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ahysopae · 4 years ago

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The Gifted episode 1, or how to start introducing 15 characters without overwhelming the viewer

The Gifted first foundation are the characters: each of them is beautifully flawed. They're close enough of archetypes to give to the viewer references (it's very important to have elements to link them to another character or to yourself - 'I see myself in them' is the best and easiest way to get you to love a character), but also each one of them has their identity clearly defined. But we have 15 characters in total, and even if some of them are mostly in the background (looking at the twins right now), it was not possible to introduce all at once (luckily, because I would never remember all their names in this case). I suppose it's one of the reasons for the switch of main character between the episodes (and since I'm a sucker for this type of thing, I'm in awe).

The first episode focus on Pang (of course it's our protagonist, our Percy Jackson - maybe I should dive in this later), but also introduce us, at least in the surface, to Nac, Wave, Namtarn, Ohm and Pom and give us hints on almost all of the others. Pang is at first shown to us as a voice-over, solidifying him as the narrator, even if we realize soon that what he says is for his webcam. The bit before the opening presents him like someone charismatic and determined, a teenager speaking about something than most people know, because they live or lived it. For the sake of this analysis/words vomit I will forget the introduction of the episode, with all the teasers for what's soon to come. So the Pang we meet later see himself as dumb: we saw him as a quick-witted boy, good to play innocent, a bit impertinent, not good at test and a bit pouty when he fails - but kind, at heart. A good kid. Through him we discover the school system in all its unfairness, and even if it's shown kinda jokingly, already the horror of it start to be apparent.

Pang for this bit is our introduction to the universe of the show, because we discover the rules with him. It's a pretty common way to lead the viewer or reader in a new universe (in Star Wars, the movie starts with Luke leaving his farm and discovering something else in the galaxy, Harry Potter is literally introduced to the magical world, the hobbits in lotr leave the little Shire to travel in the rest of the Middle Earth, ...). The important part it's that we can link the two: Pang, like the Gifted program, is more that we think at first. He is mostly more dangerous, and we have some clues of that with his first use of his potential - already in the first episode, already on Nac.

Pang's existence is also the first break in the system: him being both gifted and in 8th class is a paradox, and almost everyone seems not sure what to do with him (except Pom, maybe) him the first. He believes that he hasn't his place in the gifted program, and is really insecure about that.

Nac seems at first a nice friend. He is okay too help Pang with his plans (helping him with the phone and lying for him about his class at meal) and to share his room with him. He is also favorable to the school system (clearly because he is in the good side of the fence), even if he haven't a issue to bend or break the rules for his own advantage. His mask breaks when his friend (his dumb friend, to be precise) has better than him.

Nac has two uses in the narrative: he is an opposite mirror of Wave (in words and in attitude - where Wave is prickly, Nac is charming, but both of them use the same insult, leech, on Pang about his relationship with the other) and he is a trigger to Pang's potential. In fact he is probably the one Pang controls the most in the season (I don't remember if he uses his potential two or three time on him, so don't quote me on that, I will probably realize my mistake later on).

Wave - well, Wave is Wave. The first thing we see of him is in the classroom while Pang runs with the phone he takes back (remember, I don't cover the introduction's part here, because the first thing we see of him is, in fact, a background for a second during an exam and him punching Pang). He looks extremely bored, almost sleeping on his table (in contrast with Nac, on the same line than him, who drinks the teacher's words), until Pang literally break the studious ambiance, proving again that he is here to disturb the established order. Already we know that Wave doesn't feel the need to hide when something bore him, even if he is in a social situation where he should. He comes out like not good socially, arrogant and not the type to try to please.

His first interaction with Pang is a disaster (like no Wave, it's not how you flirt make a friend), and could place him on the school's side (symbolized by the ominous Ladda) even if we realize soon enough that the only side Wave chooses is his own. It leads again to a confrontation Nac/Wave, where Wave is defined as a solitary kid, in contrast with the sociable Nac. Nac himself establishes Wave as a mathematical/computer genius who takes pride in his intelligence (and the flashback, by focusing at first on Punn, gives us an hint of him as almost as intelligent than Wave - he raises his hand almost as fast but more politely - until we realize Wave doesn't write his answer. It tells us that Punn is clever, well-mannered and hard-working, and also that his relationship with Wave will be competitive but they are linked in a way or an other).

Him reveling the meaning of potentials just after Pang understood it and seemed ready to give the answer (even if it was in fact to ask to leave), is a proof that they could form a good team -or be the worst of enemies.

For Namtarn, lets first address the elephant in the room: I don't believe one instant the "romantic" interaction between Pang and her (cut to my mum telling "if it's how men and women interact in Thailand, their birth rate must be really low"). It's worst again in contrast with Claire and Punn, who are almost glued to the hips, or the friendship between Korn and Claire or Mon, or between Namtarn and Ohm. They tried romance, I see clumsy awkward people, and I can't believe it's not voluntarily.

Aside from that, Namtarn appears like perceptive, guessing who is Pang and that he is in the gifted class, a bit curious and nice, even if socially she's not the best (and I mean, yeah, they're 15-years-olds, so it's normal, like it's normal if some of them are cocky to the extreme). It could give us some clue about the fact that she grows up pretty sheltered, but it's maybe a stretch for my part.

Ohm first phrase is for asking a pen (does someone counted how many pens Ohm loses? It will be a fun statistic). He comes as the smiley-go-lucky kind of guy, telling everything that crosses his mind, putting his feet on his mouth every time he speaks. Also for the enigma posed by Pom he clearly doesn't know the answer and only raise his hand to follow the group.

Side question but why no one give him tissues? Boy nosebleeds every two minutes.

The first we see of Pom is when Pang and Nac try to steal the exam's results. His face stay in the shadow while we discover he is in charge of the exam. I feel obligated to point that we see his face a bit more after he drops his pen, and we know how much this pen is important for the rest of the plot (I'm realizing right now that it's in fact, a Chekhov's gun) . For his first apparition before the class, he has an image of a nice teacher, asking his students to call him by his nickname. Already we can link the metronome to him, since its in the classroom (since it's shown while Ohm has a nosebleed trying to resolve the rubik's cube, we can say it's linked to the potential too, but it's maybe a stretch).

To ends that, I want to point that the first plan where we see all the gifted class, when Pang enters, gives us a lot of information about the characters and their relationships together (It also puts us in Pang's shoes). We have the group Mon-Korn-Claire-Punn: Korn smile to Mon and Claire, Claire speaks to Mon and Korn before turning her head to Punn, her body already directed to him, Punn is separated to them since he sits on his table, but his body is turned in Claire's direction too. Namtarn is ready to take note, her back straight, while Ohm is slumped on his table and looks around. When we have a plan on each of them watching Pang, Mon's face is open and curious, Korn kinda shy away, Claire is disdainful, Punn is attentive, the twins gauge him (and already they have matching band-aids and Wave rolls his eyes so hard he clearly make it voluntarily.

#the gifted #the gifted the series #the gifted rewatch #the gifted episode 1 #analysis

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oddinary-investor · 4 years ago

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The How: Companies, Research, and Strategy. (Part 1 of 3)

A story of Sea Limited, Invitae, and Fastly

Ask an athlete how they got where they are now, and you’ll get a very generic “hard work and determination” response. This is not a bad thing, because the answer is someone’s life story. Each athlete got where they were in a unique way and each athlete’s way there was not better or worse than others… Many roads lead to the same place.

So, when I get asked about my approach to growth investing (not an expert < 1 year), I typically give a generic response. Usually not to hide any secrets, but because no one truly wants to see what goes into that. They usually just want a, “I look at blank and blank and invest in it until blank or….”, so I provide that and move on.

But if I am wrong, here’s three examples that illustrate my approach….

My new year’s resolution was to truly grab a path to financial freedom. I kicked around many ideas to make this a reality but settles on the stock market. So, I kept my 401(k) on autopilot and completely forgot about it. I wanted to open a brokerage account that could beat that retirement plan and eventually get to $1,000,00.00 before I retire from the military in 10 years. Bold plan, but I worked on mapping everything out… calculators, formulas, investment approaches, books, YouTube, etc. I was so certain this was possible, but I needed to budget heavily and make sure I could stick to my funding goals.

At the beginning of the year, I thought that focusing on dividend paying stocks would be solid. I would just use those quarterly dividends to buy more shares and over time those dividends would be larger and larger and at 4% average dividends per year, you would passively make $40k a year once a million is hit. I certainly could live with that, so I stacked the top performing dividend yielding stocks. It was a fine approach and once I get to that point dividend investing would be great. I learned quickly that dividend investing keeps you rich, while growth investing makes you rich (yes, debatable… blah blah).

The third week of January I sold every stock I had purchased, which was fine because it was essentially a break even and I would expect partial dividends at the end of the quarter. Now I was on the search to find the next Apple, Google, and Amazon, before anyone else.

January 16, 2020 – Fastly (FSLY) - 24.17 a share

In my search of the next big thing, I wanted to focus on the fastest growth stories I could find. I wanted a strictly technology company that was going to change the world. What I found was… Well, a shit ton of those companies. Like really… It was too simple… I thought I was missing something. With limited money though, I also needed a way to really focus on choosing the best of these companies. I needed rules to follow, to multiply my money, the quickest way possible. It was in this moment I knew that I made the right choice and though this wasn’t going to be a get rich quick scheme, it certainly could be a get rich quicker plan.

My January “Matt’s Investing Rules” I created during many lunch hours in our conference room at work:

1. Relatively newer SaaS companies that focused on growth over earnings.

I wanted companies that focused on subscription-based customers. I wanted all money from these companies going into growing the company, instead of sitting on cash. I don’t care if a company is profitable if this is the reason.

2. I wanted a small market cap company.

I like to look at every company as potentially growing ten times. If I can find a great company at $1 Billion market cap, I can assume that getting to $10B would be more likely than investing in Apple and thinking it will get to become 20 Trillion-dollar company. I felt Apple, Google, Amazon, and Microsoft was too easy. They are all amazing and will keep growing and making you money, but I wanted to get the next wave of companies.

3. I simply had to believe in a future with them being important.

This is probably the most important and the reason I developed so many great skills in researching companies. It forced me to watch hours upon hours of videos and presentations of companies (granted 1.5x speed settings) I was interested in. I learned as much as I could about the company and the people in charge of it, for I really liked investing in companies that are founder led. Skin in the game was appealing to me.

With these rules set in place, on January 16th, I found Fastly, Datadog, Zoom, Livongo Health, and Crowdstrike. These have all multiplied many times since then, but I don’t think that’s going to stop anytime soon. With that said, Fastly was the first company that I truly felt connected to… you know, in a weird investing way.

I found these companies, specifically Fastly, by searching for most recent IPOs (Initial Public Offering) and searching for companies that met my three basic rules. Focusing on Fastly alone—

Fastly appeared to me as a gem. A golden ticket, winning lottery number, and a double rainbow all rolled into one stock symbol: FSLY.

I knew little about what the hell they did, besides them being a less than $2 Billion dollar SaaS company, that made the internet run faster. Therefore, rule number three was crucial in developing a bond with each company I invested in. I went to The Motley Fool to read their free articles. Investopedia, Seeking Alpha, and so many other sites. I wanted to know more about this company, but it really seemed like no one really knew what they did. I remember getting exciting and losing sleep, thinking I was some genius and all I wanted was to learn more. I didn’t want to think I was seeing something people were missing to later find out I was the one missing something and lose all my money.

To learn more, I took a very interesting approach. Kidding. I just went their webpage, YouTube account, and Twitter. And out of these three, YouTube was all I needed to validate my belief in this company. Their founder and at the time CEO, Artur Berman was unlike any CEO I’ve ever seen before. Take the time and watch this sub 4-minute video of him years ago talking about how SSDs are important…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7PJ1oeEyGg

He did not come across as someone who wanted to just grow rich from owning a mediocre company. PowerPoint slides littered with swearing and a total lack of professionalism. He certainly didn’t fit the CEO mold either when it came to looks. He reminded me (still does) of Jobs and Woz combined as one person. I was sold already, foolishly, but I wanted more so I searched all videos featuring the company and Artur.

Artur Bergman IPO Day CNBC on Cloud Computing and Competition:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M57NtJeDKLU

Why Fastly?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O0wbl9GlG-E

Obviously, I watched at least 10 more hours of videos from conferences and use cases of their company, but this is just laying out my process--

I could not see how a company that seemed so authentic was so undervalued, though, I had no idea at the time how to value a company. I just knew at the time Snapchat was considered a $13B company and Fastly basically made everything run faster. I felt the use case of Fastly, though underappreciated, was worth far more than the sub $2B market valuation.

I invested in this, along with those other gems found on the 16th of January. Over time, Fastly hardly moved, it was not performing at all. I was expecting quick money and grew frustrated with Fastly. I had seen the likes of Crowdstrike and Zoom grow in share price and for a brief period in time thought I was going to just sell Fastly and put all the money into Zoom at like 75 dollars a share (now obviously above $408 a share now lol). I decided against selling my shares and focused on the long-term goal. What I thought this company could be was still possible. Everything was going according to plan, aside from the price skyrocketing. Fastly taught me patience.-

February 27th, I told a close friend that Fastly would essentially make him rich… then the stock market collapsed.

March happened and for some reason the crash made Fastly’s stock price collapse. I remember one day it was at or close to $8 dollars a share. Clearly, I was not going to sell the shares at this much of a loss. Instead, I doubled downed. This company had enough cash on hand to make it through a year of expenses. They were a SaaS company so most of their customers had already paid for the year in January. I kept thinking, more like reassuring myself, that Fastly should benefit from work at home. The more people had to rely on the internet, the more Fastly profits. So, at $11 a share, or more than a 50% discount, I purchased 50 more shares. Now I just needed to wait…During the year, Artur Bergman stepped aside from being the CEO of Fastly. He remains with the company but stepped down to focus on the technology and growing the best company. He made the CFO the CEO and it worked out as planned.

Fastly hit $116 dollars a share in August, which made it, at that time, my fist 10x stock. It now sits are $82 dollars a share, which I can live with.

The company is still under $10B dollars of market capitalization. I will continue to hold on and wait for the next 10x�� oh and I will be consistently buying more shares.

#investing #stocks #money #investinyourself #learn #inspiration #technology #fastly #story #journey

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sheriffofmagic · 6 years ago

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burgerbang0 prompt if you're still accepting them: burger goes to dasha after meeting vang0 to try to figure out who he is and where he came from. also known as: dasha becomes quickly fond of burger's new weird friend and burger gets in way over his head

let me preface this by saying it is a Mess and that i Tried. idk if i did the fondness thing and the pining is barely there but this turned more into a dasha character study and dfahjkljsg. alright i hope it’s okay

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Dapper Dasha doesn't have friends. It’s an unspoken rule. She had acquaintances, contacts, even some people who went as far as to call her their "buddy" but she didn't have friends.

Her public persona was as carefully constructed as her face. All designed to leave a specific impression. She was calm, intelligent, mysterious, and, more than anything, impersonal. It was her job to know people but not so much the other way around.

This was how she preferred it. Better for business and less messy for her personal life. It was lonely at times, sure, but the benefits far outweighed the costs. The internet was unreliable but Dapper Dasha? She knew people. And she could prove more valuable than half the netrunners and hackers in the city if given the proper information (and incentive).

And for the most part she was content, ignoring any cloying feelings of loneliness in favor of the well-earned sense of contentment. Dasha was good at her job and made a damn good living through it, and that seemed to be enough.

But life, or at least a very specific person in her life, had other plans. Burger Chainz had arrived with the same jarring roar as the engine of his car. Speeding up beside her one day along a darkened street, startling her into drawing her gun, he’d rolled down the window and in that dumb, amiable voice of his, asked in earnest for her help. Said he’d heard she was the best in the business. And Dasha was far from vain but, well, something about his dumb mug and sincerity had won her over. The promise of cash wasn’t bad either. Somehow a companionship had formed between them. Dasha refused to use the word “friend”. It was too comfortable, too familiar, and worse it expressed a sense of vulnerability.

Burger Chainz was nothing if not persistent. Even after Dasha had (to her great displeasure) failed to locate a target for him, she still couldn’t seem to shake him. His lopsided smiles and tendency to fill awkward silences with even more awkward conversation had grown on her like a rash or a particularly infectious disease. Much to her chagrin, she’d grown comfortable with him. Sometimes they would even hang out when they weren’t working on a job.

It wasn’t even that he was overly optimistic, quite the opposite in fact. Burger Chainz seemed to walk with a permanent weight on his shoulders. A haunting that lurked just behind every slightly strained smile or laugh that came just seconds too late. No, it wasn’t his attitude that had won her over. She’d hardly consider herself won over in the first place. The muscle-bound dummy just never left. Even when she’d proven to be of no use to him. Even when she was intentionally cruel in a way that made others understand it was time to back off. He stuck around. Because despite his outward warmth and charisma, he was profoundly lonely and because, somehow, he knew that deep down Dasha was too.

Somehow all of this had landed Dasha where she was today, Burger standing anxiously in her foyer with a small, friend in shiny spandex pants who looked just as unhappy to be here as Dasha was for the sudden intrusion on her peaceful Tuesday evening. The friend had given her a quick once over when they’d stepped in but since then had only been toying with a band around their wrist. A comm melded into their skin. Burger, as usual, seems completely unaware of the awkward tension brimming between everyone.

“Thanks for lettin’ us in,” he started, “So, Dasha. This is my buddy, Vang0 Bang0.”

He waved his hand at his friend who finally looked up from their arm forming their hands into a V and B symbol respectively, “Vang0 Bang0.”

It took all of Dasha’s willpower to suppress her eyeroll.

“Vang0, this is Dasha.”

Burger is gesticulating needlessly as he talks, a nervous tick Dasha has picked up on, “I was tellin’ him how you’re the best in the business at finding people. Or at least knowing people who know people who can find people.”

He’s speaking in his normal, casual manner but he’s stumbling the same way he does when he tries to comfort someone. Tripping over his words. Dasha glances over at Vang0, who’s running a hand through his platinum blond hair and looking like he’s already bored of the conversation.

Dasha turns around and walks to her living room, knowing Burger will follow. The space is small and sparsely decorated. Minimalist in a way that avoids clutter and discourages any clients from feeling too comfortable. Burger Chainz lumbers toward the couch his friend taking the spot beside him. Close but not too close.

“So who exactly are you looking for?” she asks as she sits down on a small armchair.

“Me.”

Dasha raises a well-manicured eyebrow at him, “You?”

Vang0 glances at Burger briefly, a hint of worry in his eyes but Burger just nods to him reassuringly. Dasha notices the big guy lean more into Vang0’s space as he begins to speak, “I wasn’t always the powerful influencer and household name I am today. Actually, it’s a pretty new development.”

Dasha bites her tongue before she can say she’s never heard of him.

“He’s got the uh, the brain fog thing,” Burger chimes in.

“Amnesia,” Vang0 corrects as he rolls his eyes, “I woke up a few weeks ago in a warehouse. I didn’t have much to go on. Just a job and a name. Until this one found me.”

He nudges Burger with his shoulder and Burger smiles down at his hands.

Oh, Dasha thinks.

“Don’t remember anything before that. Tried to research it a bit. Didn’t even know where to begin but Vang0 Bang0’s good with computers so I gave it a shot,” he shrugs, “Couldn’t find anything. Yet. But Burger Chainz said you might be able to help out.”

He pauses. There’s more to ask. More she will ask Burger later about all of this but out of professional courtesy, she lets him continue.

“I could do this myself with enough time but he talked me into coming to you. To speed things up.”

Everything about Vang0 projects a manufactured confidence, including his words. They come off noncommittal but Dasha knows people. How they act, how they think. How desperate they all are to feel like they understand the unknowable, careless world they live in. Vang0 projects arrogance but his eyes bounce around the room, often to Burger, and they’re filled with fear.

Vang0 continues when she doesn’t respond immediately, “It’s whatever though. If you can’t do it, I’m more than capable of doing this myself.”

Dasha offers a tightlipped smile and looks at Burger who’s looking right back at her pleadingly, “Can I talk to you for a minute.”

“Sure, you alright here bud?”

“Yup,” Vang0 replies curtly and as Dasha leads Burger into the kitchen she hears Vang0 say, in a much more enthusiastic voice than she’d heard him use thus far, “Vang0 Bang0, what’s up guys-”

She tunes him out, “I don’t know what exactly you expect me to do here.”

“Uh, your job?”

Dasha rolls her eyes, “How am I supposed to do that when he has no contacts? No names? Links? Leads? Nothing with his name attached to it is more than a few weeks old. Where would I even begin?”

Despite the cybernetic red eye Burger was still capable of a compelling puppy dog face. He wasn’t even trying but he looked so goddamn desperate you’d think it was his own identity on the line here, “I don’t know Dash. I’m not a computer guy and I don’t have your connections, I got no clue how this kinda stuff works. But you’re the smartest person I know and Vang0 needs help. He asked me to help him. I can’t let him down. I’m not good for much more than driving but if anyone can help him it’s you.”

His hand reached out like he meant to put it on her shoulder, then lowered as he thought better of it. She wasn’t the touchy-feely type. Instead he just said in his dumb, earnest voice “Please?”

This is why Dapper Dasha didn’t do friends. They convince you to do things you shouldn’t. Things you know will break their heart and ruin your reputation. One meeting with this guy and Dasha knows her odds of finding anything on Vang0 are as good as his own, which is to say basically nonexistent. But Burger came to her for help. He hadn’t done that since the first time they’d met. When she’d failed at her task for the first time in her otherwise successful career. And her she was about to do it again, willingly this time. Because despite all her best intentions, she cared about the big guy. And because it was obvious from the moment he entered her apartment how much he cared for the obnoxious amnesiac streaming nonsense in her living room.

Dasha sighs resolutely and meets Burger’s eyes, he’s smiling like he already knows he’s won.

“I won’t promise anything-”

She’s cut off by Burger pulling her into a tight hug.

“No. Nope. We aren’t doing this get off.”

He lets her go and beams at her, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever. He better pay me. And you owe me one.”

“Of course. You won’t regret this, Dasha. I swear.”

As she thinks of how much she absolutely will regret this, he brushes past her. He sinks onto the couch next to Vang0, putting his hand on the guy’s shoulder as he starts tells him about Dasha’s “process”.

This is going to be the end of my career, she thinks, melodramatically.

But as she contemplates she watches a small smile grow on Vang0’s face as Burger excitedly talks him through an exaggerated version of the time Dasha had tracked a woman down with nothing more than two digits of her phone number on a dirty napkin. His hands are flying around as he talks and there’s something kinetic in how he talks. There’s a light in his eyes she’s unfamiliar with. One she’s only seen hints of in passing conversation. Her heart damn near clenches as she thinks how far gone her friend is already.

There may be little hope that anything tangible would turn up on Vang0 Bang0’s old self, but if the smile on his face was any indication, Dasha thinks, there may still be hope for these two idiots. And damn if dumb feelings doesn’t make you do stupid, potentially career ruining, things sometimes.

#this is dumb and bad and i apologize but i did it #Anonymous #burgerbang0 #vang0chainz #my fucking tags didnt all go through rip me #answered

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 6 years ago

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Stella and the Wolf - Chapter 12

You can read it here on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here.

The morning of the dance dawns gray and overcast. Stiles doesn’t give a fuck, to be honest, but he does spare a thought for Lydia and what rain does to her hair. He knows she’ll be glowering at weather like this for the dance.

Stiles showers quickly. Stella bangs on the door halfway through, because of course she has to use the bathroom now, and of course she can’t use the one downstairs. Stiles ignores her until she finally tromps away. Stiles climbs out of the shower and then shaves, not sure if he really has to or not, and inspects his face in the mirror. He has dark circles under his eyes, and water beading on the prickles of his hair. Maybe it’s time to grow the buzzcut out? Like, if he survives Peter Hale and the Argents and the absolute apocalypse that is those two forces colliding, maybe that’s something he’ll do. Maybe he should try being a normal teenager with normal teenage worries for a while. Maybe he and Lydia can bond over hair.

Stiles and his reflection regard one another dubiously for a moment, and then he scrubs his towel over his head and turns away from the mirror.

As much as he tries to distract himself with thoughts of the dance, or of potential new hairstyles, or of things that don’t really matter, Stiles finds himself thinking of Derek. Worrying about him. And as much as he tries to summon up a low burn of anger—Derek still hasn’t answered his texts! What an asshole!—he can’t help but worry that for some reason Derek can’t answer him.

And can’t is a much more terrifying word than won’t.

Stiles dresses and heads downstairs to discover that Dad has already gone to work. Stiles isn’t entirely sure he stayed home for more than a few hours last night. Stiles and Stella eat cereal for breakfast and leave the dishes in the sink.

Stiles beats the school traffic to Stella’s school, but catches it at the high school. Nothing says chaos like a few hundred high school kids who haven’t figured out how to park yet. Stiles drums his fingers against the steering wheel of the Jeep while he waits for the line of traffic to move forward so he can snag a parking spot.

He catches a glimpse of Scott on his dirt bike as he parks, and hurries through the parking lot to catch him before he gets to the entrance of the school.

“Scott! Scotty!”

Scott turns and waits.

Stiles reaches him, and opens his mouth, but before he can spill out what happened last night, first at the hospital and then outside Deaton’s, Scott beats him to the punch.

“Dude!” Scott’s eyes are wide. “You won’t believe what happened last night!”

“What?”

“I saved Jackson from Derek Hale!”

Wait… what?

Because that doesn’t compute at all.

“What do you mean you saved Jackson from Derek?” Stiles asks, his forehead creasing. “What’s Jackson go to do with anything anyway?”

“Dude, Jackson’s figured it out!” Scott stares at him for a moment, and then lowers his voice. “The whole werewolf thing.”

“Yeah, I get it. How the fuck did Jackson figure it out?” It’s a little annoying actually, since Stiles likes to pretend that Jackson is a total airhead. It’s only fair, since he looks like a male model. Nobody deserves to be rich and pretty and smart. Especially not a dick like Jackson. “Jackson?”

“I have no idea, man.”

Stiles might. “Did you do an awesome back flip during practice or something?”

“No!” Scott denial rings hollow, and he flushes. “Well, not a back flip! Anyway, suddenly getting good a lacrosse isn’t a decent reason to jump straight to werewolves.”

It’s a fair point, Stiles guesses, except Jackson didn’t jump straight there, did he? This time last week he’d accused Scott of being on steroids.

“So what happened last night?” Stiles asks. “With Derek?”

“I followed Jackson out to the old Hale house,” Scott says. “Dude, he wants the bite!”

“Derek can’t give him the bite.”

“Yeah, but Jackson doesn’t know that.” Scott draws them out of the way of a gaggle of approaching girls. “Anyway, I wouldn’t let him go in the house, and me and Derek fought, and then someone was shooting at us!”

“What?” Stiles feels a thread of panic tighten in his chest. “What time did all this happen?”

“I dunno. About six? Six-thirty?”

Right about the time that Stiles and Stella were Googling weird symbols, and Derek wasn’t answering his phone.

Stiles’s mouth feels dry suddenly. “Is Derek okay?”

“I think so,” Scott says, wrinkling his nose a little. He shrugs. “I guess.”

Shrugs, like it doesn’t matter, and Stiles hates him a little bit for that. Because Derek isn’t the bad guy, whatever Scott thinks. Derek is a victim in all this too, and he wishes Scott could that.

“So who was shooting at you?” he asks.

“I didn’t see them,” Scott says. “Hunters, I guess.”

Stiles shivers and thinks of the Kate Argent.

“Anyway, Derek pushed me and Jackson one way, and took off in the other direction. I think the hunters followed him?”

“Like, on purpose?”

Scott gives him a strange look. “Well, yeah. They’re hunters.”

“No, I mean did Derek lead them off on purpose?”

The expression on Scott’s face tells Stiles this is the first time he’s considered it. And then he shrugs again. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Stiles scrubs a hand over his head. “Was Peter with him?”

“Who?”

“Peter Hale, his uncle,” Stiles says. “The Alpha.”

Scott’s jaw drops. “Dude, you know who the Alpha is?”

“Yeah.” Stiles waves away any potential follow-up questions. Like, how, and when did you find out, and why didn’t you tell me? It’s been less than a day since he spoke to Scott, and it already feels like they’ve moved a million miles in opposite directions.

Last night Stiles thought this whole thing was an avalanche, and he’s right.

It’s picking up speed now, isn’t it?

He presses on. “So was Peter there?”

“I didn’t see him if he was. But Derek wouldn’t let Jackson in the house.”

Peter must have been there, Stiles thinks. And Derek was keeping Jackson away from him so he couldn’t turn him. It might have been a more effective strategy to let them meet, honestly, because who would want a douchebag like Jackson in their pack?

Even Peter Hale can’t be that crazy.

Stiles nods, and tries to focus. “Why didn’t you call me last night?” he asks, pushing down the guilt that asks him the same question.

Why didn’t he call Scott after he found out who the Alpha was?

After he and Stella were threatened by Kate Argent?

It just hadn’t occurred to him, and Stiles doesn’t want to look at it too closely because he’s afraid of what that means. They’ve been friends forever, through everything. There wasn’t supposed to be anything that could drive a wedge between them.

And maybe there isn’t.

Maybe they just need to catch their breath and regroup, right?

“I lost my phone,” Scott tells him. “This is going to sound really weird, but I know I had it in my pocket when the shooting started, then Derek pushed me, and then I didn’t have it anymore. Dude, I think Derek Hale stole my phone!”

What?

Although it’s not the weirdest thing he’s ever heard, is it? Maybe kleptomania is a side effect of lycanthropy. Because why the fuck not? Clearly the universe decided months ago that it didn’t have to make sense anymore.

“Sorry,” Scott says. “I would have called you, bro, if I could have.”

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, wishing he could say the same.

And then the bell rings, and they have to head inside before they’re late for homeroom.

***

Third period English and it hits him, and Stiles rolls his eyes at how long it took him.

Derek has lost his phone.

That’s why he stole Scott’s, and that’s why he couldn’t answer Stiles.

He sends a text to Scott’s number: D? Call me.

He keeps his phone underneath his textbook so he can check to see if Derek answers.

He doesn’t.

***

After school Stiles collects Stella, and hurries home to get ready for the dance. He doesn’t really want to go—mostly because he hasn’t got a date and he’ll look like even more of a loser than ever—but tonight might be a good chance to catch Allison and see if she knows what the fuck her crazy aunt is up to. As long as he can figure out a way to ask without sounding too suspicious.

He drops Stella off at the McCall house, collects Scott, and they head for the school.

He wonders if Scott feels as stupid wearing a suit as he does, but he doesn’t ask. Scott looks way too excited to be meeting up with Allison at the dance, even though he’s not supposed to be going because he’s failing some classes.

Typical. Stiles would actually rather stay home and study, while Scott’s busting his ass to break the rules to go. Clearly they should have figured out some sort of alien body swap arrangement for the night.

The dance is exactly what Stiles thought it would be: awful music, warm punch, and startling amounts of streamers and balloons.

It’s not his scene at all.

Lydia looks gorgeous, of course, and she even manages a frosty smile when Stiles stammers that out when they cross paths at the refreshments table. Then Jackson looms in and escorts her away, looking at Stiles like he’s something he stepped in.

Scott spends most of the evening wither furtively dancing with Allison, or hiding from Finstock and the other teachers.

Someone inevitably spikes the punch.

Stiles sits on the bleachers for a while, trying to look like he’s enjoying himself.

He’s not, and he’s pretty sure it shows.

In the middle of a schmaltzy love ballad, his gaze catches on Lydia as she walks towards the exit. Her silver dress is shining under the lights, and why isn’t she dancing with Jackson?

“Jackson?”

Stiles can’t hear her calling him over the music, but he sees her mouth his name.

Then, looking pissed, she strides outside.

Into the night.

Alone.

And no. Stiles can’t just let her do that. Not when he knows what’s out there.

Stiles pushes through the crowd of people dancing to follow her.

***

“Lydia! Lydia!”

There’s mist laying on the lacrosse field when Stiles her.

She’s standing there, arms hugging herself, staring at the man crossing the field towards them. The mist parts in front of him, and his long jacket billows out behind.

It’s Peter Hale.

It’s the Alpha.

He stands in front of them, his fingers extending into claws.

“I am so very tired,” he says, his lip curling to show his fangs, “of redheads who stink of magic.”

What?

Stiles grabs Lydia by the wrist and tugs her behind him. Her can hear her breath, fast and ragged, and her fingers clench into a fist in the back of his jacket.

“Where’s Derek?” Stiles demands, his voice cracking.

“I was going to ask you the exact same thing.” Peter tilts his head on an angle. “You’ll help me find him, won’t you, Stiles?��

“Yes,” Stiles says, his heart pounding fast. “If you let Lydia go back inside, I’ll help you find him. I think I know how.”

Peter Hale’s mouth curls into a smile. “Clever boy.”

Stiles lets go of Lydia’s wrist, and she runs.

She’s clever too.

#Stella and the Wolf #my fics #sterek #discontentedwinter

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welcometophu · 7 years ago

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Missed Fortunes: Crowns 5

Twinned Book 2: Missed Fortunes

Crowns 5

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Access to special collections at the library requires authorization. One perk of being an upper level Magical Studies student is being pre-authorized for texts concerning Talent as a part of the course. They’re kept in a separate room, the walls lined with glass-front bookshelves, filled with books of all shapes and sizes. Not a one of them was ever mass produced, although several dating from as early as the seventies have been printed from computer texts, and some before that were reproduced by mimeo.

In some ways, it’s a little like mixing texts hand-copied by monks with old school ‘zines.

But every single text is a first-hand account of Talent. Every single text incorporates real life experience, for any number of specialties. They have been carefully cataloged and organized, to a point, although Carolyn wishes they were cross-referenced under more in-depth topics. She knows that Pawel hopes to eventually digitize them, but for now, collecting them in one place is his primary goal, so that the students can learn from a great breadth of Talented experience.

The room is smaller than the main special collections room, but there are two large wooden tables at the center, each with a half dozen chairs. Carolyn leaves her bag on one chair, her laptop open on the table and ready for notes. She can’t take photographs of any of the texts, but she plans typing up notes on as much as she can find.

If she even finds anything.

The magical texts are organized by geographical location first, then by year. Carolyn is positive that there’s a logic behind that, given how different specialties tend to group together, but it’s not helpful right now. It takes hours of searching, starting in the northeast US and spreading from there, before she has managed to find a half dozen texts from areas east of the Mississippi. She steps away from the wall and stretches, pressing her hands at the base of her back as she arches.

There’s a knock on the door; Carolyn turns as it creaks open. She flushes, realizing that she’s been on display through the glass door and large windows. The librarian smiles slightly as she pokes her head in, and it’s almost reassuring. Carolyn wishes she could remember her name. It’d be polite.

“I’m doing just fine,” Carolyn tells her. “Although I’m probably going to be at this for hours.”

“We’re looking for a student hire to help us cross-reference the texts,” the librarian points out with a small smile. “If you happen to know anyone in the Magical Studies program looking for work.”

Carolyn suspects there are plenty, but she’ll pass that information along to her sisters first. “I’ll see if there’s anyone I know,” she tells her. “Don’t worry, I’m being careful with the texts. I’m looking for some fairly specific information.”

“Isn’t everyone who uses this room?” The librarian waves a hand, a silent signal to go on, and backs out, closing the door carefully.

Carolyn sits down at the table, picks up the top book she found, a slim volume hand-written in the late 19th century. It looks like a cross between a diary, a list of recipes, and an old-fashioned spell book. On the first page, the script begins, “This is the story of one Josephine Adams, and her sister Clara, and the things they saw in the cards.”

It sounds like it has promise, anyway.

Carolyn brings up a fresh document, and begins to type in notes. Josephine was fifteen years old when the volume began, and Carolyn flips to the end just to note that according to the date, Josephine was seventeen by that time, and her sister had just turned fifteen. Carolyn keeps track of the time, because anything can affect a reading when it comes to interpreting the cards. She has the advantage of being able to look back and see a greater picture than the girls could see as life unfolded.

She skims through the book, pausing whenever the cards are mentioned. Both Josephine and Clara were being raised in traditional ritual, although they received a hand-drawn deck from their maternal grandmother a year before the book began. While there are periodic sketches of cards from the deck, none of them are detailed enough for Carolyn to be able to see clearly. She can find hints of symbolism, a feeling for what the card was like. It’s enough to make her wonder if the deck itself has been preserved in special collections as well, or if the family still passes it on.

She pauses on a day that shows the Wheel of Fortune at the top, Strength next to it, and the Hanged Man beside that.

We met a family of wolves today. The grandfather could no longer change, his wolf aged and grey about the muzzle, his breath sour and some teeth missing. He curled by the fire, while the mother and father sat with our elders and spoke. We children were sent away.

The eldest of the Clan family—Bernard—tried to argue that he was adult enough to remain, but he was sent with us outside. Clara, of course, peppered him with questions. She has never met a Clan boy before, and made him shift to show his claws, and his teeth. He was gentle with her; for that I am thankful.

She insisted that I Read for him, of course, and he agreed. Even though he snarled and bared his teeth when I brought forth the Cards. He whined as each was laid upon the table, and refused to come to his human form.

I have never laid a Reading before that was entirely of Trump. This family looks to outside sources, both for strength, and for leadership. They have nothing within. When Death was the final card laid, I gathered them all up and told him to be ready for Great Change.

They only stayed through dinner, then left, running on four feet through the woods as if the very Shadows hunted them down. I asked Mother what brought them here, and she refused to answer.

She said that dark times are coming, and Clara and I should not Read. It is not true Talent.

Grandmother disagreed. Clara and I have hidden the deck so Mother cannot take it from us.

The cards are drawn more carefully than other illustrations, and the passage ends with an image of Death. Carolyn pulls back from it, fingers resting lightly upon the image, because this she knows.

This is a Shadowwalker. There is no cloak, no scythe, no rose—none of the traditional symbolism for the card that means change. This is a woman made of darkness, with another in the distance, almost hidden in the shadows that lie around the edge of the card. Death points toward the shadows with one hand, the other beckoning the viewer closer.

A shiver rolls down Carolyn’s back, and she pulls her fingers away.

She should see if these images have enough of whatever power her Talent seeks. Should see if she can bring an illusion from them, raise it up. But not that card. Not that shadowed Death. She knows change is coming; she doesn’t need to invoke it right here in the library.

The image of the Wheel of Fortune looks as if it is dry paint against an old wooden wall. Carolyn brushes her fingers over it—just paper, nothing more—then presses her fingertips closer. She glances at the glass windows and door, hoping no one is watching, then ducks her head again to focus on the picture.

It’s a good image, one that she instinctively feels a kinship toward, but it doesn’t come to life under her touch. The paper stays just paper, with none of the slick, cool feeling that signals the beginnings of an illusion. She slumps back and looks down at the images again.

She’s not sure she’s going to be able to shake that particular image of Death any time soon.

She already broke the rules by touching the paper so roughly when she tried to call the illusion out. As tempting as it is to snap a quick picture, she won’t let herself break the rules again. Instead she pulls out her notebook and quickly tries to copy the sketches of the cards. They don’t seem to have the same vibrancy that the original does, so Carolyn adds a note to ask Kit to take a look at the book.

It’s interesting that whoever created this deck used a Shadowwalker image. She’d love to get her hands on the deck to shuffle through and see what other legends she might find.

Another brief rap against the door, and Carolyn snaps her head up, thankful that she’s not doing anything wrong right this second. Cass wiggles her fingers, then opens the door and slips inside.

“Hey, I was walking by and saw you in here,” Cass says. “I’m probably interrupting, sorry.”

Carolyn’s only managed to make it through one book so far, and she can’t borrow the others that she’s found. At this point, having an ally might make the work go faster.

She nudges one of the remaining books toward an empty chair. “You can help, if you want. I’m looking for any Predictive Talent that references illusionary work, and traveling. I’ve pulled the few references I could find from the eastern side of the States that seem to reference Tarot cards.”

Cass drops her bag on one chair, takes another and opens the book. She wrinkles her nose and coughs delicately. “Dust,” she says.

“Yeah, things get a bit musty in here sometimes.” Carolyn carefully closes the one book and picks up her last. “I’ve spent an awful lot of time in here for someone who isn’t actually majoring in Magical Studies.”

“But Kit is, isn’t he?” Cass says easily. She opens the book in front of her, tilts her head as she runs her finger down the first page. “It’s a minor for me. I haven’t had to do a lot of independent research yet, but I expect I’ll start in the fall. I have to talk to Pawel about my options.”

“Are you Talented?” Carolyn looks away as soon as she asks. The question is rude; everyone has the right not to say whether they are or not. But it seemed like the logical question to ask at the moment. Almost everyone Carolyn knows in the program is Talented in some way.

Silence for a moment, and when Carolyn looks back over, Cass is nodding. “Yes,” Cass says. “Emergent.” She fiddles with the pages, flipping forward and backward slowly in the book. “I don’t like to talk about it much, if that’s okay.”

“It’s fine.” Carolyn lifts the book she’s holding. “So, are you up for helping me out today? Oh, and if you ever need a job on campus, they’re looking to hire a student in the program to work toward cross-referencing the resources in here.”

“That might be a fun project.” Cass stops several pages in, holds up the book so Carolyn can see the images. “This isn’t the same as your deck, right?”

The images are stiff, extremely traditional. The deck that every non-Talented person knew, long before Talent became a household word. Carolyn huffs, because more than likely, this won’t be true Predictive Talent. “No. It’s a mass produced deck, the Rider-Waite Tarot. See if there’s anything about true prediction or guidance in the book, or any unique images.”

“Mm.” Cass bends to her work, and Carolyn does the same.

The book Carolyn looks through is a history of a lineage of Healers, as told through Tarot. The book was written by three generations of women: Prudence, her daughter Patience, and her granddaughter Tempest. In each case, every Healer has two pages to themselves, on which the birth is recorded, along with a card cast on that date for the infant’s fate. Notes are made throughout the years, and cards cast every decade, until the death is noted.

There is no explanation how this line of Predictive women intertwined with the Healers, and Carolyn makes a note to look for further texts from this geographic region in hopes of explanation. It may not help for her project, but it’s interesting, and a little different.

“I thought all texts in this room were from Talented families and communities,” Cass says slowly. “This boy seems to have grown up in a completely mundane household.”

“He could be emergent,” Carolyn murmurs, then pauses as she realizes what she said. “Wait.” She carefully marks the page she was reviewing, and sets the one book aside before reaching. “Let me take a look at that.”

“Sebastian Edwards Smith,” Cass says. She slides closer to Carolyn, sharing the book between them. “There’s a photo tucked into the book here, with his name on the back. It’s interesting, actually. He found the deck in a home when his parents moved in the 1950s. Like you said, it’s just a standard deck that was available at the time. But after he worked with it, he both claimed to be able to talk to spirits, and to tell the future. He was talking shit about the ghosts—he writes about it in this book. But the cards really did guide him, and he started drawing his own and it got even better.”

Sebastian. A Predictive Talent named Sebastian, and literally the first reference to a male of Predictive Lineage who holds the Talent. Carolyn dashes off a quick text with the name of the book, the location in the room, and a note that Kit should take a look at it.

She goes to set her phone down and pauses, adding, If you get a chance, can you do me a favor? I would really really love if you could sketch the special collections room for texts concerning Talent. I want to see if I can use it to travel.

Carolyn has a theory, and if she’s right, she and Kit may need to work together.

“How is the search for illusions going?” Cass releases the book completely to Carolyn, putting a little more space between them.

“Still struggling to figure out how it really works, but I’ve got some ideas. Some things seem to work better for me than others,” Carolyn admits. “I wish it could just be any picture. It’d be nice if I could just open my phone and look at a picture of a place and go there, right?”

“It sounds both amazing and convenient,” Cass says, sighing. “Very different than what Mac does. She can just pop around line of sight.”

“As open of a secret as that is in the house these days, we probably shouldn’t talk about it,” Carolyn says. She knows Mac is still careful, and doesn’t want the world knowing that she’s Kenzie Davis, the first girl who publicly Emerged on national television. Carolyn doesn’t blame her, either. It seems awkward, and uncomfortable, to be in that public a position.

Cass nods. “You have a point.” She drums her fingers on the table, but makes no move to take the book back.

She wants something. But she’s not saying what she wants.

There isn’t much that people come to Carolyn for. Relationship advice lately, but she can’t imagine Cass wanting or needing that. She’s been with Dax for a long time, and despite occasional arguments, they seem solid. Which means Cass must want a reading.

Carolyn carefully closes her research books, ensures she knows exactly which ones she was working with, and how far she got. She wants to take another look at the one by Sebastian, probably with Kit in tow. But the other two she may be done with. The Healer one intrigues her from the sociological viewpoint, and she wants to return to it another time. She has a vague idea of looking at the psychology and sociology of the intersection between types of Lineage Talent as her final thesis project.

At the rate she’s going, she wonders if she can minor in both Sociology and Magical Studies before she graduates. She might have enough credits.

Once the books are away and her laptop closed, she reaches into her bag and draws out her Tarot notebook and deck. She spills the cards out and shuffles them a few times, then holds the deck out to Cass.

“Are you sure?” Cass asks, and Carolyn nods.

“Shuffle a few times, until you feel ready, then cut the deck. I’ll give you a full reading,” she offers, even though Cass never quite managed to ask.

Cass shuffles the cards carefully, moving slowly like she’s trying to read the cards with her fingertips. Carolyn wonders if that’s what Cass does, if she can somehow look past objects into the lives around them. She has to promptly discard that thought before she falls down a rabbit hole of somehow thinking that Cass is using her deck to spy on her. That wouldn’t make sense.

Cass finally sets the deck down without cutting it, nudges it toward Carolyn. “I was thinking about challenges I’m facing right now,” she says quietly. “Not romantic ones. Kind of familial ones, and social.”

“Okay, we’ll do a three card spread, but a little differently than the past/present/future that I usually do for quick readings.” Carolyn lays out the top three cards from the deck, from left to right. “This is your current situation, the challenges you face, and some guidance to help you get through.”

Cass tugs her braid loose, finger combs her hair as she sits back. She pulls her hair back from her face, redoing it into a high ponytail.

It’s a nervous gesture. Carolyn might not be good at people, but she’s picked up at least a few things from Heather.

“You’re balanced,” she says, touching the Four of Wands, where a girl dances between four wands and four roses, balanced and joyful. “At this exact moment, you’ve figured out how to balance everything. Your family. Your sisters. Dax. Schoolwork. It’s probably pretty delicate, but it’s a good feeling. The thing is, anything that perfectly balanced has a way of falling.”

She picks up the next card, turns it right side up so Cass can see the pentacle surrounded by ruins, but also awash in the glowing light of a new day. “An ace is a good card,” she says. “Aces are about new beginnings, but your ace is upside down, so the new beginning may not be something you want, or need right now. It has the potential to go really well, but it’s also a challenge. And challenges don’t always go as you hoped. This particular card is usually about money coming in, or something to do with creativity and talent. It’s a card of success. If you have a job, it could mean that you have the potential to start something wonderful and new with that job, but that it’s also very dependent upon your personal talent. Or even Talent.” Carolyn trusts that Cass understands that difference between those two words.

Cass leans her elbows on the table, shoulders tense. She touches the third card in the reading. “Okay. So I’m balanced, and it sounds like whatever new beginning is an option is going to toss me off balance and onto my ass. Why does it look like my guidance is going to walk off a cliff?”

“Remember that everything in the Tarot is symbolic. Just like Death means change, this cliff is symbolic, too,” Carolyn says. “The Fool is about innocence. It’s about trusting those around you, and about being spontaneous. The Fool is, in some ways, almost a direct opposite to your current situation. You are so tightly balanced that you could fall. The Fool encourages you to open up, play a little looser. See what happens when you let chance in. You may not be able to plan for everything in your life, and if you follow the Fool, it might be easier to handle the unexpected.”

Cass taps her fingernails on the table, shoulders taut, jaw set. “Okay. So. Stop being a control freak, that’s what it says, right? Because I can’t actually control what’s happening, and if it gets out of control, it’ll be okay.”

“And trust your family and friends. Don’t let anyone push you off that cliff,” Carolyn taps the dog that nips at the Fool’s heels. “But at the same time, remember that there people who would warn you away, too. Listen to them.”

She gathers the cards up, carefully puts them back in the bag. Cass remains silent while Carolyn sketches the layout, and makes notes on what interpretation she used for the positions of the cards, and their meanings. When she’s finished, Cass is still staring at the table, drawing one fingernail along the grain of the wood.

“Cass,” she says quietly, and Cass’s head snaps up. “We all know that you’re really reserved. You can be bubbly, sure, but you keep everything important all knotted up inside. Maybe you need to undo some of those knots and let people in. Not just Dax, but your sisters, too.”

Cass licks her lips, then nods. She smiles slowly, although it never reaches her eyes, and touches Carolyn’s hand. “Thanks. You’ve given me something to think about,” she says. She glances down at her phone, shows the time to Carolyn. “It’s late. We’d better get back and get ready to go over to Paint it Red.”

It’s a lot later than Carolyn thought. “Yeah. Shit.” She finishes packing her things up, putting her resources back on the shelf. “We’ll have to hurry back.”

Cass tilts her heads, holds her hand out, palm up. “You were able travel to that illusion of your room. Think you could take someone through it?”

Possibly. Probably.

Maybe.

And if she can’t, it could be an epic disaster.

“I don’t think I want to chance it, and it doesn’t exactly work on demand,” Carolyn mutters, ignoring the fact that the picture is easily accessibly if she wants to test the theory. “Let’s just walk back. We’ll make it in time.”

She’ll test it eventually. She knows she has to. She just wants to be a little more certain that it’s going to work. And she’s not sure she wants to test it with Cass.

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #missed fortunes #phu twinned #twinned #mf crowns

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duhragonball · 7 years ago

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (88/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[25 May, 234 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

There was a killer on Planet Saiya, a cold-blooded murderer who hunted Saiyans with a lethal, fast-acting poison. Zatte had taken her wife's star-yacht, the Emerald Eye in search of a way to stop this assassin once and for all.

Like all Dorluns, Zatte was a survivalist, and so she took every possible precaution for her journey. In particular, there was the possibility that the killer might learn of her investigation and sneak aboard the ship to kill her before she could uncover the the truth. In fact, Zatte somewhat hoped this would happen, as her entire investigation had been bait for a trap. She had learned that the killer's poison was derived from proteins found in Dorlun blood. As a Dorlun herself, Zatte would be naturally immune to its effects, which gave her an edge against the killer in the event of a confrontation. The killer was almost certainly Dorlun as well, and while Zatte couldn't be certain what other tricks he might have up his sleeve, she was certain that she could overpower him physically. She was married to the Super Saiyan after all, and years of training with Luffa had made Zatte into quite possibly the strongest Dorlun alive.

So if the killer had stowed away on the ship, Zatte would be pleased, but that didn't mean she would make it easy for him. One hour after leaving the Saiya system, Zatte sealed off the bridge from the rest of the ship, and ordered the ship's computer to run continuous scans for life signs on all decks. An hour later, she programmed the computer to depressurize various sections of the ship, while flooding others with pure nitrogen gas.

Every Dorlun was born with a unique ability. Zatte could manipulate energy, which she generally used for the purpose of camouflaging herself. Bending light waves around her body would make her invisible to the naked eye, as well as devices that relied on electromagnetic radiation. She could also do something similar with her own life energy, enabling her to use her ki without being detected by ki sensitive adepts. Not even Luffa's sharp ki senses could overcome this ability, although Luffa's keen sense of smell was much harder to fool. Theoretically, Zatte could hide herself aboard a starship for several days without being noticed by anyone, but she still needed air, water, and food. Another Dorlun might use different abilities to hide, but the same basic necessities would have to be addressed. Zatte hoped that by controlling the life support system, she could seize the initiative. If there was a stowaway on board, he would need air, and he would have to go to the parts of the ship where Zatte wanted him to go.

If he made it onto the bridge unseen and unheard, he would still have to breathe, and the ship's computer could measure the oxygen consumption in the room. Zatte had programmed it to alert her if the oxygen usage increased enough to indicate the presence of a second life form, no matter how small. Periodically, she walked around the deck, firing a plasma pistol set to produce a wide-dispersal stun ray. She would shoot at every surface on the deck, just in case her enemy might have some way to get around her other safeguards.

"Be careful," she chuckled as she finished her latest sweep with the pistol. Those had been Luffa's last words to her before she departed Planet Saiya. It was sweet of her wife to show such concern, but it was a silly thing to ask of a Dorlun. It was another reminder that they were truly alien to one another. Their marriage hadn't always gone well, but considering the cultural gap between them, it was probably impressive that they'd made things work for as long as they had.

She sat down in the captain's chair and ordered the computer to resume a playlist of music she had arranged for the trip. "Deep thule" had once been her preferred genre of music, but over the years she had acquired an appreciation for wave dyspro. It wasn't exactly toe-tapping fare, but she found the Dysprosium-style bands were good for background music while she read. She wasn't sure how that worked for concerts. Maybe their fans just stayed in their seats and read books during the show.

As she chewed on a ration bar, she glanced up at the main viewer occasionally. It was set to display a continuous readout on the sensor sweeps and life sign readings she had requested. In one hour, she would fire her pistol on the bridge again. Until then she hoped that she could knock out two more chapters of the novel she was reading.

She was not alone.

*******

[25 May, 234 Before Age. Planet Pflaume.]

Pflaume was an ice giant, a planet much larger than Saiya, or the other terrestrial worlds where humanoids typically lived. The only solid portion was at its core. Above this was a dense, superfluid mantle composed of ammonia, methane, and water. Above this lay a thick atmosphere of mostly hydrogen and helium, with clouds of hydrogen sulfide and ammonia. To cope with this hostile environment, Pflaume City was constructed to remain aloft in the toxic atmosphere. It was more like a space station than a planetary settlement, but its residents took pride in living in such an inhospitable place, even if they were completely sheltered from its hazards.

Over the years, Pflaume City became an important port-of-call, and this economic importance eventually attracted the idle rich, who enjoyed the novelty of living in such a unique place. The higher levels of the city were reserved for its most elite residents, and the most prized real estate on the station lay upon its uppermost level. There, a great dome displayed a real-time image of the violet Pflaumian sky. It was like standing on a terrestrial planet, only to be surrounded by a vast storm far grander than anyone could imagine. There were municipal parks that allowed the public to enjoy the view, but to actually own property under the dome was ridiculously expensive. To rent a modest apartment under the dome cost more than the price of some entire planets.

The King of the Saiyans, Rehval III, owned an entire private villa on the dome level. He enjoyed showing it off to anyone he met.

Luffa was not impressed.

"You found the doorway," he said pleasantly. "I had a feeling you would."

Behind Luffa was a glowing magic portal about the size and shape of a door. Though she had only taken a single step to pass through it, she had somehow traveled trillions of miles from an underground facility on Planet Saiya. She glanced back and noticed that the passage had begun to shrink and fade away, but this didn't concern her, since she wouldn't need to go back anytime soon.

"You've got a lot of explaining to do," Luffa said.

"Of course," Rehval said. The king was sitting on a stone bench, sipping tea from an expensive looking cup. As always he wore clothes of a particular shade of blue, which symbolized the royal line that had ruled the Saiyans for three generations. Usually, he dressed in a suit that resembled the sort of formal attire worn by alien diplomats and heads of state. Today, he looked more like some sort of monk. His tunic and pants were of a very simple, functional design, and he wore no shoes at all.

Standing behind the bench was a woman with rose-colored skin, although the hood of her blue silken robes obscured her face. Luffa thought she noticed some blue hair peeking out of the hood when the woman leaned forward to refill his cup. The tea was steaming hot, and yet she cradled the teapot with her bare hands without any sign of discomfort.

"I know you're excited to see Luffa in person, my dear," Rehval said, looking back to his companion, "but she and I have much to discuss first."

"We had an appointment this morning," Luffa said, struggling to contain her rage. "We were going to catch the Saiyan-killer today, remember?"

He let out an amused snort. "An appointment," he said. "I was hoping you'd call it a date. We're all alone out here, Luffa. You don't have to feel self-conscious about it."

"Knock that crap off," Luffa said. "You've been playing me from the start!"

"Like a fiddle," he admitted. "But some instruments just can't be tuned, no matter how gifted the musician is. Still, it was fun to try."

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Luffa demanded.

"I'm talking about power, Luffa. Like most Saiyans, you equate power with physical strength. You think yourself to be the most powerful Saiyan because you're the strongest one, and your strength does make you powerful, but your power lacks scope. Strength is only one dimension of power. A man might be too weak to swim against the current of a mighty river, but if he swims at an angle, he can still manage to cross to the other side. And if he builds a water wheel along its banks to harness the river's power for his own ends? If he uses that power to build machines and uses them to change the very course of the river to suit his ends, is the man still weak? Is the river still mighty?"

"Is this going to be about how smart you are?" Luffa asked. "Because I get this kind of speech all the time. 'You may be strong, Super Saiyan, but my devious plan will blah blah blah' and maybe a death ray or something, and then I break every bone in their hands. If a man drowns in a river, no one cares how clever he was. If they think about him at all, they just call him "That Idiot Who Screwed Around With a River When He Should Have Known Better."

Rehval laughed. "You're right, I apologize," he said. "You've fought so many battles in your time, and all of your enemies probably felt very confident that they had an answer to your superior force. It must sound very cliche. I'll try to be more original."

Luffa shook her wrist, gesturing for him to get on with it.

"What I'm saying is that it's not just about being smart, or just being strong. It's about having options, so you can adapt to any situation. That's what my grandfather believed when he assumed the throne all those years ago. There were a lot of naysayers back then. Anti-monarchists-- like you and your mother-- who rejected the very idea of a Saiyan King. Saiyans who thought that the throne should be awarded in ritual combat. Saiyans who thought kings were only relevant in wartime. Rehval the First sought to change all that. He forged the Saiyan people into something resembling a real nation."

"And then he handed it off to his bastard son," Luffa said with a sneer. "Typical nepotism. You fools get a little bit of authority, and then you think it runs in the family."

"You're absolutely right," Rehval said. "My father didn't deserve the throne, but you shouldn't judge him too harshly. As a king, he carried on my grandfather's work, and he maintained order, more or less. He was more of a steward than a king, really. He was just keeping the throne warm for my brother."

"Your brother?" Luffa asked. For a moment, she was about to point out that he was an only child, but then she remembered the way she had learned this. In an effort to win her trust, Rehval had invited her to sift through his thoughts with her telepathic powers, and she had blithely assumed that any information she found would be genuine. Somehow, though, he had managed to lie to her in spite of this. Even now, when she knew that he had thwarted her mental abilities, it was still difficult to accept that she had been fed disinformation.

"My grandfather insisted that his line use a standard order of succession," Rehval said. "The oldest living male offspring becomes the next king. He was very high on bringing rule of law to the Saiyan race. No contests for leadership, no civil wars or usurpers. It worked well for so many alien governments, so why not us? That was why he made sure his grandchildren were educated off-planet. We went to some of the finest schools in the galaxy. What did your parents do for your schooling, Luffa? I'm guessing it was some run-of-the-mill computer software. I can promise you, you didn't miss anything. Two plus two is four no matter how much you pay someone to tell you that. The history of the Camelian Empire is the same no matter how far you travel. It's the little things that matter with education. The moments no one plans for, or the insights and opportunities that can't be written on a syllabus."

"And that's how you learned to resist mind-readers?" Luffa asked.

"You're getting ahead of me," Rehval said. "I studied alien histories because my father and grandfather thought they were important. My older brother was supposed to become king, not me. That was the rule of law. Even if I could have challenged him for the throne, I'd lose, because he was so much stronger. I was just the backup plan, in case he died unexpectedly. And that got me wondering about why he was born stronger. Why is one Saiyan naturally weaker than another? Why are some Saiyans born with great strength, while others have to work to achieve it? I trained very hard, Luffa, but my power never increased much at all, and I never came close to rivaling my brother."

"Maybe you should have tried harder," Luffa scoffed. "Instead of looking for excuses in the back of some textbook."

"I did both," Rehval said. "But the textbook was where I found the answer. We Saiyans have had a poor understanding of genetics. We think a child should be strong simply because its parents were strong, but it's much more complicated than that. Your parents were never Super Saiyans, yet here you are. My parents were strong, but my brother and I didn't inherit equal shares of that potential. Do you know why that is?"

"Who cares?" Luffa asked. "My father tried to game that system, Rehval. Remember him? He thought he could take my suffering and use it to increase his own strength."

"No, you don't understand," Rehval said. "I wasn't looking to steal someone else's abilities like your father. I wanted to bypass the game entirely. Fate made me the younger brother. Genetics left me at a disadvantage. Political theory wouldn't save me. If I usurped the throne, I would only be setting a precedent for others to usurp it from me. I needed options, so I found some. A classmate of mine told tales of magic-users who occasionally wandered through his home sector. Most of the students didn't listen to him, but I did. I asked him to tell me more. And from there..."

"You studied alchemy," Luffa said. "You told me it was your father's lab, that he was the one who spent all his free time trying to tinker with nature, but it was you all along, wasn't it?"

Rehval nodded. "I considered enrolling in the academy on Planet Gwarthos, but their record-keeping system is too meticulous, and I didn't want there to be any transcript of what I'd learned. Instead, I went to a remote asteroid and learned at the feet of an adept believed to have been dead for decades. My father and brother thought I was studying Camelian art theory, but when I returned to Planet Saiya, I brought with me the means to secure the throne for myself." He held up his hand and pretended to squeeze an imaginary eyedropper. "The next semester, I dosed my brother's food slowly, just enough to make him sick, but not enough to arouse suspicion. He and I were the only two Saiyans at that private school. It wasn't hard for me to switch places with him, and while I assumed his identity there, I worked on my plan to complete my disguise. Within a year, the true Rehval III was dead, and I, the pseudo-Rehval, took his name and his birthright."

"Then what's your real name?" Luffa asked.

"It doesn't matter," Rehval said. "Over the next few years, I learned to construct talismans that would bend others to my will. Eventually, I was able to drop my disguise entirely, and my father and anyone else who mattered believed that I had been the true Rehval III all along. The name my mother gave me became meaningless. The true power of alchemy lies in mystery, Luffa. When the great masters record their secrets, they use the names of other, more prominent figures to make their works seem more important. I have done the same."

"You're a disgrace!" Luffa snarled. "Where's your Saiyan pride?!"

"I swallowed it," Rehval said. "My birthname was a small price to pay for the chance to shape the future of our people. That was how I bypassed the system, Luffa. Your father tried to game the system, but I changed the rules. Did I ever tell you why I like elevators? I remember we talked about it one night, but I don't think I got around to explaining that."

"What does that have to do with--?!" Luffa began to protest.

"On most planets," Rehval went on, "the ones with cities and tall buildings, the ground floor would be the most expensive to rent. Rich people wouldn't want to take the stairs, and landlords would exploit that to their advantage, charging higher rent for lower floors. So a ground floor apartment would be seen as a sign of luxury and status, while the higher floors were left to the rabble. It doesn't make a lot of sense to people like us who can fly, I know, but take my word for it, it holds true on every planet with stairs. "But in every intelligent society, once the elevator is introduced, aha!" He snapped his fingers for effect, and Luffa winced with irritation. "Now, it's easy to move up and down a tall building. Overnight, the paradigm shifts. Now the rich demand to live on the top floors, where they can enjoy the view, or the satisfaction of being higher up than everyone else. Suddenly, what was once despised becomes important. That's the power of elevators, Luffa. That's the kind of power I crave. Not to make the rules, or to break them, but to redefine what rules are."

"You gave up your birthname so you could pretend to be the guy who invented elevators?" Luffa asked. It was a gross oversimplification of what he had said, but she couldn't resist the taunt.

"The Saiyan race had no future before my grandfather took control," Rehval said. "I learned that while I studied the history of other cultures. We Saiyans have no such history. Just a collection of superstitious folk tales passed down from mother to daughter. Everything else was lost and forgotten."

"Because those superstitious folk tales are all that really matter!" Luffa insisted. "They're all we need to know who we are and how we should live! But I guess your mother didn't get that message across! You won't even use the name she gave you!"

"I never said the old stories don't matter," Rehval said. "I'm saying that they're not all that matter. We can have more, but only if we unite as one people under one king and take responsibility for ourselves! It goes against our warrior nature, perhaps, but a strong ruler can force us all together. A strong dynasty can maintain that unity for however long it takes to forge the Saiyan race into a true culture!"

"And your damned sorcery lets you improve on what your grand-daddy started, is that it?" Luffa said. She turned her head and spit. "I've met half-breeds with more conviction than you, 'Rehval'. A true Saiyan doesn't look for shortcuts."

"Then I'm not a true Saiyan," Rehval said evenly. "I'm willing to sacrifice my identity to ensure the future of our species! It's a small price to pay. Tell me, Luffa, what are you willing to do for the Saiyan race? Lead by example? You'll just fight a series of empty wars until you die of old age."

A devious grin spread over Luffa's face. "That does sound like a pretty good life," she said.

"It does, doesn't it?" Rehval said. "I envy our ancestors, who could fight without a care in the world, but destiny has other plans for us, Luffa."

"That's what this is all about, isn't it?" she asked. "There never was a Saiyan killer. You arranged all those murders just so you could ask for my help. This whole time, you were scouting me for your stupid 'destiny plan'."

He sipped his tea and smiled. "You never cease to amaze me, Luffa. I wove a very complex web of deceit, and you still manage to cut straight to the heart of the matter. You're right, of course. I do need you. And since you haven't tried to kill me yet, I assume that you're willing to at least hear my proposal."

*******

[25 May 234 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

Stealing aboard the Emerald Eye was child's play. Avoiding its various security systems was mildly challenging, but she had experience with these matters, and it was no great obstacle for her. The loss of cabin pressure in certain parts of the ship was at most an inconvenience, but nothing she couldn't handle. The sections of the ship pressurized with nitrogen but no oxygen, on the other hand... Those were a different story: they didn't bother her at all.

All in all, it was a disappointing defense, but Zatte was setting a trap, not a fortification. It was only supposed to seem like a thorough defense, and so one had to admire the thoroughness of the ruse. An unsuspecting intruder would have been completely fooled.

The only hard part was entering the bridge without making any noise. Fortunately, Zatte had solved that problem by playing music loud enough to drown out the pneumatic mechanism that opened the door from the lift. One simply had to climb the lift shaft, cut power to the door, and open it manually, releasing the pressure on the pneumatics slowly enough to cut down on the noise.

This allowed her onto the bridge, directly behind the captain's chair. From there, it was just a matter of closing the door behind her, and waiting patiently for the right moment to strike. When she was ready, she stealthily crept up behind Zatte's chair, drew her knife, and...

Suddenly Zatte leaped out of her seat and fired a pistol. The beam was wide enough that it didn't hit her very hard, but it was enough to knock her off her feet. And when Zatte looked directly at her, she realized that her power had been disrupted as well.

Very nice, she thought as she rolled to her feet.

"What the hell are you?!" Zatte demanded.

The intruder smiled and pointed at herself. "plibortuN vehasS, zattE," she said cordially. "That's the special greeting, right? That's how we prove to each other we're really Dorluns, isn't it?"

"Computer!" Zatte shouted. "Identify intruder life readings!"

"No life readings detected," replied the ship's computer.

The woman laughed. "I love this part," she said. "Usually I kill the mark before they ever really get a handle on what they're dealing with, but you! Oh, you'll take a while, so you've got plenty of time to work this out."

Zatte never took her eye off the intruder, and backed away slowly. "Computer," she asked. "Calculate oxygen consumption on the bridge. Does the oxygen demand indicate the presence of a second life form?"

"Negative," the computer replied.

"You're not breathing," Zatte said. "That's how you managed to stow away on all those other ships before you got to Planet Saiya. You don't put off any life signs because you're...."

"Bingo," the intruder cheered. "You were pretty clever, figuring out the Dorlun connection, but then you got cocky, and assumed that your enemy would be just like a Dorlun. And I am Dorlun, mostly, except for one teensy thing: I'm dead."

Zatte pointed at the woman's face. "You don't look like any Dorlun corpse I've ever seen, lady," she said. "Red skin, blue hair? And you look exactly like me. You've even got an eyepatch like mine, even though it's on the wrong eye."

"I know, right?" the intruder said. She gestured to the eyepatch proudly. "It's pretty awesome, but not a lot of people would get the reference. Just you and your friends and your wife, I guess. How is Luffa, by the way?"

"You leave her out of this," Zatte said.

"Leave her out of it?" the intruder laughed. "I was created because of her! Do you think my master would have gone to all this trouble otherwise? Do you know how long it takes to build a homunculus template? To customize it? To imprint it with superficial memories of the original?"

"Homunculus?" Zatte asked.

"Right, I should probably explain that," the intruder said. "I said I was 'dead', but that sort of implies that I used to be alive, and that isn't true. You wouldn't call a rock 'dead', for instance. 'Nonliving' would be more appropriate, but I like the way 'dead' rolls off the tongue. Makes me sound badass. Do you think Luffa would like that?"

"Why did you kill all those Saiyans?" Zatte demanded.

"Because they sucked!" the intruder replied. She threw up her hands and laughed. "Why does anyone do anything, Zatte? I'm a Dorlun, only I'm not a Dorlun, you get it? I'm not alive, so survival doesn't mean much to me. Instead of keeping myself alive like some people in this room, I make sure other people end up dead. You and me, we're like polar opposites, you get it?"

"Then why are you here?" Zatte asked. "If you're telling me you aren't even alive, then why would you care if I exposed your identity? You could have hidden on Planet Saiya for as long as you wanted!"

The intruder laughed. "Oh, you really are clueless, aren't you? I hope I don't sound that dumb when I talk. See, you thought you were being so clever, trying to set a trap for me by investigating my murders. And I was supposed to take the bait to keep you from finding out who I am. Except I'm nobody, Zatte. If you want to give me a name, you can call me Pozet. That's what my master calls me, but it really makes no difference to me."

"Pozet?!" Zatte asked.

"You like it?" she asked. "In the Dorlun language, it means the opposite of your name."

"That's sick!" Zatte said.

"Thanks," Pozet said. "Anyway, like I was saying, you thought you were bait to trap me, but you had it backwards. I was the bait to trap you. And here we are. Just you and me, and no Super Saiyans around to get in our way." She reached for a second knife holstered to the leg of her pants and pointed it menacingly at Zatte. "So... are you as excited about this as I am?"

Zatte's eye was wide with horror, and her mouth hung open in shock, so she had no reply to offer, but Pozet chose to take that as a "yes".

*******

[25 May 234 Before Age. Planet Pflaume.]

"A homunculus," Rehval explained. I knew very little about your wife, but I did learn that Zatte was hospitalized on Planet Extraliga for a time, and it wasn't difficult to hire someone to infiltrate the nursing staff and obtain hair and blood samples. More than enough to imprint her characteristics upon an alchemical construct."

He gestured to the woman standing behind him, and she lifted her hood, revealing a face identical to Zatte's only with red skin and blue hair, rather than the blue skin and red hair typical of Dorluns.

"I call her 'Pozet', he said. She's not really alive, but she resembles Zatte closely enough to give me some insight into that aspect of your life. I needed to understand you, Luffa. Friend or foe, I needed to know as much as I could learn about how your mind works."

Luffa glared at the creature, who now smiled at her with mock affection. "It even has her ability," she said dispassionately. "I was trying to figure out how it could hold that teapot without burning its hands, but it's using energy manipulation. Keeping the tea hot for you."

"I customized the formula to replicate important aspects of Zatte, while reversing certain others," Rehval said. "The color swap was an aesthetic choice. Your wife is a survivor, my Pozet exists only to take life away. She's even taught me some Dorlun phrases."

"Mostly pillow talk," Pozet said. "If you'd like, I can teach you--"

Luffa raised her hand and fired an energy blast at Pozet's forehead. It passed through her quite harmlessly, and destroyed a hill several dozen yards behind her.

"Ooh, spicy!" Pozet said.

"I thought you would have realized by now, Luffa," Rehval said. "The two of us aren't actually here. You're speaking to a image being projected from elsewhere in the city."

"I'm well aware of your cowardice," Luffa said bitterly. "I was just hoping your creature was really standing here, since you seem to consider it expendable."

"Not expendable," Rehval said as he patted Pozet's wrist. "Renewable. Since Pozet isn't truly alive, I can impart her essence onto as many homunculi as I can create. Currently, I have three of them active right now. This one stays here on Pflaume City to attend my villa while I'm away. The second is still lurking around Planet Saiya, continuing to kill Saiyans until I give her the order to stop, and the third is on your ship, securing your wife for me."

"You manufactured this whole Saiyan-killer business, just to lure me here," Luffa said, and you're telling me it's still killing people?"

"Of course she's still killing people," Rehval said. "You and I still haven't caught her yet. It would arouse suspicion if the murders suddenly stopped without explanation. My hope is that you and I come to terms, and then we go back and capture the killer together, and the public will celebrate our successful partnership."

Luffa threw back her head and made a low, angry groan. "You've been deceiving me this entire time, and yet you actually think I'm going to help you lie to your own people? I'll give you this much, Rehval, you may not have any Saiyan pride, but you make up for it in sheer gall."

"Thank you," he said. "That actually means a lot to me, since bile is considered an important bodily humor in alchemical theory. It gives me hope, Luffa, that despite all that's happened between us, we can still work together."

"Then you're deceiving yourself," Luffa said. "I followed you here to kill you."

"Yes, I know," Rehval said. "And that is why I withdrew to Pflaume City, Luffa. On Saiya, there was always a chance you might destroy the planet and escape in your starship. But now, your ship is far from here, so if you do anything reckless here, you risk rupturing the hull of this city."

He pointed at the dome above them, which displayed the torrent of purple clouds raging around them from all sides. "There's no oxygen out there, Luffa. You might be strong enough to survive the winds, but the toxic gases would suffocate you, and even if you had a spacesuit, there would be nowhere for you to go."

She glanced up at the dome, and then back at him. "Cute," she said. "I don't sense any other life forms on the city, either. You must have killed them-- No, you arranged for them to evacuate the place. That way, they'd take all their ships with them. The only way out is that portal I stepped through, and I'm guessing you're the only one who can open it."

"That's right," Rehval said. Pozet chuckled triumphantly while he leaned forward and steepled his fingers. "The only way off this planet alive is through me, Luffa. So you may as well take the time to hear what I have to say."

NEXT: Saiyan and Super Saiyan

#dragon ball #fanfiction #super saiyan #luffa #lssjluffafic #zatte #pozet #rehval #pflaume #sorry to go so long between updates #just felt more motivated to write than edit #so i decided to swim with the current #and these next several chapters are important so i wanted to get everything right

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thewinsisterchronicles · 8 years ago

Text

What You’ve Done (P4)

Trigger Warning: mentions of abuse, throwing up, flashbacks, some swearing

see bottom for a/n and tags

You have two days to bring me Y/N. I’ve found out some… devilish details about Sammy boy. Would be a shame if people were to find out about them.

Click.

The three of them sat there in silence. Sam sat on the chair in the library, fingers hovering over the phone in front of him. He had no idea how Clyde had gotten his number; they’d only met once. He didn’t even have the same brand of phone at the time.

Y/N had her elbows propped on the table, sitting beside the chair across from Sam. Her fingers were woven together, her mouth masked by them. Her eyes were squinted slightly, brows scarcely pulling together. Sam looked between her and Dean, but neither twitched their gaze from the floor or the table; they were exactly still, Dean leaning against the wall, facing slightly away from them. His face was pulled into an expression of confusion.

“So,” Sam coughed. “What-”

“How the hell did he get your number?” Dean asked harshly. He seemed... tense. Irrationally so.

“I don’t know,” Sam replied honestly. “We haven’t seen him in years. Beats me how he did it.”

“He has a lot of pull in communications.” Y/N spoke from her seat, unmoving. “He’s got connections everywhere. Clyde gets notified every time someone important gets a new phone, and he knows how to find and track the signal. It’s easy as putting together a jigsaw puzzle for him.”

“Great,” Dean muttered. “That’s just friggin’ awesome.”

“Well, he can’t track us here,” Sam optimised. “The bunker keeps us protected from trackers and magic; we’re untraceable as long as we’re here.”

The boys mulled it over. Y/N’s face twitched for a fraction of a second; Sam barely caught it.

“Y/N?” he asked. “What is it?”

“He knows you’re the vessel,” she stated simply. The boys looked at each other warily.

“What d’you mean?” Sam inquired.

“Everybody knows you boys have died more often than not,” she mused, “and that you kickstarted the apocalypse, and that you’ve both been possessed by angels. That’s old news. They know what you’ve done- even if they don’t know how you did it.” She paused, mulling something over in her mind. “Though, they don’t know about the whole ‘truest-vessel’ or whatever the hell it is you two are. I think that’s what Clyde’s on about. It wasn’t exactly rocket science to figure out.”

“What?” Dean questioned with malice. He straightened up from against the wall. “We never told you that; doubt Cas did either.”

Sam shifted slightly, shooting a warning glance at Dean. Y/N looked up from the table.

“I’ve read enough lore to know that archangels need some super-special meatsuit.” Turning her body to face him, she crossed her legs and leaned back. Dean raised an eyebrow. “I’d heard about the… temporary ones. They didn’t last nearly as long as they did with you two boys. I put two and two together…” she shrugged. “Wasn’t a big discovery. You boys always seem to be in the middle of everything. Made sense.”

“Yeah, w-well,” Dean faltered. His lips formed words that never left his mouth. He swallowed, glancing at Sam. His brother shrugged.

“Why would Clyde get out of people knowing I’m Lucifer’s vessel?” Sam smoothed over the bump with a question. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“The raw truth doesn’t really benefit him” Y/N conceded, tracing the knuckle of her right thumb with her index finger. “It’s what he twists it into that matters.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked.

“It means,” she explained slowly as she figured it out herself in her head, “that he has the truth, but he can twist it however he wants.” The boys frowned at each other. She sighed.

“Imagine how it would piece together in a hunter’s mind.” She stood up, beginning to pace back and forth. “Sam Winchester, boy-wonder who also happened to jumpstart the apocalypse on more than one occasion, is the vessel of Lucifer. Who’s to say that he wasn’t in league with the devil? Dean’s always the one trying to keep together a family that tears at the seams; given an opportunity, who wouldn’t want a chance at survival in a new world, where you’d rule?” She bit the inside of her cheek in distaste. “Sorry, Sam, but even if Clyde doesn’t twist the truth or create rumours, the idea’s bound to get out somehow.”

Nobody spoke for a moment. Dean stepped away from the wall.

“So…” he droned. “What? We can’t let that get out; every hunter in America’ll be on the watch for us. Again.” He rubbed a hand down his face. He glanced at Y/N for a second too long; Y/N didn’t flinch or show any emotion (not unlike how she often was), but Sam’s eyes flicked between the two in recognition.

“No.” His statement was definitive, the single syllable short and harsh. “Dean, don’t even think about it. We aren’t- we can, we can figure something else out.” Dean swallowed thickly, gaze wavering slightly under Sam’s. He didn’t like it either, but…

Sam came first. He always did.

He looked away, twitching his jaw.

“Y/N,” Sam turned his attention back to the girl, who was watching the scene play out with a sense of… Sam couldn’t quite place his finger on it. “Is there anything we could use against Clyde? Information, something he cares about…?” Y/N barked out a short, cold laugh.

“Clyde doesn’t care about anything or anyone except himself.” She tilted her head to the side. “He does like control, but there’s no easy way to get about that. He’s smart. Respectably so.”

“So there’s nothing we can do?” Dean’s gruff voice crawled its way into the conversation. He looked directly at her.

“Not within the time given,” she ruminated. “If there was a longer time period, maybe…” Her face flickered. In a blur of movement, she reached for the phone and Sam’s laptop. He jumped, not expecting the sudden movement. Dean smirked.

“What’re you-” Sam tried, only to receive Y/N’s hand blindly… well, she was either trying to pat his chest or wave him away. Either way, Sam raised his hands in mock surrender and leaned back in his chair.

Y/N typed away furiously at the keyboard, eyes glued to the screen. A wheel swirled in the middle of the computer while she unlocked the phone. Sam’s eyes widened.

“I never told you-” he sputtered. Y/N raised an eyebrow, still working away at the phone.

“I break out of juvenile detention centers and hack into police databases more often than I text,” she quipped. “I think I can guess a four-digit passcode.” Sam raised his eyebrows, taken aback. Dean huffed a laugh and smirked at his brother. Sam glared at him.

Y/N typed a few things on the keyboard before playing the audio message. Clyde’s voice echoed in the library. Y/N silently prayed the boys didn’t notice her tense uncontrollably as they watched her intently.

Y/N played the message four more times before she finally set down the phone. She typed in a few things on the computer before freezing. Dean glanced at Sam before they peeked at her screen. Her cursor hovered over a symbol on some software that neither boy recognized.

“What did you download onto my computer?” Sam asked, afraid.

“I didn’t download anything.”

“I can see what you’re doing, and I sure as hell didn’t put that on there myself.”

“I did not download anything.”

“Let me guess, you made it.”

“Yes.”

The boys raised their eyebrows.

“It’s basically an app that analyzes the vocal and auditory sound waves of a recording, and lists down all the possible locations and/or people it could come from.” She stated it plainly, as if it were some fifth grade science project. “Every single person in North America who’s ever been in the legal system in some way is on here- even if they aren’t legally on the continent.”

Dean let out a low whistle.

“Wow,” was all Sam could conjure up. “That’s-”

“Impressive, I know.” Y/N was short and curt, obviously uncomfortable with the unwanted attention. Her fingers still hovered over the keyboard.

“What?” Dean asked, impatient. Y/N didn’t respond.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. Her eyes were glazed over, as if she were mentally somewhere else. Her hands began to shake. She swallowed dryly. Her breaths became shallower, fluttering on the way in and forceful on the way out. Sam glanced at Dean, yet again.

One day you’ll try to kill me.

Clyde’s voice rang through, loud and clear, in her head. Like he was right behind her.

You’re gonna try damn hard. Use everything I taught you. But I won’t teach you all my tricks; make a deal with the devil if you must, but you won’t be the one to end my misery. Nobody’s doing that but myself.

She could practically feel his hot breath on her neck, iron grip around her wrist as she tried to pull away. The scars on her arms seemed to open up, as if fresh again.

You can try. You think you know pain?

He was right there, right behind her, teaching her where she was the most vulnerable. She could feel the clean cut where she first learned how it felt to cut the ends of your nerves off.

Cross me, and you’ll never feel anything sweet as pain ever again.

Y/N stood up forcefully, knocking the chair back. She wavered there for a second, standing in silence. Her hands twitched by her side as she lumbered out of the room, missing the concerned glance the boys gave her fleeting figure.

Y/N didn’t like sleeping. She’d told the boys it was her energy; there was too much to do, not enough time, and sleep just got in the way. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth.

She had dreams about him.

They way his breath smelled, the way his grip bruised, the way he predicted everything she could do, without even looking at her.

You’ve got no idea, girlie, he’d say. No idea at all. I know. I always know.

Y/N hadn’t slept in three days. Each night when she faked her slumber she was sneaking around. Learning. Adapting.

She was constantly changing, constantly watching, constantly filing away details about the boys she knew she’d never need to know. Still, it was in her nature. She couldn’t sleep, so she became obsessed with staying one step ahead.

I always know.

There was only so long that even Y/N could go without sleep, though. The past two weeks had only added up to four and a half hours of rest overall, and it was beginning to take a toll on her body.

She didn’t like to sleep. But she often did things she didn’t like, so it wasn’t anything truly terrible.

Right?

Black.

Her dreams were always in colours. It overwhelmed her, made her feel like she was suffocating. It wasn’t that she didn’t like colours, but in her dreams… it was like she could feel them. More accurately, they could feel her.

Red.

A flash of the colour crossed her vision, a blistering hot pain searing through her; like a knife that cut every part of her body at once.

Now, Y/N. You know that screaming won’t save you.

The voice was low, rumbly; like the sound of gravel being played in slow motion, making the sound deepen. She could feel it on her face, even though she couldn’t sense anybody in front of her. She tried to move, but her horizontal position somehow prohibited her from moving.

Grey.

Something touched the inside of her thigh.

Green.

She was going to throw up.

Before she knew what she was doing, her legs had carried her to the bathroom down the hall. She didn’t know what time it was, or if anybody else was awake. She only knew she was in the bunker, holding the cold toilet bowl as she retched out the contents of her stomach.

The bunker.

It belonged to the Winchesters. Not Clyde.

Not Clyde.

She threw up again.

Footsteps padded down the hallway tentatively. Y/N saw a faint figure of someone cautiously peering through the doorway.

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice was groggy and low. He sounded like he was asleep.

“Hmm.” Y/N couldn’t muster up more than a low hum of her voice, which was raw and felt like it had been filleted. Dean switched on the light- apparently Y/N hadn't, though she didn’t notice until she was blinded by the sudden lustre- and drew in a sharp breath. Half a second later, he was crouched beside Y/N. His hands were hovering over her body, as though he wasn’t sure if he could touch her. Carefully, he gingerly placed the very slightest touch on Y/N’s back. She flinched at the contact. He drew his hand back, dismayed.

After a moment, Y/N unwound herself. She moved an inch towards him.

Dean thought he imagined it. She had never moved closer to the boys. Sure, when they had to look at the same screen or when they were walking by each other she had, but they never got fewer than six inches apart if Y/N could help it. Even during those times, Y/N seemed to be straining away from any physical contact.

He tried placing his hand on her back again, between her shoulder blades. He knew she could easily pin him down in this position- she had been quite apparent at that during sparring- so, hopefully, she’d feel... safer.

She relaxed a fraction. It wasn’t much but it was progress.

Y/N emptied the last of whatever she’d eaten the past day. Shuddering breaths left her body hot. She coughed, Dean snapping to attention.

“Hey,” he soothed her, “Y/N, it’s okay. You’re good. Okay?”

She groaned. Her voice was still felt raw, so a few huffs and a groan were all she could muster. She tried swallowing, but there was nothing to sooth her sore throat.

“How about we go get you some water?” suggested Dean, helping her up with a hand firm on her elbow. “Sound good?” She just nodded.

Dean led her down the hall, stopping outside her door. He nudged the door open with his foot as Y/N pulled away.

“What?” he asked. “Y/N, get in bed and I’ll bring some water-” She shook her head viciously.

“No.” Her voice was hoarse. It pained Dean to think how it felt to speak. “No.” She shook her head harder, pulling away from Dean. He loosened his grip on her.

“Okay,” he conceded, taking a small step closer to her. She didn‘t flinch. He moved closer. “I‘m gonna take you to the kitchen. Huh?”

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek. Finally she nodded slightly. Dean escorted her down the rest of the hall, helping her into the kitchen. Finally, she waved him off when he tried to help her sit.

“M‘not a princess,” she muttered before coughing spasmodically. Dean rushed to the fridge, sloshing water into a cup and bringing it to Y/N. She laughed after drinking half the glass.

“Settle down there, Dean,” she chuckled. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Sorry for saving your life,” he smirked.

“Apology accepted,” Y/N said matter-of-factly. “And I wasn‘t dying. I was just throwing up. Not the first time it‘s happened; I‘m sure I‘ll be fine.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Whatever.”

He crouched in front of her, concern etching itself into the features of his face. Y/N swallowed, looking elsewhere. Dean squinted at her. He’d never seen her gulp before. Not like this. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Y/N,” he started softly, his rough voice contradicting his tone. “What was that? Are you okay?”

Y/N nodded unconvincingly. Dean sighed.

“You can be honest with us, y’know.” His voice was gentle, calm. Dean tried to get Y/N to look at him, but she was adamant about staring at a scuff mark on the floor. “We aren’t anything like... like your old man was. He was... he was a bad guy. Real piece of work. Now I know you’re hardwired to place yourself on this high and mighty pedestal so that you’re untouchable- invincible or whatever- but it doesn‘t have to be like that. Not anymore.”

Y/N’s jaw tensed. Dean continued on.

“I get it; you’re wary of the big guys who brought you in. I know who... who Clyde made you out to be. Me and Sam... we get who you are. We won’t ever understand what you went through, because that was some Hunger Games shit if I ever heard it, but it’s not like that here.“ Dean took a deep breath. “We care about you. You‘re family, Y/N. We don’t got a whole lot left, so we like to take care of the few that’re still standing. That includes you.”

Y/N still refused to face him. She thickly. Her eyes burned from the pressure of her tear ducts threatening to leak. Before she could think twice, she stood up.

“Let’s watch a movie.”

Dean blinked.

“What?” he asked, incredulous.

“I wanna watch a movie.” She was hovering... nervously? That wasn’t like Y/N. “I’m thinking Avengers or... Brooklyn 99 is pretty good. Not a movie, per se, but still pretty damn good.”

“Y/N-” he started.

“No chick-flick moments,” she said. “Right?”

“I’ll make an exception.” Dean stared hard at her, trying to read her. It was impossible; she was impossible, always changing just before you cracked her code. “Y/N, I- we care about you. Me and Sam. I’m not normally good at this lovey-dovey gooey shit but you’ve gotta realize it. This might be new for you but we actually give a damn about what you’re going through.”

Y/N tensed her jaw, biting the inside of her bottom lip.

“You gotta let us help you,” Dean pleaded. “We don’t want you to go at this alone. Sam won’t even let you; take it as a piece of advice from someone who’s tried.”

“I had a dream about Clyde.”

The words tumbled out of her mouth like an avalanche, so fast that Dean could hardly keep up with the few he could make out. After a couple moments, his face softened.

“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck before quickly dropping his hand. “Is there- d’you... do you wanna talk about it?” Y/N puffed out a breath that really could’ve been anything.

“As fun as that would be,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest defensively, “I don’t think you’d really care for my tragic backstory, though I’d really love to relive it. Wouldn’t you?”

“If it helps you.”

Y/N was taken aback. Dean seemed honest enough; his intentions had never been truly harmful. He wasn’t inhumane like Clyde, tyrannical like her father; his concern was genuine. It was weird.

It was new.

Y/N knew people were asked these kinds of questions: are you okay? can I help you? are you lost? She’d seen it in movies, heard it on the opposite side of motel walls; on more than one occasion as a child, a kind stranger would ask her. Of course, her innocence was all a ruse to pickpocket them. But still.

She’d sometimes let herself imagine what it would be like; to be offered kindness, opportunity, care and safety and freedom. Every single variation of the question came with its own individual answer, and she’d fantasized this moment a hundred times over in her head: what she’d say, how she’d react, how they might react. Yet...

In this moment, when it was really happening, it was like she’d never thought about it at all.

Dean stood up slowly, conscious of Y/N’s wary eyes on him. He put his hands out by his sides, palms facing up.

“I just want you to be alright,” he said softly. He stepped closer. They were a foot away. “And sometimes...“ he shifted uncomfortably, “sometimes that means that you gotta be vulnerable.“

He took another step. They were less than a foot apart now. Y/N stared blankly at his chest, unmoving. Wait, no. Dean focused on her face and saw she was shivering. It wasn’t cold- and Y/N had never complained about the weather- and she wasn‘t crying. But she was trembling so slightly that Dean just thought his eyes were failing him.

Gradually, he lifted his hands to put them on her shoulders. When she didn’t move, save for a small intake of breath, he pulled her to his chest. She didn’t shift, only laid her forehead on his shirt. Uncertainly, Y/N tucked her arms between her chest and Dean’s stomach. She shuffled imperceptibly closer.

Dean didn’t dare move. This was a huge change; the last time he tried to touch her (besides during sparring) resulted in her pressing the knife he didn’t even know she kept with her against his neck. It was by the grace of Chuck that she hadn‘t pressed harder. He still had a faint red mark from where she had nicked him.

All of a sudden... Y/N felt so small. So fragile. Dean knew that was the farthest thing from the truth- as she had shown him many times before- but something about her vulnerability made him feel protective. Fierce.

She was a kid.

Clyde made her into some child-soldier and she didn’t get a say otherwise. He knew because he could relate.

Maybe Sam had been onto something after all.

Neither of them knew how long they stood there together. One minute, five, half an hour. Time seemed surreal, like the world around them stopped to speculate the timidity that suddenly appeared where Y/N had been a moment ago. He suddenly frowned in confusion.

“Hey,” he pulled away slightly, “where the hell did you hear about-”

“I read those Supernatural books”, she mumbled, “by Edward Chuck or whatever his name was. Must say, book-cover-you has better muscles than real you. Maybe work on that.”

“Dean rolled his eyes.”

“The only TV is in Sam’s room,” she shifted away from him, crossing her arms over her chest and changing her stature, “and I don’t think you wanna watch it on a laptop screen.”

“We’ll wake up Sam then. I’m sure he’d love to watch movies with us."

It wasn't the smartest thing Dean had ever done.

Within two seconds of them screaming at Sam for him to get his ass up, the younger Winchester was wildly pointing his gun at the two of them. Y/N was in hysterics on the floor, and Dean was throwing his hands up and bracing for a shot that never came. Sam squinted in the light that Y/N had flipped on in their grand entrance. He blinked blearily atDean as the gears slowly started to turn in his head.

“Dean?“ He was very confused, that much was apparent. “What the actual fu- oh!”

Y/N had jumped onto the foot of his bed, startling him and throwing a pillow at his head. She grinned wildly at him, sparking a light of fear in his eyes. He looked at Dean.

“Get up, lumberjack,” she smiled mischievously. “We‘re watching Netflix, and you’ve got the only good TV spot in this bitch.”

“Y/N,” Dean tutted. She stuck out her tongue at him.

“We’re watching a movie.” She turned to face Sam again, who had visibly relaxed after realizing that he wasn’t about to be murdered. “You can either sleep in Dean‘s room or watch with us.” Sam chuckled, shifting in his spot.

“Sure. I’m up anyways.”

Y/N beamed, moving over to sit beside him. Sam’s face displayed shock for a moment before he regained his composure and smiled back at her. He looked at Dean as Y/N busied herself with setting up the TV. Dean gave him a solemn look down on the other side of Y/N, who settled back- making sure to leave two inches of space on either side- and clicked the remote.

Dean shook his head, smiling, as he left the room. The end credits of the movie were rolling, and he’d gone to the kitchen to replenish the supply of popcorn and beers (for him and Sam, of course; no amount of begging from Y/N would make him relent). He set the empty bowls and bottles on the tabletop when his phone buzzed. Throwing a bag of popcorn in the microwave, he pulled out his hone.

You’ll be burning your brother’s body before next year if you don’t give me what’s mine. I’ll expose that freak of a boy for who he really is. And if hunters don’t kill him, then I will. Y/N can tell you how accomplished I’ve become in that sense.

I got a special place to meet. Bring Y/N there. Tomorrow. I don’t give second chances.

Now Clyde has his number? He read the text again, jaw clenching as he read his threat to Sam. Dean typed out the message before another thought flashed across his mind. A shrill of laughter broke his concentration, bringing his attention back to the world around him.

Dean knew he said they took care of family first and foremost. He knew it.

But Sam was real family. Y/N... wasn’t.

He hesitated for a moment, listening to the sound of Y/N’s laughter as Sam told her about the time that Dean accidently hit on a 40 year old woman. The snort resounding from the other room sent both of them into fits of laughter, making Dean smile softly. He read the message again and hardened. His finger hovered over the Send button for a minute before tapping.

What’s the location?

Tags: @zeusmyster @mogaruke @peteyparkerson @assbutt-still-in-hell @spn67-sister @thegreasiestbear @sammysbeanie @thyotakukimkim @lemonadegazeelle @straightasdeanwinchester @mothman-is-not-bullshit @mcallmestiles

a/n: Sorry for the long one! I just really wanted to get the ball rolling in the next one (oh my gosh you guys are gonna hate me i almost cried writing it lol) so..... yep.

also ohmygosh i have 42 pages of unfinished fic SADFGAHHFG???????? uhghg

#What You've Done #What You've Done Part 4 #P4 #Supernatural #SPN #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Winsister #Original Characters #OG Characters #mine #original #original fic #original post #TWC

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antojai · 7 years ago

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What is Antojai energy healing?

Antojai, and the cravings of life

Reiki & Antojai.

Universal life energy & the Craving energies of life.

It's pretty powerful stuff.

Speed mini-lesson:

The conscious and subconscious are similar to the master drives running your computer. Your brain & mind would be the actual interface you normally would interact with.

Similarly, You can go within the subconscious like you would a terminal to delete, rewrite, and retrieve individual files.

The subconscious is an active realm similar to a ever-changing labyrinth. It is constantly aware of itself, its surroundings, and the conscious.

If has the ability to change to protect itself if needed.

When you dive into the subconscious, this labyrinth program 99.8% of the time will represent itself as you, a version of you. It has the ability to change from a conscious interactive mode to a environmental superconscious mode (the labyrinth). The labyrinth is only present when the subconscious-you feels threatened. It takes this form so that whoever is within the subconscious, cannot access vital files your subconscious believes to be necessary for it's existence. It’s not impossible to access, navigate, or manipulate your subconscious. You just need to know the master rules and codes to stay ahead of the game when dealing with it.

Those codes & rules are Antojai, ascended energy healing. It transcends space, time, existence, light, love, the physical, and the metaphysical all at once… or individually.

Research:

In 2016, I discovered and developed the next stage of energy medicine. I ran experiments after having discovered Antojai, and I directly compared this energy medicine to the last discovered energy healing method, Reiki.

For the last two years, I’ve run experiments on men, women (one of them pregnant), children, plants, and animals; and dealt with cases such as extreme depression, anxiety, suicidal tendencies, paranoia, ADHD, PTSD, insomnia, physical pains, fibromyalgia, kidney stones, disassociated personality disorder, and subconscious re-programming. More studies are coming as they finish. All have shown HUGE impacts on wellness. My studies have span over different time presets to fully view the range of Antojai. Both Reiki and Antojai can be practiced via distance healing, but Antojai still maintains the ability to add precision to any subject.

I practiced on subjects unaware of my experiments, and subjects informed about some details. In the end, my discovery of the impact of these healing energies on the human experience was motivating and rewarding. More on my studies as my handbook progresses.

So, here’s the run down on Antojai. Reiki is powerful, but it has a particular limit; it can't reach the deepest portions of the subconscious that perpetuates a negative state. Reiki will help the subconscious, but to a certain degree due to its generalization. In theory reiki heals from the outside in, where Antojai works from the inside out. With Antojai, you directly manipulate the subconscious mind, realms, and beyond. This is awesome for people...lets say that have a serious problem breaking a particular habit. Antojai literally begins to erase the “Glitched data” within the subconscious; and then leaves a free space to add something new, or you can rewrite the habit all together. With it you can pinpoint exact locations of problems not only in the subconscious, but each individual chakra gate. Antojai literally has a key access to the 12 chakra system. So lets say you realize during reiki that the source of the problem lies in the sacral chakra...you can change the frequency of healing to Antojai Sacral, you then manipulate that individual chakra manually for the better. By using Antojai, the Master uses kundalini, medical shamanism, and other master signatures. All which I can get into later as we go along. Reiki in a sense is part of the Antojai set, but Usui used individual symbols to target generalized concepts. The master signature of Antojai is Life, which is slightly different than the Usui layout of Universal life, but stronger in a completely different way. It’s like changing Reiki to only the master "Dai Ko Myo."

In order for someone to use Antojai, the sole requirement is shifting your reality. I personally did this through years of training in other realms, & intense induced transcendental meditations. These meditations were focused on releasing your mind from the concepts of reality. The concepts we are fooled into accepting as law. What does that mean? You need to transcend the concept of time, space, and the physical not like you would reiki. You have to make an internal shift of your definition of those concepts, and others not mentioned here.

Strong Reiki masters are needed because Antojai requires the ability to control, intake, and release high amounts of energy not usual for beta-human physiology. The akashic records indicate that Reiki is the first step to manipulation of other life frequencies. Then would come Antojai, and finally if you master both- you would become an Ascended Master that would be tasked with finding other life frequencies for whatever purpose the universe decides to task you. For instance, after Antojai I found the signature of Water, and by using it you can super shock the body into a high healing state by manipulating the water cells in the body to their purest state. Hence creating a domino effect on the cellular sanctity of the patient, etc.

Another reason why only select masters can use Antojai is because the records have a huge warning label: it's powerful. So much so that it will give you the ability to bend multiple factions of this reality. It has a fail safe to make sure those unworthy of its proper control never learn it. You may hear what I am saying, but the record will not let you comprehend. That's because only those of pure soul can be trusted with such knowledge. I’ve lived my lifestyle under the shamanic code since my childhood. The healer must accustom themselves to using these energies at will. You are essentially evolving as an energetic consciousness, and into a Theta wave physical state. If you are truly one with your control of Reiki, then you are already in a Alpha state. After evolving your metaphysical anatomy to Theta, you then will have the ability to access Delta at will. Theta and Delta waves are what grant my future Antojai Masters the ability to walk between, and within multiple dimensions at once.

You need to look at it as a energetic medical kit to understand the dynamics of Antojai. It has combination codes for all sorts of issues. For example, if you combine the talisman of Sight with the talisman of the Astral, you can instantly make a person see auras, etc. Where Reiki requires a general understanding of energy medicine, Antojai requires extensive knowledge of "energetic prescription codes."

Antojai & Reiki belong to the same set of healing frequencies. I would have never discovered Antojai without Mikao Usui, and his development of Reiki. The first step to human evolution.

The Oath Of Antojai:

Antojai will shift your reality for your better, but you are obligated by a universal contract to use it for the good of humanity BEFORE yourself.

You must never use these for ill-will, or you will lose the ability all together.

You must never teach another who you know can not be trusted to be responsible with such knowledge. There are no excuses to this particular rule because once you become a Master of Antojai, you have accepted your role as a guardian of the frequencies. You are guided by the Ascended, and that power is never wrong in judgment. You will always know who is worthy, and your only reason would be that you willingly opened a can of worms. This rule is not one to be taken lightly as you will have to atone for any chaos generated by any individual you do this with. You assume responsibility for their karma.

Let’s say you teach the worthy, and later they become unworthy; not your problem. This knowledge is to be used to evolve the human consciousness.

You can’t stop pursuing your authentic self, or you will lose it.

It is with your help that we can change perspectives on mental health, and the direction of our world. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and thank you for being the driving force behind change in todays hectic world. Share this with as many people as possible, please.

I am currently training High Energy Reiki Masters interested in the opportunity to learn Antojai. There are 7/10 spaces left for students. Message [email protected] to request a spot.

Master Antojai

Carrasquillo, A. (2017). Antojai Shamanic Wellness

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theadmiringbog · 7 years ago

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History does not repeat, but it does instruct.

Do not speak of “our institutions” unless you make them yours by acting on their behalf. Institutions do not protect themselves. They fall one after the other unless each is defended from the beginning. So choose an institution you care about—a court, a newspaper, a law, a labor union—and take its side.

Beware the one-party state. The parties that remade states and suppressed rivals were not omnipotent from the start. They exploited a historic moment to make political life impossible for their opponents. So support the multi-party system and defend the rules of democratic elections.

You might one day be offered the opportunity to display symbols of loyalty. Make sure that such symbols include your fellow citizens rather than exclude them.

If lawyers had followed the norm of no execution without trial, if doctors had accepted the rule of no surgery without consent, if businessmen had endorsed the prohibition of slavery, if bureaucrats had refused to handle paperwork involving murder, then the Nazi regime would have been much harder pressed to carry out the atrocities by which we remember it.

Professions can create forms of ethical conversation that are impossible between a lonely individual and a distant government. If members of professions think of themselves as groups with common interests, with norms and rules that oblige them at all times, then they can gain confidence and indeed a certain kind of power.

Stand out. Someone has to. It is easy to follow along. It can feel strange to do or say something different. But without that unease, there is no freedom.

The moment you set an example, the spell of the status quo is broken, and others will follow.

Be kind to our language. Avoid pronouncing the phrases everyone else does. Think up your own way of speaking, even if only to convey that thing you think everyone is saying. Make an effort to separate yourself from the internet. Read books.

Politicians in our times feed their clichés to television, where even those who wish to disagree repeat them. Television purports to challenge political language by conveying images, but the succession from one frame to another can hinder a sense of resolution. Everything happens fast, but nothing actually happens. Each story on televised news is “breaking” until it is displaced by the next one. So we are hit by wave upon wave but never see the ocean.

The effort to define the shape and significance of events requires words and concepts that elude us when we are entranced by visual stimuli. Watching televised news is sometimes little more than looking at someone who is also looking at a picture. We take this collective trance to be normal. We have slowly fallen into it.

Believe in truth. To abandon facts is to abandon freedom. If nothing is true, then no one can criticize power, because there is no basis upon which to do so. If nothing is true, then all is spectacle. The biggest wallet pays for the most blinding lights.

We do not see the minds that we hurt when we publish falsehoods, but that does not mean we do no harm.

Think of driving a car. We may not see the other driver, but we know not to run into his car. We know that the damage will be mutual. We protect the other person without seeing him, dozens of times every day. Likewise, although we may not see the other person in front of his or her computer, we have our share of responsibility for what he or she is reading there. If we can avoid doing violence to the minds of unseen others on the internet, others will learn to do the same. And then perhaps our internet traffic will cease to look like one great, bloody accident.

For resistance to succeed, two boundaries must be crossed. First, ideas about change must engage people of various backgrounds who do not agree about everything. Second, people must find themselves in places that are not their homes, and among groups who were not previously their friends.

A nationalist will say that “it can’t happen here,” which is the first step toward disaster. A patriot says that it could happen here, but that we will stop it.

#On Tyranny #books

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viollettes · 8 years ago

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“Carnations” (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (College AU)

Summary: A carnation fundraiser, an iota of possibility, and a longtime secret crush on your hot best friend - what could go wrong?

thank you to the spectacular @buckyywiththegoodhair for beta-reading! you are a national treasure that must be protected til’ the end of time!

“Carnations” (Masterlist)

It takes you a moment to process what’s happening. By the time realization kicks in, the Student Gov member delivering the carnations is visibly annoyed. She sighs, “I have about twenty more dorm rooms to visit. Could you please just take the flowers?”

You stare intently at the carnations. “This isn’t a joke, right?”

“Oh, this is actually for a YouTube prank channel that we’re launching, and – no, of course this isn’t a joke!” the girl snaps. She thrusts the flowers into your hands and stalks off into the hallway, a large box of carnations propped against her hip.

You mechanically fill up an empty jar with and stick the bouquet in the makeshift vase. Your mind rewinds back to Steve explaining that white carnations would symbolize secret admiration. If only there was a card –

A gasp escapes your lips as you notice a small card tied around the stem of a carnation. You quickly untie the gently knotted twine and hold up the card to your eyes.

-B.

Bucky?

For the rest of the night and next morning, you spend most of your time wondering if Bucky sent you the flowers. Who else could it have been? He’s the only guy you talk to other than Steve, and everyone knows Steve has an on-and-off thing with a foreign exchange student from England.

The fluttering in your stomach grows stronger as you approach the sole recipient of your affection.. You take a deep breath, silently praying that you look calm when in reality, you feel like a bomb has gone off in your stomach.

“Hey, doll. How did last night go? I heard someone got some love.”

You crinkle your face in confusion before realizing that he’s talking about the carnations. “I was so surprised, I initially thought it was a prank.” Trying not to give anything away with your expression, you then offer him a shy smile. “Would you have any idea who sent them?”

Bucky studies your face for a moment before subtly shrugging. The rise and fall of his shoulders is miniscule, but your perceptive eyes caught the motion. Does he not know who sent the carnations, or is he lying because he’s too nervous to admit he’s the one who did?

Under normal circumstances, you can tell what Bucky was thinking just by looking at him. Years of stupid jokes and deep conversations provides all of his tells: when he’s nervous, he runs his fingers through his hair or swipes his tongue across his lips; when he’s irritated, a slight grimace lines his face or the tiny vein on the right side of his temple throbs; when he’s happy or bashful, he initially casts a boyish smile downwards before meeting your eyes.

But when Bucky looks at you, you’re clueless. There’s something unreadable about his eyes. For the first time in a long time, your best friend is like a stranger to you, and it makes you uncomfortable.

“Hey, doll?” Bucky asks. He lightly jostles your arm, bringing your thoughts back to Earth. “You okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

The brunette’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I thought maybe, well – never mind.”

Disappointment washes over you as Bucky doesn’t say anything else. You force a nonchalant smile and shrug. “Oh. Okay.”

Lunch with Bucky is filled with awkward silences – something you haven’t experienced since that time you walked in on him playing naked air guitar in junior high. Mid-silence, you decide you need to investigate. You offer a lame excuse about buying more pens and scamper off to the Student Government office.

You round the corner and catch a familiar figure step out of the office. “Steve!” you happily call out.

The blonde looks up from his phone, his facial features perking up as you run towards him. “What’s the rush, (Y/N)?” Steve grins as you skid to a stop.

You grab the sides of Steve’s arms, pretend not to be impressed by the hard outline of his biceps, and enthusiastically say, “If you have the time, I have a question about the flower fundraiser.”

Steve apologetically chuckles. “I’m actually heading out to talk to my advisor about my thesis. Is it urgent? I could probably email my advisor and postpone –”

“No!” you yelp, frantically waving your hands in front of you. “Go ahead. I’m sure someone inside can help me.” You motion for Steve to go on before stepping into the office. “Um, hello?”

“Hey!” A pretty girl sitting on one of the tables wiggles her fingers at you. “Do you need something?”

“Erm, yes. My name’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I –uh, who are you?”

A peeved look flashes onto her face but it’s quickly replaced with a rehearsed smile. She holds out her hand like a queen waiting for her knuckles to be kissed. “I’m the senior class publicist. My name’s Dot.” She waggles a finger in your direction with a smile. “No last name. Just ‘Dot.’ You know, like Cher.”

Was this girl for real?

Something about the way this girl eyes you takes you back to high school, but you force yourself to ignore those negative memories and slap on a smile. “This is kind of a weird question, but I was wondering if I could ask a question about the carnation sale.”

“Let me guess, you want to know who sent you flowers?”

Bewilderment overtakes you, and Dot giggles at your conspicuous emotions. “You’re not the first person to approach us with this question,” she coquettishly reveals, her expression assuring you that you don’t need to be shocked. She hops off the table and makes her way towards one of the computers, crooking her finger at you in instruction to follow. “I’ll just look it up here on the exec computer.”

A red alarm flashes in your brain. You know from conversations with Steve that the executive computer is only accessible by the core five cabinet members. Other members of the cabinet have been denied access ever since a former class officer by the name of Robert Pierce was caught using the computer to download porn.

Dot isn’t one of the core five members – how does she have access?

The pretty girl scoffs when you ask her this. “I’m borrowing Sharon’s ID and password. She knows I do this all the time, so it’s okay.” Dot rolls her eyes as beckons for you to lean in. “You’d think for someone so smart, she’d be more aware of how simple her password is.”

The rules of socialization imply that she wants you to laugh at her little quip. You do exactly that, which satisfies Dot. She beams and gamely types in the information that isn’t hers.

Normally you’d bring up that you aren’t comfortable with this. Imagine Steve’s reaction if he finds out you got Dot to wrongly use the exec computer. You’ve never met Sharon in person, but imagine how she’d react if she learns her ID was being used without her permission.

But this is one of those moments where your rose-colored glasses for Bucky beat out your morals. Are you proud of it? No. But the heart does what it wants, and you’re desperate to find out who was behind the carnations.

“Alright, what do you want me to look up?”

“Erm, could you check to see if Bucky Barnes bought any carnations?”

“Ooh, Bucky Barnes? Do you have a crush on him?” Dot stops typing when you don’t answer, her eyes widening as she senses her little quip is a statement of truth. “OMG, you so do!” she squeals.

“I, erm… Uh…” Your brain must be on vacation, because you can’t think of a proper lie. Also, the red painting your cheeks confirms her guess.

No one knows about your secret crush on Bucky. Not even Steve, the person you trust the most after Bucky. Hell, you didn’t even tell your dog back home, just in case Lucky developed the power to speak to humans and blabbed to Bucky.

Now a girl by the name of Dot –no last name, just Dot, like Cher– knows about the secret you so diligently worked to keep under wraps. Damn it.

Dot holds up a finger to her lips and winks. “Your secret is safe with me,” she says in a hushed voice. “And I approve. Bucky Barnes is hot. Have you seen the jawline on that boy? It’s straight out of a badly story written by a horny teenager.”

You chuckle weakly because you know that’s what Dot expects, but your heart is screaming in terror. Oh God, what have you gotten yourself into?

“Hmm… Okay, let’s see.” Dot pauses from her search and grimaces. “It looks like he didn’t have any sent out. He didn’t even show up at the booth to buy one.”

Your heart doesn’t just sink. No, it shatters into small pieces.

Bucky wasn’t “B.” He didn’t send the carnations.

Large waves of anger and embarrassment wash over the heartbreak. Why the hell are you even sad? You have no reason to be. Yes, you spent all day preparing yourself for what would happen between you and Bucky, but that was supposed to solely remain a fantasy.

How did you lose control of a daydream and allow it to masquerade around in the likes of reality?

You want to channel the self-humiliation at someone, but you’re coming up short on a target. Bucky never purposely led you on with mixed signals. This is all you. You managed to delude yourself into thinking you and Bucky could make the jump from platonic friendship to something more.

The soft expression on Dot’s face only heightens your turmoil, but this isn’t the place to lose emotional control. You flash a smile, but both of you know you aren’t okay. Your quivering lips are a telltale sign.

“If you want, I could look up who actually sent you the carnations,” the pretty girl offers. Taking your silence as positive affirmation, Dot takes to the spreadsheet again and types in a few keywords.

Your mouth went dry as Dot’s perfectly-shaped eyebrows quirked up. “What? Who sent them?”

“Steve Rogers anonymously sent you the carnations.”

Steve sent the carnations? What the hell?

This didn’t even seem possible. Unlike you and Bucky, you and Steve never danced the line of flirtation. The friendship between you and the blonde is strictly platonic. This is so unexpected, so out of left-field, that you struggle to wrap your head around the foreign concept.

“It looks like while you were pining for Bucky, his best friend was pining for you. Ugh, you lucky girl!”

You cross your arms against your chest. “This doesn’t make any sense. The card that came with the carnations was signed with a letter B.”

“You – oh. Wait, oh my God. I just remembered something.”

Your intuition kicks in, and you know that whatever Dot will say next will break your heart. But being the masochist that you are, you nod for her to continue.

Dot sighs, “I was with Steve when he bought a few carnations. He said that he was sending a number of anonymous carnations as pranks.”

And that’s when you remember what Steve said a week ago when attempting to convince Bucky to contribute to the sale by buying a few flowers.

I don’t care if you send it to a buddy as a joke. Just support the cause, man. Hell, I might send a few flowers as a prank.

Hell, I might send a few flowers as a prank.

This isn’t happening. Steve doesn’t know about the deep crush you’re harboring on your best friend.

Then again, Steve is notorious for being extremely perceptive. He has a knack for reading people and can always see through well-established lies. Knowing Steve, he probably caught onto the subtle shivers or hitching of breath you displayed whenever Bucky was nearby, deciphering that Bucky affected you in a way that definitely isn’t platonic.

Maybe ‘actual angel Steve Rogers’ isn’t that much of an angel.

“Oh (Y/N)…” Dot sympathetically simpers. She reaches out to give your hand a squeeze.

The familiar sting of tears pricked your eyes, and you breathe hard to keep the water at bay. This is high school all over again but worse. Instead of a stranger providing the hurt, the blow has been dealt by one of your closest friends. How can Steve do this to you? My God, betrayal hurt like a bitch.

“Um, hey, are you okay?”

You rapidly blink, pulling yourself out of your thoughts. A beautiful girl who must have entered the room while you got lost in your thoughts stands in front of you. She tugs her long blonde hair and steps towards you. “You look a little pale. Could I get you some water?” she softly offers.

What is it with all of the soft and gentle tones being thrown your way today? And why do they only increase your desire to burst into tears?

“Um, I got everything I need. Erm, I’m gonna go,” you choke out before dashing out of the office. Your next class is in ten minutes, but you’re not in the mindset to attend class. Your head feels like it’s going to explode, and all you want to do is curl up in a ball on your bed.

It’s when you close the door behind you when the hot, fat tears you’ve held back start angrily sliding down your cheeks. You angrily grab the stems of the dozen white carnations and hurl it out your window before succumbing to the comforts of your bed.

You cry about how stupid you are to let your fantasies overpower rationale. You curse Steve for being a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You cry about letting your guard fall and being the butt of another cruel prank. You mentally stick needles into the Steve voodoo doll you concocted in your head. You cry for your high school self – the self that continues to haunt you despite your desperate efforts to erase and destroy her.

The afternoon slips by quickly, and soon the skies welcome nightfall. When you least expect it, there’s a knock on your door, and the person behind it makes your breath anxiously hitch.

The blonde hesitantly smiles.

“Hi.”

Part 3

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asagoal88onlinecasino-blog · 5 years ago

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flying-guinea-pig · 8 years ago

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Season Finale 4/7

AO3 linky

The previous chapters.

Chapter 4: The Upper Levels

Don't split up. That was the first rule of horror movies. And what did they do? They split up.

She kept her eyes open for anything strange. What did a regular oil rig look like, anyway? Maybe they all had those bands of spidery runes crawling over the ceiling, could be part of the stabilisation spells, right?

Oh. False alarm. It was just cracked paint.

“According to the blueprints, the main computer room should be this way,” Tenney said.

[Ooh!] the Alcor Virus perked up. [Yes, let’s go there!]

Tenney glanced at her over his shoulder. “If you insist on playing with your phone, Ms Adams, at least have the decency to turn off the sound.”

“Apologies,” she said, turning down the volume.

[Did you really expect that to work on me?] The pixelated Alcor asked. He tapped a finger on his chin, then nodded. [But okay. I’ll allow it.]

“How gracious of you,” she muttered, as the words crawled across her screen without those annoying noises.

"Do you think the computers will still work?" April asked.

"Perhaps," Tenney said. "I doubt they will be very informative, however. According to the official report, what little data they could get from them was all scrambled beyond understanding."

"Oh," April said. She hesistated. "Too bad. It would have been nice to have, I don't know, some camera footage perhaps? Old pictures?"

Tenney patted her shoulder, his smile compassionate and heartening. It didn't escape Elisabeth's notice how he made sure to keep his face in full view of the camera guy.

"We can always try," he said. "Perhaps they didn't put much effort in it, since there was already enough evidence of a cult gone wrong. And a lot of progress has been made in sixty years."

[Challenge accepted,] her phone added, vibrating to catch her attention.

"But I have another motive to go this way," Tenney said. "Ah, there it is. Steve, if you will?"

He led them to a room that was barely worth the name. Three massive mechanical things filled it from wall to wall, leaving barely enough room for Steve to squeeze past them. He put the camera down and fiddled for a moment with the machines. They started to hum.

"Voila," Tenney said, and flipped the light switch with flair. Light, cold white and buzzing faintly, flooded the corridor.

"Generators," April laughed, just as Elisabeth realised the same. "That will make exploring the lower levels a lot easier. If all the lights still work down there."

The room next to this one had windows, looking out over the platform and the growing waves. It also had computers, dusty and old-fashioned.

[Put me on top of one,] the Alcor Virus asked, jumping up and down on the screen with excitement.

"Why?" she said. Whispering, since the others were distracted by the view through the windows, but maybe not distracted enough to miss how she was arguing with her phone again.

[No connection, wireless or otherwise,] the chibi Alcor said. [Hasn't been one in ages, I bet. Feels a bit like gravedigging, doesn't it? This is so cool.]

"No, I meant why as in why should I?" The last thing they needed was a demonic virus playing around with the electronics. This place was haunted already, let's not make it any worse.

[I could just jump there anyway, if you don't mind the showy fireworks when I do. You don't mind, right? Fireworks are awesome.]

She glared at his smug smile. Oh look, this room had windows. Open window. Drop phone. Probably wouldn't get rid of him for long, but it would make her feel better...

[Aw, come on... please?]

Those pixelated puppy eyes were truly ridiculous.

The computer started booting up the second she put her phone down on the bulky screen. There was a gasp from behind her.

"Look!" April was staring at the screen. Strings of numbers were scrolling past. "It just... started, all on its own."

"Ah, yes," Tenney said. "This place knows you, my dear. This is clearly the work of a spirit."

"Clearly," Elisabeth muttered.

The screen switched to a desktop. It was relatively empty, with only a few files and a calender sidebar. The background didn't offer much of a clue either, being a random picture of the sea.

Seriously now, what kind of cult didn't even use their demon's symbol as a background? It had to be somewhere!

April made an hesistant movement towards the computer. “Should I- ?”

At Tenney’s nod she sat down. A speck of white pixels appeared in the center of the screen, a blob that grew until it overtook the entire desktop.

[Hello April,] black letters crawled across the white screen.

April gasped.

[We're so glad to finally meet you.]

[There is much you need to know.]

Text and graphs started flashing on the screen, so many it was just a blur of data, before the acrid smell of burned plastic drifted from the computer case and the screen went black again.

Tenney pressed the power button, to no avail.

“Interesting,” he said. “Steve, you got a good view of the screen, I hope? Make sure Monifa gets it and decrypts it.”

“Will do, sir. I’m sending it right now.”

“It looked like… mathematical formulas,” April said, still blinking at the screen. “All those symbols and numbers… Why would they show this to me?”

Tenney patted her back. “I don’t know, Ms Merrick, but if your ancestors go to such lenghts to share it with you, it must be important.”

“Or it’s gibberish,” Elisabeth said. “It could be anything. Your great-grandmothers recipe for stuffed turkey or something.”

“Ghosts don’t expend their strenght sending meaningless messages, Ms Adams,” Tenney said.

Sure, maybe ghosts didn’t. But the Alcor Virus?

She gave Tenney a curt nod – no use in arguing about this, especially since she really didn’t want anyone to know about her possessed phone – and shot the latter a suspicious look as they left the control room.

"That was you, wasn't it?"

[You’ll have to be more specific. What are you talking about?]

"I swear, I'm this close to throwing you overboard."

[Go ahead,] the chibi Alcor grinned. [I'm already in the building. See?]

The lights flickered on and off, in a regular pattern, like heartbeats.

[Whoever these cultists were, they really liked their electronics! Can’t really go deeper than the seventh floor down, though. There’s something blocking me.]

Elisabeth nearly bumped into the others, who’d slowed down when the lights flickered.

April was pale as a ghost herself, clearly rethinking this whole plan to go hunting for her dead relatives’ spirits.

“Have no fear,” Tenney said. He patted April’s shoulder. “This place is watching you, my dear. But you are safe with me.”

Elisabeth made a face as she followed them. An abandoned, probably leaky metal contraption in the middle of a raging sea, with a demonic computer virus and a bunch of ghosts for company. Sure. Safe.

The ‘raging sea’ bit was no exaggeration, unfortunately. A glance out of the portholes showed white-tipped waves under a sky that fit pretty well with Elisabeth’s current mood.

"I don't like the look of those clouds," Steve said, pausing to stand next to her.

She shrugged. Between ghosts and a demon, the weather was the least of her concerns.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

She frowned. "Neither do you."

Steve shrugged, his smile rueful. "It's Tenney's show. I just hold the camera."

“Shouldn’t you go and do that, then, instead of bothering me about the weather?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. We’re not just here to look around. We’re here to make television. So, you know. At least try to participate.”

“I have nothing to add yet,” she said, a bit prickly. “There is nothing demonic going on here.” Her phone vibrated in her pocket. “Nothing demonic at all.”

Steve shook his head. “Fine. Be that way. It’s your job on the line, not mine.”

What was that supposed to mean? Hugh wouldn’t fire her for something like this! Would he? She hadn’t signed up for being an actress, she was an exorcist! And if her boss dared to hold this against her, well –

She took a deep breath. That camera guy was just trying to push her buttons. These kind of reality shows always hungered for drama, didn’t they? And if there wasn’t any, they’d cut and paste their footage enough to manufacture some. She wasn’t going to take this bait, damn it.

[I’m deciphering those files from the computer,] the chibi Alcor said. [They’re encrypted in so many ways! These guys were really paranoid.]

Not paranoid enough to stay alive, it seemed.

Steve was still watching her. Elisabeth kept her eyes on her phone and typed: ‘Anything I need to know? Re: demon?’

Typing worked. That was good to know. Now she could look a little less crazy.

[Nothing yet. This symbol does pop up a lot, but it could be part of the encryption. Still working that one out!]

The screen flashed her an image of something that resembled a flattened X.

[I’m running a few dozen decoder programs right now, just need to find what key they used.]

The pixelated face beamed at her. It seemed just as excited as Alcor was, whenever he was faced with some kind of mystery to unravel.

‘Try Xuerus,’ she suggested.

[… You really have no high regard of cultists, do you?] the Alcor Virus said. [Usually I would agree, but these guys were clever! I never had trouble with deciphering stuff before.]

She slid her phone back into her pocket. At least the Alcor Virus wouldn’t bother her too much, if he was busy with those files. And who knew? Maybe he would find something useful.

“Ah, the mess hall,” Tenney said, at an open doorway at the end of the corridor. “Steve, up front please.”

They waited for Steve to take some shots of the room before entering themselves. The place was a mess, indeed. Benches and long tables. Rotted scraps of cloth littering the floor, the remains of napkins or table cloth or who knew what else.

“Oh,” April said, touching the cracked sheet of plastic on the wall. "There's a bulletin board.”

Age had faded most of the messages. She could make out some numbers and dates - a calender of some kind, probably. In the lower left corner there were two drawings, faded as everything else, but still recognizably made by children. One was just a mass of scribbles. The other depicted blue curls and a black blob in the middle, stick figures on top of it, blue clouds in the sky.

"People lived here," April said, softly. She reached out and touched the drawings. "Children lived here. And then everyone died."

"Your grandmother survived," Tenney said.

"Yes. But by pure coincidence." April took a trembling breath. “I’m sorry, I knew this was going to be difficult but I thought I’d be stronger than this...”

Tenney slid an arm over her shoulders. “Completely understandable, my dear. These people were your family. Do you need a moment to collect yourself?”

April wordlessly shook her head, and Tenney let her be.

They found the kitchen - as deserted as everything else, and with the musty, dusty smell of food that had rotted away a long time ago. From there they went on to old living quarters, tiny bedrooms and communal break rooms.

It was hard to miss the little touches of life, here. The pictures on the walls, the dusty music player. A book had been left on a sitting table, its spine cracked, open and waiting for its reader to return.

Elisabeth carefully removed some of the dust on it. You never know, maybe it was some book on demons, anything that could give a clue about this Xuerus they worshipped.

But no, it was a novel. Just some old romance novel she'd never heard of. Someone had been reading this before leaving it behind, too hurried to put a proper bookmark inside.

"Can I ask you a question?" April said, breaking the silence that followed them into the abandoned rooms.

"Depends," Elisabeth said. "What do you want to ask?"

"Why did you decide to go into demonology?"

She shrugged. Why indeed? No one in her family had meddled with demons, and she had no traumatic tales or - god forbid - Twin Souls obsession to blame for her choice.

"I guess, because I was tired of people being stupid," she said.

April smiled. "You wanted to help people."

Well, yes. Wasn't that the point of everything? "Obviously. Even ignoring cults for a minute, there are way too many demon summonings performed by idiots. They set things loose in this world that are a danger to everyone. We can't let those run around freely." She frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just wondering," April said, her smile turning bittersweet. "What would bring someone to think demon summoning is a good idea."

"Don't compare me to a cult."

"I'm not, I swear. I know it's different. But don't you think... could this be how they got started? Good intentions, that somehow spiralled out of control?"

"Maybe." Elisabeth didn't really believe it though. You had to be pretty crazy to start a cult. "You know what they say about the road to Hell."

"Paved with good intentions," April said, quietly.

A bit like trying to save your classmate-slash-rival from a demonic possession by revealing it on stage. She cringed at the memory. That had been a bad move. Good intentions, but... not the brightest thing she could've done.

On the other hand, her exorcism had worked, even if only for a second. On the Dreambender himself! It had been a good lesson for her - shows you can get the upper hand on even the most powerful of beings - if you could manage to catch them off guard.

It had also taught her that a large room full of everyone's loved ones probably wasn't the best place to mess around with demons, but to be fair, she wasn't the only one to make that mistake and at least no one had died in her case. These cultists had been less lucky.

Well, there hadn't been any proof yet that these cultists had been murdered by their demon, but really, how big were the odds they all mysteriously died by some other, unrelated cause?

As she looked around though, she noticed more and more signs that whatever had happened, hadn't been part of the plans. There was a bowl of something fuzzy and grey on the table, overgrowing the spoon next to it. A chair had been tipped back. In one of the bathrooms a towel was abandoned haphazardly on the floor, moldy clothes stacked next to the sink.

The current theory seemed more and more unlikely. If the cult had died because of some big summoning that went wrong… well, big summonings didn’t just happen. They needed preparation. you’d expect everyone in the cult to be present for an event like that, wouldn’t you?

Unless something had come through before they were ready for it. In which case it could have been any demon, not necessarily this mysterious Xuerus no one knew about.

Great. This wasn’t confusing enough already. Not that it really mattered, of course. It had been sixty years. Whichever demon was responsible, it would be long gone by now.

---

They took a short break in the mess hall, where Steve cleared a table to do some light maintenance on his camera. The image turned fuzzy sometimes, which really shouldn’t happen. Maybe some settings were off…

“Some flickering lights and a mysterious computer message,” Tenney filled in Francesca on the other end of the phone. “Monifa should be deciphering it now. I expect there’s been some progress with programs like that… How about on your end, anything? Disappointing. Very well, we’ll - no, no, I was actually thinking we’d head down and meet you there. Steve needs to fix his camera – can you repeat that? The line’s breaking up – Wonderful. I lost the connection. Steve, you need to get this fixed.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.” Steve hesitated. “What are the plans? Are we going to reconvene with Francesca’s team?”

“Not yet,” Tenney said. “I told her to go ahead and wait for us on the sixth level down. Smaller groups, that’s the key. There’s so little spiritual activity here, they might get spooked and remain quiet if we’re all together.” He glanced at April. “I doubt they’ll get more than ambiance shots, actually. They don’t have you, my dear, and you seem to be the trigger.”

“Oh,” April said. “I, um, was just wondering if I could use the bathroom, but maybe I shouldn’t go alone then…”

“I’ll go with you,” Adams said. “There should be one next to the kitchen here.”

“Of course, of course,” Tenney waved them away. “But be careful, and don’t wander.”

Adams gave him a deadpan look. “I doubt there’ll be many ghosts haunting bathrooms. But don’t worry, we’ll scream if anything happens.”

As soon as the door fell closed behind them, Tenney turned to Steve and gave the suble hand signal to turn off their cameras.

That never boded well.

Tenney started pacing between the tables, keeping a wary eye on the door towards the bathroom.

"We've been burned on this arrangement," he said.

"We have, sir?"

"We were promised a strong haunting. But there's barely anything here."

Yes, that sinking feeling in his stomach was very familiar. "Are you sure, sir? We’ve come across a spirit already -"

"A mere category one!" Tenney said, with an angry gesture. "Playing around with the lights - that's not the material we need. This is our season finale, Steve. We need something big! Something impressive!"

"We haven't gone very deep yet, sir, maybe in the lower levels, where the bodies are -"

"Yes, yes, I know. There could be stronger spirits there," Tenney said, impatiently. "But if there are category ones hanging around... You know the odds as well as I do. I doubt we will find anything higher than a four, maybe a five if we're lucky. Nearly a hundred and fifty people died here. That kind of brutal murder should have at least spawned a category nine!"

Tenney bared his teeth, his famous smile now a dark grimace. "No, we've been duped. We should have known this would be the case. It's the demon's fault. It must have eaten the souls. And what's left is just echoes. Easily removed. And perhaps a handful of category ones, up here."

That possibility had crossed their minds before, of course. Eating souls was what demons did, and without a soul - or at least a fragment of a soul - it was very difficult to get ghosts of an impressive power level. But with such a large number of deaths, and the fact no one had heard about Xuerus afterwards, which definitely should have happened if the demon had gotten such a power boost... And the malfunctioning drones, of course... Well, it all pointed to a powerful haunting. It should have been.

"And this will not do," Tenney said, determination clouding his face. "It will not do at all."

Steve knew where this was going. And it was really, really illegal. "Sir, perhaps we should take a look in the lower levels before making any hasty conclusions.”

It wouldn't work - he knew his boss - but he had to try.

"I can't sense anything from down below, Steve."

"Maybe -"

"Are you telling me my senses are wrong?"

Oh boy. That sweet tone was usually only aimed at Francesca these days. "Of course not, sir."

"Good," Tenney said. "I've been in this business longer than you can imagine, my boy. If there was something above category five down there, I would know."

He clasped his hands behind his back as he turned to the porthole, to the grey sky and foam-flecked waves. "You have the equipment?"

"Sir..."

"We need at least a category eight if we want our ratings to hold. You know what low ratings mean. No season three."

Steve nodded. He had the equipment. He always did, even if some of it could land him in jail. Preternaturals didn't like it if you walked around with powdered banshee tongue and ingredients like that. That's why Tenney didn't keep it on his own person.

"Good," Tenney said, when Steve took the little container with highly illegal things out of the hidden compartment in his camera bag. "Distract the girls for a few minutes, will you? This episode is going to be talked about for years."

#transcendence au #fic: season finale #elisabeth adams #Al-V #the alcor virus #steve the camera guy #a lot of ocs

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moonlita-blog · 8 years ago

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Could Your Child Have a Learning Disability?

If your child is struggling with certain developmental milestones, look for signs of a learning disability and identify the type of learning disability your child may have to get a proper diagnosis.

Learning disabilities (LD) is a general term used to describe a variety of learning disorders. Parents may suspect that their child has a LD if he struggles with reading and writing, avoids school, and has difficulty communicating. According to the National Dissemination Center for Children with Disabilities, as many as 1 out of every 5 people in the United States have a learning disability, and almost 1 million children receive special education in school because of it.

Signs of a Learning Disability

Many children with learning disabilities are extremely smart. In fact, they can use their strengths to hide certain difficulties, like using a phenomenal auditory memory to avoid reading or taking notes. But signs of an LD usually appear before children are expected to read and write. There are also many different types of LDs, and it’s possible for a child to have more than one. If you notice your 3- to 5-year-old having difficulty rhyming words, singing the alphabet song, or mispronouncing words more than other children their age do, these could be signs of a learning disability. Here are a few more red flags that indicate your school-aged child may have an LD:

Mispronouncing words (e.g., “ospital” or “pithostel” instead of “hospital”) Word substitutions (e.g., “The man grew a fuzzy, long ‘board.’”) Poor spelling Difficulty copying shapes, letters, and words Letter and word reversals (e.g., using a “b” instead of “d”, writing “was” instead of “saw”) after 7 years of age. Although these signs may indicate your child has an LD, be sure to first rule out visual impairment, which may cause reading difficulties. Have your child evaluated by a developmental optometrist to make sure glasses aren’t the solution, and always seek a professional for more opinions or an evaluation.

Types of Learning Disabilities

Many children may have both an LD and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), but although these disorders share similar features, ADHD is not a type of learning disability. Here are the six main types of LDs.

Dyslexia: Contrary to popular belief, dyslexia is a language-based disorder, not a visual problem that causes children to reverse letters. “There is a direct relationship between spoken language and a student’s ability to read and spell,” says Lois Brady, a speech and language pathologist and author of Apps for Autism. “Individuals with dyslexia may have challenges with reading, spelling, and writing in conjunction with challenges in both understanding and expressing language. Such challenges may be severe or subtle and difficult to recognize,” Brady adds. According to Sally Shaywitz, M.D., the codirector of the Yale Center for Dyslexia and Creativity and author ofOvercoming Dyslexia, reading disabilities are estimated to make up at least 80 percent of all LDs, and boys are more frequently identified as having dyslexia. The reason may be that girls tend to sit more quietly in their seats while boys often have behavior problems that draw attention to their learning disabilities. DyscalculiaDyscalculia refers to difficulty with mathematics, such as computing, remembering math facts, and learning time and money concepts. The signs of dyscalculia change over time. Very young children may struggle with learning to count; school-aged children may reverse numbers and misalign columns. This type of LD affects functional skills such as playing board games, counting money, or measuring things.

Dysgraphia: “Dysgraphia refers to difficulty with the task of writing,” says Beverly H. Moskowitz, D.O.T., CEO and president of Real OT Solutions, Inc. Handwriting is a complex process that involves processing information and putting thoughts on paper by coordinating vision and pencil movements to form letters and words. “Children with dysgraphia struggle to organize letters, words, and numbers on a page. As a result, a written page may be seen as illegible handwriting, a mixture of letter cases, and/or a disorganized jumble of thoughts, syntax, grammar, and cohesiveness,” Dr. Moskowitz says. Children with this type of LD may also have difficulties with other fine motor skills and spelling.

Dyspraxia: Dyspraxia refers to difficulty with fine motor skills, such as controlling a pencil, grasping scissors, and hand-eye coordination. Parents may observe early signs of dyspraxia in a baby who does not imitate waving and pointing. Dyspraxia also affects gross motor skills such as the coordination to ride a bike or play sports.

Auditory Processing Disorder: Children with auditory processing disorders have difficulty with interpreting auditory information related to language development and reading. Parents and teachers might observe difficulties with discriminating similar sounds and words, following directions, and distinguishing important sounds (such as the teacher’s voice) from background sounds (such as paper crinkling).

Sensory Processing Disorder: Learning disabilities affect the brain’s ability to take in information, process it, and use it in a functional manner such as reading, writing, or following directions. Because of differences in brain wiring, “children with learning disabilities often have sensory processing issues that compound their difficulties,” says Lindsey Biel, an occupational therapist and co-author of Raising a Sensory Smart Child. “Uncomfortable experiences such as hypersensitivity to noise, the glare of overhead classroom lighting, ‘scratchy’ clothing textures, and even the smell of classmates or school supplies can make focusing and concentrating quite difficult,” Biel says.

Visual Processing DisorderVisual processing disorders involve difficulties interpreting visual information related to reading, writing, and math. Children with this type of LD might have a problem discerning visual similarities and differences (for example, in words or patterns). They may struggle to find items on the table or words on a page because they have poor visual figure-ground discrimination. Other signs of a visual processing disorder include difficulties sequencing symbols, words or images, and spelling.

Diagnosing a Learning Disability

Teachers typically offer a referral for educational testing to understand why a student is not working up to his potential. Usually the discrepancy between a student’s expected achievement (such as reading at grade level) and actual academic performance is a hallmark of a learning disability. Specific evaluations can diagnose specific learning disabilities. Parents may also choose a private evaluation by a neuropsychologist, a professional who is qualified to provide a diagnosis. A speech and language pathology (SLP) evaluation can diagnose dyslexia or, along with an audiologist, diagnose an auditory processing disorder, and an occupational therapy evaluation may indicate dyspraxia, dysgraphia, or a visual processing disorder. Although developmental or learning challenges may be observed in younger children, learning disabilities are typically identified in school-aged children when academic demands increase and skills are closely monitored.

Getting Interventions for Learning Disabilities

Learning disabilities vary in terms of severity, with sensory systems (e.g., visual, motor or auditory) and functions (e.g., difficulty speaking, reading, or writing) being affected. Parents who observe that their child is struggling to learn should ask their school to provide comprehensive testing by a team composed of a psychologist, occupational and physical therapists, a speech language pathologist, and an educational specialist. They can also have their child privately evaluated, typically by a neuropsychologist, for a second opinion.

A team approach to interventions may best address the child’s complex learning needs. Speech and language pathologists can provide classroom strategies and direct treatments to improve articulation, reading comprehension, and the ability to distinguish sounds. “Occupational therapy services can help normalize the child’s sensory experiences by increasing his or her underlying capacity to process sensory input and by making minor ‘sensory smart’ modifications to tasks and environments,” Biel says. According to Dr. Moskowitz, “to compensate for this unique visual perceptual or language-processing problem, school-based occupational therapists may collaborate with the classroom teacher to develop three approaches to help kids: accommodations (exploring keyboard alternatives to handwriting), modifications (allowing oral instead of written reports), and remediation (skill training with visual cueing or self-monitoring.)” It’s important that early identification and interventions help children reach their potential.

Talk Active Speech Therapy Clinic in Orlando

#speech therapy #talk active speech therapy #talk active therapy clinic #Child Have a Learning Disability

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