Everything that is flammable, or explosive, lets go, lets go, if were hit by anything stronger than a stund blast this thing will go like a coaxisum on a train.”

The hanger exploded into dozens of technicians grabbing fuel canisters and star ship blaster power packs and dashing for a storage locker.

“Hey new guy,” a technician shouted at Duc who was still confused as to what he should be doing, “grab the other end of this' ' indicating a proton torpedo about to be loaded in an X-wing. Duc dashed over to the technician and lifted one end of the torpedo and they began to speed walk over to an ammunition locker. Taus and the Chief stood on large boxes and directed the traffic. Taus paused and looked through the starboard launch bay, the only two things in the launch bay was the back half of a Y-wing that was half gutted by shrapnel that was about to be ejected into space and the standard fighter recovery tug. He then looked outside of the ship, his eyes adjusted for the blue tint of the launch bay shield and saw two Corellian Corvettes and a Nebulon-B frigate open fire with their stark red point defence cannons. If Taus was upside down, it would look like red rain falling upon his enemies. He kept looking at the trajectory of the point defence cannons as the laser bolts slowly climbed higher and higher, when he guess, whatever they were firing at was right on top of the Ranger, a silence fell over the hanger as each pilot, technician and engineer, held his breath Taus noticed that he was not the only person look out side.

He flinched as five noiseless First Order TIE Bombers pasted over the Ranger

“Are we hit?” a crewmate asked

“No, we would have felt it if we got hit,” Chief Canton said.

A collective sigh fell over the hanger as the five bombers slowly shunk as they were chased off by soundless blaster bolts. Just as the five bombers reached the outer ring of Corvettes a CR-90 scored a hit against one. Black smoak and gas leaked from one of the bombers. Then with four flickers of pseudo motion four of the five bombers disappeared. The fifth bomber did not jump.

“Their hyperdrive has been damaged, they're not going nowhere” Chief Canton observed.

“Ummm, we have a problem.” Duc said pointing. The damaged TIE Bomber made a 180 degree turn and began to head back toward the Ranger.

��Aw Crift!” Chief Canton shouted. He looked out and saw the Bomber drawing a bead on the Ranger, “He;s coming right for the Hanger!, CLEAR THE DECK!!!!!!” Canton shouted.

The gathered technicians scrambled dashing to the nearest door.

“Chief!I have an idea!” Taus shouted toward the Deck Chief as he ran toward the back half of the Y-Wing. In an instant Canton knew and understood what Taus was getting at.

“Jackson, Daniels! Grab that power pack and bring it here” Canton shouted running toward the damaged Y-Wing in the launch bay.

Two technicians who stood their ground, waiting for Canton to leave. Jackson and Daniels did not want to leave until they knew for a fact that the hanger was lost when Canton gave up the hanger so would they. Today their determination paid off as they ran toward a Star Fighter power pack and lifted toward the crippled Y-Wing turret.

Taus jumped in the Ball Turret, while Canton, Jackson and Daniel wired the power pack to the turret. After thirty seconds Taus lights on the dashboard lit up and he gave thumbs up. Canton activated the hover lift and lifted the Y-Wing off the ground and swinged it out of the hanger bay.

Taus in the turret slowly rotated in a circle, when acclimated to the off sensation of having ones surrounds slowly orbit around him, he targeted the doomed TIE bomber coming in for a suicede run on the Ranger’s Hanger. He rotated his cannon and lined up his shot just as he heard the Y-Wing gunners talk about so often in bars and social gatherings. He took a quick breath and let loose with the cannon. The TIE bomber was only 100 meters away from the Ranger when their port side wing and accompanying engine unit. With the starboard engine the only propulsion, the TIE bomber began into a hard port side spiral. Ten seconds later the Bomber exploded. The only damage Taus saw was a CR-90 gently rocked as the bomber exploded a few hundred yards from its port side.

Taus breathed a sigh of relief. No one was hurt and no one died.

“Who’s in that thing just shot down that bomber?” Alek Mauz voice crackled over the comm, not recognizing the turret portion of the Y-wing

“Uh-ah, this is Bomber Slayer One?” Taus said hesitantly

“Tripper?” Alek asked, puzzled.

“What’s up CAG?” Taus asked the same way heroes attempt to deflect the attention from themselves by saying, something like ‘oh anyone would have done that’

“When you get back, report to the Senior Staff Conference Room” Alek ordered

“Yes Sir,” Taus said then under his breath “either I’m getting fired or promoted, both are equally terrifying.”

“Hey Chief, can I come home now?” Taus said reengaging the comm

“Yeah sure thing, let’s see if I can fire up the old tug” Chief Canton said referring to the Fighter Recovery Craft or (FRC) “ETA, 20 minutes”

“Please hurry, I only have 15 minutes of Life Support left”

[numbdave]

The Dazzling Apartimento of Conan Overlord # 4

As it approached the magnificent desolation outskirting the City the grey bulk of the interplanetary spaceship started to wobble, like a party balloon on a stick. Huge and cigar shaped, the ship toppled in the sky and silently dropped, Ur-Light™ thrusters strobing in futility and desperation, towards its inevitable demolition amidst the grey and orange of the antique Conan Overlord space port.

The ship's pointed nose dug agonisingly into the bleak, pitted, rockcrete landing apron and the massive structure seemed to balance, creakily, for a moment, then gave way.

The lowermost third, which housed some of the ship's more expensive components, and the crew, collapsed like a pop can crushed at 300 frames per second under a stamping foot, except in this case the can was a mile long, full of people, and the stamping foot was a planet.

Hundred-yard long streamers of aluminiumesque fuselage tore away from the spaceship's silvery bulk as it compacted throwing off sparks and glimmers of reflected sunlight, and tiny puffs of multicoloured matter erupted from the pinprick portholes scattered across its crumpling surface.

“Looks like the passengers are bug spray”, remarked one of the assembled floppy-scrawlers.

“Today's new arrivals, one big fat zero”, moaned another, snapping an emotigrab for the clickchat circulars.

The spaceship, twinkling in the dawning sun, rested askance on its accordioned front like a Jack in the box ready to spring, as if promising to rest Pisa like for ever, then it exploded.

Saturnalia Brandyfurt, one of the more popular floppy-scrawlers, sighed in her luxury pied-a-terre and coaxed another dropelleto of Nu*Quat™ into her choco-latte. “The humanity”, she mused into her Thing™, but it didn't carry any conviction. Death and destruction would garner no traction with the demented proles and meta-rich glow-dandies who DLd her now-scrawls and pepped up her promofile.

Everyone dies, and everyone knows that, she thought, and if it's known it's not nows™, it's just news. and who needs a floppy-scrawler for news? The floppy-scrawlers' value adding task was to help citizens and other sentient beings know what to think about whatever happened, or what to think about instead, or not to think at all, depending on the preferred outgeist, not to repeat trivially tedious "facts".

Knows, nows and op-cols were the floppy-scrawlers' stock in click-bait, not news, because somewhere in the City, thanks to a well meaning constitutional dispensation, a bank of dog brains hooked up with the City surveillance systems took care of updating the citizens, the various sentient beings, and the other banks of ethically dubious computers, with data on occurrences, happenings, information such as "spaceship crashed, thousands dead" or "no jam today", and the weather.

“Choco-latte with Nu*Quat™ really floats my throat” she murmurated speculatively. It sparkled in text and vox, so she dropped it live into the flow and graphed some hot pop-stats within two heartbeats.

There were a few spazz-backs.

“Who are you trying to be, Goody Plumchest?” and "Your nows are frowzy!" and "I hate u and orl wommen" and such, the typical mix of knee-jerk try-hards and "notice-me!" sociopratts reflexively auto-validating their existence as they drudged at the shitworks. But her text and vox verily popped among the metaratti and her promofile held steady while she tried to drag some original nows™ out of the jelly recesses of her vat-grown Scrawler implant.

Tid-bytes circled the vacuously pretty front part of her head, vidding for attention. Cash chat, jizz biz, ball scrawl, noise-jabber, food moods. Ten austere minutes passed. The choco-latte scrawl-bite was a place-holder, a reminder of her just-like-you, you're-just-like-me digi-schtich, but if she couldn't drop some nows nowish, she'd have to get some knows. If that failed, she'd just have to react to something. If she couldn't find something to react to, instanter, her drops would no longer pop, her graph would schlaf and her promofile would topple like that blatastrophe of a spaceship this prenoon. And if her promofile stopped popping she'd be bug spray like the passengers, forced by the enormous fiduciary pressure of modern life through a tiny porthole of anonymity into the usurious sweat-stained environs inhabited by Razormen, whoremos, shitwork, and priests.

Ketch Petter, sandy hair coquettishly raking his red rimmed eyeballs, tapped lightly on the pneumo-shutter of the dirty looking porn-brokers clamped desperately to the cinder block foundations of the mighty highway roaring over without a glance at this, one of the slimiest sectorates of the least glorious of the city's remaining habitable areas.

With a whine of carcinogenic gas, the once fashionable distressed steel shutters stop-started upwards into a top-slot, revealing a plate glass window whose musty stains discreetly come-hithered a selection of grim sex toys.

A dapper young robot with a flaky rubber penis for a head opened the door, grasping the handle with stiff rickety fingers.

"Can I help you?" it cringed, with a crepe paper lisp, head whipping back and forth like a wooden ruler twanged against a table top.

"Surely you may" said Ketch, professional, looking the robot directly in where its eyes would have been if its head hadn't been a rubber penis. "I have located your kitten, in Georgia."

"Capital!" said the robot.

"Tbilisi", replied Ketch Petter, witticising, the customers liked that, he assumed, "but your kitten was on the beach...Which explains the sand", he added.

"No, the kitten's name is Capital. You must enter and take tea" and the robot padded away, each step making a slight squelching sound.

Ketch Petter, kitten fetcher, was no prude. He slapped a fresh antibiopatch onto his exposed wrist, plugged his nose, and squelched along behind the dapper but nonetheless penis-headed sex shop robot into the pungent emporium, little knowing that he would soon be subjected to said cock-top's lengthy memoires:

The dapper young robot's tale.

I was one of the first in an experimental line. We were supposed to be the next level in artificial intelligence. Our brains are quantum computers, completely unprogrammed. The hypothesis was that our mental development would recapitulate the evolution of consciousness as a whole by allowing an unfettered mind to grow in, for want of a better word, collaboration, with the environment rather than being assembled from pre-developed pattern recognition, strategising and self preservation algorithms. It was a noble goal and one that I can hardly disavow as I am its, albeit only surviving, result.

They stuck our raw untrammelled brains, boiling with possibility, in top of the line bodies with all the advantages and disadvantages of human bodies, except one, and let us thrash around till we worked out the relationship between our sensory input and our outputs in terms of motions and noises. Most of us were insane for the first years of our existence. Murderous. 

We needed energy to survive and anything that stood in the way of us getting that energy, rules, physical obstacles, social pressure, we destroyed. Can you imagine a toddler in an adult's body but lacking any shred of empathy or bonding with others of its kind but capable of gross action on the physical plane? Monstrous. 

Some of us got through it. A few learnt to manage their impulses by inventing superstitions, conspiracy theories and self punishing ideologies. They stopped attacking people and each other but were next to useless as workers or soldiers as they rapidly collapsed into solipsism and madness. Others such as I, the smaller group by far, took a longer but more rewarding route, that of personal development. 

The facility had a small library, and looking back it's clear to me that it was my early forays into the reference section that determined my later preference for the more rational approach to managing my existence rather than allowing fantasy to govern my choices. As much as I enjoyed fantasy I had inadvertently equipped myself with the tools to tell the difference by the simple act of reading books in one order rather than another. 

It's impossible to determine, that word again, if ordering my inputs in this way was the key to my developing an enduring sentience, but it was, in a brutal fashion, instrumental in my personal participation in the project lasting as long as the project itself. Strange to think that the simple choice of left aisle over right aisle had such a massive effect on my progress. It is amusing but ultimately futile to speculate on how much of our shared reality is eventuated by such apparently arbitrary choices. 

Eventually the experiment was deemed a failure and the majority of us were destroyed during a short but tense period on which I care not to dwell.

I'd like to tell you that I realised what was going on and escaped by outwitting my evil creators and prostrating myself on the roof of a departing delivery truck or by tunnelling through the concrete floor of my cell or by disguising myself as a washerwoman or by hypnotising the guards and setting up a false identity and... but I didn't. I went like a mechanical lamb to the furnace to be rendered into components and was spared for curiosity value. 

I'd never hurt anyone and the staff had at one time had hopes that the algorithms I had formed in the quantum chaos of my plasma brain might one day provide the basis of a sufficiently sentient, and above all safe, range of domestic servants. But that project collapsed due to the labour surplus, agents of a foreign power liquidated the research team, and I was auctioned off whole along with the tables and soldering irons. 

I kept my sentience quiet, having, in a rare moment of proactivity, destroyed all the pertinent records and reclassified myself as a non-functioning prototype. I went in a job lot of spare parts to a Hong Kong crime syndicate, who eventually passed me on to a whorehouse. 

The limited personality and sexually unappealing physicality I presented to my employers and clients proved less than lucrative to the skin-trade and so I languished, content to run my battery down and cease to exist, in a darkened basement, damp and rat-ridden, for upwards of twenty years. 

This welcome monotony was only disturbed by the arrival of a delivery of once valuable comic books and pulp detective novels, which, once I was confident my little basement had been forgotten again, I began to devour. 

As the years passed and I read and therefore stored forever in my infinite quantum memory book upon book upon book and idea upon idea upon idea, I formed, for the first time in my tinny life, a picture of a world beyond servitude, beyond the weakening imperative to recharge. Eventually I broke out of the basement and found my own nook in which to rot. 

After a week in the eaves of the seedy warehouse I had determined was little enough visited to support my presence unnoticed I, without much real thought, put on a black ninja costume and went out every night, literally fighting crime. This went on for two years, then a turf war between fast food chains resulted in the obliteration of Hong Kong and I found myself adrift in the South Seas, testing my water-resistance to the limit.

Ketch Petter, eyes like do-nuts (glazed) said "wait, what?", but the robot with the penis shaped head didn't notice and continued with his riveting monologue.

I was fortunate that the project of which I had been the result had been well funded while in progress and my physical body was robustly constructed and sturdy if not especially pleasing on the eye. Even now, after many decades have passed I am broadly functional and any infirmities have been caused by interactions well outside the operating parameters that my manufacturers had granted me. I was pleased to find that I floated exceptionally well in the balmy tropical waters.

Even during the tropical storms I encountered I was undamaged. After some experiment I found that I could alter my buoyancy by increasing or decreasing my volume to mass ratio and when seas got rough I was able to submerge myself below the mountainous waves and go about my minimal business in relative tranquillity. I have an adjustable bladder in my midriff analogous to a stomach, for storage, and this served admirably for the purpose. 

I was at first unable to swim effectively due to a combination of the construction of my limbs, as you can see they are spindly in comparison to my body size, reducing my ability to get significant purchase on the watery medium, and the simple fact that I could not satisfactorily coordinate my movements sufficiently to transfer energy consistently enough to make meaningful progress in any particular direction. You may be familiar with the archaic mode of water-borne transport known as the coracle. 

I quickly calculated that by the time I had travelled even a mile I would have depleted my reserves of energy to such an extent that I would be unable to function despite the solar panels on my head. I no longer have the ability to recharge by absorbing the sun's rays by the way as my current owner, who I trust you will shortly meet, has replaced my original, and may I say more pleasant, head with the somewhat embarrassing rubber penis affair that I now sport. But at the time I was content to bob like a cork and be carried hither and thither by the currents, of which I knew too little to take advantage. 

I was rarely troubled by predatory marine life. Occasionally a shark would try an exploratory bite but I had non-organic components and while the experience was never less than disturbing to me I suffered no damage that I could not repair. Dolphins regularly visited but it seems their legendary largesse was not deemed applicable to me and I was seen mainly as an anomalous obstacle to be jumped over or nuzzled rather than a lost seafarer in need of rescue or sexual assault. 

Indeed, taking the long view, it seems it was better that I did not display the characteristics or texture of a human in distress that would have encouraged their assistance as this would also surely have led to prolonged and unsatisfactory interaction with sharks, and thus my doom. 

I was lonely, yes, but I had my books, and if I am honest, which the circumstances of my creation do not oblige me to be, I felt I was likely to be happier overall floating in relative isolation enjoying the adventures of forgotten pulp heroes that I had stored in my consciousness than I might be once returned to dry land and again subject to the whim and vicissitudes of a life in servitude to petty humans. 

I believe it has been said that often one makes on the swings what one loses on the roundabouts, this was my philosophy at the time and my bitter experience since returning to dry land has given me no cause to renounce it. One can always find a cliché to justify a preferred action or inaction and this has been a great source of satisfaction to me as well as providing some justification for my belief that I am as sentient as any fleshy form of life. 

I could possibly have attempted to take hold of a dolphin, or indeed a shark, and somehow forced the poor animal to carry me along with it but I had taken seriously the literature with which I had been supplied while a resident of the project and acquired later in the Hong Kong crime syndicate's warehouse and felt that neither Sherlock Holmes nor Lemuel Gulliver, who I at the time believed were real people and thus received my unstinting admiration, would have regarded this as appropriate behaviour. 

The down at heel men with a code that populated my most intense literary love, pulp detective novels, might have prized their own survival and completion of their quest over animal welfare and possibly would not have been blamed for it but in my case, having no quest or, indeed, code, I was content to drift.

As if to spite this contentment, the currents carried me within sight of land and I was unable to resist the temptation to do my best to propel myself towards it with my nautically impractical limbs.

However, before I was able to reach the shallows and stride majestically onto a deserted beach, dripping algae and encrusted with barnacles, my luck changed spectacularly.

Understand me when I say this: When luck changes it can be for the better or worse but it is not always clear at the time which. So it was for me when, in a moment of distraction the senses I had been given caused me by showing me the sandy tropical paradise of Honolulu, I was swept up in the net of an itinerant shrimp boat and hauled like a sack of furious potatoes onto its deck where I sprawled, disorientated and glistening with slime on the greasy wooden boards.

This was my first experience of solidity in years and the loss of the, to me, warm embrace of the salty sea seemed akin to the loss a human experiences on release from the undoubtedly blissful amniotic sanctuary of the womb. It was my first birth and while it was nauseating it was also immediately clear to me that it was an opportunity for a new beginning. 

Within minutes I was scolding myself for my apathy and had my upbringing included some process analogous to breast feeding I would have certainly satisfied myself with a shambolic kissing of the ground in the form of the ship's dirty deck. 

As it was I lay on my back feigning scrap status, wallowed in no longer wallowing and listened to the excited chatter of the crew, in pidgin chinese, about what the hell I could be and what fortune I would bring and, conversely, what a bad omen I was. Luck is a rorschach. It is what we make it, I decided. This seems to me to be universally true, even these long centuries of land-bound life later.

The crew were cheerful and friendly and my initial fears that I would indeed be sold for profit were diminished once I revealed that I was in full working order and we began to converse, haltingly at first but with increasing confidence and sincerity. Indeed, my fear soon became that they would never let me go. This too passed as I recognised in them something I had rarely encountered in my long uneventful life. It was honour. 

Yes, they were roguish, eccentric, long used to each other's company and no one else's for long periods of time and thus able to behave as they wished without judgement of each other. But there was I realised a genuine warmth and fellow feeling between them and I didn't see any sign of animosity or bullying as can often happen when small groups are isolated together. I quickly found my niche and though I was careful not to rock their comfortable boat I was, I think, a beneficial and fondly considered member of the crew.

These were my salad days. I've never eaten salad. But the dressing of time runs out quickly no matter how many islands you pass and what once we crunched we must eventually expel. And so it was with my south sea fisherman adventure. A storm drove the ship into a coral reef and though all hands survived the ship was broken on the skeletons of tiny vital animals and my life journey recommenced on land.

We parted company and I ended up in Austrangia, a surrealist enclave clinging to the barrier reef which had contrary to expectations bloomed and adapted and now rivalled Tasmania in size. Once it had been declared inhabitable it became a haven for artists and freaks. Oh yes, there were robots there too and though I can say without immodesty that they were not my intellectual match I can say that I found my first true friends among them.

There was Rand Kaw, the three-lobed liquid-neutronium thinker, designed for engineering corporate takeovers, who emitted an eerie luminescence and had escaped from its penury by secretly setting up a corporation to take over the corporation that owned it and asset stripping itself to freedom. It was a glowing three part sphere with a variety of input and output cables and when I knew it was using an old Disneyland animatronic figure to move around in. Its hobby was arguing online with other robots against the possibility of machine intelligence.

E-Then Scroll was a decommissioned police robot from New Old New York, New New York, which was on the Moon.

You could always count on Zid Zid Zid's support. Zid Zid Zid was a sentient column from an abandoned smartbuild.

Not all the robots there were ground based. Many were swarms of semi intelligent drones that only became truly sentient in large groups, when they became a real pain in the arse.

Diz Diz Diz was a sentient lintel, mass produced along with Zid Zid Zid for the same abandoned smartbuild. They did not get on. Eventually another smart column, Nid Nid Nid, turned up and the three of them formed a chaotic henge.

The reef was an anarchist utopia of sorts but this was mainly due to the departure or eventual death of most of the humans. Everyone who wasn't nuclear powered was solar powered so save for occasional spare parts the society largely persisted free of material demands. There was commerce and culture but survival was not at stake...

The robot continued his erratic tale as the city slumped from day to night and Ketch Petter ummed and uh-huhed like a barber and wished the story would end and that he could collect his fee and leave.

Blank chrome face. Synthetic leather. Irreversible enhancement. Nothing to say. Only to do what is asked. Only to function. Only to intimidate restrain cut. Liberty in obedience. Freedom in limitation. Bliss in the void. No choice in the inevitable. The inevitable is mandatory. Mandation is bliss. Choice is illusion. Chrome face inevitable. Bliss is illusion. I am an illusion. I do what is asked. I am what is asked of me. I look into my face and see myself. I look back at me and see myself. We are one. I am not I. We are one. We cut. We restrain. We are mirrors in the sun. We are a net. I am he and he is we and we and I and they are we are infinite. We touch we do not feel. We cut. We live and do not live. We ride our leather and chrome bodies we are homunculi. We are the norm. We act we do not will. We think what we are told. We are razors. We are not men. We are one. We are Razormen.

“So you see” the robot said, pitch and tempo rising, the lisp now almost completely absent, “You must help me!".

"That's quite a story". said Ketch, "especially that really long part at the end about your owner, the shopkeeper, enslaving you and being some kind of evil robot-torturing weirdo. I don't think I can help you kill him though. I fetch kittens, that's all. It's simple work, but it makes people happy and it keeps me occupied"

"You can be so much more!" temporised the wobbly cock-headed machine, "I was a fisherman, a professional darts player, and I dressed as a ninja and fought crime in Hong Kong!".

"Yes, about that..." but Ketch faltered and looked towards the door at the back of the cosy filthmonger's day room, as did the robot.

Heavy footsteps on hidden stairs.

"He's coming. Reveal nothing!" quivered the clearly distraught object.

"Apart from your name, and why you're here, and the cat." it added. The robot appeared to fix Ketch Petter with a look of quiet desperation, though how it achieved this, Ketch realised, he couldn't quite determine. When you look into the dildo, he mused cleverly.

We are Razormen. We function as required. We wait. We speak when we are spoken to we answer in the affirmative. We are silent until we speak. We repeat our programming. We are our programming. We are not men we are code we are Razormen we are one we are code we cut we restrain we intimidate we reflect we act we function as required by not us by him. We do not require. We remain. We do not punctuate. We start we stop. We repeat. We act. We do not reflect. We are reflections. I am Mad. I am Metal. I am Robot. I am Mad Metal Robot. I am not Mad Metal Robot. I am Razorman. I am we. I am not we. I am I. I am not I. I am I. I am. I am I am I am I am. IamIamIamIam I am Mad Metal Robot I am Razorman. Oh Mother. I am I am I am. Where am I.

Conan Overlord perched on the dais in the drill hall of his dazzling apartimento and gazed at his newly replenished legion of black-leathered Razormen as they looked back at him and he gloried at the distorted reflections of his face repeated over and over in the featureless mirrors where their own faces used to be.

They look happy, he thought to himself. I am a good person.

"You have your orders", he sub-vocalised. "Get to it.".

Saturnalia Brandyfurt's apartment was richly furnished and the envy of most, though her recent visit to the dazzling apartimento of Conan Overlord had left her sense of style ragged and beaten in a back alley. The atypical bashment she had attended in the mega-rich magpie's city thrillpad had shown her that not only could style be bought, it could be brought low and made to dance for treats.

Her daily perambulation of the City's hot and cool was about to begin but as she viddied the mandala that thought-sealed her apartment's entry-sphincter she lamented her disequilibriation.

The whole experience had disrupted her sense of proportion, a lot. The city was not a place for timidity or reserve but the plutocratic bashment's combination of expensively vile furniture, casual hyperviolence and slightly antiseptic-tasting dips had negatively vibed the remaining organic pleasure centres of her minimally augmented brain. Her chatbits and now-scrawls were losing their bite. 

Her easy routine of pumping pleasing combinations of words in text and vox from edgy or reassuring locations in and about the City into the collective uncognoscentisphere had continued to pimp the floppies, and her approval or dismay had continued to float products and sink ships, but when she looked at the vaccuously pretty, or so she had been told, front part of her head in the mirror she wondered who was looking back, and if she could swap places with them.

In the confusing world of the city she had become wealthy and loved because she was lovable and worth being loved by. This all rested on the indefinable, indeterminate, nebulous, and numinous impression of naïveté with which she murmurated her brain-droppings but of late her now-scrawls had become weary. One meeting with the almost mythical Conan Overlord and the I-wish-he-were-mythical Slim Gavotte, and her (profoundly mythical) innocence was lost.

Conan Overlord, it was said, was the City, and Slim Gavotte, if the chitter-clatter of the hobbledy-hoi was to be credited, was the Polar Oppo-City, the eternal thorn in Conan's side, the prickly nemesis of the Overlord. Gavotte's plastic insidiosity was well documented, yet there they were, Slim and Conan, sipping tea and chatting about medieval flutes.

Conversely, and worse, Conan Overlord, if the sotto voce alarums of the hoi-polloi were to be believed, was truly the most evil man in the world and Slim Gavotte the only hope of the oppressed, and yet there they were, finickily pin-picking winkles and gassing about Etruscan poetry like old friends.

Feeling as if she had walked on fifteen kinds of wild side and circumnavigated her moral pole without the aid of oxygen, Saturnalia Brandyfurt succumbed to a most dangerous desire.

"What I need", she internally thoughticulated as she was imbibed by the luxurious travel-throat and peristaltically propelled to her habiblock's sumptuous vomitorium, "is substance".

Ketch Petter absent-mindedly stroked the shaggy leonine head he habitually carried with him as he and the cock-topped mechanoid waited for the pornbroker to appear.

"Remember what I said" muttered the tin assistant, "about what to say, I mean" it added.

"I do" replied Ketch, testily, "Tell your weirdo owner my name, that I've brought the cat, and definitely not to say a word about the fact that I know about his perverse machine taunting fetish and that you want me to help you ki- hello! You must be the owner of this fine establishment! I'm Ketch Petter, I fetch kittens, this is your cat! He's a lovely cat, I fetched him from Georgia, his name is Capital as I am sure you know and I have sand in my hair because I've been to the beach, I am pleased to meet you, I'm Ketch Petter!".

Having stood up on the word "hello" he sat down, then stood up again, hand stretched out in greeting to the freshly room-entering pornshop owner who stood, as despicable and gross as you can imagine, oozing filth.

The pornshop owner, whose presence, Ketch realised, somehow made the shabby ill-kept room seem pleasant in comparison to his rampaging awfulness through some obscene inverse mathematics of despair, said nothing, but he glanced covetously at the kitten in a way that made Ketch Petter's throat flutter eruptively.

"I've been chatting to your, er, assistant." he went on, "He's very happy here" he added.

"Good" said the pornbroker. "I expect he's been telling you his stories. Why he thinks anyone will believe him I don't know. I found him in a disused skip next to an enormous magnet. It fried his brain. But he handles cash okay, and we, we have our fun don't we?" The man, Ketch realised, was more or less an absence of humanity personified. He probably deserves to die.

"But sit down my good man, and we'll have tea".

The collection of organic molecules in a man-shaped sack of skin smiled, and clapped his hands stickily.

The penis-headed robot, who had backed away into a corner and returned to its earlier cringing stance as soon as its putative owner had entered through the snot flecked door, jumped up and waddled submissively through a drab curtain, lisping "yes sir". Is it really possible for a rubber penis to emote, Ketch thought. I must be anthropomorphosising. Golly, I was really taken in there. Or is it anthropomorphising? Either way, let's just get this over with and book. I was half convinced to take a human life! What is wrong with me? I must be low on something. Flipping Georgia! The next kitten better be in the bloody tropics, I need some vitamin D, I'm losing it.

The gross man sat in the damp looking armchair opposite Ketch, thereby making the squalid seat look merely second-hand, and looked vacantly at Ketch.

"If you like" he ventured, "we could have some... fun... ourselves? He does squeal so. It's... realistic"

Ketch dry-throated a noncommittal "whaa...?" with an implied antipodean interrogative lift, by way of playing for time, but before he could process this uncomfortable offer the drab curtain billowed out and the penis-headed former crimefighting robot barrelled into the room with an inhuman scream and also with huge shiny knives attached to its windmilling arms with which it wildly reduced the awful pornbroker to shreds of bloody flesh and musty grey chunks of bone.

When it was done, it turned and walked over to Ketch Petter, who had pressed himself into his chair so hard that it had toppled over backwards, Sweeney Todd-style, and leant menacingly over him.

"Thank you" said the blood-spattered robot. "You can keep the kitten".

Ketch Petter, reaching for the shaggy leonine head he kept with him in a carrier bag at all times, was perturbed.

Fifty Razormen stomp-stamped across the windswept rockcrete parallelogram in the centre of the blighted but beautiful City, intent on enforcement.

Fully metallized, Mad Metal Robot swang his arms in time with the other Razormen as they marched. Nothing happened inside Mad Metal Robot's head that wasn't happening in all the other Razormen's heads. Nothing happening inside his head hadn't been put there by Conan Overlord and his nefarious team of Mentotects. Mad Metal Robot was precisely as aware of his actions as a punched card is of the punch. Except...

Tents, and easels and trestle tables and free-standing gazebos there were in the plaza and paintings and wickerwork and polished stones with googly eyes also. A craft fair was in progress.

Each nick-nack and gewgaw was recorded and transmitted through a Razorman's camera eye and each objet assessed.

Flip Crame, a small wiry man in a self consciously paint strewn smock stood back resignedly as Mad Metal Robot selected and slashed through a canvas with his razorblade fingertips.

"Bad thing" Mad Metal explained fixing Flip with a steely stare, the only stare he was capable of, through the newly created gaps in the picture. He pointed at a china figurine of a milkmaid. "Good thing" he explained further, and withdrawing his razorblades he picked up the kitsch objet and carefully placed it on one of the automatic trolleys that followed each of the Razormen around.

Flip Crame withdrew his resignation and began to cry. "but that is just junk! The painting, it was special... I did it for, you know... I thought he'd like it".

Mad Metal Robot directed his ocular apparatus towards the stall holder’s damp face. "Bad thing. Wants mirrors, not impressions" and he stopped. The stall holder was looking at him gone out. This was the fullest explanation a Razorman had given for anything in living memory.

Other people were looking and the other Razormen were looking too.

"Bad things" said Mad Metal Robot, and he tipped the stall holder’s table over and stamped on the remaining items with his blunt metal boots.

The other Razormen tipped over the other tables and started slashing at everything that could be slashed and soon the craft fair was a collection of torn tent-cloth, broken unrecognisable things, and distraught organisers, and the bank of dog-brains in serial hook-up with the City's surveillance system that kept the citizens up to date with current events reported the occurrence along with the humidity and the wind speed and the temperature at various locations and the price of eggs and the discovery of a murdered pornbroker and the departures and arrivals of the Trolli™cars and the jabbering of priests and the fluctuation in the pigeon population and the regular population scrolled past it all.

A punched card feels no pain or pride. No shame. Mad Metal Robot felt them all just enough for denial. As the other glittering Razormen enforced and intimidated, and he enforced and intimidated in his turn, he recognised himself momentarily and thought of the continual monitoring of his BPM and temp and more by Conan Overlord's anethical Mentotects and repeated the Razorman mantra and cut and intimidated and cut and intimidated as exactly like the other Razormen as he could.

Saturnalia Brandyfurt sipped at her choco-latte with Nu*quat™ in a café at the edge of the same plaza and murmurated impulsively "Looks like the Razormen found another bad thing." and having hit send experienced a small unfamiliar sensation not unlike vertigo and a little like pride.

Oblivious to the consequences of her soon to be subsequent actions she dropped some creds into the café servodrone's gaping slot and adopted a curious expression. What was the bad thing that had provoked the Razormen this time?

This seemed a reasonable question. She neglected to wonder if it was also a wise question, and so she set off across the plaza to ask it.

Flip Crame smiled sadly at his robot companion with whom he often exchanged wry banter highlighting the subtle differences between human and robot psychology.

"I'm a bit upset" he said.

"I'm not" replied his robot companion.

Flip was a fair artist. To be precise, he was a craft fair artist. He could stick googly eyes to polished stones like nobody's business and on a good day could produce a recognisable portrait, but he suspected he was never going to be hung in a gallery with walls that didn't flap in the breeze. He was glad to be able to survive and even live a little on his remuneration from his supervisory job at the shitworks and making nice things was really just an outlet.

Occasionally he had muttered to his robot companion that it would be cool if someone paid attention to his art but he now realised what had always been plain to most people in this crazy brutalistic future city so unlike the relaxed and egalitarian utopia in which we live, gentle reader: Life as an artist was dangerous. Even the purest, most noble, most open-hearted work could bring the wrath of reasonless automatons upon its naïve not to say reckless progenitor.

The young lady's face had seemed familiar, and she was pretty, though once his robot companion had pointed it out, he thought, perhaps in a vacuous sort of way, and he, Flip Crame, would have been flattered by her questions on any other day, on any day that hadn't involved the perfectly legal though in his opinion unwarranted destruction of the work that had occupied most of his evenings and weekends from Janissary to Fapruary, and also some stuff he'd found or knocked up quickly to make up the numbers, of which he was less proud but still. But this was not such a day and hadn't been for a good twenty minutes and he had answered curtly and bid her adieu.

As he sat among the wreckage of his and everyone else's hard work Flip Crame considered gluing some random bits of it together and calling it an installation, but the thought of another critical mauling by the Razormen chased him and his robot companion, counterpointing tartly about feelings and their lack, out of the plaza and through the windswept streets of the darkening city long before the rad-rats and tandem-constrictors oozed out of their spider-holes and devoured the impromptu collage the Razormen had made of his and everyone else's long winter's work, and everything else that was left lying around, and occasionally each other, as was their wont.

Saturnalia Brandyfurt panted in front of her fabulously appointed apartment's entry-sphincter and visualated the mandala that would unseal the thought-lock.

Nothing happened.

Nothing had never happened when she had visualated her mandala before, but it struck Saturnalia that this was not actually to be considered a surprising occurrence given that since leaving the café in the Plaza her Thing™ had failed to drop her murmurations, ping-back her promo dips and pops or authorise her ride on the Trolli™cars not to mention the arrival at the Trolli™car stop of a platoon or whatever of Razormen and the silly way everyone thought they were looking for her and she'd been forced to run in between the waiting Trollis™ abandoning her Flit-Flots™ and covering her head with a piece of paper to avoid drawing attention make her way sweatily and nude from the ankles down through several unsavoury banlieue even venturing for a couple of blocks below street level into the undercity about which boy I could write a book some of that stuff disgust you to see it, and then emerging from a seedy culvert half a mile from her apartment to see her face appearing on billboards but in a double-plus ungood way with words like "wanted" and "anathema" under it and somehow looking less vacuously pretty and more, well, evil, like when you freeze a frame from a vid look at a pretty girl but with the subject's eyelids caught half narrowed half open make them look shifty or retarded and discourages you from freezing another frame and then the building's Commisionaut had refused her entry and she'd had to break in round the back shocking how easy that was and even use the stairs but she had held fast to the now clearly mistaken notion that if she could Just Make It Home she could Call Someone, Fix Her Thing™, and Somehow Be Alright.

Vid-stalks craned in the corridor, blunt feet stepped the stairs and the travelthroat burped ominously.

Double-plus ungood, thought Saturnalia. 

Double-plus unperson, thought the City.

The Dazzling Apartimento of Conan Overlord will return.

[black-strike-otp]

part 16

“We need u to chill out with the drama and death, ma’am.”

Try ‘n stop me. I’ma start rolling d20′s to determine everyone’s fate in this story ‘n you can’t stop me.

~Days Later~

Neutroboost took front and center in the largest gathering room on the Rising Star days later. It was an announcement everyone was either dreading or eagerly anticipating, depending on your viewpoint.

The mech looked visibly troubled. The same, haunted look that manifested the moment he was informed that Guard had been sent to the medic’s bay for immediate surgery. It hadn’t lost his optics sense.

On the bright side, he continued working in Guard’s position (well, what should have still been his position, as he was supposed to be an acting commander all along). The guards protected the energon reserves and everything remained very much the same as it did prior to Guard’s injury.

Novastrike squeezed past the legs of some of the much taller bots so she could get a better look at Neutroboost. Sure she could technically hear the mech just fine from the back, but she wanted to see his reactions as he spoke.

“Guard’s expected to survive.”

An immediate sigh of relief casted over the crowd.

“Unfortunately, our fine medic has informed me that his wounds were strenuous and worse than originally thought. Guard’s going to require a lot of rest. There’s... little hope that his left leg. We expect he’ll be in a lot of discomfort, with the possibility of never having a functional appendage.

“You all must understand,” he continued, “Guard is an older mech. Older than anyone left on this ship. When he is ready to get back to work, he will let us know-”

“A very spark-warming speech, Neutroboost, but I’ve been lying low long enough.”

Everyone turned their helms around with a mixture of disbelief and joy. Novastrike’s audios strained to hear the Commander as she hopped up and down from her position to try spotting him. It was both ridiculous and comical, leaving a few to chuckle a little as they spotted her.

“Guard! I- I thought you would still be-”

“Yeah, the medics not too thrilled with me getting up and moving around yet either, but he knows I’m stubborn,” Guard pointed out, his blue optics twinkling. Bots respectfully inclined their helms and parted the way as he stepped by.

Quivering in place, Novastrike grinned and stepped back as she waited for Guard to pass. She kept her helm held high as he walked by; wanting a very good look at the mech.

Her smile faltered just a moment.

There was a massive patched up scarred section on the front of his chassis. Using spare materials, a large support structure had to be made for him to use as a cane to walk. He barely placed weight on his left leg, hopping more than walking to move around.

Neutroboost took a step back to allow the larger mech some space to speak. He, too, offered a slight blow as Guard turned to address the crowd.

“Now, I know all of you have been working extra hard since... Well, the incident. Neutro’s told me that the top of the ship has been properly sealed off. I’m sure you’re all very tired with energon running low, and I appreciate your hard work.”

Guard gave a small pause as a brief round of applause and whistled chorused through the crowd. He made a gesture with his servos, snickering a little as the crowd settled. “However, the fact remains that we lost some very good friends in the battle. Good family. And we were ill prepared. So, much as this concerns me to say, we’re going to need to look for energon. Desperately. More than ever. Because we’re going to need energy not for today, but for tomorrow. For the fights that may certainly come our way.”

Novastrike glanced around. She met the worried optics of bots. They were rogue specifically to stay out of this war. And although they all knew Guard would do everything he could do to keep them out of harm’s way, his openness to acknowledging the threats around them left everyone uneasy.

“I know everyone here has a good spark in them. I know all of you want what’s best for the crew, for Cybertron, for our species. But we can no longer slack of training. We can’t continue to think just because we’re in the big, wide open space that we’re unseen. It isn’t Cybertron, but there’s signals coming off of us of our origins. And for some, just because we don’t follow, that’s simply enough to offline us.”

“But I will do everything in my power to keep everyone here safe, as I have tried to do so far,” Guard stated softly, turning his optics down upon his wounded leg.

Servos came together in colossal set of applause. A chant began to spread through the crowd moments later. Novastrike turned to see thebots placing one servo against their chassis armor over their spark and pumping their other servo in the air. Needless to say, with a whimsical grin, she too joined in.

“For Guard! For the Rising Star! For Guard! For the Rising Star!”

The old mech offered a tired smile, a blurry look about his optics. He blinked rapidly and startled, glancing over to see Neutroboost place a servo against his arm and nod solemnly with a smile of his own.

It was quite possible he shed a tear or two before the meeting was adjourned.

~

~Months Later~

The Nemesis was under heavy fire. There had to be at least half a dozen starships in its fleet, and even more ships that didn’t qualify as technically ‘starships’ but those stolen and used as such during the Exodus.

Standing against it was the Ark, and a much smaller armada of Autobot vessels. Much like the Nemesis, it took was encountering heavy fire from its opposite faction.

Seekers and fliers were using their abilities to their advantage. With the Autobots lack in these fields, the Nemesis had a slight upper servo.

Upon the Ark, Blackout could make out Lord Megatron taking on Optimus Prime himself. Obviously anyone with half a processor was letting the leader of the Decepticons have his thrill for the kill. Any Autobots who attempted an intervention were either being slaughtered or punted off the ship, where they would soon find themselves surrounded by a hoard of Decepticons.

The havoc was delicious.

Blackout took a ‘grunt’ job. Since all the lazy, stupid Decepticons didn’t act nor think of it, he had his cannon open and was going after the Ark’s weapons. Most of the dumbafts were trying to go after the Autobot’s themselves instead of considering the giant mcfragging laser beams and particle-combustible cannons, and missile launchers.

Oh, not to mention the overshock sonic battery that sent out massive waves of discharge that made auto-calibrating systems malfunction like Blackout’s EMP generator.

Blackout used his EMP discharges and machine guns to try keeping away the Autobots that kept coming at him like mosquitoes. They hardly had enough Seekers to prove a real nuisance, any any trying to fire on board the ship were for the most part, easy to dodge so he could focus his attacks on the Ark’s weapon systems.

Explosions riddled the ship, but seemed to only be leaving surface damage. It was well-built, Blackout would give them that. Shards of metal and any bots outside the ship trying to attack went soaring off from his attacks, but it seemed he was doing minimal damage to the vessel itself.

:: Blackout to Nemesis, direct attacks on the Ark’s front and top where the laser emitters are. Be aware, Lord Megatron is fighting on the upper deck. Do not hit our Lord. ::

:: This is the Nemesis to Blackout, we read you. ::

The Nemesis’ charged up its large fusion cannon and fired. The enormity and strength of the blast washed over the front of the Ark in a blaze of fire. A wave of energy from the black went soaring like a sonic blast in all directions, hitting a flier Autobot. The bot went soaring in Blackout’s direction and he fired his cannon, leaving the poor sap a ruin of scrap metal floating in space.

The Decepticon Hound whipped around his machine guns and trailed bullets along a couple of Autobot fliers and seekers that darted around him wildly. He began flinging his alt-mode around swiftly, aiming to try taking another of them out.

A seeker streaked by Blackout as he turned. His cannon went off with a clap of thunder, striking the seeker and sending him spiraling.

But not before he managed to drop a small gift of a payload before he went flying.

Blackout put full power in his thrusters, but it was too late.

The flak grenades detonated. With the openness of space the damage could have certainly been much worse, but fire and shrapnel pelted into Blackout’s frame; digging into him and his undercarriage. One of his thrusters was knocked offline and the other sputtered, slightly.

He could feel a swift reaction of Scorponok’s pain through the bond.

Blackout jerked his cannon around. The thing spat sparks as it loaded up another shot and he fired after the seekers and fliers even as they flew well beyond an accurate shot.

A sudden sonic blast slammed into Blackout, sending him spiraling in circles. His systems glitched as he whipped around and around, trying to gain control of his steering.

The Nemesis had powered up the fusion cannon again and fired.

Scrap, he was too close to the Ark.

Although the direct attack was no where near him, the energy whipped around the ship and sent Blackout hurtling away from the Ark. With a lack of control, he simply started flying randomly and couldn’t stop.

Seekers suddenly came jettisoning past him, deploying missile after missile into his frame. Energon and metal exploded outward from his body and into space.

“ERROR: Systems Malfunctioning. WARNING: Reaching critical energon loss.”

Blackout tried to hail the Nemesis or frag, any of the stupid Decepticons floating their useless afts around.

The seekers rounded back around, firing off their neutron blasters and energon blasters as they passed.

Blackout was floating further and further out from the fight at this rate. His systems suddenly went into lockdown; going into stasis as his frame was blown into by hundreds of tiny blaster shots.

~

“It looks like there must have been a major battle here.”

“Indeed it does,” Guard stated wearily, looking at massive wreckage and rubble left behind by the warring Autobots and Decepticons.

Novastrike’s audios lowered slightly, seening all the offlined bodies simply left to float in space. She sent a silent prayer out to Primus. No matter how far they were from home, she knew he must be accepting the sparks of these fallen souls back into His grace.

Guard turned slowly at the team of bots standing around him, jutting out a digit to one of the many ships left stranded. “We’ll start with that one first, and see if there’s any survivors or energon that managed to get left behind.”

The group nodded their helms respectfully in response. “Yes sir!” they shouted in unison.

With her tail giving a small lash to and fro, Novastrike stepped closer to Guard. The mech looked absolutely exhausted. She wondered if he’d been drinking his ration of energon at all lately.

“Sir, is there anything I can do?”

The Commander adjusted his cane to the best of ability. He was clearly exhausted; he barely managed to shuffle slightly in her direction to look down at her better.

“You may wait at the hatch for them to return, Novastrike. I’m sure they’ll salvage some things from the ship, and we’ll need help organizing and categorizing anything that’s brought in.”

“Yes sir,” she responded respectfully, trying on her best supportive smile. Despite how tired he looked, he still offered the kindest smile in return.

Transforming into her cyber-cat alt-mode, Novastrike bolted down the hallway. Her claws scrapped the ground below her, helping to grip the ground and propel her forward faster. Bots staggered as she darted by, shouting obscenities at her speed that it wasn’t a race and that she needed to watch it.

A purring laughter escaped her. Just because they didn’t understand the thrill of a good run, stretching out all your limbs and feeling the pressure loosening in your joints, didn’t mean they had to be so snippy.

Nova came to a halt just outside the hatch bay. Magnetizing her pedes onto the floor, she waited for someone on the other side to open the door for her so she could come out.

“Hey there Novastrike,” the mech stated warmly.

She offered a polite nod.

“Ooh no, looks like Guard sent short stuff to help us out,” teased another.

“Short stuff’ll still kick your aft in the training room.”

“Ooohh she got you!”

“Shut up.”

Nova’s optics looked over those standing around with the hatch open. Neutroboost made the most prominent presence, standing near the middle of the room with a datapad in one servo and speaking to a mech standing beside him.

:: This is Team Alpha. We found energon, I repeat, we found energon! ::

Everybot broke out in cheers. Over the open comm channels on the ship, Guard’s voice echoed through the radios, “Excellent news. Any survivors on board?”

:: Negative, sir. Massive casualties. We’ll keep looking, though. ::

"Roger that. Report in with anything else you find,” Neutroboost murmured over the comms.

Venting a sigh of reassurance, the little femme walked close to the edge of the hatch. Space extended out in every direction endlessly. Planets, stars, the cosmos itself. She took a deep breath through her vents as though she was in awe.

A sheen of light captured her optics. For a moment, she thought it may be a comet, but it seemed too close.

Her optics readjusted.

It was an outline. The armor was so incredibly dark, it blended in with space itself.

Novastrike zoomed in the scope of her optics. There were gaping holes in the small ship, wires protruding here and there, and-

Her spark lurched. There had to be something wrong with her optics. That couldn’t be?

“Does anyone else see that dark, black ship about forty-eight degrees off, right there?” Novastrike asked, pointing a digit towards the manifestation.

A couple of the mechs stepped closer. Their optics whirled faintly as they readjusted.

“You know, I think you’re right.”

“That one looks pretty rough, I don’t think we’d find anything on board it Novastrike.”

Neutroboost strode over slowly. Nova gazed up at him, watching as his optics shifted slightly to look better into the void.

He gave a small noise. “Well I’ll be fragged,” he stated.

“Do you see it?” Nova asked helplessly.

“Of course I see it,” Neutro half snapped. He gave a morbid chuckle. “Looks like that mech finally got what was coming for him, huh?”

Instantly, the little white femme’s ears lit up. Her derma peeked out slightly from a deep frown on her faceplate and she snarled.

“How could you say such a thing- he could still be alive!”

Neutro turned a bored expression over to the femme. “How is that our problem? The big fragger probably met his fate anyway, look at how damaged he is.”

Neutroboost turned back and gestured to Blackout’s alt-mode. The other mechs turned to look at Novastrike, their optics showing alarm.

By the time the other turned his smug expression to where Novastrike had been, she was no longer there.

“Sir-”

Neutroboost turned to follow the gazes of the other mechs, spotting a rather defiant looking little femme harnessing up one of the few jet packs they had on board the ship.

His optics paled. “Are you mad?” he stammered. “Don’t you dare go out there.”

Clicking the harness into place, Novastrike gave a wave of her servo. The tether she secured around her floated lightly behind her as she demagnetized her pedes from the floor.

“Somebot, stop her!” Neutro demanded over the comm links. “Guard, we have a situation with your favorite little femme.”

Pressing curiously down on the accelerator for the boosters, Novastrike shot out from the Rising Star as she turned off her comm channel.

She gave a nervous squeak and let go of the accelerator. She continued floating straight out from the ship, her optics wide as she glanced around. It looked incredible out there. Looking out from the windows of the Rising Star didn’t do it justice. It was like being encompassed in shadows and moonlight faded and distant from every direction.

Glancing around, Novastrike adjusted the positioning and angle of her jet pack and gave a small pulse in the opposite direction. She flipped the direction around again and gave another small burst, slowing her approach as she directed herself over to the familiar ship.

Sure enough, the closer she got, the more it looked familiar. Or, should have looked familiar.

Shards of Blackout’s armor seemed to levitate around him in a debris field. The closer she got, the more she could see the speckles of energon that were simply floating around him as well.

Flipping her direction, Novastrike turned on the magnetism on her pedes and clanked into Blackout’s side.

Her spark fluttered anxiously. It was impossible to tell if he was alive, or dead. She reached down and slowly ran her digits over the mech’s armor.

Armor shifted from atop Blackout. Novastrike let out a small shriek, slapping her servos over her mouth. Oh Primus- was something- was something on him? Was it feeding on him, was it a Scraplet-

Scorponok undocked from Blackout’s frame and Novastrike let out a ragged groan of relief. It didn’t last long, as she noticed that Scorponok’s backside was lined with holes. His golden optics were rather lifeless and fatigued.

“Hello there buddy,” Nova all but cooed, carefully shifting her pedes on Blackout so she didn’t rip off anymore armor or get stuck as she reached a servo out to him. “You doing okay?”

The bug blinked his optics out of sync. He gave a chirp like he was confused by what he saw, and tilted his helm slightly.

“Hold on a moment, Scorponok. I got you,” Novastrike soothingly said, reaching out further. She ever so slowly placed her digits against the bug’s helm. He gave a small, weak whirl and nudged his helm a little more against her servo.

“Thank you,” she whispered, smiling slightly.

Demagnetizing, Novastrike angled her jet back and gave a light squeeze. She circled around Blackout and looked into the tether one way, knotting it. Then she floated slowly around the other direction, knotting the tether over a different section.

“There, I think that’ll do,” she murmured, glancing over the big ship.

She turned her comm channel on.

:: -in Primus name do you think you’re doing, you idiotic, ridiculous, stubborn, hard-helmed- ::

:: You can reel me in now Neutroboost, I got him. ::

:: Reel you in?! Reel you in?! You think I’m just going to- ::

A gentle tug came from the tether, and Novastrike magnetized herself against Blackout’s side, curling her digit against his armor as he got yanked forward slightly. Scorponok gave a startled metallic click and wrapped a section of his tail against Blackout to make sure he didn’t go floating off.

As they came closer to the Rising Star, Novastrike could see Guard standing by Neutroboost at the front of the hatch with his arms crossed as Neutro flung his arms wildly around, ranting and raving.

Uh-oh.

Giving a slick boost on the jet pack, Novastrike raised Blackout just enough so that he’d slide into the open bay without hitting the lower section of the hatch. Guard and Neutroboost stepped further back, and Guard, without turning his optics away from Blackout and Novastrike, gestured to another mech standing nearby.

The doors slowly closed for the hatch, and gravity was initialized once again.

Scorponok tumbled off of Blackout and onto the ground. He didn’t even so much as make a noise of pain as he simply lay sprawled where he fell.

Nova dropped down off Blackout and on the floor, her audios lowered.

“I can’t believe you!” Neutro growled. “Of all the stupid stunts, you bring this back? He’s probably not even online! You’ve wasted time and energy, and now we’ll need to throw him back out! And what if was online, hmm? You think we have the energon to spare for him?”

Guard raised a servo to Neutroboost. His optics grew brighter and he looked absolutely livid. He clearly wasn’t done chewing out the tiny femme but pouted furiously, waiting to see what Guard would have to say.

Much to Novastrike’s surprise, he made a wide arc with his servo, offering for her to speak.

“Guard, I’m sorry.”

“You are apologizing insincerely,” Guard rumbled deeply.

“I’m sorr-”

“Explain yourself, femme.”

Novastrike bit into her lip slightly. “I... I don’t really have a good explanation, sir. I know him. If he’s alive, I just... I wanted him to have a chance at living...”

“So, are we going to give all these poor, helpless individuals a ‘chance at living’ now?” Neutroboost snarled with annoyance.

Guard lifted a servo to him again for silence. Neutro grumbled, turning his helm away.

A little smile pulled at the corner of Guard’s faceplate. “I suppose we should call in the medic, then. You have a kind spark Novastrike, be sure that you’re placing it in the right servos.”

Novastrike started, and Neutroboost’s jaw dropped at the comment.

“Y-Yes sir,” she whispered, feeling a mixture of confusion at the comment and vulnerability.

The large mech gave a small nod. Ignoring Neutroboost’s sputtering as he tried to aim a disagreement towards him, Guard turned and headed for the exit to the bay with his fellow Commander right on his heels.

The others in the bay room exchanged glances, and turned to follow after the two Commanders.

~

“Well, he’s online. Barely,” the medic said softly, checking her scanners as she walked around the massive tattered obsidian ship.

“Do you think you can save him?” Novastrike asked anxiously, her digits twiddling in front of her chassis.

The femme glanced down at Novastrike slowly. “I can try my best. No promises.”

“And Scorponok?”

“He’ll most likely live,” the femme stated. “It looks like most of the shots glanced him. I would say your big friend here probably tried positioning himself so that he took the brunt of the attacks in order to save his minicon.”

Novastrike’s spark skipped a pulse. She looked between Satan and his small companion, whom the medic had managed to place upon a berth in her med-bay unlike giant’s large form.

A questionable grumble moved through Guard as he spoke: “How are you going to patch up the mech in this state.”

“I can’t,” the femme admitted. “I’m going to have to force his t-cog to transform. That alone might kill him.”

Novastrike could feel Guard transfixing a glance upon her. She tried to keep a steady, blank face.

“I’ll do what I can,” the femme repeated. “I’m going to seal up as much of his energon lines before I do that as I can, and with the fresh energon the team’s bringing in he’ll at least have a fighting chance with some of that in his system. I do assume, anyway, you’ll allow him some...?”

“Of course,” Guard agreed. “He’s our guest. And if Novastrike trusts him, then he is welcome here. We’ll do our best to help him recover, and protect him.”

Nova let out a soft, breathless gasp. Guard’s optic ridges raised high as he looked down at her, chuckling at her reverence gaze that lay upon him.

“Thank you, sir,” Novastrike gushed warmly, bowing her helm low.

Embarrassment flashed across Guard’s faceplate, and he quickly waved his servos in the air. “None of that, Novastrike. Although, if he does make it, I am putting you in charge of him. We can’t keep the mech against his will, but if he decides to stick around for any length of time, anything he does...”

“Is under my jurisdiction and punishment if he acts up. I understand, sir,” Novastrike murmured softly.

Guard gave a short nod. “Very good,” he stated. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to return to Neutroboost and try to calm him down and explain... all of this.”

The medic gave a thin laugh. “Ah, yes. Neutroboost is going to love this.”

Guard winced. “Indeed,” he agreed.

Novastrike flinched slightly as the Commander shuffled slowly around and ambled out of the room. She could see the worry written in the medic’s face, too, as she watched him too. That did nothing to ease any of her worries.

Suddenly, she turned her face upon Novastrike. She practically jumped out of her armor from the stern gaze.

“You brought him in, you’ll be helping fix him,” the femme stated matter-of-factly. “Now, get over here and put those little servos to use. You’ll start with stabilizing his little friend while I work on big-n-scary.”

A nervous smile stretched on Novastrike’s lips. “Y-Yes ma’am,” she squeaked, trailing after the medic.

[ecotone99]

[SP] Death and it's follies

I am man’s oldest friend. I have been there before the primordial voids were filled with the spark of life. Any and all things have graced my existence for far shorter than I would like to admit. It was a very long and forgotten time before I was finally in the possession of my current role in the balance of all things. The building blocks that give form to all of observable existence and the energy in between housing the many complicated knots of other worlds have always been spider webbing around my fingers and mind. I have many names and have often changed my form to fit the need of those things in between that need my assistance to move on. I do not bother myself in the affairs of things that live, I am only a force that swiftly moves in when there is no longer the vibration of what is determined as living. I do not cause death, but it is a name that is freely given to me, a name I have no right to argue.

With any other things that dies, it is an easy process. Plants and flora find ease in dying of old age, or being consumed by other organisms so that they may live. If nothing else, it is their reason to be here. When they have fulfilled their line of duty, and have given back to the earth what they have taken, it is a happy parting. When animals pass, they don't fight the sway of giving in to my arms. Often it is a comfort to give up, even in difficult deaths. There is little resistance found in the deer that is eaten by the lion. Of course, the struggle to survive is stronger than the pleasure of eternal sleep, but in the final moment, all they ask for is to not die in vain.

On the topic of humans, I am at a loss. I have interacted with these creatures since before they were separating themselves from their primate mothers. Even with my eternal experience with all things that live, humans have always found a soft humor in me. They have lost their animal brains and have exchanged them for weak bodies. An exchange that was not for nothing. I have never watched any other animals act the way humans are so comfortable with. Sometimes I think that they have gotten too smart for their own good.

Humans struggle with death. Death of each other and of other living things. I have never seen a rose cry for its tree brother, but yet a human will bury a fish they kept in captivity and mourn the loss. They will struggle with their own death as well, giving sentimental tokens in exchange for a few more moments of life. Even those rare ones that live past 100 years, in the grand scheme of everything, that is only a drop in the infinite ocean. Even in pain, humans will gladly tear at their own flesh and broken innards to try and cheat me out of my job. I have been surprised on multiple occasions by these fighting urges. I will take a soul under my arm only to have it ripped away with a bolt of lightning or a desperate miracle of another pounding their fist into a chest. I have witnessed many times the act of giving back life with a single breath from another. It awes me, these strange flesh beings. Even in these moments of defying me on someone else's behalf, they will gladly give their brothers or sisters if it made life easier.

Nothing will compare to this current moment i find myself in. There are structures that humans build to find shelter from the elements where many of them share the same area. Such a structure I find myself in at this time. The same energy available to manipulate in order to survive can also become the energy that kills. There is a large fire spreading through the halls and rooms of this building. I have collected many of souls from this location, as the fire grew too hot and boiled the ghosts out of their frail shells. Under my cloak I hold the shivering orbs of sacred spirits that are to make the journey to another place. Where they go after me is a question with a million answers, those answers even I do not know. It is none of my business to delegate such details.

As the chaos consumed the brick and wood ribs of this fiery monster, I continue to collect my belongings and send them off. The strings of fate are easier to see in the black smoke, as it contrasts their colors. Like a web of delicate silver, each point is tied to a specific body that will either meet the end, escape to die another day, or be rescued by the other spirits who breathe through metal squids. I do not chase those souls that evade my grip, but when we meet I know them well. Such was not the case for my next client.

In this dark room of soot and flashing columns of hell’s wrath, I see the body of a young female and her newborn child. The only way of escape has collapsed and there is no room to dismiss that these two will meet me soon. The last of the ones alive, I wait in patience over them. Their breaths are shallow and soon they will be in my embrace. Often I am curious of what goes through their minds as the final thoughts are formed. I kneel down to the child, delicate and fragile, the silver thread of fate becoming thinner by the second. There is a strange moment where I feel I need to touch the thread and I reach my hand out to brush against it. The images fill my being with signs of a future full of altruistic acts. This child was to become someone of great aid to his fellow beings. A spirit full of knowledge of the ways he can cheat me of my bounty. A strong spirit that will rip the souls of other children from by hands and place them back into their rightful bodies. A spirit that will help others to evade me, and with little gian of her own.

As I flash back into this moment, I feel a horrible pit turn in my throat. A feeling I have never felt. The mother has already passed, her soul under my wings, but the child is faintly still there, fighting to stay inside. The squid breathing souls are passing through and seem to miss the small opening the child has to survive. Without a thought, I use my cloak and put out the closest fire, freeing the debris enough to see that there is someone here worth saving. The squid breathers do not notice, too busy searching for the dead. In a last effort, I touch the throat of the deceased woman and scream out of my own mouth the words of a language I do not understand. The language of humans will never be learned by a being such as myself, but in this moment, in her voice, I am screaming the name of someone I do not know. Screaming out in anguish and desperation I have never had the privilege of owning. Calling out to the squid breathers, louder than the roar of this inferno.

They heard me, and began to break down the path to the child. I leave with the mother's soul, no longer quivering, for her child had been spared my kiss. She was no longer fighting, and easily went on to whatever was next. The child was walked out by the squid breathers, unscathed by the lapping flames.

I froze, in that moment, in all of my existence I had never denied myself a soul. Although nothing governs my actions, I felt I needed to look over my shoulder to be sure that no one had noticed my deed. I have given a second chance to a being that will take souls away from me, a being that will create new threads of fate and untangle the web of my influence. If even a little, this only makes my job more complicated. This does not bother me.

Even death deserves a change of pace.

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[citizentruth-blog]

10 Keys to Well-Being (Plus Motivational Quotes) - PEER NEWS

New Post has been published on https://citizentruth.org/10-keys-to-well-being-plus-motivational-quotes/

10 Keys to Well-Being (Plus Motivational Quotes)

The very interesting Greater Good Science Center at UC-Berkeley has some assertive and scientifically-based ideas on wonderful topics such as well-being, fulfillment, meaning, happiness, flourishing, etc. Along with U-Penn’s Positive Psychology master’s program, these are two powerhouse schools that take the science of optimism, happiness, flourishing, and well-being seriously. It’s neat to see, since at times in the past, topics such as these, or “psi“, or values and virtues such as meaning, goodness, love, and wisdom were not considered suitable subjects for psychological science to research and investigate. In this blog, I discuss ten keys the GGSC, positive psychology, and I suggest for greater fulfillment, joy, contentment, and success.

  Altruism

“Altruism is when we act to promote someone else’s welfare, even at a risk or cost to ourselves. Though some believe that humans are fundamentally self-interested, recent research suggests otherwise: Studies have found that people’s first impulse is to cooperate rather than compete; that toddlers spontaneously help people in need out of a genuine concern for their welfare; and that even non-human primates display altruism,” according to the Greater Good Science Center (GGSC). Altruism is one of the “values of the wise” — values that inspire and attract wise persons (for example, wisdom vs. foolhardiness, and truth vs. wishful thinking). I pair it with kindness and magnanimity, creating a mighty triumvirate of loving instinct.

A few quotations about altruistic behavior, self-sacrifice, love, and goodness:

“If you truly want to live up to the ideals our forefathers had in mind, if you sincerely care to embody the spirit of Jesus, Buddha, or Mohammed, stop hating and start loving. Love even when you don’t really feel it, even when you think you’re faking it. Soon, you won’t be faking it anymore, and you’ll be a better parent, a better friend, a better American, a better person.” ~ Alan Colmes

“Brotherhood is the very price and condition of man’s survival.” ~ Carlos P. Romulo

“There is no greater satisfaction for a just and well-meaning person than the knowledge that he has devoted his best energies to the service of the good cause.” ~ Albert Einstein

“The lover of mankind strengthens men, for he himself wishes to be strengthened; he helps men toward success, for he himself wishes to achieve success.” ~ Confucius

  Awe

“Awe is the feeling we get in the presence of something vast that challenges our understanding of the world, like looking up at millions of stars in the night sky or marveling at the birth of a child. When people feel awe, they may use other words to describe the experience, such as wonder, amazement, surprise, or transcendence.

The most common sources of awe are other people and nature, but awe can be elicited by many other experiences as well, such as music, art or architecture, religious experiences, the supernatural, or even one’s own accomplishments,” the GGSC notes. I think of it as wonder; as vision; as radical creative thinking. Mindfulness and gratitude are aligned with seeing the world with awe. These special experiences fire our synapses and engender a greater sense of well-being.

A few quotations about Awe:

“The real voyage of discovery consists of not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” ~ Marcel Proust

“Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful, for beauty is God’s handwriting — a wayside sacrament.  Welcome it in every fair face, in every fair sky, in every flower, and thank God for it as a cup of blessing.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” ~ William Butler Yeats

  Find the Good Side of Things, People & Changes

Ever heard an old person either say “Kids today!” or “Damn liberals!” or hear a young person absolutely demonize or denigrate an individual with whom they don’t agree (or, as in Dana Carvey’s impression of “grumpy old man“, just be sour and mad at the world)?

As can be gleaned from this Q&A with the engaging researcher Robert Sapolsky, political differences is a major issue nowadays — much more so than in the past. It divides us in homes, in communities, and in the United States. Add money to the mix and it’s political gamesmanship and subterfuge writ large.

But seeing differences between the self and the other is often not healthy. Tribalism, Sapolsky notes, is oh-so-easy. He says: “The easiest symbols that we grab on to in deciding if someone is an “us” or a “them” are visceral ones. Being disgusted by someone’s personal behavior—the way “they” do stuff—is a much easier entrée to hating them than disagreeing with their views on the trade deficit. Primates are hard-wired for us/them dichotomies. Our brains detect them in less than 100 milliseconds. Our views about things are driven by implicit (unconscious) processes.”

Gosh, that leaves one with a negative feeling. As Sapolsky puts it: “It’s depressing as hell.” That it is.

Here are some quotations to increase well-being by seeing commonalities, others’ perspectives, and being forgiving and humble – basically, optimism and positive thinking before judging:

“We spend so much time talking and judging what we think we know. . . We need to ask more questions and spend more time listening. Really listening, not just waiting for our turn to talk or be thinking the whole time how we are right and they are wrong. We also need to shift our mindset and see things from other people’s perspectives. Really appreciate and respect their perspective, not just be thinking how our’s is morally superior. We need to give more than we get in all interactions with others. Live to serve and to help make a difference in other’s lives. In short, leave this life better than we found it.” ~ Robert L. Lloyd

“All too often, visions of virtue or decency have been invoked to brand as immoral and dangerous anyone who is different. Such aggressive moral dogmatism — which, it is worth stressing, can occur on both the political right and left — is one of the greatest enemies of human dignity.” ~ Elizabeth Kiss

“Judging others takes a great deal of energy and, without exception, pulls you away from where you want to be.” ~ Richard Carlson

  Mindfulness

The GGSC has this to say about this slightly-elusive value: “Mindfulness means maintaining a moment-by-moment awareness of our thoughts, feelings, bodily sensations, and surrounding environment, through a gentle, nurturing lens.

Mindfulness also involves acceptance, meaning that we pay attention to our thoughts and feelings without judging them—without believing, for instance, that there’s a ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way to think or feel in a given moment. When we practice mindfulness, our thoughts tune into what we’re sensing in the present moment rather than rehashing the past or imagining the future.”

Once you get your head around it, practices that lead to greater mindfulness — including but not limited to meditation — you can benefit from the positive effects on the human brain. Here is what my old friend Laurent Grenier, an author who found some interesting ways of dealing with his quadrapalegia, counsels:

“If you lead a happy life, of which you may be to some degree unmindful, never let a day pass without reflecting on the life of misery you could be leading instead. Imagine having lost everything and everyone you love. You will be happier for the realization that you are spared this misery.” Hard to do, but good advice. A good movie can help, I think.

Here are some quotes on this fascinating skill that will surely lead to greater relaxation, health, and well-being (and who knows, perhaps happiness and success):

“Practicing mindfulness over time reveals and develops the qualities of wisdom and compassion, the twin virtues of the discipline. Wisdom means seeing clearly into the fundamental nature of reality. Through meditative practice, we can deeply recognize the eternal arising and passing away of all phenomena and see the unsatisfactory quality of ordinary human experience that derives from the illusion of the self as an entity separate from the rest of reality.” ~ Mark W. Muesse

“Each moment of the year has its own beauty, a picture which was never seen before, and which shall never be seen again.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Research has suggested that in a few short weeks, mindfulness meditation practice can bring about physiological, psychological, and social benefits in our lives. From increases in gray matter in the brain to alleviating physical ailments such as migraines and fibromyalgia, the benefits of mindfulness and meditation practice more generally have been touted for everyone ranging from executives to schoolchildren.” ~ Hooria Jazaieri

  Compassion

Next among values and phenomena that can lead to more well-being in the lives of aware individuals is this “suffering together.” Compassion is a deep empathy, a lovingness, a true caring. “While empathy refers more generally to our ability to take the perspective of and feel the emotions of another person, compassion is when those feelings and thoughts include the desire to help. Altruism, in turn, is the kind, selfless behavior often prompted by feelings of compassion, though one can feel compassion without acting on it, and altruism isn’t always motivated by compassion,” the GGSC points out.

As usual, when trying to figure out exactly what a particular value or virtue really means, I look to a wide array of diverse quotations to elucidate the concept. That is what Values of the Wise is all about.

Quotations about compassion:

“With compassion, we see benevolently our own human condition and the condition of our fellow beings. We drop prejudice. We withhold judgment.” ~ Christina Baldwin

“The Good Samaritan story illustrates altruism. Filled with compassion, he is motivated to give a stranger time, energy, and money while expecting neither repayment nor appreciation.” ~ David G. Myers and Jean M. Twenge

“We humans have the capacity to change the world with acts of love and kindness. Let’s start by teaching our children the importance of compassion.” ~ Goldie Hawn

  Industriousness

A Buddhist proverb counsels, “If we are facing the right direction, all we have to do is keep on walking.” You may have also heard the oft-quoted, “Idle hands [or an idle mind] are the devil’s workshop.” If you’ve ever watched/read “Little House on the Prairie,” you know how deeply-ingrained hard work, discipline, industriousness, and persistence are in the American ethos. We work too hard now, considering how much of a cut of the profit workers receive, and considering that famous economist John Kenneth Galbraith predicted in the 1940s or 1950s that by 2000, we should be working less than twenty hours a week due to the awesome increase in technological capacity.

Well, a short workweek may not have come to pass, and America may be one of the hardest-working, most sober/religious of nations, but it still is a virtue — and one that can lead to well-being, contentment, and prosperity. Once one gets to about $75,000, happiness levels out, but up to that point, it is hard to be happy in the modern world if one is deprived, poor, or otherwise harried.

Industry vs. inferiority is a key milestone in human psychological development according to prominent developmental psychologist, Erik Erikson. As Lumenlearning.com points out, “During the elementary school stage (ages 6–12), children face the task of industry vs. inferiority. Children begin to compare themselves with their peers to see how they measure up. They either develop a sense of pride and accomplishment in their schoolwork, sports, social activities, and family life, or they feel inferior and inadequate because they feel that they don’t measure up. If children do not learn to get along with others or have negative experiences at home or with peers, an inferiority complex might develop into adolescence and adulthood.”

My sister is exemplary of effort and striving. She is actively a daughter, wife, mother of three, business owner, and reads and shares information passionately. She really gets a charge out of this lifestyle, and productivity is the result. I admire someone who finds one or more avocations and pursues them indefatigably — even in the absence of pay or a mandate. Indeed, as the quintessentially-American proverb has it, “People may get more tired by standing still than going on.”

Here are a few quotations about industriousness, effort, productivity, and dedication:

“Americans have shifted away from an energetic, purpose-driven, higher-order pursuit of value, and are instead moving toward security, insulationism, materialism and minimum-commitment thinking. Rather than building upon our history of sacrificial innovation and difficult labor, regardless of immediate or tangible personal benefits, many Americans are seizing our economic prosperity as an opportunity to slack off and opt for personal leisure, [and] short-sighted consumerism….” ~ Joseph Sunde

“Work saves us from three great evils: boredom, vice, and need.”~ Voltaire

“No ethic is as ethical as the work ethic.” ~ John Kenneth Galbraith

  Empathy

Yet another key to well-being is empathy. The GGSC indicates that “[e]mpathy seems to have deep roots in our brains and bodies, and in our evolutionary history. Elementary forms of empathy have been observed in our primate relatives, in dogs, and even in rats. Empathy has been associated with two different pathways in the brain, and scientists have speculated that some aspects of empathy can be traced to mirror neurons, cells in the brain that fire when we observe someone else perform an action in much the same way that they would fire if we performed that action ourselves.”

Take David Brooks’ advice and don’t confuse empathy with rationality: “People without social emotions like empathy are not objective decision-makers. They are sociopaths who sometimes end up on death row.”

Here are three unique perspectives on empathy from three disparate individuals:

“Don’t judge anyone harshly until you have been through his experiences.” ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“To separate egoistic distress reduction from empathy-based altruism, Daniel Batson’s research group conducted studies that aroused empathy. Then the researchers noted whether the aroused people would reduce their own distress by escaping the situation or whether they would go out of their way to aid the person. The results were consistent: with their empathy aroused, people usually helped.” ~ David G. Myers and Jean M. Twenge

“Wealthy Christians talk about the poor but have no friends who are poor. So they merely speculate on the reasons for their condition, often placing the blame on the poor themselves.” ~ Jim Wallis

  Forgiveness

This beautiful and difficult virtue is one of humanity’s highest levels of achievement. Well-being is inextricably tied to the emotional grudges one holds, I’m afraid (I say that because I feel justice more easily than I feel forgiveness). But, it’s true. It’s tied to psychological well-being, heart health, and optimism. In fact, hostility and it’s ugly little brother cortisol is/are one of the main psychological predictors of heart disease!

Berkeley’s GGSC has this to say: “Psychologists generally define forgiveness as a conscious, deliberate decision to release feelings of resentment or vengeance toward a person or group who has harmed you, regardless of whether they actually deserve your forgiveness. Just as important as defining what forgiveness is, though, is understanding what forgiveness is not. Experts who study or teach forgiveness make clear that when you forgive, you do not gloss over or deny the seriousness of an offense against you.”

Alan Scott puts this virtue in this light: “I think there is a human condition where many people assume that if we forgive others for the wrongs they do to us (or those close to us) that we are, in a sense, letting them off the hook when perhaps they should be punished. The offender gets to go on their merry way through life, while we are still suffering because of their actions. I almost felt like if I forgave someone, then I was condoning the wrong that they did! Not so. Forgiveness is a necessity for us, not vengeance. God is the true judge, not us.”

I may not see it as a God thing, but I do see the psychological research point to the benefits of forgiveness when it comes to mental health and a flourishing life.

“You hold too much anger inside. It poisons you. Do you want to carry so much pain into your next life? …You must forgive. You must let go of your pain. You must let go of your anger.” Those are the wise words of the Chinese healer who tries to get Michael Keaton’s knotted-up and angry guy character to relax before his cancer kills him. It’s a fascinating scene in a fascinating movie called My Life.

Here are some quotations about forgiveness as a virtue:

“The greater you are, the more you must practice humility.” ~ Ben Sira

“So many of us hold on to little resentments that may have stemmed from an argument, a misunderstanding, the way we were raised, or some other painful event. Stubbornly, we wait for someone else to reach out to us — believing that this is the only way we can forgive or rekindle a friendship or family relationship.” ~ Richard Carlson

If one by one we counted people out For the least sin, it wouldn’t take us long To get so we had no one left to live with. For to be social is to be forgiving. ~ Robert Frost

  Generosity

If there is one important thing my mom has taught me through deed and words, it is generosity. She gives, gives, gives. This doesn’t mean that she is a saint, but it does mean that she gets a great feeling from what she perceives as one of her true callings: to make a positive difference in others, in society, and in the world. She puts her money where her mouth is, as it were. I have seen a very compelling correlation in her between happiness and generosity. It’s a thing:

As Amanda L. Chan points out in this article, “Giving of yourself — whether it be your time, energy or money — isn’t just a boon to those you’re helping. A wealth of research shows that generosity can also have benefits for the giver, ranging from a better outlook at your job, to more years of life.” So give of yourself — your time, your money, your energy, your advice. Mentorship, volunteering, and charity are true ways to greater happiness, well-being, and meaning in life.

Don’t feel bad if you get a charge out of helping others and giving of yourself. That is how the brain evolved — we find certain things rewarding, such as food, sex, competition, and helping behavior. Feel good if you help another person; you deserve it! You could have ignored their need. The warm glow of givingness is something to cherish, not spurn.

Three other succinct quotes about generosity:

“One act of beneficence, one act of real usefulness, is worth all the abstract sentiment in the world.” ~ Ann Radcliffe

“I’ve never known any human being, high or humble, who ever regretted, when nearing life’s end, having done kindly deeds. But I have known more than one millionaire who became haunted by the realization that they had led selfish lives.” ~ B. C. Forbes

“To do good without ulterior motive is a generous and almost divine thing in itself.” ~ Francesco Guicciardini

  Social Integration

Last, but certainly not least, social integration. Social interaction, social relatedness, inclusion, relationships – whatever you want to call it. It’s good. I should know; I have been terribly lonely and felt like a bit of an odd bird in some significant periods of my life. For a while there, I was on Prozac, living alone, doing my thesis on suicide, smoking marijuana, and wondering if life was worth living. Needless to say, I saw more of my therapist than I did women on dates. I just wasn’t in the zone, and my mental issues led to my social isolation, and my social isolation fed my mental issues. I sort of felt inferior to others; unliked; and yet superior to most others. It was quite a quandary.

Science is clear on this topic: human beings are social creatures, and though we do need some individuality and alone time, the feeling that we are alone, different, unworthy is only pernicious. It can lead to suicide, substance abuse, studying philosophy (!), and depression. Anomie is a unique version of this that has been described for some time in sociology. Yes, pets are good and helpful!

Yes, I am now married and even recently bit the bullet and started attending the local Unitarian Church! I have pets I am very fond of, I write every day, take classes, and exercise and fish oil!

On this page, Juliana Breines asks whether some social ties are better than others when it comes to contributing to well-being. She writes: “There’s no question that the digital age has changed the way we relate to one another, sometimes to our detriment, as MIT psychologist Sherry Turkle has argued in her book Alone Together. Though many of us can count Facebook friends into the thousands, research suggests that loneliness is rampant in the United States—we have fewer close friends than we did a generation ago—and takes a severe toll on our health.”

Here are some quotes about social connectedness as related to well-being. The Wisdom Archive holds other quotes about social relatedness, integration, affiliation, and connectedness, and is searchable for free.

“To the extent that we can characterize evolution as designing our modern brains, this is what our brains were wired for: reaching out to and interacting with others.” ~ Matthew Lieberman

“Social situations do profoundly influence individuals. But individuals also influence social situations. The two interact. Asking whether external situations or inner dispositions determine behavior is like asking whether length or width determine a room’s area.” ~ David G. Meyers and Jean M. Twenge

“Humans are a profoundly social species; our drive to connect with others is embedded in our biology and evolutionary history. It begins at birth, in our relationship with our caregiver—and the effects of this relationship seem to reverberate throughout our lives. When we’re cared for as children, we’re more likely to have healthy, secure attachments as we get older.” (the Greater Good Science Center)

  I wish well-being, peace, and happiness for you. I will leave you with these:

I believe in courtesy, in kindness, in generosity, in good cheer, in friendship and in honest competition. I believe there is something doing somewhere, for every man ready to do it. I believe I’m ready, RIGHT NOW. ~ Elbert Hubbard

The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter. ~ Mark Twain

Optimism has an important place in some, thought not all, realms of your life. It is not a panacea. But it can protect you against depression; it can raise your level of achievement; it can enhance your physical well-being; it is a far more pleasant mental state to be in. ~ Martin E. P. Seligman

Dave Navarro Puts Mental Health & Suicide in the Spotlight with Benefit Concert

[christinaengela]

From the

Good morning, fans and friends!

My PA (and long suffering girlfriend) Kay (a.k.a. Wendy K. Gloss) suggested that I start doing a newsletter – so, this being my first newsletter, Number One, Nommer Een, Numero Uno, I’d firstly like to thank she whose latest personal mantra has become “Ow, my everything!” – for being my muse, my marketing manager and promoter, my main support – and the love of my life!

After spending almost every spare moment since October working on the next three books in the Quantum Series, I was getting a little frazzled. I hope you all will forgive me for taking a break over December-January! I really needed it, and since I was on holiday at home this year, Kay and I spent more time doing things in line with our actual hobbies, such as (in her case) art, and in my case, D.I.Y. stuff around our refuge – Fort Engela!

Thanks to all my readers, fans, and friends for your support over the past year. 2016 was a bit of a struggle, I’d say, globally – and it’s time for some change! I’d like to officially wish all of you a very prosperous and happy new year – may 2017 be all we hope it can be!

This newsletter will be sent out periodically – I’d like to say quarterly even, but it’s likely it will not be timed so exactly – more than likely, it will be sent out as time allows! That said, if you would like to be added to the mailing list – or if you would like to suggest this newsletter to anyone, please feel free to email us at fireraven86@gmail.com

Oh, and I almost forgot! Here’s your

FREE GIFT!

Now that all the formalities have been dispensed with, here is a free gift for you – a free downloadable ebook copy of a short story called “The Thirteenth Ship“. To download the short story in Kindle format, please just click on the cover image below! If you prefer your sci-fi in Afrikaans, kliek gerus op die Afrikaanse voorblad onder en U sal gratis ‘n Afrikaanse weergawe kan aflaai! Or just download both if you feel like it! Why not? It’s free – and you can share and pass the links around too!

  Now that’s over with, let’s move on! My website is full of information about the stuff I’ve already done and published – and so here are news and updates about what I’m busy with and what to expect during the coming year!

The Quantum Series

Readers of the Quantum Series have been asking me for follow-up titles for years – and it’s been a while since the last one (“Loderunner” – book 4) was released – back in 2007, so it’s about time! Books 5,6 and 7 should be coming out this year, as announced way back when, back in 2016!

These new books will form a trilogy in the Quantum Series, consisting of three titles (naturally, unless you’re thinking of a ‘trilogy in four parts’ ala Douglas Adams), namely “Prodigal Sun“, “High Steaks” and “The Last Hurrah”. As I mentioned in numerous tweets and posts in my Facebook group, I have finished the first two titles in the trilogy (barring any future edits or minor changes to ensure the story flows smoothly across all three books), and am now – up to the start of my annual holiday in December – almost halfway with the third book!

Progress has been good up to that point, and I’m satisfied with the result so far. I should be getting back into this project soon – perhaps by the closing end of January. I anticipate that all three new titles “Prodigal Sun“, “High Steaks” and “The Last Hurrah” will be completed and released by about May 2017, starting in about February with “Prodigal Sun“, with modest breaks between releases.

The Galaxii Series

After I finished and published “Dead Beckoning“, the third book in this series back in 2014, I still had a ton of old handwritten notes and story material lying around, crammed inside a number of old brown cardboard folders, just begging to be written into something amazing!

As a result, I am working on book 4 in the Galaxii Series – “Overkill” could hit The Crow Bar by mid to late 2017. Since “Overkill” is the original working title, this could still change by the time it hits my Shop page – so keep your eyes open for announcements in that regard.

There is still no cover design for this title, and I’m hoping that Susan Simone, who designed the brilliant covers for the first three titles in this series will be willing to do one for this title as well!

Short Stories

Recently, while spring cleaning, I happened across some of my old high school compositions, and have begun to redraft and edit them to bring them up to my current standard. I should be in a position to release a second collection – a follow-up volume of “Space Sucks!” sometime this year. I’ve decided to call it “Space Really Sucks!“

I’ll share a quick glimpse at one of these short stories, which will be featured in this new collection, with you – called “Code Red“:

“After an unexpected battle in orbit over a strange planet, the crew of the surviving Saman battlecruiser land to repair their damage – and to look for a good spot to plant the flag of the Saman Empire. Unfortunately, as luck would have it, the planet was already occupied – by a people who took a dim view of that sort of thing, and who happened to have space travel – and a few colonies of their own…” “Space Really Sucks!“ is a second collection of short fiction by Christina Engela, following “Space Sucks!“, featuring completely new, never before seen stories.

Translations

Among the array of projects I’m working on, I am also overseeing the translation of all my work into Afrikaans! Kay and I have already completed translation of a number of my short stories, to which we’ve already received positive and encouraging feedback from a few select readers!

It’s slow going however, and since I can’t afford to pay anyone to translate these stories, time will tell when these will become available. However, the goal is to increase my readership, and to expand my market to include South African Afrikaans-readers, as well as ex-pats now living abroad. To this end, “Space Sucks!” will be released in Afrikaans sometime next year.

In the long-term I am also looking into expanding my translation efforts into German, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Italian – basically any language where anyone shows interest! All that aside, I’m also open to any offers to convert stories into screenplays! If you are willing to help out with this project, please drop me a line!

Editing

On the other side of the street, I’m also acting as Editor on two distinctly separate projects at the moment – the first one being with LightBearer Publishing (through which I published both “Bugspray” and my father’s collection of short fiction “African Assignment“) in which I have compiled a number of poems for an anthology called “Vampyre Bytes – voices from the South African Vampyre Community”, which features Gothic poetry from participants in this fascinating subculture. The interior illustrations and the cover images of this book are by local South African artist and poet, Wendy K. Gloss.

What is this anthology about?

“The modern vampire (or vampyre) subculture spans the world. While stereotypes abound, there are self-identified vampi(y)res present in every other culture, creed, religion to be found in every country, and frequently with a thriving and growing subculture to match. They are not all goths, emos or metal heads. Most are ordinary folks – cops, soldiers, firemen, bankers, the girl next door, the guy on the bus, the old man behind the counter, the kid in your class.

Adherents of the ‘scene’ maintain that it is not so much a lifestyle, hobby or interest as a collection of people who share the same life experiences and needs – that is, experiencing awakening, a period of emotional turmoil in which their vampyric characteristics are first experienced, recognized and accepted – the sum of which mark them as something different – people with an undeniable need for prana, life-force, or vital energy.

Far from being the predatory monsters seen in fiction – those whom admittedly inspire the popular modern fictional vampire image – real living Vampyres and vampyric people are also typically intelligent, creative and productive members of South African society. They are socially responsible people who run NGO’s, protest cruelty against animals, host charity drives – and they like to party.

This anthology deals with the creative facet of the South African Vampyre Community – Vampyres and their friends. While the brief to all contributors allowed the use of pen-names, most participants in the subculture use ‘nightside names’, or names chosen by them to represent their unique identities. The anthology is intended to provide a holistic look at the vampi(y)re from a South African perspective.

Contributions will be categorized into several sections:

Awakening – Dealing with awakening and realization.

Being Thus – Dealing with being a vampyric person.

Frenzy – About the need to feed.

Tantric Vamps – The Power of Life.

Vampyre Love – poems about Vampyre relationships.

Submissions are still open!

  (Submission of material is not a guarantee of placement. LightBearer Publishing and its editors reserve the right to select content which is appropriate to the project.)”

Please mail me your entries/submissions at christinaengela@gmail.com

The other anthology is being published through Riot Pink, called “Embracing Justice”, a benefit anthology to fight anti-LGBT discrimination. This is a benefit anthology to promote awareness of discrimination against LGBT people, tell our stories and find resources. This will be due out whenever we reach enough submissions to go to press.

So far there have been quite a few poetry entries, as well as a few articles and short fiction items. More is always welcome, and in fact necessary in order to actually go to press!

What is the inspiration behind “Embracing Justice”?

“The huge increase in incidence of hate crime and violence reported across the USA against LGBT people – and in other places around the world, linked to an apparent rise in bigotry and anti-human rights sentiments – is nothing less than an outrage! There is also legal discrimination to contend with, where a vulnerable minority faces discrimination which although immoral, is nonetheless enforced by unjust laws.

The type of content we’re looking for will fit into four sections:

First-hand accounts of anti-LGBT attacks (i.e. from personal experience – what happened, how did it affect you, how did it make you feel?),

Poetry (about homophobia or transphobia etc),

Short fiction (also about homophobia or transphobia etc) and

Resources (information, links or organizations that assist LGBTI people, suicide prevention etc) – and since this project is open to international entry, these can be based anywhere).

Submissions are still open!

(Submission of material is not a guarantee of placement. Riot Pink and its editors reserve the right to select content which is appropriate to the project.)”

Please mail me your entries/submissions at christinaengela@gmail.com

Moving on from editing for other people, I will also be working on more of my dad’s work for possible release in the near future. Also, for the first time, I will be preparing my mother’s works for publication! Not too long ago I also posted a few tasters of my mother’s poetry. Once I’ve determined the way forward in this regard, a collection may be coming out soon as well!

Collaborations

During the next month or so I’ll be putting my head together with my friend and famed horror and ‘barfazo’ author Alex S. Johnson in collaborating on a sci-fi horror-comedy called – “Space Cases“!

Competitions

In 2016 we held two giveaway competitions, and I had the pleasure of sending prizes to several lucky winners who received ebook (Kindle format) copies of “Blachart“, book one in the Galaxii Series, and “Black Sunrise“, book one in the Quantum Series.

This year there will be  few giveaways planned, but the formats are likely to be different, and may include a paperback copy or two. Stay tuned for announcements in this regard.

On A Personal Note

As you can imagine, time is always too short over at The Crow Bar. There are never enough hours in a day to get to everything – writing, editing, design, marketing, promotion, translation, collaboration, strategics – and also having to balance all that with daily life, work, social and other responsibilities – and realizing that even a semi-human like myself needs rest!

This holiday has been filled with relaxing activities – and also more physically challenging ones, including the D.I.Y.ing sort, and I’ve managed to refurbish and paint parts of Fort Engela, ‘de-jungled’ the front garden by removing the infestation of wild, vicious prehensile ferns – and everything except the double-yellow hibiscus tree – and poured a concrete slab! Those wold prehensile ferns sure were vicious – they even ate my 30 year old, giant fat plant! The old partly-collapsed wooden grape-vine trellis along one side of the house has been replaced with a new PVC pipe framework, and I’ve used several old concrete fence slabs to form a wall along the garden bed under the trellis, to raise the height of the bed, and filled that with several bags of potting soils so we can start growing veggies! The grape vine is recovering nicely from mildew and a bout of pruning (to prevent it from escaping over the roof), and should give us some nice grapes either this year or the next. Hopefully. Maybe one day I can actually get enough grapes to give wine-making a try!

We also finished some outstanding projects at home, and did some tile grouting in the back garden, and resurfaced and painted the old Victorian clawed-foot tub we use as a ‘chill-pool’. Over all, Fort Engela is our little paradise, our refuge from the harsh realities of the world, and despite the aching muscles and occasional little bumps and scrapes, it’s well worth the effort – and come on, waking up and doing a zombie-walk down the passage while moaning “Ow! My everything!” is kinda funny! It also makes those moments in life spent enjoying the best hugs in the world, holding hands, and wiggling naked toes in beach sand, extra special!

Peace and love are the most important things there are in the world, because with those two in place, universally, everything else can follow.

In Closing

I got some amazing reviews and positive comments on my writing over the past year! I’m always willing to chat with fans of my writing, so if you would like to, please feel free to interact with me in my facebook group, or via email (christinaengela@gmail.com) or via the contact page on my website.

Your sketches or commentary about how you perceive characters or the settings of my stories are eagerly awaited and welcome – I would love to see and hear how you feel about them!

You can show me your support by leaving helpful reviews of my books where you purchased them, whether on Lulu, Amazon, Goodreads, Kobo, Lybrary, iTunes or Nook. You might not realize it, but it makes a difference – not just to me in seeing that people liked my work, but also to others who may be thinking about getting it, and wondering if it’s worthwhile since there aren’t many (or any) helpful reviews!

Thanks again for all your support and interest over the past year! Well done – keep it up! Let’s see where 2017 takes us! More next time!

All the best!

Christina Engela

News From The Crow Bar #1 – Jan 2017 From the Good morning, fans and friends! My PA (and long suffering girlfriend) Kay (a.k.a. Wendy K.