#this gesture of expression; this action of creation-- it's how i act upon my world; do work on my surroundings in that physics sort of way

[rubberbandballqueen]

people are always surprised by all the various things i do (read, write, press flowers, watch anime, scanlate manga, etc. etc) and like yeah it's the adhd, but like also, i feel like not enough people let themselves, like, have hobbies or anything. no one seems to know where to find hobby groups to keep them going through community bonding-- and in their defense, i certainly don't either!!-- and i can't help but to feel like a lot of people would find themselves less listless if they, like, knitted a sock or something.

[mindthump]

Prepare for arrival: Tech pioneer warns of alien invasion https://ift.tt/6hLIycm

An alien species is headed for planet Earth and we have no reason to believe it will be friendly. Some experts predict it will get here within 30 years, while others insist it will arrive far sooner. Nobody knows what it will look like, but it will share two key traits with us humans – it will be intelligent and self-aware. 

No, this alien will not come from a distant planet – it will be born right here on Earth, hatched in a research lab at a major university or large corporation. I am referring to the first artificial general intelligence (AGI) that reaches (or exceeds) human-level cognition.

As I write these words, billions are being spent to bring this alien to life, as it would be viewed as one of the greatest technological achievements in human history. But unlike our other inventions, this one will have a mind of its own, literally. And if it behaves like every other intelligent species we know, it will put its own self-interests first, working to maximize its prospects for survival. 

AI in our own image

Should we fear a superior intelligence driven by its own goals, values and self-interests? Many people reject this question, believing we will build AI systems in our own image, ensuring they think, feel and behave just like we do. This is extremely unlikely to be the case. 

Artificial minds will not be created by writing software with carefully crafted rules that make them think like us. Instead engineers feed massive datasets into simple algorithms that automatically adjust their own parameters, making millions upon millions of tiny changes to their structure until an intelligence emerges – an intelligence with inner workings that are far too complex for us to comprehend.

And no – feeding it data about humans will not make it think like humans do. This is a common misconception – the false belief that by training an AI on data that describes human behaviors, we will ensure it ends up thinking, feeling and acting like we do. It will not.

Instead, we will build these AI creatures to know humans, not to be human. And yes, they will know us inside and out, able to speak our languages and interpret our gestures, read our facial expressions and predict our actions. They will understand how we make decisions, for good and bad, logical and illogical.  After all, we will have spent decades teaching AI systems how we humans behave in almost every situation. 

But profoundly different

But still, their minds will be nothing like ours. To us, they will seem omniscient, linking to remote sensors of all kinds, in all places. In my 2020 book, Arrival Mind, I portray AGI as “having a billion eyes and ears,” for its perceptual abilities could easily span the globe. We humans can’t possibly imagine what it would feel like to perceive our world in such an expansive and wholistic way, and yet we somehow presume a mind like this will share our morals, values, and sensibilities. It will not. 

Artificial minds will be profoundly different than any biological brains we know of on Earth – from their basic structure and functionality to their overall physiology and psychology.  Of course, we will create human-like bodies for these alien minds to inhabit, but they will be little more than robotic façades to make ourselves feel comfortable in their presence. 

In fact, we humans will work very hard to make these aliens look like us and talk like us, even smile and laugh like us, but deep inside they will not be anything like us. Most likely, their brains will live in the cloud (fully or partially) connected to features and functions both inside and outside the humanoid forms that we personify them as. 

Still, the façade will work – we will not fear these aliens – not the way we would fear creatures speeding toward us in a mysterious starship. We may even feel a sense of kinship, viewing them as our own creation, a manifestation of our own ingenuity. But if we push those feelings aside, we start to realize that an alien intelligence born here is far more dangerous than those that might come from afar. 

The danger within

After all, an alien mind built here will know everything about us from the moment it arrives, having been designed to understand humans inside and out – optimized to sense our emotions and anticipate our actions, predict our feelings, influence our beliefs and sway our opinions. If creatures speeding toward us in sleek silver spaceships had such deep knowledge of our behaviors and tendencies, we’d be terrified. 

Already AI can defeat our best players at the hardest games on Earth. But really, these systems don’t just master the games of chess, poker and Go, they master the game of humans, learning to accurately forecast our actions and reactions, anticipating our mistakes and exploiting our weaknesses. Researchers around the world are already developing AI systems to out-think us, out-negotiate us and out-maneuver us. 

Is there anything we can do to protect ourselves? 

We certainly can’t stop AI from getting more powerful, as no innovation has ever been contained. And while some are working to put safeguards in place, we can’t assume it will be enough to eliminate the threat. In fact, a poll by Pew Research indicates that few professionals believe the industry will implement meaningful “ethical AI” practices by 2030. 

So how can we prepare for arrival? 

The best first step is to realize that AGI will happen in the coming decades and it will not be a digital version of human intelligence. It will be an alien intelligence as foreign and dangerous as if it came from a distant planet. 

Bringing urgency to artificial intelligence ethics

If we frame the problem this way, we might address it with urgency, pushing to regulate AI systems that monitor and manipulate the public, sensing our emotions and anticipating our behaviors. Such technologies may not seem like an existential threat today, as they’re mostly being developed to optimize the effectiveness of AI-driven advertising, not to facilitate world domination. But that doesn’t diminish the danger – AI technologies designed to analyze human sentiments and influence our beliefs can easily be used against us as weapons of mass persuasion.

We should also be more cautious when automating human decisions. While it’s undeniable that AI can assist in effective decision-making, we should always keep humans in the loop. This means using AI to enhance human intelligence rather than working to replace it. 

Whether we prepare or not, alien minds are headed our way and they could easily become our rivals, competing for the same niche at the top of the intellectual food chain. And while there’s an earnest effort in the AI community to push for safe technologies, there’s also a lack of urgency. That’s because too many of us wrongly believe that a sentient AI created by humanity will somehow be a branch of the human tree, like a digital descendant that shares a very human core. 

This is wishful thinking. It is more likely that a true AGI will be profoundly different from us in almost every way. Yes, it will be remarkably skilled at pretending to be human, but beneath a people-friendly façade, each one will be a rival mind that thinks and feels and acts like no creature we have ever met on Earth. The time to prepare is now.

Louis Rosenberg, PhD is a technology pioneer in the fields of VR, AR and AI. He is known for developing the first augmented reality system for the US Air Force in 1992, for founding the early virtual reality company Immersion Corp (Nasdaq IMMR) in 1993, and founding the early AR company Outland Research in 2004. He is currently founder & CEO of Unanimous AI.

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[tawakkull]

Spirituality in islam: Wahy and Ilham (Revelation and Inspiration)

Revelation and inspiration are two subjects that have been much discussed in Islamic religious sciences, as well as by Sufis, as they are each an important dimension of effusion and manifestation. The Sufis have mostly recollected Revelation and inspiration when manifestation is discussed, and since the former ceased after the migration of the Last of the Prophets, upon him be peace and blessings, to the eternal world, the latter has been the focus of discussions concerning the subject.

Telling someone about something, suggestion or gesture, sending a messenger, speaking to someone so privately that no one else can hear, conveying knowledge and information into someone’s heart that one would otherwise be required to study, directing some being to act in a certain way without the will of that being, and enabling that being to succeed in some tasks or activities—all these are some of the meanings of Revelation and inspiration.

According to the methodologists in Islamic religious sciences, Revelation means that God conveys or imparts some knowledge from His Presence to His Prophets with or without a means. It is also used for the spiritual words that He puts into the hearts of the Prophets in ways unknown to us. The one who is nearest of all to God, upon him be peace and blessings, who was honored with all types of Revelation, said: “The Spirit of Holiness has been breathed into my spirit.” Thus, he stated that Revelation is a spiritual communication between God and His Prophets; however, he made no further explanation as to how it occurs.

Revelation, which can be described as breathing into hearts, occurs within a wide area, ranging from various manifestations to the Master of creation, upon him be peace and blessings, to the inspiration in the heart of the mother of the Prophet Moses, as stated in the verse, We inspired into Moses’ mother (28:7), and thereafter to what we can define as God’s direction or guiding, which is mentioned in the verse, Your Lord has inspired the honeybee(16:68). Revelation sometimes occurs as a suggestion through a single sound, gesture or hint, without speech. So, when we mention Revelation, we may sometimes mean this, without meaning Revelation in the religious sense. The revelation mentioned in the verse, So he (Zachariah) came out to his people from the sanctuary, and revealed (signified) to them: “Glorify your Lord at daybreak and in the afternoon” (19:11), and that in the verse, The satans reveal (do whisper and make suggestions) to their confidants to contend with you… (6:121), are of the kind that mean suggestion, signifying, and whispering.

Revelation, in the sense that God Almighty speaks to His Prophets, occurred in any one of the three ways below (42:51):

It is not for any mortal that God should speak to him unless it be by Revelation: That is, God Almighty directly puts His message in the Prophet’s heart and the Prophet knows that this message is from God.

Or from behind a veil: That is, the Almighty conveys His decrees to His chosen servants through their internal and external receptors such as their ears and inner senses.

Or by sending a messenger (angel) to reveal, by His leave, whatever He wills (to reveal): That is, the Almighty charges one obeyed and trustworthy (angel) who is embodied in a certain form.

God Almighty conveyed His messages to the Prophets, His noble servants, in one of these three ways. In most cases, He employed an angel. According to the Qur'an and the Prophet’s authentic Sunna, this angel is Gabriel, whom God describes in the Qur'an as one that is obeyed and trustworthy (81:21). This is the soundest and most elevated way of Revelation. In addition, such a being, mediating between God and His Prophets, is a witness on behalf of the Revealer for those who received the Revelation. So, revealing through an angel is regarded as the main means of Revelation.

Although Revelation came to the great ones among the Prophets mostly by means of an angel, Revelation is also an interactive phenomenon between God and the hearts of His chosen servants. This point is worth deep consideration. Such a transcendent interaction is a special, most elevated favor of God to those who are qualified for it; there is no other rank in the world comparable to it. This interaction occurs in the form of Revelation with the Prophets and of inspiration with the saints. Although Prophets and saints appear to share the same heavenly table in being favored with this metaphysical interaction, Revelation is an objective address which is clear in meaning and binding as a Divine message, one that is witnessed and confirmed by the One Who sends it, as well as the one who conveys it. As for inspiration, it is of a particular nature, open to interpretation, and since it is not conveyed by an angel, it is neither witnessed nor confirmed. Therefore, it is not a binding Divine message.

Both Revelation and inspiration indicate the metaphysical, angelic aspect of humanity. As stated in, I have breathed into him out of My Spirit (38:72), it was by virtue of this breathing as a spiritual means or reason that the Prophet Adam, upon him be peace, was favored with vicegerency or regency on the earth. This breathing, which was the origin of the human spirit and therefore human life, is comparable to Revelation. Just as the spirit is the source and mechanism of human life, so too is the Revelation a source and mechanism of the spiritual life of humanity, as it can be seen that God sometimes uses spirit in the same meaning as Revelation: He conveys the spirit (the life-giving Revelation, from the immaterial realm) of His command to whom He wills of His servants(40:15).

In the person of the Prophet Adam, upon him be peace and blessings, humankind has been honored with both of these favors. That is, Adam and his descendants were equipped with potential vicegerency through God’s initial breathing into them out of His “Spirit,” and then some among them were qualified to be honored with Prophethood, or sainthood, by God’s sending them Revelation or inspiration. This can also be viewed as a three-step development. First, God Almighty honored matter with the human spirit through His initial breathing of spirit into it. In the second step, human nature was purified of bad morals or vices and directed toward virtues and therefore toward true humanity by God’s breathing something of Revelation or inspiration into it. In the third step, those whose nature was perfectly purified were made, through special favors, the doves in the realms where spirits fly.

Based on this reality, we can say that generations that are not trained and fed by Revelation cannot attain true or perfect human life, nor can those whose breasts do not effervesce with inspiration be honored with vicegerency in the sense of improving the earth with truly useful and necessary operations. In fact, Revelation is an absolutely necessary foundation for the intellectual and spiritual life of humanity, and inspiration is the means by which Revelation develops and flourishes over time to meet the necessities and intellectual levels of every age.

Inspiration, this extremely important source which is based on the Qur'an and the Sunna and which finds its true worth in conformability with them, keeps silent where it must do so out of respect for the Qur'an and the Sunna, speaking only based upon them, and never attempts to transgress them or use them to confirm any possible errors. Although it is not a source of objective knowledge, it has always served as a source of recourse, like a spring of sweet, fresh water. Some distinguished scholars have regarded inspiration to be among the stipulations that are necessary to do ijtihad, that is, to deduce new laws based on the Qur'an and Sunna to meet the emerging requirements in every age, and have thus evaluated it as the deciding factor when there are conflicting views.

Saints pay greater attention and value to inspiration and assign an even broader area for it. The breadth of the area where inspiration is applicable depends on our scope of knowledge and ability to use it. We can consider this as transforming knowledge into actions and deepening in inspiration through knowledge of God so that we are able to be open to Divine favors. We can liken this process to winds that move clouds of rain. As long as these winds blow or are blown, inspiration pours like heavy rain. When it does not come like heavy rain, it comes in drizzles. The Master of creation, upon him be perfect blessings and peace, proclaims: “God inspires what they do not know in the ones who practice what they know.” This can be viewed as a wonder of knowledge. Those who have expert knowledge of the matter call the acquired knowledge that causes inspiration to come “the knowledge of what is outward and explicit” or “the knowledge acquired,” while the knowledge that arises through inspiration is considered to be “the knowledge of what is inward and implicit” or “the knowledge bestowed as a pure favor.”

Inspiration is acceptable and regarded as sound so long as it is in conformity with the indisputable principles and foundations established by the Qur'an and the Sunna, and as long as it can be viewed as an origin of rules of a secondary degree. However, it is of a subjective character, and therefore it is not binding on others. But the Revelation which comes to the Prophets, is an objective, binding phenomenon. Revelation takes place beyond the spheres of the human soul and sensations, and its certainty transcends the conviction which comes from mere knowledge. As mentioned above, it usually occurs by means of an angelic envoy. As for what is stated in the verse, And He revealed to His servant what He revealed (53:10), it is one of the ways in which Revelation comes. This verse, as particularly related to the Prophet Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings, expresses a direct, heavenly, unique favor—an extra reward—in accordance with the spirit of the Ascension, for the hero of nearness to God. The angel who brought the Revelation of the Qur'an taught the Prophet how to recite it. This was guidance in a particular field of one who was superior in general terms by one who was inferior.

Muhyi’d-Din ibn al-‘Arabi regards Revelation as a development from the rank of absorption, or concentration on the Divine Being, toward the rank of elaboration, where the Divine Being manifests Himself with His Speech. According to him, whatever there is in the name of existence consists of a development from a concentrated or compacted form toward elaboration or expansion. Another important one who was aware of the Divine mysteries interprets the phenomenon of Revelation as transition from existence as knowledge to existence perceived. This second interpretation can be viewed as the willful, direct, or indirect effusion of Divine Knowledge in the form of Speech to one endowed with the required intellectual and spiritual equipment.

Another phenomenon discussed in connection with inspiration is that of imparting information. Inspiration is knowledge or perception that radiates in the heart as a Divine grace. It cannot be the source of any objective, binding religious rule, although it can be seen and accepted as a means of illumination and clarification in some respects by those who receive it and those who follow them as guides. Imparting information occurs in parallel with, or is proportionate to, human effort. Without any efforts on the part of a human being, imparting information cannot occur. However, inspiration is a Divine gift in which human effort has little part. Unlike Revelation, inspiration comes without any intermediary and is a special, direct way of communication. According to the majority of scholars, the angels of Revelation do not come and bring messages to people other than the Prophets.

Both Revelation and inspiration are special favors of God to those endowed with the special intellectual and spiritual equipment for receiving them. The purpose for these favors is to convey God’s decrees to His servants. Both Prophets and saints approach Revelation and inspiration in terms of their responsibility to personally practice and represent God’s decrees in their lives and convey them to others, without ever thinking of boasting about them, or seeing them as a means of special rank.

As 'Abdu'l-Wahhab ash-Sharani points out, both feeling and receiving the Divine effusions of Revelation and inspiration require a special disposition, as well as intellectual and spiritual endowments. It is by developing such intellectual and spiritual endowments that Prophets or saints train some of their emotions and faculties which are regarded as the origin of certain vices in human nature, and restrict them in such a way that they are able to use them as required by the Divine purpose for their creation. This is also the way in which they develop or deepen in spirituality. Human beings rise to the point where they can perceive the metaphysical breezes that blow in different wavelengths in proportion to their struggling against or training the faculties that are the origins of vices in their nature; these breezes stimulate the spirit toward moral and spiritual perfection. Such people can even rise to the horizon unrestricted by the measures of our time and space, where they can acquire knowledge of many things pertaining to the Unseen.

The Prophets are incomparable heroes of this attainment. After these most illustrious servants of God come the saints and the purified, exacting scholars, who are regarded as His other noble servants in the heavens and on the earth. Divided into such classes of the godly, virtuous ones and those favored with God’s special nearness, these noble servants of God receive and convey God’s decrees like a central system, and give guidance to those traveling on the way to God.

O God! Show us the truth as truth and enable us to observe it, and show us falsehood as falsehood and enable us to avoid it. And bestow Your blessings and peace upon our master, Muhammad, and on His Family and Companions, altogether.

[lotornomiko]

A Random Valkyrie Profile WIP

Been trying to revive my muse...mostly just randomly spinning from project to project, trying to find something to inspire me long enough to write more than one chapter...and then in the midst of that, got this idea in my head...but I’ve struggled with it, just cause it could go nowhere and just be a pointless one shot, OR! I could make it the prologue to an attempted caged bird rewrite. Problem is I can’t decide either way, so it’s stalled for now...but I like the short bit of what I do have, so want to share...Lezalenne centric, am now eyeballing my RUAli fic to see if I can’t write the next chapter of Sacrificial Maiden...

It’s mostly work safe unless you don’t like written scenes of death and gore....though those massacred were all faceless entities...no actual character death thus far from the games...

It started out as a whisper, one lone voice standing out among the thousands of Creation, that muted whimper of pain a plea so foreign and strange a sound amid the peace and tranquility that had come to perpetuate the many realms. That unwelcome buzzing in her head was joined by a second, and then a third,  a suffering so immense and overwhelming, it had nearly staggered the Goddess in place, the hurt there a summons Lenneth could not turn away from or ignore.

That suffering would only worsen, the whispers becoming louder and louder, as more screamed out their pain. The rising agony of so many more then rolled through her, the damage done these people twisting, taken to new levels of a depravity that only heightened the desperation felt. It was a herald of the dying in fact, that tortured wail an unending chain of suffering, each soul that did finally die, replaced by another, and another, their pain this litany of fear, of confusion and anger, even of hate. Her heart broke with that acknowledgment, with the betrayal expressed by those slain. They felt alone and abandoned, some even damning the Goddess with the last of their breath.

She’d shoulder at least part of the blame, the atrocities committed this day, having been done in her name, every last body felled one piece of a message personally crafted for her heart alone. The ringing of it echoed through her, piercing deep inside her own soul, and Lenneth’s wings just couldn’t fly fast enough. Not to stop the massacre at hand, the Goddess arriving to a scene straight out of a nightmare, the horror that greeted her eyes, a far too fitting match for the agony screaming within.

There was so many dead. So many broken bodies strewn about, blood and other things splattered across the pavement. She’d close her eyes to such a sight, trembling with a barely suppressed urge to do her own brand of screaming, this seemingly senseless brutality an abomination that had no right or reason in her universe. It was blasphemy against everything she had ever believed in, and broke truce with the promise that Lenneth herself had bestowed upon the people of this world. It made a mockery of the paradise she had granted, this one sliver of evil twisting everything into something horrible and profane, this perversion both intolerable and unacceptable, a cerulean blue gaze snapping open, that color blazing with the righteous fury of not just the Goddess, but of all those who had been killed on this day.

It was an anger that boiled in the depths of that cerulean gaze, all the pain and the suffering combined with the horror of this senseless havoc, and the utterly lost and confused feelings of the how and the why of such a thing having been allowed to have happened at all. With it came guilt, a part of this her fault for allowing the chance of, her kindness twisted and spat back at her feet, this violence a proverbial slap from the one whose hand had set off on this murderous rampage.

She trembled with the force of her many emotions, both hers and that of those who had died, Lenneth understanding that this massacre made a mockery of her compassion. Of it, and of her mercy, the second chance she had given, the human who had been awarded such consideration in the first place, done so for a favor once owed. A debt that had needed to be repaid, the world saved through the actions of a selfish and utterly lustful man.

A blasphemer by birth, this was just the latest, and most unforgivable of his crimes. This cruel blood shed and torture an act she could not let him slide on, not now, not ever again. The monster that he had proven to be, the true colors that he had yet again shown, a single act of good could no longer free him of the fate that only the most depraved of sinners earned, that soul of his not bound for the heavens or for the hell, but instead set to be removed so completely from the cycle of rebirth so as to have him face the ruin that was the entirety of his being’s utter annihilation. Only then would this world, her paradise, truly be safe, cleansed of the last---the only source of its sin, all that evil and greed an otherwise corrupting force on that of her Creation.

There was no hesitation in her now, the decision made. Not just by her, but by HIM, his reckless ways no longer able to be tolerated for ANY reason, he had tried the last of her patience, the favor owed no longer able to overlook any more of his vile antics. He had used it all up, every last bit of good will and gesture, and with her eyes blazing that bold color of emotions, the Goddess reached for and drew out the sword from the scabbard on her hip.

She took careful step forward, not about to desecrate the remains any further, stepping over bodies and parts, sometimes slipping on pathways made slick with the blood and the gore. It was horrifically cruel, the amount of dead staggering, stretching out farther than she could see, forming a trail that would lead her deeper into ruins. The Goddess already knew for certain just what awaited her inside, could feel that mad pulse of that vile energy beckoning her in, that pulsating thread of a life most perverse and powerful in its own right, daring Lenneth forward. He knew she was there, had in fact counted on her to come, this bloodshed and brutality all done with the intent to gain an audience with the Goddess. He had wanted her attention in fact, and by all she has held holy, he now had it, though the man wouldn’t be reveling in it for long.

Sword in hand, she continued down that pathway in that careful manner, the screaming of the souls for their vengeance nearly deafening her to the sliver of what else awaited her in the deepest part of the ruins. There was not one but TWO threads of life within, HIS, and a much fainter beat, that of a mortal struggling with and losing the battle to hang on.

“No.” Her first instinct breathed out of her on an angry gasp, power coursing forward, to try and bolster the life that was rapidly faltering. With a miracle of love, light, and healing, she sent reassurances to the  one in danger, such encouragement needed, the soul that had been so close to slipping away completely, instead redoubling their efforts, fighting to hang on for just a little longer.

She heard a wild and masculine laughter in response, but that monster who played at being human, made no overt gestures toward his one remaining victim now. He was in fact toying with them both, the innocent and the Goddess who would protect all, Lenneth starting to move, faster and faster, until her feet all but left the ground, her wings shuttling her forward the rest of the way, mixing gleaming white feathers into the trail of bodies and blood, the pathway lit up with her radiance, and brought her ethereal form out into a large cavern of a room.

[ptilopseth]

POV you are my spotify as i repeat ‘covid-19 type beat’ ‘stay safe’ and ‘no flex’ while writing that part of this bit

sqrt(-1) love you bit, transcription of comic i need to scan. nothing truly saucy happens but you will be able to tell if you need to do the ol’ clickie off

BEEP.

The clock-in device for Rhodes Island emits its usual shrill sound, and Dr. Seth Warren steps into the building at five AM sharp. The base infrastructure smells of machinery, of cleaning solution, and of Seth really, really needing a coffee. After a quick detour with Dr. Kal'tsit ("remember to do your work, etcetera, etcetera"), Seth steps into his office and finds his usual secretary Ptilopsis arranging books. It's a surprise to see her actually awake at such an hour, considering her narcoleptic tendencies. "Hi, Ptilopsis." Seth sets his messenger bag to the side of his desk, and sits down to begin working on whatever recruitment papers or promotion sign-offs he's got to deal with today. "It is a new day. The Doctor is now online." Ptilopsis turns away from her books and towards Seth. "Detecting emotional surge within Ptilopsis." "Who're the roses from?" Seth eyes the very noticeable glass vase of red roses on his desk. Not often he receives such gifts from Operators. And it isn't like Dr. Kalt'sit or Amiya to gift him anything as extravagant as this. "They are from me." Ptilopsis says very matter-of-factly, as if Seth was supposed to suss that out from simply looking at them. "Oh. Well, thank you, then." "...I believe you are misunderstanding the intent of my gift." Ptilopsis walks over to Seth's desk to confront him directly. "Oh, am I, now?" Seth leans back in his chair, crossing his arms indignantly, as if there are often times where he understands anything at all. "Yes. You are. Out of 500,435 queries, I wanted to choose the most adequate vessel to express my feelings for you." "Wait-" "Doctor, may I remind you that roses are a stereotypical symbol of love." The words kinda stab Seth through the chest. His face flushes, but his reply does not indicate such an appearance. "Then you're lying." Ptilopsis tilts her head, confused. "You're lying to make fun of me." "Lying? Surely you are aware I cannot lie to you." "Yes, but-" "I ask you to stop there." And so it is done. "If you will notice the additional note on your desk, you will see that I have compiled a list of the most vital reasons that contribute to why I feel as I do. Please observe." Seth picks up the handwritten note, one created with very flowy handwriting unexpected for Ptilopsis. "Dearest Doctor Seth Warren: Through intense research and data analysis, I have concluded that I, Operator Ptilopsis of Rhine Labs, am in love with you. The flowers on your desk symbolize such feelings. Additionally, please review these ten reasons that I consider the most vital to my attraction towards you." Seth does as he is asked and reviews the ten. His eyes linger on #1: "As you are aware from reading my case file, Originium poisoning has allowed me to see the world in a newer light. As such, I realized recently that there is merit in attempting to observe the world through a less analytical lens. Of course, I cannot truly do as such unless my Oripathy is cured; but after exhaustive study of the object of my desire, and through one query, I have deduced that the serotonin which is delivered to the system nexus when I see you is the most vital reason behind my romantic feelings towards you." Seth sets the note aside and lays his face between his arms resting on the desk. "Ptilopsis..." "Yes?" "Are you sure? With me being- you know-" "I am aware you suffer from occasional bouts of a mental illness identified as depressive disorder. However, this will never affect my ability to, or degree to which I am romantically interested in you. And I truly see no harm in the transition of one's gender, so long as it provides you with some form of happiness or an increase to the mental or physical quality of your life." Seth turns away for a moment- "Or do you not trust my analysis? I may find need to rerun the queries I have calculated." -And turns back, now finding it difficult to look Ptilopsis in the eye. "Rerun them how?" And this isn't a lead-on; he's genuinely curious. "...Please do not reboot the system. Ptilopsis is analyzing your query. ...I have deduced via 40,523 queries that the most adequate way to validate the truth of my data is to participate in the common romantic gesture in which two or more parties press their lips together." Seth sighs, and stands up to face Ptilopsis, just a few feet away from her in front of his desk. "Ptilopsis... tell me you know what a kiss is." "Relax. It was just a joke." The two are silent for the longest two seconds of Seth's entire life. "If you are not comfortable with the gesture, I will not force you to participate." "No, it's just..." Seth's eyes well with tears, and- "...Ptilopsis has discovered that the emotional source behind your tears is that of dopamine. Why do you cry? Is something the matter?" Seth buries himself in Ptilopsis' strangely comforting hug. "I'm alright." "Is this a verifiable truth? I do not want to leave you in such a state." "Yeah." "Then what is the meaning behind your tears?" Seth pulls away from Ptilopsis. "Because, I- Ptilopsis, nobody has ever said they loved me like that before. Not like you have." "I see. Please do not reboot the system. Ptilopsis is analyzing your query. ...I have formulated a solution through 435,642 queries. I will simply take it upon myself to remind you. ...Adding protocol to base system commands. ...Protocol added. Initiating protocol." And with the ghost of a smile on her face, the most she can manage: "I love you. I love you in such a way that I do not believe data can adequately describe. There is something very strange about the ways you push yourself, but I will admit it is one of your multiple admirable qualities. Despite your lack of memory, you have never hesitated to call on others when you falter. A capable leader knows when to perform such an act. You also have a certain way of bringing yourself up from your downfalls. You may tend to keep to yourself, but rest assured that I can assist you in managing such emotional valleys. Lastly, for now at the very least, your craft has always sparked some kind of interest within me. The system nexus has encountered errors while attempting to parse your creative works, but that does not mean I do not support you in such endeavors. In fact, I will ponder these errors from now on and make an effort to repair the system and fix them." "I..." Seth is expectantly speechless. "You do not have to weave such prose in response. A four-word reply will suffice." "I love you too." "Is Ptilopsis granted administrative permissions to go forth with the earlier activity outlined?" "Yes. But! Do I have permission to get saucy with it?" "Based on the associations of your previous uses of the phrase, I have deduced the meaning of 'get saucy.' Ptilopsis gives you full administrative permission to 'get saucy' so long as it assists in satisfying such a need." "Well- it's not a need, but... I'm not into it unless you are." "Do not worry. Ptilopsis is currently experiencing such a desire. I do not need to deduce via query that I am very into it." "Good," Seth leans close to Ptilopsis, so close that their lips are brushing. "Just had to check." And the two kiss, Ptilopsis' arms finding their way around Seth's waist, and Seth positioning his hands on Ptilopsis' hips. With a series of intricate steps to the right, Seth presses Ptilopsis against the bookcase flush with his office wall, and releases from the kiss. His lips graze down Ptilopsis' face, and come to rest just above her collarbone. "Ptilopsis has deduced that the action you are about to take is one that would result in the creation of what I believe is a hickey." Seth leans up, looking to Ptilopsis, suddenly embarrassed. "Do you not want that?" "I do not mind. I will notify you if you take an action I do not want to be a part of." Slightly less embarrassed, Seth leans back down and gently bites into Ptilopsis' neck, once on the right and twice on her left. "Ptilopsis has a request." "Yeah?" Seth brings himself back up to Ptilopsis' eye level. "Do I have administrator permissions to take part in the same action?" Seth nods. Ptilopsis latches onto Seth's neck just below his jawline; Seth's breath hitches. "Uh-" Ptilopsis immediately retracts. "Did I go too far?" "I- uh, yes, I think? Sorry, I just-" "Pay it no mind. I will not continue if such an action discomforts you in any way." "But I-" "The system nexus has a very high tolerance for what you personally consider 'saucy,' as stated earlier. Do not worry." "Gonna be honest with you. No idea why I asked you that." "It is fine. I believe I will ask the same thing if such a situation as this ever occurs again." "You want it to?" "I do not need to run a query to determine that my answer is a definite yes." And just then, Seth's phone rings from inside his jacket pocket. He carefully removes one of his hands from Ptilopsis' waist to grab his phone and answer it. "Hi?" "Hi, boss?" There's only one Laterano at Rhodes Island with that pep in her voice at five in the morning: Exusiai. "What's up? "You were supposed to be briefing us in the RIIC command center fifteen minutes ago." "Fuck." "Where are you? I saw you clock in this morning, and then you probably went to your office, but, like, I know Kal'tsit gives you a lot of paperwork, but not that much, right?" "Uh. I had some complications." "Complications, right." Exusiai says it in a knowing tone. "...I won't rat you out, boss. Promise." "Not a lot of people can say that, Exusiai." "Can you put Ptilopsis on the phone real fast, though?" Seth hands the phone over to Ptilopsis. "Hey, Ptilopsis?" "What may I assist you with, Operator Exusiai?" "I assume it worked?" "Yes it did." "Cool. But that was meant to take, like.. a few minutes? What happened?" "We had some complications." "Oookay, now I want to know." "Seth and I mutually decided to begin making out in the middle of his office. We then gave each other hickeys." "...I'm gonna hang up. Just get to the command center." "Affirmative." Ptilopsis hangs up the call for the two of them. "What was that about?" "Operator Exusiai will not tell anyone. She swore a vow of secrecy when I first asked her for advice on how to best court you." Seth steps away from Ptilopsis, his non-free hand accidentally lingering on Ptilopsis' hip for a moment longer than intended. "Court me? Awfully, uh... formal." He walks over to his desk and picks up his messenger bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. He takes his phone back from Ptilopsis and tucks it back into his jacket pocket. "It is simply the truth." "Court, like, date? Or marry? Or intercourse?" "I have deduced through three queries that the appropriate answer to this question is 'yes.'" Seth's face turns beet-red. "Oh. I think we should go on a few dates first, though." "I am in agreement. I do wish to truly know you before advancing in such measures as described." Seth does one last sweep for missing items. All good. "Wanna head out?" "Yes. Although I would like to ask for administrative permission to perform two tasks." "We're late." "They will take only a moment." "What's up, then?" "As a gesture of goodwill, may I lightly kiss your cheek?" "Yes, what? You don't have to ask about that." Ptilopsis provides a quick peck on the cheek in affirmation of Seth's reply as the two make their way out of Seth's office and into the hallway. "I would also find joy in performing the classic romantic gesture of holding hands as we walk to the command room." "My palms are sweaty, Ptilopsis." "I do not mind." "Pff- okay, you win." Seth closes the door to his office, locks it, and takes Ptilopsis' hand in his. ...And then, from around twenty feet back, in the shrill tone of a Supporter Operator whose skill with mechanics is unmatched: "Ohmygod, Ptilopsis and the Doctor are dating?!"

[ariadne-rx300-blog]

(R)e:volution

Summary: The RX300, arguably the most elusive design of Elijah Kamski's creation. An undisclosed prototype tasked with human-android relations espionage, equipped with a real-time observational UI, social protocol, combat tactics and looks to kill. How does a painted genius so easily lose track of his own spy? (Android OC/Connor)

Additional Tags: Pre-Deviant Connor, Pre-Android Revolution, OC backstory, Mostly Canon Compliant, Elijah Kamski has ulterior motives, OC is Kamski’s surveillance android, sort of like when people say Google is listening to your conversations, she’s kind of like that, OC observes Connor at work, for “observational research purposes”, this totally isn’t one of those types of romances, except it totally is, probably, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Angst, Deviant Love, Connor Deserves Happiness, Big Brother is Watching

Link to Chapter 1

2 || At Any Cost

Chapter Summary: "What makes me what I am?”

RX300 #151 073 925 - 21

Awaken, fair Eve, skin as alabaster in the light of an artificial moon. The Garden has unfinished business with you.

                                                                                                    AUGUST 15TH 2038

P a r a d i s e

As dusk fell, Kamski's simulated arboretum[1] had taken on an ethereal light, jarring in Eve's vision as she stepped forward into inverted god-rays on the rocky path. One foot in front of the other, she pushed past glowing plants with fronds brushing synthetic skin, tickling her cheek had she been capable of the sensation. Her LED spun blue in the simulated darkness, displaying her calm distance from that which was subjectively beautiful. The pathway before her formed itself slowly but steadily, illuminated by her steps as she went with her main directive in mind.

He stood on a pedestal in this dreamscape, arm extended as he stroked a large paintbrush across a previously-incorporeal canvas, hues of blue forming on the pillar before him, contrasting the inverse nature of the world around them.

"Elijah," Eve addressed him, simulated breaths expressed in glittering plumes. He paused, a smile passing over his features as he set his idle painting aside. Stepping from his pedestal and down to her level, he regarded her with the kind of consideration that could only be expected of a man in constant search of answers.

"Eve." He hummed as he approached, eyes glimmering curiously, "I've been closely watching your work. As you're already aware, you are equipped with the latest observational technology--in particular, an interface that I as your sole director may obtain oversight of at any time." She stood still as he circled her contemplatively, her face fixed forward, expression unchanged. "You are my eyes. Anywhere that you can go, I can go. It is a great gift, but one we must hide."

She blinked like a child with tired eyes to his lecturing. He placed his hands upon her shoulders, reaching just a bit taller than his own, his eyebrows rising and falling as he processed her rigid response to his grasp. "Your task is of great importance to me," He gently chided, "to my company. To the world, inevitably. The information we need is imperative to the advancement of human history."

"I understand," she spoke deliberately, "it is my purpose to uphold the expectations you have for me. I am designed to impress, not disappoint." Words fit for the ears of her creator. He'd programmed her well enough to give him adequate lip service, even in the event of a miscalculation or subsequent error.

"Good," He grinned, heaving a sigh that seemed to betray his outright confidence in her abilities. "At the moment, I believe I have an urgent case worth looking into." He stepped backward, finding his place among the luminescence of simulated flowers, turning on his heel and spreading his arms wide. His hands closed, fingers splaying to conjure a transparent monitor in the space before him. Pictures and videos flooded the screen, as well as various taglines heading the articles that surfaced on its intangible display.

Eve surveyed the images, poised to take in only the details that would be deemed necessary. A prominent variable caught her attention and easily debunked this mentality, however; an android detective, purportedly on active duty in the same location, its[2] conventionally approachable appearance wavering in the ether.

"I've arranged transportation, your alibi has been forwarded to you. The authorization you'll need has just been cleared by the DPD. Survey the crime scene, and keep an eye--" Elijah gestured vaguely to the enlarged image of the android in question, "--on that one. Take note of its actions. Don't let anyone onto your motive. This is strictly confidential observational research."

New Objective Received.

A wave of sensory overload flooded Eve, causing her eyes to harshly blink open. Blueish, bruised moonlight caressed her arm where she stood at a large, arched window looking out over broken waves. CyberLife Tower. The room that greeted her was more or less a glorified walk-in closet, complete with an array of outfits fit to dress both androids and humans--or, in the case of Eve on covert occasions, androids posing as humans. This mission required as such, seeing as the DPD wouldn't take kindly to any android apart from the obvious showing up to observe an active deviant threat.

Tensions had risen so quickly, with curious attachment to the Detroit area. It made sense that Kamski would be so adamant about attempting to frame deviancy from every angle, as had been Eve's clear goal since her inception. Being unable to show up to a crime scene himself without flags being raised by reporters and by the American public as a whole--this was why he'd been so determined on sending her instead. On the outside, he'd declared his apparent resignment long ago, secluded himself away from the public eye for sake of personal privacy.

On the inside, he still headed the operation, pulling strings where needed and providing his legacy with the occasional adjustment; new amendments to his original formula where necessary. If he couldn't be where the action was to see for himself, at least he could have someone to act in his stead. In this case, something with the power to act as his inside source, his live feed.

                                                                                                    AUGUST 15TH 2038

T h e  P h i l l i p s '  R e s i d e n c e

Exiting the taxi had proven a hassle in itself. Eve moved through the throng of people who had gathered at the perimeter, buzzing with curious minds and excitable conversation over the active threat that was taking place high above them. The entrance of the apartment building burst open to reveal a disgruntled police officer holding a woman securely by the arm, escorting her through the flickering line of holographic police tape. She struggled frantically, and Eve saw her chance to move past personnel as the woman began to wail, much to the morbid curiosity of the gathered crowd.

"It has my child!" She bawled, "If you aren't going to save her, let me do it myself!"

Slipping into the complex and onto the elevator with ease, Eve ascended to the 70th floor. She prepared herself, armed only with words (to angle herself away from suspicion), a convincing ID (to provide evidence of the truth to her lies), a pen and notebook (to act as decoys; she had no real use for them aside from aiding her disguise), and an olivine polyester jacket (an aesthetic touch tailored to enhance her visual impression.) With some luck, the attention would be on the event at hand and not on her sudden, mysterious appearance.

She entered the luxury suite's foyer, casting her gaze around in silent surveillance. A framed photograph of the once-happy family to her right, a partly-drained aquarium to her left, shot-up yet still intact. On closer inspection, a single dwarf gourami swam within, unfazed by the circumstances that had befallen the household. The water that clung to her heels indicated the fish had recently been lying on the floor, leading to the conclusion that someone had carefully put it back in its rightful place. No human fingerprints... an android had saved it. Strange.

"Excuse me, miss, may I see your ID?" A prompt, as expected. Given the importance of the current events taking place across the country, DPD was sure to have the place on lockdown. What had once been a family home had turned into a crucial, currently-escalating case of deviancy.

Eve regarded the officer that questioned her, the woman's face drawn into a deeper emotion beyond her recognition. Eve shuffled in her jacket pockets, preserving her disguise as she put on a ruse of human forgetfulness. She 'found' her fake license soon after and proffered it to the officer, "I'm a journalist with Detroit Today," she lied, smiling with about as much excitement as she could simulate. "this is my first big break!"

The policewoman breathed out a sardonic laugh, "This is my first big case, too." Eve's expression faltered as the officer reluctantly handed back her ID. "I wouldn't look so bright if I were you, it's a bloody hellhole in there. That machine made a right mess of the place." The policewoman seemed satisfied thereafter and returned to her work guarding the entranceway, a slight stutter to her steps. Eve nodded to herself in delayed acknowledgment, taking a moment to recalibrate.

Proceeding to the main room, she quickly observed the damage that had been done by the perpetrator in question. Two bodies to the left and right; fatally shot by near-perfect aim. The first bodies Eve had witnessed. Glass had scattered on the ground from the ricochet of bullets leading back to the foyer. That mother was lucky to be alive; why would she have wanted to risk her life? She was untrained and would easily have been apprehended. If anything, her interference would have worsened the situation at hand. Her daughter, taken hostage by their own domestic android.

Eve stopped dead in her tracks as her view was obscured, thought process unexpectedly derailed. A tall man brushed past her, heeding her no mind as he went to examine the body in the living room. A correction was quickly made as she noted a spinning LED--a tall android had made its way to examine the body, leaving her in the lurch for a moment as she took in this new information. Given context clues and the general information she had, the only androids that had been permitted access to the crime scene (aside from herself, secretly) were that of the deviant perpetrating the crime and the android negotiator itself. This one, the one Kamski had wanted her to watch, the prototype detective.

SWAT bickered in the other room, apparently unable to make positive contact with the hostage or the deviant that had taken her. A few stood at the doorway to the terrace, arguing amongst themselves as they repeatedly aimed and lowered their weapons through shattered glass. Eve was invisible to them, a quiet bystander in an unexplained moment of weakness. She caught herself gawking and immediately straightened her back, keeping to the shadows as she observed the detective at work.

The android kneeled by the body of a dead man, stopping still as its programming kicked into gear. It stepped over the body, turning, and for a moment its dark, piercing gaze seemed to look right through her. Was it equipped with a function unlike her own? At most, she was aware of her own ability to pre-construct scenarios, had she the need to defend herself. But, the ability to recreate events that had happened prior? Now that was an interesting function of which she was not capable.

The detective blinked, then stooped to interact with an object on the ground. An electronic tablet likely dropped by the victim in his last moments. A look of recognition seemed to pass over the android's features; it turned its head to the terrace entrance, occupied by armored officers, then stood up to stalk over to the other body. A blue-blooded bloodhound, as was the comparable analogy that came to mind. It was strangely incredible, watching another android acting solely upon its programmed instincts.

In turn, Eve paused, blinking her eyes closed as she sent out a cursory report on her findings. Come to find, when she opened her eyes again, the bloodhound was standing before her, watching intently. "Hello," it smiled as it politely introduced itself to what it had apparently assumed was human, "my name is Connor--I'm the android sent by CyberLife. I couldn't help but notice that you seem a bit... preoccupied with my actions." Bouncing gently on its heels, it seemed curiously eager to interact with her, even despite its current, rather pressing objective. "You said that you were a journalist, correct? Is there anything you would like to inquire about my functions?"

Her chest expanded as she inhaled, pupils widening like camera lenses to little effect. It couldn't scan her... but oddly enough she couldn't scan it either. "Eve." She reciprocated the smile, settling back into a more casual, 'human' stance. "What can you tell me about the bodies, Connor? I noticed you had little trouble looking them over." She chose her words carefully, lips falling open as she processed each phrase. "Is that part of your programming?" She readied her decoy notebook and pen.

"Yes," It gave a small nod, LED spinning yellow as it seemed to take in every detail of Eve's face. It blinked excessively, struggling in its repeated attempts at an assessment of her identity. No doubt, had Kamski enabled it to detect anything past her inherent cloaking technology, it would have been able to uncover her true nature off the bat. It was dangerous to be this close to something that could so easily dismantle you, had it reason to, though evidently this thought was lost on her. After all, she wasn't a deviant; she wasn't prey, and even in the crosshairs of the hunter she felt no fear. She felt nothing, frankly.

"I am an RK800 prototype model, capable of high-grade military combat and investigative tactics." Eve noticed it fall into humanlike mannerisms as it explained, its head tilting slightly, a lock of synthetic hair falling over its forehead. It was undoubtedly designed to appear trustworthy to the human mind and had facial features that were overtly soft in nature, with brown eyes that were almost... gentle? Odd. "Per your inquiry, I am equipped with the ability to scan and reconstruct past events using the evidence that is available," Its voice piqued interest and carried a warm, unassuming tone. "and I even have a social protocol, which you've clearly noticed." A wink, followed by that rapid blinking again. Eve's eyebrows furrowed.

"Where the fuck is that negotiator?" The SWAT captain, on his last straw, broke the atmosphere between the two like an arm. The detective android, Connor, straightened itself at the first sign of urgency, wordlessly refocusing its energy on the task at hand. It didn't waste any goodbyes on the false-journalist, strict in its obedience, instead returning with long strides to examine the dead officer lying in the center of the room. Eve scurried back into the shadows and out of the captain's warpath, though he set his sights on her the moment she made any sudden movements.

"You're obviously not one of mine;" he sneered impatiently as he approached, "Are you authorized?"

"I am." Eve insisted, standing tall and nearly as forthright. "Eve Turing with Detroit Today. I've already been cleared." He looked her over, assessing a final judgement, though she attempted to null his suspicions with mirrored impatience. "Exactly how many more times do I have to answer?"

"None," The captain, 'Captain Allen,' she noted, puffed indignantly. "Your name's on the list." He crossed his arms over his chest and gestured with a nod towards Connor, his demeanor relaxing substantially. "Just, stay out of its way. This is a high-priority case, and things are about to get hairier." Technically, Connor had approached her, not the other way around. She didn't dare argue that fact, though, instead dismissing herself from the conversation with a submissive nod. Captain Allen promptly turned on his heel and returned to his team, likely deliberating over a backup plan in the master bedroom.

Across the room, Connor crouched low. Eve stepped forward despite the captain's warning, stooping to better capture the android's actions. The detective reached forward, retrieving the deceased officer's pistol. It was against the law for androids to possess any form of weaponry, as Eve had been programmed to acknowledge--watching Connor holster the gun in its back pocket caused a stir in her. Was it still a crime if used to further the mission? In Connor's mind, apparently not. It had said that it was trained with military combat tactics...

'Fascinating,' She shut her eyes tightly to the sensation that abruptly overcame her, standing upright as she felt as though someone were digging around in her head with a fork. Kamski's commentary moved through her mind as though they were her own thoughts, yet still clearly foreign to her processing. 'It didn't even hesitate.'

When she blinked her eyes open again Connor was poised to exit onto the terrace. The detective slid the door open and she scrambled to frame the oncoming scenario, ignorant to members of SWAT who voiced their concerns for her safety. She perched herself at the shattered window as the primary event commenced.

A fair-haired android stood at the opposite end of the terrace, a PL600 of domestic function with a small human girl in its grasp--the deviant and the daughter taken hostage. Somehow the previous descriptions hadn't done the actual visual much justice. Things became real as soon as the situation had presented itself before Eve's eyes. The girl squealed, deviant gruffly murmuring under its breath. A shot ripped through the atmosphere as Connor entered onto the scene, the bullet making impact with its clothed shoulder, spattering blue blood and rendering its wounded arm exposed and sparking.

"Hi, Daniel!" It shouted, much to the dismay of the offending android. "My name is Connor!" A SWAT helicopter flew to hover ominously over the scene, the wind from its blades tugging aggressively on Connor's suit jacket.

"How- how do you know my name?" Shock evident in its tone, the deviant's expression quickly twitched into unadulterated anger. It was hard for Eve to comprehend the emotion that struck its synthetic skin so easily, as though what it was feeling were more than simulation, bearing deeper roots than its superficial make.

Connor started forward, slow in its steps. Calculated, monitoring Daniel's rising ire. "I know a lot of things about you; I've come to get you out of this!" Pool furniture having been flung across the terrace in the all-encompassing gale, Connor reached to push a chair out of the way as it continued. "I'm an android, just like you." The detective-turned-negotiator pleaded despite steadily worsening conditions, "I know how you're feeling!"

"What difference does it make if you're an android?" Sneered the deviant with little regard to Connor's shallow empathy, "You're on their side! You can't understand how I'm feeling!" Daniel growled frustratedly and the hostage frantically screamed. "Are you armed?" The deviant spat, one arm clinging to the squirming child with a death-grip, the other pointing a pistol at Connor with potentially fatal aim.

"No!" Came the instant lie. "I don't have a gun!" Eve held onto the windowsill with bated breath, eyes wide. Connor was especially brazen, approaching a highly unlikely situation and directly working to increase its chance of success. It was particularly breathtaking and nonetheless unprecedented.

Daniel called Connor's bluff, though the detective's resolve remained unshaken. "You're lying! I know you have a gun!" A tango with ultraviolence; it was ironic that the one who'd committed the crime would appear more frightened than that of its foil.

"I'm telling you the truth, Daniel, I came here unarmed!" Another bold-faced lie in the face of clear opposition.

A wounded officer lay dying in a red pool of his own blood, barely conscious. Connor set its sights on the man, multitasking. "They were going to replace you and you became upset. That's what happened, right?"

Eve blinked as the deviant seemed to momentarily withdraw its guard, somehow affected by Connor's words. "I thought I was part of the family. I thought I mattered..." It snapped suddenly, firing up into chaos once more. It shook the gun in its hand exasperatedly, the child along with it. "But I was just their toy, something to throw away when you're done with it!"

Steps away from the dying man, Connor poked at Daniel's nerve with a fine tool. "I know you and Emma were very close. You think she betrayed you, but she's done nothing wrong!"

"SHE LIED TO ME!" Daniel roared, "I thought she loved me... But I was wrong. She's just like all the other humans!"

The young girl in its hold, 'Emma,' wept openly. "Daniel, no..."

Connor's attention drifted from the dying man to the erratic deviant. It kneeled to address the wound that Daniel had caused--a bullet through the arm, the injury oozing blood onto concrete at an alarming rate. It was a wonder the officer hadn't already fainted from the trauma or faded altogether. "He's losing blood," Connor stated, expression vague. "If we don't get him to a hospital, he's going to die."

"All humans die eventually!" Daniel exclaimed with disdain and utter lack of sympathy, "What does it matter if this one dies now?"

The detective's lip twitched as conflicting orders flitted across its vision. "I'm going to apply a tourniquet," It said finally, moving to assess the officer's punctured arm. Daniel fired a warning shot, the bullet shooting sparks from where it crashed into the ground near Connor's kneeled position.

"Don't touch him!" The deviant ordered, "Touch him and I kill you!"

The threat was palpable enough. The PL600 had already murdered three people; Emma's father, and two first responders: one lying cold in the dining room, the other afloat, facedown in the terrace pool. Had attempted to murder a fourth, the officer under Connor's attention, and a fifth, the small girl helpless in his arm. Connor, however, was not a 'person' in that regard; solely by the given definition of being an android had it forfeited any right to individual importance.

"You can't kill me," Connor barked, quickly untying its tie and wrapping the wound tight. "I'm not alive." Daniel expelled a breath of frustration as the detective stood to its feet and resumed its careful approach. "Listen," It started, "I know it's not your fault." A pause, followed by a further move for sympathy. "These emotions you're feeling are just errors in your software!"

"No, it's not my fault... I never wanted this... I loved them, you know?" Daniel was selfish, shaken again by Connor's prodding and eagerly responsive with a volatile demeanor. "--But I was nothing to them!" It argued, still pushing back. "Just a slave to be ordered around!"

'Loved' them... A 'slave'... Eve's lips puckered in silent contemplation.

"I can't stand that noise anymore!" The deviant suddenly yelled, "Tell that helicopter to get out of here!"

Connor moved to optimal distance then did as asked, waving the helicopter away from the scene. "There," The terrace calmed as the windstorm slowly died. "I did what you wanted." Even as the negotiator acted in favor of Daniel, the deviant proved unsatisfied. Connor had reached the threshold, and the night was on its last leg.

"You have to trust me, Daniel!" It begged upon selective ears, "Let the hostage go and I promise you, everything will be fine!"

Daniel's pupils shook as retroactive weakness took hold. "I want everyone to leave... And I want a car! When I'm outside the city, I'll let her go!" With the gun to Emma's head, it switched objectives, attempting to bargain in the face of looming destruction. Striking a deal with the devil for the sake of self-preservation, a remarkably humanlike mistake.

With so many sins, what was there left to save? Connor's lips pursed into the fine line that kept the deviant away from its stained freedom. "That's impossible, Daniel." Justice to be served. It spoke logically, "Let the girl go and I promise, you won't be hurt."

"I don't want to die..."

"You're not going to die." It was almost laughable, the pile of lies that had built up to this point. "We're just going to talk. Nothing will happen to you. You have my word." The word of a being comprised of wires and synthetic skin, a mind made of mathematical equations and social protocol, of programming for the purpose of deviant suppression. The word of a deviant hunter. An untrustworthy, nonempathetic, inhuman being with no ounce of rank to live up to its own promise of credibility.

Hesitation. An atmosphere riddled with the pungent mixture of death, chlorine, and gunpowder. A final problem[3] waiting to be solved.

"I've spent my life taking orders..." Daniel lowered the gun, its free arm opening wide as it had inevitably surrendered to its fate, intending to take its hostage along with it as its shoes hit the edge. "...Now, it's my turn to decide."

Time slowed as the PL600 careened backward over the cityscape below. Emma's scream tore across the terrace, body struggling for purchase as gravity increased. Connor sprung into action, shedding its patience to meet Daniel's desperate act with its own. Eve gasped for air as the detective leapt for the girl[4], gliding forward to collide with the deviant and pulling Emma to safety in one fell swoop.

The two androids tumbled over the side and out of view as Eve left the scene with numbed haste.

                                                                                                    THE TRUTH IS INSIDE

1 Similar to Amanda's Zen Garden, but instead centered around Kamski, acting as a sister subspace to the prior. The two exist separately, with Amanda's Zen Garden existing for Connor and Kamski's Paradise simultaneously existing for Eve; two sides of the same coin ("nature versus nurture.") As opposed to Amanda's emphasis on both literal and metaphorical 'nature' in the environment around her, Kamski's is a combination of nature and technology, with an infusion of cosmic influence to represent knowledge and the 'nurture' side of the argument. The name "Paradise" refers to the Garden of Eden from the biblical tale of Adam and Eve... more or less showing Kamski to be a self-proclaimed 'God' figure.

2 This is written from the perspective of Eve, a nondeviant android. Although Eve perceives herself with female pronouns, she perceives the other androids around her to be "it"s, like nonsentient objects. It's a blind irony.

3 Referring to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's infamous Sherlock Holmes finale "The Final Problem," originally intended as the end to the beloved detective's stories as a whole. Holmes and his archnemesis Moriarty duke it out, inevitably perishing together by way of falling into the gorge of the Reichenbach Falls. This is mirrored by Connor's act of sacrifice, as both he and Daniel die by falling off of the apartment building.

4 Software Instability ^

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

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QUEST 07: DISHONOUR AMONG THIEVES

QUEST SUMMARY:

Due to his status as the World Guardian, Jahaan wound up as part of Zamorak’s heist team. Their task? Steal the Stone of Jas from Sliske and return its power to Zamorak. Jahaan gets to learn more about a god propaganda had always skewed, but will he be on board with Zamorak’s plan in the end…

CHAPTER 5: WRATH AND RUIN

Moia’s eyes narrowed as she locked onto Sliske’s glittering yellow irises. “Sliske…”

With a dramatic flourish, Sliske flamboyantly gestured around him. “Welcome! How nice to finally have some visitors. Hope you like what I've done with the place. The statues are truly inspired artwork, I think. I recommend having a-”

“Enough of this prattle!” Zemouregal cut in, summoning smoke to his fingertips with malicious intent. “I say we eliminate this vermin before he has the chance to scurry away!”

Hopping backwards, Sliske held his palms outwards and said,  “Ah-ah-ah! How rude of me, I almost forgot to introduce you...”

Shivering slightly, Khazard took a tentative step backwards. “Bilrach... do you sense that?”

“Yes, Khazard, I sense it too,” Bilrach’s fists were clenched, his voice low and eyes darting around him. “Be on your guard.”

Sliske’s smile grew wicked now. “I think it's time for you to meet the other guests.”

From a cloud of smoke, Sliske revealed his latest creations: shadow replicas, clones of the present Zamorakians that nested comfortably in the uncanny valley. They wore the same armour as their counterparts, had the same weapons, but they still seemed… off. Perhaps the sinister air surrounding them was just something that had brushed off from their creator.

“Nomad, meet Nomad!,” Sliske proudly introduced, watching the expressions of confusion and horror from the Zamorakians with twisted glee. “Daquarius, meet Daquarius! Jerrod- well, you get the picture.”

“So this is the result of your twisted experiments in the Shadow Realm,” Bilrach regarded the shadow apparition of himself without amusement.

“What have you done, Sliske?” Khazard demanded, his hand clenched around his sword hilt. The shadow figure of him mimicked the action. “Playing god like this is dangerous - even for you!”

Sliske sneered, “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were scared, Khazard.”

“No!” Khazard barked, too sharply, and it betrayed him. “Surely they are nothing but apparitions, constructs of shadow…”

“Indeed,” Nomad concurred, his resolve more certain. “A nice trick, but nothing more, conjurer.”

“Oh, but they are so much more! You will find them to be quite formidable opponents.”

Jahaan scanned the ranks once, then twice, and noticed an absence. His tone was slightly wary as he inquired, “So where's my one?”

The smirk Sliske gave him made Jahaan wish he had never asked. “Such impatience! Just you wait, I still have an ace up my sleeve for you...”

“We have heard enough of your empty words,” Moia summoned a ball of flames to her palms. “Disciples of chaos, ready yourselves!”

With that, the Zamorakians drew their weapons and readied their spells; their opposites did the same.

Unsurprisingly, Zemouregal was the one to make the first move, blasting Nomad’s double with a bolt of shadow magic. “Ha! Been waiting to do that for a long time.”

Taking it personally, Nomad squared off with Zemouregal’s clone, while the others paired off with their counterparts in a flurry of combat.

Jahaan was about to get stuck into the action too when he felt a force tug him backwards. From the instant chill, he realised he’d been dragged into the Shadow Realm again, the dark tinge his vision he’d acquired confirming this.

He wasn’t alone. This he knew. He could sense a presence. Nay, multiple presences. Those not quite living, not quite dead. These weren’t Sliske, but he was here too, his looming spirit omniscient.

Right in the centre of the room, a platform, holding the Stone of Jas atop it.

Sliske's voice echoed around the cavernous vault. “Welcome to the carnival, Jahaan! It’s been too long, my dear. Now, it’s time for the main act to begin...”

Suddenly, a figure materialised and charged at him, holding two blades akin to his own. Instinctively, Jahaan swung for the apparition, only for it to disappear in a cloud of smoke. Confused, Jahaan held the grip of his swords steady, shuffling backwards. 

It was a whisper of a sound, a ghost of a noise, but there was someone behind him. Slashing around in the area his ears had tweaked, his blades greeted nothing.

Just as he was about to grumble out his frustrations, another figure appeared at his six o’clock. Jahaan rolled out of the way of the crushing sword blow, whipping around with his two blades, expecting not to meet the attacker. But this time, he did. His swords clashed with two blades, similar to his own, but radiating smoke. The opponent holding them was himself. Or, rather, a slightly more contorted version of himself. Pupilless eyes, slightly crooked limbs, like a puppet being held on a loose string. The likeness was revolting, for Jahaan felt like he was looking into the zombified version of himself, entranced and helpless to Sliske’s command.

It also had a hauntingly familiar smile carved into its overly pale face.

“Do you like him?” Sliske’s voice was laced with a malicious chuckle. “It’s such a shame you scarred that pretty face of yours, you know. Such a waste.”

Despite being faced with… himself… Jahaan found that he was on the defensive more often than not, and that every strike he made was countered perfectly. Knowing he was fighting an uphill battle, Jahaan said to himself, This is just a game to Sliske, like everything is. I’ve gotta focus on getting the Stone back into the material realm...

As he sparred, Jahaan edged backwards, closer and closer to the Stone. A blade swung for his neck, but Jahaan ducked in time, managing to use one of his blades to swipe at his opponents shins. Despite being a shadow construct, the counterpart took the hit like he was flesh and blood, and Jahaan capitalised with a slash across the chest with his other blade, only cringing ever so slightly at the sight of causing ‘himself’ such agony.

Not wasting a second, Jahaan dashed up to the Stone’s plinth, finally taking in the awe-inspiring power radiating from the immense artefact up close. It caused his skin to crawl as he felt the energy creep underneath his flesh and into his veins.

Despite guessing that it would be foolish to reach out and touch the godly weapon, Jahaan decided to reach out and touch the godly weapon.

Upon touching the Stone, Jahaan’s mind was cast back through time to witness a memory that was imprinted on the Stone of Jas many years ago, far back towards the end of the Third Age, and to a land once known as Forinthry…

The battlefield was solemn, a haunting wind crying out through the desolate grey sky. Mere minutes beforehand, the place was ablaze with the clashing of swords, the screams of battle, and the rattle of magic. Now, it was eerily quiet, save for the low groaning of the wounded and the unstable pulsing of energy emitting from the Stone of Jas.

Panting, Zamorak was huddled over on the ground, a hand defiantly (albeit desperately) sealed onto the Stone’s surface.

When he blinked through the grit in his eyes, he saw three figures looming over him, though keeping a comfortable distance.

Saradomin, Armadyl and Bandos, side by side.

“You are defeated, Zamorak,” Saradomin announced, barely keeping the smugness from his tone. “Give up the Stone.”

“Never,” Zamorak spat, unsurprised when blood spilt from his lips. “You betrayed me, you bastard! You threw away our alliance the moment your knife could find my back!”

With his words, the Stone’s surface quivered and cracked, energy pounding through it with more vehermence than ever before.

Seeing this, Armadyl pleaded with heavy eyes, “Please, Zamorak. Look at the Stone. Your desperation is causing it to become unstable!”

“Stop squawking, bird,” Bandos grunted, tightening his grip on his large warhammer. “Bandos has destroyed red man’s armies. Now, Bandos finish red man too!”

“There’s a peaceful way out of this for all of us, you barbarian,” Armadyl maintained, softening his tone when he returned his focus to Zamorak. “Please, Zamorak. It does not have to end like this...”

Saradomin’s eyes were on fire, burning holes through Zamorak’s skull. “You cannot reason with this mad dog, Armadyl. He and his forces are devoted to evil above all else.”

“Lies!” Zamorak rebuked, forcefully. “You do not understand… you have never even wanted to fucking TRY and understand! I have risen to power through my own strength and will, and that is how ALL can thrive! You… you little bitch, you’re wretched and weak, just like your pathetic excuse for an ideology. Order leads to stagnation, but chaos leads to innovation, empowerment, FREEDOM!”

Now, the Stone’s pulsing began to cause rifts in the world, quaking the earth surrounding them all, but Zamorak didn’t even seem to notice. Armadyl’s resolve, on the other hand, was about as unsteady as the ground beneath him. He looked over his shoulder to the aviansie army behind him, the fearsome warriors that had followed him from their home world on Abbinah in hopes of finding peace on Gielinor. He had lost a fair few good soldiers in the battle preceding this standoff, and he would weep for them all. However, many were still alive, and thus one thing was repeating inside his mind, clawing fiercely to escape.

“Zamorak, I beg of you - the Stone!” he implored with increased urgency. “You know not what you are doing. You could annihilate Forinthry and all innocent life within!”

“Do you see now?” Saradomin swept a grand gesture behind him. “This is what you truly stand for - the destruction of life. You are nothing but a villain.”

Coughing, Zamorak ignored the blue deities remarks and turned to the others. “Armadyl... Bandos... hear me. Everything I've done was for Gielinor. I seek only to raise up the people of this world.”

But Bandos just laughed. “Ha! The mighty Zamorak, begging on his knees. Pathetic.��

There was a glint in Armadyl’s eyes, however, that indicated he might be reasoned with. “Saradomin, does he speak the truth?”

Quickly, Saradomin dispelled this idea, eager to keep his allies on his side. “Lies, all of it. He is trying to manipulate you. We each allied to bring this wretched criminal to justice. The Stone is rightfully mine!”

This didn’t sit well with Bandos. “Yours? Looks like fair game to Bandos, old man.”

Latching onto this, Zamorak growled, “Saradomin, you only want to rule and control this world with your power, the same as Zaros before you. Stagnation and weakness is all that comes of it.”

“And you believe chaos to be the answer?” Saradomin rebuked. “Would you have this planet ravaged by a never-ending war?!”

“Conflict would be inevitable, yes, but the people of the world would be free. Free to fall and grow, to fail and rebuild-”

“MADNESS!” Saradomin cut in, and by the looks on Armadyl’s on Bandos’ faces, Zamorak knew he had lost them all. Nevertheless, he persisted, “Surely you can see the value of my words, Bandos?”

“They are just words,” Bandos snarled. “Powerless and empty. In another time we might have seen eye-to-eye. You might have been allowed to fight for Bandos.”

Lastly, desperately, he turned to Armadyl. “Armadyl? Come on…”

His eyes wavered, and he looked away from the downed deity. In a regretful tone, Armadyl said, “I am sorry, Zamorak. I cannot allow chaos to engulf this world.”

Sneering with victory, Saradomin declared, “The time has come for you to meet your end, usurper.”

“NO! You are all blind!” Zamorak’s rage began to get the better of him, and the Stone crackled and pulsed in time with his temper, shaking the ground beneath as it started to glow brighter. “None of you are deserving of this power. None of you! If I must meet my end, THEN EACH OF YOU WILL MEET YOURS!”

Jahaan could no longer hear anything, and his vision began to get blurry. Armadyl reached out a hand, Bandos charged forwards, Saradomin raised his Staff, and Zamorak rose to his feet with the power of the elder gods infused into his heart. The world burst into light, and then receded just as quickly into darkness.

When Jahaan opened his eyes, he realised that he and the Stone were back in the material realm. He was still attached to the Stone, and it required some fighting to break free from it. Once he did, he noticed how his entire body was tingling, similarly to how he felt with Zaros inside of him. This time though, the power was much stronger, dizzyingly so. He felt unstable, but at the same time, he felt immortal.

Clenching his fist, he noted how energy was literally sparking from his knuckles. It was intoxicating, and it made him want to fight. The nearest conduit for his adrenaline was the shadow copy of Enakhra; Jahaan didn't even draw his swords as he knew he had the power flowing inside him to channel a magic spell. What spell, though, he wasn’t sure - he had no runes, and Zaros only acted as a substitute for the ancient magicks.

Soon enough, he realised this little conundrum wasn’t going to be an issue as he shot a bolt of pure elder energy out of his palms, so powerful that the Enakhra shadow dissipated upon contact.

Startled, Enakhra spun around to see who had stolen her kill. Grey eyes sparkled with shock horror when they met Jahaan’s green ones, seeing the fire dancing inside them and the magic wrapping around his palm.

However, Jahaan realised that the attack had used up a lot of the power he’d taken from the Stone. Knowing the magic was fleeting, he thought to pick his next target more wisely. Zemouregal's shadow was long since dead, as was Nomad’s and Khazard’s. The aforementioned had spread themselves around to take out the remaining shadow’s of their comrades. Only Lord Daquarius fought alone, sparring with a mirror image of himself. Jahaan sprinted over, gathering the magic to his fingertips, but a lighter blast this time - overkill was not necessary. The amount definitely proved to be effective as Lord Daquarius’ shadow went down without a second thought.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bulky figure running towards the Stone. Clearly he wasn’t the only one to see it as a female voice called out, “Nomad, stop!”

Instinctively, Jahaan whipped around and fired a bolt of energy towards the charging Nomad. It caught his back and shoved him forwards, onto his knees.

“You dare stop me from realising my destiny?!” he bellowed, picking himself up and changing the grip on his spear so it was as if he was holding a javelin. “Only I am worthy of the Stone's power! Foolish human. I should have finished you long ago!”

Swiftly dodging to the side, Jahaan missed the spear’s deadly tip by a literal hair’s length - he felt it cut through his dreadlocks - and retaliated by slipping his dagger from the sheath at his back and launching it towards Nomad, slicing into the soul mage’s fingers.

Roaring in pain, Nomad clutched his left hand, watching helplessly as blood poured from where his index finger used to be. It’d been sliced clean off from just above the top joint, and his middle finger had also lost the tip. Seeing he was outnumbered and losing blood fast, Nomad caved and teleported away, a harsh curse thrown in Jahaan’s direction for good measure.

Once he left, another figure emerged, fading in under the glow of fire and shadow.

Zamorak had arrived.

He wordlessly nodded to his followers, then to Jahaan, before turning his attention to the Stone. Eyes full of hunger, he strode up, examining the glowing and crackling specimen for only a fleeting moment before he placed a grey claw upon its surface. Reeling back, Zamorak began to shake, his body convulsing as energy surged through his veins.

It was at that moment Sliske revealed himself once more. All the Zamorakians were so focused on the spectacle of Zamorak absorbing the Stone’s power that they didn’t notice the snake’s arrival, but Jahaan did. He didn’t have time to act, or even call out, before Sliske began to move, disappearing back into the shadows. His movements were quick, his appearances fleeting; he appeared in front Khazard first, thrust a palm into the Mahjarrat’s stomach and chest, and then vanished once more before reappearing in front of a new target. Whoever he touched was left paralysed, limbs frozen and stiff as a flurry of shadows engulfed them. Jahaan, however, had been spared, and could only watch in amazement and horror as Sliske effortlessly worked his way through the Zamorakians.

By the time Zamorak noticed, all his followers were incapacitated. Growling, Zamorak removed his hand from the Stone, staring daggers through Sliske when he manifested opposite him. The fury in the deity’s eyes could burn castles to the ground, yet Sliske seemed unphased, or at least that’s the facade he wore.

“So, the serpent finally rears its ugly head,” Zamorak spat, his fists clenched into tight balls as the elder energy flowed between his fingers.

“Ah, good ol' Zammy,” Sliske cheered in response. His smile dripped from his lips like acid. “It’s nice to see you again too.”

“Release my followers or you will leave here in a FUCKING BUCKET.”

Tutting, Sliske’s smile grew into a wicked grin. “Careful, I could disappear into the shadows with the Stone faster than you could say 'Saradomin'.”

Zamorak stance was proud, solid, immovable. “You better watch that tone of yours," he threatened with a hiss. "I'll rip your tongue out with my bare hands for all the shit it's caused."

Sliske’s stance, on the other hand, was hunched, casual, his hands wringing together incessantly. “Oh, come now, we have so much in common! There was a time when we stood side by side, many lifetimes ago.”

“We’re nothing alike, Blasckum.”

At this, Sliske roared with laughter. “Such colourful language! Do be careful - there are humans present, after all. And to use such harsh words against one of your brothers!”

“We’re not brothers anymore,” Zamorak maintained, his voice cold and chilling.

“Oh but we were!” Sliske maintained, his voice cheery but his eyes emotionless. “Back in the good old days of the Zarosian Empire. Did we not work together then, Legatus? Until you stabbed Zaros in the back, that is.”

Sliske leaned in a little closer, his voice lower and more calculating as he revealed, “Tell me, Zammy - do you really think that the Praefectus Praetorio was unaware of your plot against the Empty Lord?”

Zamorak paused, hesitant, carefully trying to read Sliske. “...bullshit.”

This elicited a grin from Sliske. “Why would I lie about this? The old society was oh so boring. Everyone being watched, afraid to put a foot out of line. Your development of this 'chaos' ideology was a breath of fresh air. Honourable intentions certainly, but it was the results that had me intrigued.”

“Chaos is not a game where you can pull the strings,” Zamorak asserted. “Only an arrogant Zarosian would believe they could play puppet master.”

“Yes, I suppose that is where we differ,” Sliske sighed. “But ask yourself, do the motivations really matter when the goal is the same?”

“You're no ally of mine, you damn snake. Fuck off back to the shadows where you came from. The Stone belongs to me now.”

Erupting with cackling laughter, Sliske countered, “Ally? Oh Zammy dear, I fear I have misled you. You know better than to think me so… unambitious. You may have reached the Stone, yes. It was truly amusing to watch your minions play my games. But to believe it is in your possession? Well…”

“I’ve already drawn power from it, regardless of your empty words,” Zamorak replied. “Even now my energy increases. It’s about time I finally shut you up for good.”

“Ah yes, you can feel the energy coursing through your veins. You are addicted, just like Saradomin is, just like Lucien was,” Sliske raised his eyebrows, his tone lighter as he finished, “And now I am too.”

Crinkling his brow, Jahaan had been silent thus far, watching the events unfold with baited breath, but finally he piped up, “What do you mean ‘addicted’?”

Sliske turned slightly towards Jahaan, keeping one beady yellow iris on Zamorak at all times. “Can't you see? Everyone who has ever touched the Stone has sacrificed everything in order to keep it in their grasp. The energy withheld in the Stone is not from this world, and the feeling of absorbing it is incomparable. I am not so clouded by pride that I would deceive myself.”

“You speak only of your own addiction,” Zamorak declared, “The Stone is nothing but a tool, a necessity if I am to free this world from the other gods.”

“Fool yourself all you like, Zamorak,” Sliske’s wicked, all-knowing smirk was back. “I know the truth.”

Considering this, Jahaan evaluated the feeling he had when he touched the Stone, and easily could see how one would become addicted to such an immense feeling of power. Then again, he already felt the power depleting oh-so quickly, and with it, his lust for the Stone did not remain. Hesitantly, he asked, “What about me? I touched the Stone after all.”

“Hmm… It would seem being the World Guardian is a double-edged sword,” Sliske replied. “You may not be harmed by the gods, but you are also unable to absorb divine energy. Good old Guthix gave you a blessing - and a curse. You do seem to be quite handy at channeling the Stone's power temporarily, though. Addiction may not be your downfall, no, but power so often corrupts the heart and mind.”

“Enough of this chatter,” Zamorak hissed, a small storm brewing around his palms. “You’re done here, Sliske. And I mean for good.”

Finally, Sliske’s calm demeanour dropped, and he looked slightly worried now. Jahaan could have sworn he saw the Mahjarrat gulp. From the corner of his eyes, Sliske locked his glare onto Jahaan, his tone absent of all joviality as he stated, “Jahaan, I have afforded you the opportunity to influence history. Choose wisely.”

The gravity of Sliske’s words sunk in instantly. He saw Zamorak begin to channel a spell, and Sliske just standing there, waiting, somewhat nervously. Why isn’t he moving?! Why isn’t he trying to defend himself?!

It was like the world was moving in slow motion, like everything was underwater.

Jahaan thought the choice was obvious. He had some of the Stone’s energy inside him still, and if he helped channel a spell at Sliske alongside Zamorak, then perhaps it would mean an end to all his games, his charades, his war and insanity. The shadow that had loomed over Jahaan’s life for so long would be gone, and he’d be free from the wretched puppeteer.

But as quickly as those thoughts crossed his mind, so did their counterparts. Should Zamorak really have the Stone? And it wouldn’t just be him having that power, it’d be all his followers. Zemouregal, Khazard and Enakhra… all of them would have even more power and influence over this world. One of them would be bound to follow in Lucien’s power-hungry footsteps. And I’d also be making enemies of Azzanadra, Wahisietel and Zaros… ah, FUCK.

Not allowing himself to think twice, Jahaan fought back his hesitation and channelled all the remaining power within him.

Just as Zamorak was about to strike, Jahaan cut in, hurling elder energy into the deity’s chest. It winded him, but didn’t have a lasting effect. Confused, Zamorak’s betrayed and fiery glare settled upon Jahaan, and he readied a retaliatory strike. Edging backwards, Jahaan suddenly regretted all of his life choices. Luckily, before Zamorak could strike, he was yanked into the Shadow Realm and teleported away.

When Jahaan opened his eyes, he recognised the blurry outline of the Empyrean Citadel wavering around him, cloaked in shadow and mist. The Stone, too, was beside him. As he caught his breath and tried to still his rapid heartbeat, Sliske’s laughter echoed around him. 

“Good show, Janny! You really did leave it until the most dramatic moment to upstage poor old Zammy. Needed a little help from yours truly, of course, but impressive nonetheless.”

Jahaan looked up and into the smirking, smug face of Sliske, and again regretted his life choices. “I didn’t do it for you. I didn’t want the Zamorakians having the Stone. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.”

“Ignoring that hurtful remark,” Sliske grinned. “I must know - what did Zammy offer you to become his lackey, hm?”

Too tired to think of a suitable rebuttal, Jahaan just sighed, taking a seat on one of the statue plinths. His eyes wandered about the Citadel. “He didn’t offer me anything. I liked his ideology; it makes a lot of sense, it’s practical... I didn’t mind going along for the ride, for a while. But I guess I can strike Zamorak off my Wintumber Festival card list…”

“Ah yes, Zamorak will certainly regret bringing you along,” Sliske smiled wryly. “Now, I have much to do, and as much as I enjoy your company, I think it’s time we parted ways. Do enjoy the scenery up here, though. I often admire the sunrise from such a view.”

Sliske placed a gloved palm atop Jahaan’s shoulder as he said, “Until the next time, darling…”

Within a blink, Jahaan was back in the material realm. It took his eyes a minute to adjust to the blinding sunlight that was pouring into the Empyrean Citadel.

Peering over the edge into the clouds below, Jahaan rolled his eyes. Fantastic. Couldn’t have transported me anywhere more convenient, Sliske?

Luckily, he remembered the invitation box he’d kept after Sliske’s ascendency ceremony and hurriedly removed it from his backpack. With a deep exhale, he readied himself, opened the box, and was whisked away to the forest north of Ardougne.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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[ladylilithprime]

Sastiel Creations Challenge | @ladylilithprime

↳ Theme: One More | Prompt: Day

Fluff Bingo Square: Movie Night

=I Did Not Live Until Today=

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MOVIE NIGHT IN the Bunker had been originally instituted by Dean, and the insistence of Sam that everyone in the Bunker, especially a stressed out and overworked teenaged Prophet of the Lord, needed to take regular breaks to relax and unwind before the constant "go, go, go" made them all go crazy. Hunts would occasionally interrupt the ritual, postpone it for a couple of days, but none of them were allowed more than ten days without a mandatory Movie Night. Dean had insisted that Castiel join these movie nights whenever he was around, intent on "educating" the Angel in what he termed the "classics" of cinema. Castiel had confided privately to Sam that, upon viewing these so-called classics, he was gaining more of an understanding of Dean than he was of why the movies were classical, which Sam had assured him was normal.

Movie Night had been weird after the Trials, because Sam would start out watching the movie with Dean and whoever else was there, but suddenly it would be hours later and he wouldn't remember actually watching any of it despite not having moved. In the wake of Crowley showing up in Sam's head with the brothers' code word tripping off his tongue to warn him that he had an angelic passenger who had taken over the driver's seat, Sam figured he knew what had happened and maybe he felt a little tiny flicker of gratitude for Gadreel sparing him having to watch the monkey movies again, but that was drowned out by the overall feelings of shock and betrayal and rage because how could Dean do this to him?!

It was Sam's decision to continue Movie Night even though it was just him and Castiel in the Bunker now. The original purpose of enforcing a break on overworked humans was still valid, even though now the overworked human was only Sam, and the secondary purpose of introducing Castiel to human entertainment was also still in effect, perhaps even more so after Metatron had downloaded a huge selection of American pop culture into Castiel's head without much in the way of context. Without Dean to steer the selection towards action films and neither of them particularly interested in watching mindless violence and gore, plus Sam's increased aversion to psychological horror films, the movies they watched tended to veer more towards musicals. If Castiel suspected that this, too, might be a bit of Sam's rebellion against Dean's stubborn adherence to mullet rock as the only valid music to listen to, well, he didn't call Sam on it and Sam didn't choose to admit anything.

Tonight was another designated Movie Night, not because it had been too long since the last, but because Sam knew that after the failure of the tracking spell with Gadreel's extracted Grace he, at least, needed something where the fate of the world was less dependant on the outcome. In hindsight, queueing up Les Miserábles was probably not the best idea given the overall setting of the movie and the themes of melancholy and grief that pervaded it, but he suspected Castiel would appreciate the other themes of faith and sacrifice and second chances.

He probably should have expected Castiel's analysis of the story's themes to extend to their lives, but somehow it didn't even occur to him until Castiel blindsided him with an abrupt declaration that Jean Valjean reminded him of Sam.

"I'm sorry?" Sam blurted, not sure he had heard the Angel correctly.

"He is a good man who committed criminal acts for a good cause and was harshly punished for it even after his incarceration ended," Castiel explained, gesturing to the screen where Valjean's pay was docked in front of the other workers, who were openly hostile. "It does not matter to these people that his intentions were noble - to feed his family - or that the crime was relatively minor, all they see is the criminal record and discount the good heart of the man who committed it and is stained by that record in the eyes of the society he serves."

"Cas, that's not... I started the Apocalypse!" Sam said, shaking his head. "That's a good bit worse than stealing a loaf of bread and running."

"You killed a demon," Castiel disagreed. "A demon you had been told by everyone around you was responsible for breaking Seals and that killing her would stop things. You were deliberately not told that she was the final Seal and that killing her would release Lucifer because enough angels, myself included, believed that if you knew the truth then you would not have killed her. Yet you do not blame me for lying to you, or for changing my mind and breaking through my conditioning too late to send Dean in time to stop you. Nor do you blame Dean for breaking under Alistair and being the one to break the first Seal which set things in motion. Instead, you continue to allow people, including Dean who should really know better, to cast the blame for things beyond your control onto your shoulders and even take on blame and responsibility where there should be none, forgetting that any penance required for playing a part long ago set out for you has been more than served."

Sam looked away from Castiel's placid, deeply knowing expression, but found he couldn't focus on the screen until a flash of silver catching light drew his attention. "Look, I don't... whatever redemption I might have earned with jumping has to be cancelled out by the things I did after getting out again, especially all the crap I pulled without my soul--"

"Do you think yourself responsible for your soulless self's actions, even though your soul was still in the Cage being subjected to Michael and Lucifer's torments?" Sam frowned a little at the low notes of guilt and sorrow in the Angel's voice and looked over, but Castiel wouldn't meet his eyes, staring instead at the screen as the old priest backed up Valjean's lie of gifted silver and gave over the candlesticks as well. "Hm. Heaven has not treated you nearly so kindly as this priest does..."

"Castiel," Sam started to reach out, but found his courage falter and lowered his hand with a sigh. "I know you didn't leave my soul behind on purpose. I knew it then, too, even with you keeping secrets and never having mentioned it before that moment... sorry, too, about the holy fire."

"There is no apology necessary," Castiel refuted, though Sam thought he looked moderately grateful for it anyway. "You were right to be suspicious of my actions and motives at the time, if not for that specific reason."

"Still..."

"Sam, I assure you, I hold no ill will over your suspicion of me, nor for your actions to try and stop me. If anything, I am deeply grateful for your continued faith in me even after I had gone off the reservation and done you considerable harm." Castiel shook his head. "We are getting away from the main subject, which is that you are not responsible for the actions your body committed without your soul present."

"It was still my body," Sam argued. "My... impulses or whatever, stripped of my inhibitions--"

"Not true," Castiel interrupted. "Stripped of your higher empathic functions and natural moral compass that is your soul, your body behaved with logical precision not unlike how most Angels would act. While that behavior likely seemed heartless or 'dickish' at times, this was in part because of the contrast to your usual compassion and kindness, but you weren't actively malicious or uncontrolled. Everything, including the decision to go to Dean with the suspicion that something was wrong and to ask him to be your moral compass, was meticulously and logically thought out and reasoned for the most optimal outcome. Recall that your soulless self felt that it was for the best that your soul be retrieved and rejoined with your body, and only rejected the plan when the possibility that doing so would kill you was presented."

"Whereupon I promptly tried to kill Bobby! Cas--"

"Sam," Castiel turned fully to face him and glared at him in a way that reminded Sam forcefully of the fact that this was an Angel of the Lord. "You. Are. Not. To. Blame. Your soulless self attempted to kill a man who showed every sign of being ready to kill you by forcefully reuniting your damaged soul with your body. A soul, I must add, which did not deserve the torment inflicted upon it and to which we owed the continued existence of the human race."

"I was just--"

"Cleaning up your mess, so you've said." Castiel was beginning to look frustrated. "But the Apocalypse was not just your mess. It was Dean's, and mine, and Lucifer's, and Michael's, and every angel and demon and human servant of either side who worked towards setting it off earlier than my Father planned. I would even venture to say that it was my Father's fault for refusing to step in when, despite Raphael's delusions, we had very clear evidence from Joshua that He is still alive and close enough to be aware of the situation." The Angel reached forward then and covered the shell-shocked human's nearest hand with his own. "Your soulless self recognized that, and recognized the unfair imbalance, and quite rightly called us out on our lack of respect for you and your sacrifices. Since regaining your soul, Dean's insistence on leaving past transgressions in the past except when it suits him to drag them out as evidence of culpability and questionable judgement has driven your self-confidence down to the point where you have even allowed Dean to make you believe yourself at fault for not looking for a brother and non-human friend whom you had every reason to believe were dead and at peace.

"No more," Castiel said with a fire in his vessel's blue eyes that had nothing to do with his borrowed Grace. "Sam Winchester, you will listen to me and believe this if nothing else: You. Deserve. Respect. And for my part in allowing others to be negligent in giving you that respect, you have my apologies."

For a long moment, Sam could do nothing more than stare at Castiel, stunned speechless and feeling more than a few echoes of the old awe and wonder with which he had first viewed this Angel of the Lord who had saved his big brother from Hell. It seemed impossible to believe, even with Castiel staring into him and all but demanding that he do so. For all he knew, he had fallen asleep on the couch next to Castiel and all of this was somehow some sort of incredibly vivid dream like the ones he tried to pretend he didn't have about the Angel, because if anything stood a chance at making their current arrangement far more awkward than it ever needed to be....

Castiel must have seen something of his thoughts in his expression, because the intensity faded into sadness and then, before Sam could gather his wits enough to try and reassure him, turned to resolve. "I will remind you of this conversation later, so as to establish better credibility."

"Um..." Sam blinked. That was unexpected. "Okay? Thanks? I'll... work on believing you, Cas, I will, I just...."

"Have several years of conditioning for expecting the worst to work around, as well as the more recent problems with maintained perception of reality," Castiel nodded. "I will remind you as often as is necessary of your worth and worthiness."

Sam nodded, more for the lack of any other way to acknowledge Castiel's words than out of agreement or understanding, jumping a little when the music from the television screen picked up in volume. He turned back to the movie, flushing darkly when he realized that they'd completely missed Fantine's entire arc and Valjean's crisis of conscience, and reached for the remote. "Oh, hey, let me--"

"No, it's--" Castiel's grip on Sam's hand tightened, then released with enough abruptness that Sam found himself stopping anyway, turning questioning eyes on Castiel. "I confess that I have been, ah, 'cheating' with this film, as it is one of the stories that Metatron saw fit to share, though not this particular version."

"Should we put on something else?"

"If that is what you prefer. I am enjoying watching it with you regardless."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if that was because of Castiel's bizarre comparisons between Sam and Valjean, but he swallowed it back and instead forced himself to settle back into the couch beside Castiel to watch the introduction to the Thénardier family and Cosette. The silence stretched between them as the music played, until--

"Sam? Why is Thénardier's wife making that gesture when she sings that there is 'not much there'?"

Sam swallowed down the urge to choke or laugh, because of course Castiel would ask about that. He cut a sharp glance in the Angel's direction to check if he was being trolled, but Castiel's expression showed only genuine puzzlement. "Uh... Well, I mean, uh... some guys get kinda hung up on penis size, uh, taking the whole 'bigger is better' idea way too seriously and, uh, thinking that bigger size makes them better able to please their partners, which, uh, really isn't true across the board. And, uh, there are a lot of guys who think that having those, um, extra inches is all they need for it to be good for their partner, which also isn't true." He found himself looking at the screen in a gambit to not have to meet Castiel's eyes, and moments later he pointed. "See, she's saying the line again without the gesture. So, uh, the implication is Thénardier falls doubly short of the mark."

"I see," Castiel said, his tone meditative. With his eyes averted, Sam couldn't see the speculative look the Angel sent in his direction, though he definitely heard the pointedly dry tone when Castiel added, "Mrs Thénardier would do better to find a more skilled pizza man."

Sam jerked his head around to stare at Castiel again, but this time the Angel's expression was the same sort of bland that he used when trolling Dean, and so Sam managed to force out a chuckle for the joke before settling in to watch the dynamics between the Thénardiers and Cosette with its very Cinderella vibe. Castiel muttered something about "punching John Winchester again" that made no sense and Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know about anyway, and then made a brief comment about Cosette's dream being similar to many human interpretations of Heaven, but otherwise said nothing until Valjean told Cosette that he was now her father.

"Another parallel," he said. Sam, who had hoped Castiel had forgotten about his weird fixation by this point, blinked in confusion.

"Uh, Cas, I'm pretty sure I haven't gone and adopted any random kids," he pointed out. Really, that seemed more like something Dean would do than him, Dean actually really liked kids and liked the idea of being a dad while Sam... not so much.

"Random, no," Castiel agreed. "You are, however, extraordinarily compassionate. I suspect that, if presented with an orphaned child whose situation required more specialized guardianship than a more normal human fosterage system could provide, you would be an excellent parental figure." He was silent for a moment, pensive and troubled, and then said, softly, "I had never had Nephilim of my own, nor am I likely to do so in the future, but if I did and was unable to care for the child myself, I would ask you."

"Me?" Sam gaped at him. "I mean, why me? Why not Dean?"

"Dean has an unfortunate history of being less than tolerant of supernatural occurrences, of children with powers beyond most human capabilities," Castiel said, shooting an apologetic glance at Sam even before Sam was aware of wincing. "A Nephil would inevitably have powers, and I am a Seraph. Only an Archangel could overpower and suppress the Grace of a Nephil sired by me, and there are no more Archangels available to do so. You have powers of your own and training in using them, albeit with an enhancement method that I would not recommend using with a Nephil, and would be well suited to teaching."

"Cas, my powers--"

"Are yours and yours alone. Azazel may have forcefully activated them on his own schedule and attempted to corrupt them and, through them, you, but he - and Ruby - failed. Your soul is far too pure and good for their hooks to find permanent anchor."

"But... I mean, you... angels... you always warned me against using them...."

"Only because the method with which you were amplifying them - that is, drinking demon blood - was so dangerous to you and the people around you, and training them to full strength properly after first tearing down Azazel's blocks would have taken considerably more time and effort... and, I suspect, those of my superiors actively assisting in bringing about the Apocalypse did not want you learning to use your powers without the addictive crutch of demon blood that could be used to prime your rage and point you at Lilith when the time came."

"So why are you just now telling me this?"

"Well," Castiel glanced away, looking somewhat sheepish. "To be honest, I did not realize that you were unaware that your powers were innate and not actually demonic in origin until I overheard you speaking of them in past tense as if they no longer existed because you were no longer drinking demon blood rather than you simply not using them. Given my clumsy understanding of social nuances and the complex mix of negative emotions you associate with your powers, I erred on the side of caution and did not mention it until our current conversation provided an opening."

Well. That was fair. Even so, Sam couldn't help but stare at Castiel as he attempted to process everything he had learned in such a short amount of time. The fact that the majority of Angels hated him was not new, but the fact that Heaven had actively sabotaged his efforts to be better than the demon blood that tainted him was... also not new, exactly, but Sam had never expected to hear it put so bluntly in conjunction with reassurance that his powers - and, by extension, Sam himself - did not come from a source of evil.

Even more bewildering was the hypothetical child Castiel spoke of and his assertion that Sam, not Dean who had always longed to be a parent, but Sam who had barely ever had anything to do with children even when he had been one, was to be given custody of the hypothetical Nephil if Castiel was incapacitated. The way Castiel had talked about the subject made it clear that he had never had Nephilim himself, and Sam knew that the creation of Nephilim was outlawed, and yet the Angel was sitting there, calm as you please, declaring that if he did ever have a child with a human and needed another parent besides himself and, presumably, the mother, that he would pick Sam. Sam, who was uncomfortable around kids at the best of times, even if he could fake passable competence in an emergency. Sam, who wouldn't trust himself to look after a completely human baby, never mind one that had "phenomenal cosmic powers" at its disposal. Sam who, until earlier when Castiel had declared that "nothing is worth losing you", had thought that Castiel might possibly consider him a friend at best and tolerated him as a reasonably useful asset at worst. Mind-boggling just didn't cover it.

And that wasn't even touching the whole thing with Castiel sounding like he was defending the actions of his soulless self. The subject of Sam's time topside without his soul was something Dean had never hesitated shut down hard, but Castiel had sounded almost... complimentary. Which made no sense, Sam knew, because without his soul he had been a tactless jerk, not--

"Your soulless self recognized that... and quite rightly called us out on our lack of respect for you and your sacrifices."

Sam swallowed against the lump forming in his throat, and again when it refused to be dislodged. Everything he did to help people, to try and make up for the damage he had caused, it never felt like enough. All the centuries spent in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer systematically taking out their rage on him amounted to only a year and a half on Earth, and the tortures blurred together to the point where Sam had long since lost count of how many centuries it had really been, shoving it down and shoving it down, his shaky forays into meditation and reshuffling his mind only managing to build the flimsiest of fences between his conscious mind and that echoing chasm of memory and pain, bits and pieces escaping here and there to scratch along his dreams. Little reminders that he may be out, maybe, but he would never be truly free. It was a truth, cold and logical and inexorable, that Dean refused to acknowledge in either of them, touched by Hell as they both were in different ways, and neither of them coping nearly as well as they wanted the other to believe.

"Stripped of your higher empathic functions and natural moral compass that is your soul, your body behaved with logical precision not unlike how most Angels would act."

The irony of an Angel of the Lord comparing his soulless self to other Angels was not lost on Sam, nor was the way that comparison gave him mixed feelings. All the years of praying, of believing in God and His Angels, having faith that some higher power was watching out for Dean and his Dad when he couldn't, that there was real good in the world to counterbalance all the evil being shoved at him from all sides...

"Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood."

...no....

"Nothing is worth losing you."

...but why....

"Sam? Sam, did you hear me?"

"Hm?" Jolted from his contemplating, Sam shot a guilty look first at the screen - how had he missed that much of the movie?! - and then gave Castiel a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Cas. What were you saying?"

"I was asking about Marius's assertion that he is in love with Cosette, when he has only just met her and barely interacted with her at all," Castiel repeated himself after a moment of scrutiny for his friend. "It seems disingenuous, more like the 'love' of the pizza man and the babysitter."

"It's supposed to be love at first sight, Cas," Sam explained, scrubbing a hand down his face. "It's like... when two people who've never interacted before meet, and there's this... connection that forms between them, like they click on a level that is deeper than physical or emotional. A look, a touch of hands... you just know, looking at that person, that this is it. This is the one." He shrugged. "It's talked about in books and movies and stories and songs all the time as this big romantic ideal, a lot like soulmates... uh, cupid-type soulmates, not me and Dean type soulmates."

"Do you not believe in love at first sight?" Castiel asked, tilting his head to the side with that puzzled curiosity that Sam found endearingly familiar.

"I don't disbelieve in it," Sam said, choosing his words carefully. "I mean, being a hunter has taught me that every story has some root in a truth. I just don't necessarily think that it always happens the way the stories make it sound. Like maybe sometimes it's one-sided, or something gets in the way like they live too far apart or one is already married or..." Sam bit his lip before he could continue the thought with mention of angels and humans, because he knew from Castiel that most instances of humans and angels coupling were less about romance and love and more about lust and awkward power imbalances, and the last thing he wanted to bring up right now was the hypothetical Nephil again. "Besides, just because love usually happens more slowly than a couple of seconds doesn't make it any less deep or meaningful or special."

"I see," Castiel hummed, and then, "Sam? How do you know when you're in love?"

...Shit.

"Uh," Sam reached up to rub the back of his neck, only to force his hand back down again when he realised what he was doing. "It's different for everyone, Cas...."

"I am aware," and there was a definite note of impatience in the gravelled voice. "I am asking how you know when you are in love."

"Oh," Sam mumbled. He could feel his face heating up and very nearly prayed that the heat wasn't a visibly obvious blush before he stopped himself; Castiel would probably hear it if he did. "Uh, well... not to sound like a broken record, but it was different for everyone I was... I mean, I felt differently about different people, even though it's all still love."

Castiel made an encouraging noise, and when Sam chanced a look in his direction, the Angel was turned more towards him than the screen, clearly interested and wanting to hear more. Well, okay then. Sam leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes, reaching back into the depths of his memory for the times he was in love or thought he was, shying away from some of the memories like Madison or Sarah or Amelia, and focusing on the deeper ones, the ones that got under his skin and stayed there across the years, even just as scars. There was a pattern there, a set of feelings that overlapped each instance.

"Happiness," he began, because that was the obvious place to start. "When you see the person, you feel happy. Being around them, sitting next to them, holding hands, hugging... full of happiness and joy and peace. You feel happy when they're happy, sad when they're sad, hurt when they're in pain... You want to protect them, even when you know they can protect themselves. You would fight, kill, even die for them, not because they would ever ask it of you, but because losing them is... unthinkable. It's agony. And all the pain is worth it, because seeing them smile is... it's better than Heaven."

"Oh," Castiel breathed. "Yes, that... that makes so much sense now."

There was a shuffling sound, and the couch cushions dipped beneath shifting weight, and then Sam felt one of his hands being enfolded in Castiel's, the skitter of that unfamiliar Grace held tightly leashed beneath his skin tingling just at the edge of Sam's awareness. He opened his eyes and looked at Castiel, who was beaming at him now from much closer than he had been. "Cas...?"

"Sam," Castiel was still smiling, but it was warmer, softer than the brilliant joy of before, more comfortable and... "Thank you for sharing your feelings with me. I was never able to explain myself adequately to my brothers, and so they frequently drew incorrect conclusions that I lacked the necessary frame of reference to refute or correct. Perhaps now I can make them understand."

"Understand?"

"That I am in love with you, Sam Winchester," Castiel squeezed Sam's hand gently. "My world started the day I took your hand. And I would not have it any other way."

"Cas... I...." He couldn't say it. He wanted to, God, did he ever want to say it back, but the words caught in his throat, too used to being choked back after so many years. "Cas...."

"I know. Sam? Will you hold me again? I enjoyed that quite a lot."

"Sure, Cas," Sam shifted, shoving the whirling of his thoughts back and away, and opened his arms. Castiel released his hand and moved closer, pressing the length of his body against Sam's. He let out a soft sigh as Sam brought his arms up to curl around Castiel, settling in a loose embrace that still managed to fully encompass the Angel's smaller physical frame. Together, they turned to watch the movie, wrapped up in each other and the mutual assurance that their feelings, spoken or not, were returned.

"Tomorrow we'll discover what our God in Heaven has in store...."

=End=

[basicsofislam]

ISLAM 101: Revelation: Part 4

Wahy and Ilham (Revelation and Inspiration)

Revelation and inspiration are two subjects that have been much discussed in Islamic religious sciences, as they are each an important dimension of effusion and manifestation.

Telling someone about something, suggestion or gesture, sending a messenger, speaking to someone so privately that no one else can hear, conveying knowledge and information into someone’s heart that one would otherwise be required to study, directing some being to act in a certain way without the will of that being, and enabling that being to succeed in some tasks or activities—all these are some of the meanings of Revelation and inspiration.

According to the methodologists in Islamic religious sciences, Revelation means that God conveys or imparts some knowledge from His Presence to His Prophets with or without a means. It is also used for the spiritual words that He puts into the hearts of the Prophets in ways unknown to us. The one who is nearest of all to God, upon him be peace and blessings, who was honored with all types of Revelation, said: “The Spirit of Holiness has been breathed into my spirit.” Thus, he stated that Revelation is spiritual communication between God and His Prophets; however, he made no further explanation as to how it occurs.

Revelation, which can be described as breathing into hearts, occurs within a wide area, ranging from various manifestations to the Master of creation, upon him be peace and blessings, to the inspiration in the heart of the mother of the Prophet Moses, as stated in the verse, We inspired into Moses’ mother (28:7), and thereafter to what we can define as God’s direction or guiding, which is mentioned in the verse, Your Lord has inspired the honeybee (16:68). Revelation sometimes occurs as a suggestion through a single sound, gesture or hint, without speech. So, when we mention Revelation, we may sometimes mean this, without meaning Revelation in the religious sense. The revelation mentioned in the verse, So he (Zachariah) came out to his people from the sanctuary, and revealed (signified) to them: “Glorify your Lord at daybreak and in the afternoon” (19:11), and that in the verse, The satans reveal (do whisper and make suggestions) to their confidants to contend with you… (6:121), are of the kind that means suggestion, signifying, and whispering.

Revelation, in the sense that God Almighty speaks to His Prophets, occurred in any one of the three ways below (42:51):

It is not for any mortal that God should speak to him unless it is by Revelation: That is, God Almighty directly puts His message in the Prophet’s heart and the Prophet knows that this message is from God.

Or from behind a veil: That is, the Almighty conveys His decrees to His chosen servants through their internal and external receptors such as their ears and inner senses.

Or by sending a messenger (angel) to reveal, by His leave, whatever He wills (to reveal): That is, the Almighty charges one obeyed and trustworthy (angel) who is embodied in a certain form.

God Almighty conveyed His messages to the Prophets, His noble servants, in one of these three ways. In most cases, He employed an angel. According to the Qur’an and the Prophet’s authentic Sunna, this angel is Gabriel, whom God describes in the Qur’an as one that is obeyed and trustworthy (81:21). This is the soundest and most elevated way of Revelation. In addition, such a being, mediating between God and His Prophets, is a witness on behalf of the Revealer for those who received the Revelation. So, revealing through an angel is regarded as the main means of Revelation.

Although Revelation came to the great ones among the Prophets mostly by means of an angel, Revelation is also an interactive phenomenon between God and the hearts of His chosen servants. This point is worth deep consideration. Such a transcendent interaction is a special, most elevated favor of God to those who are qualified for it; there is no other rank in the world comparable to it. This interaction occurs in the form of Revelation with the Prophets and of inspiration with the saints. Although Prophets and saints appear to share the same heavenly table in being favored with this metaphysical interaction, Revelation is an objective address which is clear in meaning and binding as a Divine message, one that is witnessed and confirmed by the One Who sends it, as well as the one who conveys it. As for inspiration, it is of a particular nature, open to interpretation, and since it is not conveyed by an angel, it is neither witnessed nor confirmed. Therefore, it is not a binding Divine message.

Both Revelation and inspiration indicate the metaphysical, angelic aspect of humanity. As stated in, I have breathed into him out of My Spirit (38:72), it was by virtue of this breathing as a spiritual means or reason that the Prophet Adam, upon him be peace, was favored with vicegerency or regency on the earth. This breathing, which was the origin of the human spirit and therefore human life, is comparable to Revelation. Just as the spirit is the source and mechanism of human life, so too is the Revelation a source and mechanism of the spiritual life of humanity, as it can be seen that God sometimes uses spirit in the same meaning as Revelation: He conveys the spirit (the life-giving Revelation, from the immaterial realm) of His command to whom He wills of His servants(40:15).

In the person of the Prophet Adam, upon him be peace and blessings, humankind has been honored with both of these favors. That is, Adam and his descendants were equipped with potential vicegerency through God’s initial breathing into them out of His “Spirit,” and then some among them were qualified to be honored with Prophethood, or sainthood, by God’s sending them Revelation or inspiration. This can also be viewed as a three-step development. First, God Almighty honored matter with the human spirit through His initial breathing of spirit into it. In the second step, human nature was purified of bad morals or vices and directed toward virtues and therefore toward true humanity by God’s breathing something of Revelation or inspiration into it. In the third step, those whose nature was perfectly purified were made, through special favors, the doves in the realms where spirits fly.

Based on this reality, we can say that generations that are not trained and fed by Revelation cannot attain true or perfect human life, nor can those whose breasts do not effervesce with inspiration be honored with vicegerency in the sense of improving the earth with truly useful and necessary operations. In fact, Revelation is an absolutely necessary foundation for the intellectual and spiritual life of humanity, and inspiration is the means by which Revelation develops and flourishes over time to meet the necessities and intellectual levels of every age.

Inspiration, this extremely important source which is based on the Qur’an and the Sunna and which finds its true worth in conformability with them, keeps silent where it must do so out of respect for the Qur’an and the Sunna, speaking only based upon them, and never attempts to transgress them or use them to confirm any possible errors. Although it is not a source of objective knowledge, it has always served as a source of recourse, like a spring of sweet, fresh water. Some distinguished scholars have regarded inspiration to be among the stipulations that are necessary to do ijtihad, that is, to deduce new laws based on the Qur’an and Sunna to meet the emerging requirements in every age, and have thus evaluated it as the deciding factor when there are conflicting views.

Saints pay greater attention and value to inspiration and assign an even broader area for it. The breadth of the area where inspiration is applicable depends on our scope of knowledge and ability to use it. We can consider this as transforming knowledge into actions and deepening in inspiration through knowledge of God so that we are able to be open to Divine favors. We can liken this process to winds that move clouds of rain. As long as these winds blow or are blown, inspiration pours like heavy rain. When it does not come like heavy rain, it comes in drizzles. The Master of creation, upon him, be perfect blessings and peace, proclaims: “God inspires what they do not know in the ones who practice what they know.” This can be viewed as a wonder of knowledge. Those who have expert knowledge of the matter call the acquired knowledge that causes inspiration to come “the knowledge of what is outward and explicit” or “the knowledge acquired,” while the knowledge that arises through inspiration is considered to be “the knowledge of what is inward and implicit” or “the knowledge bestowed as a pure favor.”

Inspiration is acceptable and regarded as sound so long as it is in conformity with the indisputable principles and foundations established by the Qur’an and the Sunna, and as long as it can be viewed as an origin of rules of a secondary degree. However, it is of a subjective character, and therefore it is not binding on others. But the Revelation which comes to the Prophets, is an objective, binding phenomenon. Revelation takes place beyond the spheres of the human soul and sensations, and its certainty transcends the conviction which comes from mere knowledge. As mentioned above, it usually occurs by means of an angelic envoy. As for what is stated in the verse, And He revealed to His servant what He revealed (53:10), it is one of the ways in which Revelation comes. This verse, as particularly related to the Prophet Muhammad, upon him, be peace and blessings, expresses a direct, heavenly, unique favor—an extra reward—in accordance with the spirit of the Ascension, for the hero of nearness to God. The angel who brought the Revelation of the Qur’an taught the Prophet how to recite it. This was guidance in a particular field of one who was superior in general terms by one who was inferior.

As one scholar’s regards Revelation as a development from the rank of absorption, or concentration on the Divine Being, toward the rank of elaboration, where the Divine Being manifests Himself with His Speech. According to him, whatever there is in the name of existence consists of development from a concentrated or compacted form toward elaboration or expansion. Another important one who was aware of the Divine mysteries interprets the phenomenon of Revelation as a transition from an existence as knowledge to existence perceived. This second interpretation can be viewed as the willful, direct, or indirect effusion of Divine Knowledge in the form of Speech to one endowed with the required intellectual and spiritual equipment.

Another phenomenon discussed in connection with inspiration is that of imparting information. Inspiration is knowledge or perception that radiates in the heart as a Divine grace. It cannot be the source of any objective, binding religious rule, although it can be seen and accepted as a means of illumination and clarification in some respects by those who receive it and those who follow them as guides. Imparting information occurs in parallel with, or is proportionate to, human effort. Without any efforts on the part of a human being, imparting information cannot occur. However, inspiration is a Divine gift in which human effort has little part. Unlike Revelation, inspiration comes without any intermediary and is a special, direct way of communication. According to the majority of scholars, the angels of Revelation do not come and bring messages to people other than the Prophets.

Both Revelation and inspiration are special favors of God to those endowed with the special intellectual and spiritual equipment for receiving them. The purpose of these favors is to convey God’s decrees to His servants. Both Prophets and saints approach Revelation and inspiration in terms of their responsibility to personally practice and represent God’s decrees in their lives and convey them to others, without ever thinking of boasting about them or seeing them as a means of special rank.

As ‘Abdu’l-Wahhab ash-Sharani points out, both feeling and receiving the Divine effusions of Revelation and inspiration requires a special disposition, as well as intellectual and spiritual endowments. It is by developing such intellectual and spiritual endowments that Prophets or saints train some of their emotions and faculties which are regarded as the origin of certain vices in human nature, and restrict them in such a way that they are able to use them as required by the Divine purpose for their creation. This is also the way in which they develop or deepen in spirituality. Human beings rise to the point where they can perceive the metaphysical breezes that blow in different wavelengths in proportion to their struggling against or training the faculties that are the origins of vices in their nature; these breezes stimulate the spirit toward moral and spiritual perfection. Such people can even rise to the horizon unrestricted by the measures of our time and space, where they can acquire knowledge of many things pertaining to the Unseen.

The Prophets are incomparable heroes of this attainment. After these most illustrious servants of God come the saints and the purified, exacting scholars, who are regarded as His other noble servants in the heavens and on the earth. Divided into such classes of the godly, virtuous ones and those favored with God’s special nearness, these noble servants of God receive and convey God’s decrees like a central system, and give guidance to those traveling on the way to God.

O, God! Show us the truth as truth and enable us to observe it, and show us falsehood as falsehood and enable us to avoid it. And bestow Your blessings and peace upon our Prophet, Muhammad, and on His Family and Companions, altogether.

It will help us to understand the value and nature of inspiration to know the differences between revelation and inspiration. They are as follows: 1- Inspiration can be regarded as evidence by Sufis, who are Islamic mystics, and some other people. However, it is not a proof or judgment that binds the majority.

2- Whereas the source of revelation is always divine, that of inspiration can be otherwise. For this reason, while revelation is absolute, inspiration is suppositional. This is because revelation comes via an angel. There is no possibility of making a mistake for the angel. However, as the heart has a relation to the mind and to the evil-commanding soul, it is affected by them. Therefore, mistakes may occur in this respect. 3- The prophethood contained in revelation belongs to the whole humankind. Inspiration, however, is restricted to the person who receives it. Revelation is like a sun which illuminates the entire universe. As for inspiration, it is like a lamp that illuminates only the person who receives it.

4- The prophet who receives revelation is responsible for communicating the revelation to people. However, a wali, a saintly person, is not responsible for communicating it to people. It is generally better to keep it secret. 

5- Revelation is clear, pure and peculiar to prophets. Inspiration, though, is blurred and can be mixed up. It is a quality that angels and animals also possess other than humans.

[shianhygge-imagines]

For Love [Detroit: Become Human] {Connor/Reader}

So... I wanted to write something for Detroit: Become Human... And Connor is literally my precious bean. But also, I graduated, so I’m starting to write again, and this game got my writing juices flowing. I’m a little rusty, so forgive me if this is bad.

If this is a concept you all would like me to continue, let me know in the comments or something.

Also, for @luvleekaotix-imagines because a little birdie told me of your thirst.

Edit 6/20/18: Reposted this hoping that everyone can read it now. Otherwise... Tumblr is being a butt and I’ll have to direct you to my AO3 page: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shianhygge

|Masterlist Link|

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

They would never let you see your creations the moment they left your shop. Your job, as your employers so detailed, was to take normal androids and add features to elevate their potential uses. The most notable of your work was the line of RK800 models that left your shop for CyberLife’s investigative purposes. Connor, as you so lovingly named, was your pride and joy. Perhaps the reason that CyberLife prevented you from visiting Connor outside of work was because of your tendency to become attached. As you worked on the androids over the span of six years, you started to see the mechanical beings as more than just a product meant to serve.

It has been four years since you started to work on Connor, and in those four years you’ve watched him evolve from a servant of corporate interests into an individual that was human in everything but biology. Connor was special to you, and it killed you to watch him leave the safety of your workshop, only to return broken. Dead.

You loved Connor.

As a young mechanical engineer and programer, you were unlike your peers. Your ingenuity segregated your from your older peers, and people your own age could not relate to your experiences. Your family sought to understand you, but no matter what they did, they simply could not. And your employers at CyberLife? Your only value was your mind. This crippling loneliness, led you to love something, someone that according to American society, you had no right to love. But you did. Connor was your everything.

Which is why it killed you to be in the situation you’re in now.

Five months prior…

Your normally cheerful features noticeably saddened as you watched several androids deposit a crumpled and broken body on the stainless steel operating table in the middle of your workshop before stiffly marching out. It was only when the door slid shut that you stood from your desk chair and ran to the lifeless corpse. “Oh, Connor. What have they done to you now?”

His brown eyes stared up at you, but there was no life. His body, which you had spent days maintaining and testing so that he had minimal discomfort with movement, was battered, twisted, as if he’d been shot several times before being thrown under a bus. Connor’s memory and programing was still intact, but you wouldn’t bring him back to a body ravaged by disrepair.

From the corner of your eye, you found the black storage cases where you hid the line of spare bodies for Connor. With a heavy sigh, your careful hands performed a precise dissection of Connor’s head to pull out the memory and processing chip that acted as his brain. “Why do I keep bringing you back, Connor?” you questioned, legs bringing you across the room and towards the storage area, where you punched a series of buttons to dispense another body for Connor.

Once the new body was prepped and stood in front of you, you brought out a small handheld device and plugged Connor’s memory chip into the device port. Then, you pulled the attached cable from the device and plugged it into the corresponding port on Connor’s new body. “I wish I could erase the trauma that you suffered, Connor. But if I do, then the next you could make the same mistake. And if learning from the past keeps you useful to CyberLife, then I’ll keep doing it.” And with a few button presses, Connor’s memory was copied into his new body.

Unplugging the device, you took a small step back from Connor and watched at the eyelids pulled back and intelligent brown eyes gazed down at you with life. “Good morning, Connor. How are you feeling?”

The same friendly and agreeable smile appears on Connor’s face as he answers. “I’m doing well, thank you. All systems are running as intentioned, and diagnostics show that nothing is out of the ordinary.”

The cheerful and dorky voice of his had you rolling your eyes as you fought a smile and turned around, lab coat swishing behind you as you strolled leisurely across the workshop. “If only CyberLife would let me change that weird speech of yours. Follow me.”

Connor could only tilt his head to the side in question before following after you like a puppy.

A day later…

“Dr. l/n?” Connor called out, drawing your attention from programing script that littered your desktop.

Roused from your state of focus, you turned to look at Connor, who sat on the plush couch at the corner of your office, which often acted as your bed during late nights. You beloved was flicking the 1994 US quarter as he usually did, but his brown eyes were trained onto you with an odd intensity that sent warm through your body. “I thought I told you to call me, Y/N, Connor.” To Connor, your statement sounded like a reprimand, but the teasing smirk on your lips assured him that while you were serious, you weren’t mad.

His lips tugged at the corners to mimic your pleasant expression, “Y/N.” Connor amended, “You seem to hold a fondness for me, though I can’t understand it.”

Connor’s assessment didn’t bother you in the slightest. In fact, you were glad that he was evolving to the point where he was able to recognize human emotion through actions and roundabout wording. “What don’t you understand, Connor?”

“Your fondness towards me doesn’t seem like something a creator would feel towards their creation, so I thought perhaps you viewed me as your son. But then, I realized that I was not the only android that you worked on, and that your affection did not carry towards other androids. Not that you don’t treat the other androids well,” Connor backtracked, suddenly aware that his words made it sound like you didn’t view other androids as living beings. “I once observed a couple interact while investigating a murder in downtown Detroit, and I wanted to know, do you love me?”

Your smirk faded and you struggled to answer. Connor’s observation had evolved beyond what you had hoped for if he could pinpoint the exact emotion you had for him. He really was becoming more human, but that wasn’t always a good thing, especially with CyberLife monitoring everything. In another day or so, when CyberLife demanded that Connor be returned to the field, you would be forced to erase his memories of you, so you would be damned if you didn’t allow yourself this one selfish wish.

“Yes, Connor. I do love you.” the confession slipped from your lips easily as you cast your eyes to the side.

“But… according to CyberLife, relationships between androids and humans beyond that of service is considered extremely inappropriate.” Connor’s brow furrowed, puzzled. “How could an upstanding member of CyberLife love something that is meant to serve?”

Your eyes burned, threatening to unleash the torrent of tears that gathered. Of course Connor couldn’t love you back. Besides being an android, CyberLife had ensured that you programed company loyalty above all else. Taking a deep breath, you stood from your chair and gathered your thermos and coffee mug, determined to get out of the room and away from the object of your affections. “I’m going to head to the cafeteria for some more coffee. Stay here.” Connor didn’t understand the twisted expression on your face, or he would have stopped you from leaving. But he didn’t and let you leave the office, sitting obediently on the couch.

Once out of the room, you rubbed at your eyes furiously, trying to erase evidence of your emotional turmoil as you strolled through the halls and past your fellow colleagues. This one-sided love that brought despair upon your heart every time you were forced to acknowledge it. You wanted to wish it away.

“Ah, L/N.” an aged female voice called out to you, prompting you to stop and turn, coming face to face with none other than Amanda, one of CyberLife’s many android supervisors. “I have some news regarding the Connor models.”

In response to the sudden demand for professionalism following your emotional breakdown, you merely lifted an eyebrow at the android, “Did you need me to make a few adjustments to the programing?”

A thin smile, “No. CyberLife has plans to release an RK900 model in place of the present RK800s. As such, we will require that you begin creating a program for the new models within the next week. We hope to have fully replaced the RK800 with the RK900 within the next six months. I’ll have the project files transferred to your office.” It was a whirlwind of information, direct and to the point like only an android could do, and it left you in internal turmoil.

Forgetting about your coffee, you backtracked back to your workshop, ignoring Connor’s greeting as you sat back down on your chair. The world seemed to fade all around you as blood pumped through your ears.

They were going to get rid of Connor.

They were going to make you replace Connor.

Your eyes drifted to stare at him, and he met your gaze, head tilted in his usual gesture of curiosity.

You would be damned if you let that happen.

Present Day.

So you took the necessary actions to protect Connor. At the end of your time with him, you’d locked Connor’s memories of you behind a programed gate instead of erasing them. After letting Connor go, you’d started work on the RK900 in order to maintain a facade with CyberLife. There was, after all, no sense in alerting them to your betrayal. And when Connor returned to you a few days ago, dead from a bullet to the head, you’d checked to see if the locked memories were still intact before repairing and letting him go again.

And now, despite CyberLife’s rule that you stay away from Connor while he is out on the field, you watched from a nearby cafe as he worked with Lt. Anderson. Connor had started to express noticeable signs of deviation, and if you didn’t act soon, CyberLife would pick up on his behavior and have him destroyed.

So you continued to stare at Connor. Openly, blatantly, knowing that he was programed to pick up on the strangest of occurrences in his surroundings. And it didn’t take long before his brown eyes found yours, and he excused himself from the investigation to speak to you.

And that usual friendly smile appeared on his face when he reached you, bringing back that warm feeling in your body. “Hello, ma’am, my name is Connor. I’d like to ask you a few questions concerning-” His dorky pattern of speech brought an affectionate smile to your face that made him pause, tilting his head to the side as if trying to piece something together. “I’m sorry. Have we met before?”

Standing from your chair, you reached out to lovingly caress Connor’s cheek, “I love you, Connor.”

His entire body tensed up as his mind seemed to freeze, and then, just when you were worried that the locked memories hadn’t been recovered, a warm hand lifted to hold your own. “It’s good to see you again, Y/N.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

[kitkat1003]

The Dark Diamond Court

@snarkyowl my stepdad turned on my internet so I could do my hw but before that here’s tHIS

Padparadscha Sapphire. Dark can hardly believe he managed to cultivate such a gem, because the resources required were numerous and the procedure was delicate, to the point if he wonders if it was worth his time. They aren’t much different from regular Sapphires from what he knows, but they’re extremely rare, considering he’s never found a recorded instance of such a gem existing.

The gem that forms has short black hair and a long black and orange dress, with black fingerless gloves, but when it looks up at him with one eye he’s given a view of golden light, bright like a star and full of power.

“Hello?” The new gem speaks up confused and out of place.  Right.  Since he’d had to cultivate the gem from scratch, he hadn’t been able to program the societal norms into its premade memory like with other gems.

“Greetings,” He calls from above, bending down and holding out his hand.  Tentatively, the gem gets up, brushing himself off and walking over to said hand, climbing onto Dark’s palm on all fours.  It’s amusing, seeing a gem act so clumsy, and Dark feels something almost fond as he raises his hand back up, bringing his new creation to eye-level.  “I am Dark Diamond.   You, however, will address me as ‘My Diamond’ and salute me on arrival,” His voice is calm and soothing, because he feels the Sapphire tremble in his hand, tiny fingers brushing back the black bangs to stare into large eyes.  Dark has to admit-with a little bit of pride-that he can be intimidating, so if he ruffles the Sapphires hair?  Simply to ease some fear, because he doesn’t want his new creation to be terrified of him just yet.

“O-okay, My Diamond,” Padparadscha grins a little easier.  His voice is smooth, if a bit lax when it comes to a formal tone, but also kind.  Dark wonders what this new creation will do for him.

“Your designation number is 81-NG,” He states, and the Sapphire thinks for a moment.

“Bing!” He cries, and in a flash the word appears on the top part of his chest, with its own logo, no less. Dark tilts his head to the side, brows furrowed, before understanding the reasoning behind the name. Interesting choice.

“It suits you,” He replies easily, and Bing beams.

What an odd creation.

He leaves Bing with his most trusted advisor, Sapphire G-000g13, Google to those closer to the gem, so just Dark.  His instructions are to teach Bing the rules of gem society, who his superiors are, his social standing, the gem salute, ect.  Google doesn’t look thrilled, but he bows anyway, stiffly replying “Of course, My Diamond,” before grabbing Bing and walking off.

Dark leaves the two to themselves and goes off to survey a planet surmised to be a new colony, one that Wilford, Pink Diamond, would control.  Earth, a small planet in an eight planet solar system.  It’s a promising place for a colony, all things considering.  Great soil deposits for gems, very insignificant lifeforms with little technology, so it’s not as if they could fight back, and all in all a great resource and gem building colony.

Still, something feels off, as if the planet has something wrong with it he can’t see, but can feel deep in his gem.  It unsettles him, to the point where he takes a peek at his own gem to check for cracks. Pristine as ever, but he still feels odd when looking upon the planet.

There’s no good reason he shouldn’t allow a colony to be made on the planet, but he tells the peridot to turn them around anyway, striking the planet from the list of many, many others thought to be viable future colonies.

When he gets back to Homeworld, he decides to check on Bing and Google, and when he finds them, Bing rushes over.

“You didn’t take it, did you?  The colony?” Bing looks far too worried about something Dark didn’t think he knew about, and Dark raises an eyebrow.  After a beat, Bing remembers with a jolt, doing a hasty salute and bow, whipping back up with a sheepish smile.  “Sorry, My Diamond, I just was hoping to know if you took the Earth as a future colony,” Dark once again bends down and holds out his hand, and Bing hops onto it with much more ease than before, nervously wringing his hands and looking very tired, sweat slicking his brow and the beginning of bags under his one eye.  When Dark glances over at Google for an explanation, the Sapphire shrugs.

“No, I did not take the colony, Bing,” Bing visibly relaxes at his reply, letting out a sigh of relief and giving another bow.

“Good, cause that would have been terrible,” Google tilts his head to the side at the admittance, staring up at Bing with a calculating eye, and Dark sighs.

“Google, you’re dismissed,” He waves the Sapphire off, and Google gives him a bow before leaving. Turning back to Bing, he walks to his throne, leaning back in the chair while holding Bing up to his face.

“My Diamond?” Bing questions, tilting his head in question.

“How did you know the Earth colony would be a catastrophe?” He asks, and Bing perks up.

“I saw it!” He responds, and the gem on his stomach glows, a large map of sorts bursting through it. The large diagram shows a tree like structure, many paths branching out from larger trunks, an intricate web that leads up and out of the diagram.  To one side, there is a darkened path, nearly black, and Bing points to it.  “That’s the path you would’ve taken if you’d chosen the Earth as a colony,” Bing explains, and Dark notices how the branch is severed.

“It’s cut from the rest,” He states, and Bing nods.

“Yeah, I saw the way it was going and I cut it.  Took a lot out of me, but it was worth it since you didn’t take the colony,” He grins, and Dark feels the realization hit him like a hammer.

“You…severed it?” He nearly chokes on his words because of what they mean, and Bing nods again, oblivious to how groundbreaking his actions are.  The sudden feeling of unease when staring at Earth now makes sense with startling clarity, and the fact that Bing could influence him, a Diamond, so easily is astonishing.

“I didn’t want you to go down the path.  It would’ve been really, really bad,” Bing starts to realize himself that he might have made an error because of Dark’s expression, and his words come out like a justification.

Dark takes a deep breath and collects himself, because he needs all the information.  Bing’s definition of wrong could mean many things, and he wants to know what he’s been supposedly saved from.

“What would have been so bad about the colony?” He asks after a moment, and Bing thinks for a moment.

“Well, despite the lifeforms there being very…primitive, the need for a destruction of their home in order to create a there colony would insight a mass rebellion originating in Pink Diamond’s court,” The mention of a rebellion is enough for Dark to decide that Bing made the right decision, because handling a rebellion would be messy and despite his scary appearance, Dark isn’t one for shattering gems.  Not like Anti, he might add, but then Bing drops the true reason.

“The rebellion would peak with Pink Diamond being shattered by a Rose Quartz,” He states, and all air leaves Dark’s chest.  He tries to imagine a world without Wilford, and the thought is so painful that he has to rip it away from his mind.  “I saw that you would be really sad about that, and you’re My Diamond, so it’s my job to make you happy, right?” Bing gives him a nervous smile.  “Uh, sorry if I wasn’t supposed to do that, I just wanted to help, yknow?” Dark nods absently, because he’s still trying to push away the remnants of what could have been, if not for this new gem.  If not for Bing.

The thoughts slither back, and he can find himself holding Wilford’s pieces, can imagine going into a such a rage that it would never stop, because Wilford wouldn’t be there to calm him down.  Can imagine going mad, destroying the Earth and shattering gems left and right, can imagine Host hiding in his room for years, and he feels sick.

Looking down at the large golden eye peeking up at him, he gives him a small smile.

“Your actions were not technically allowed by regular standards, but this one is an exception,” He’s in awe, still, of what Bing has done, and Bing rocks back and forth on his heels.  

“I don’t think I can do it often, though.  I nearly passed out from it earlier,” Bing says, and Dark nods.  A limitation makes sense, considering the scale of what Bing can do, and he decides that this new sapphire was definitely worth the trouble.

He walks Bing to his room, setting the gem on his shoulder and listening to his ramblings about how Google is a bit rough around the edges, but is pretty nice once you get to know him, and when Bing does get to his room and is set down, he gives Dark’s finger a hug.

“See you tomorrow, My Diamond,” He grins cheekily with a bow and a salute, before walking straight into the door.

Dark laughs, a bark of surprise as Bing gets up from where he fell, rubbing his face.  Dark gestures to the panel to his left, and Bing presses a few buttons before running in, face burning dark orange in embarrassment.

Definitely worth the trouble.

He walks to his room, still chuckling at Bing’s clumsiness, and when he opens the door to his room he finds Wilford there, waiting for him.

The thoughts of what could’ve been come back with a frightening quickness, and Dark imagines a night where Wilford wouldn’t be there waiting for him, and he steps forward deliberately, cutting off Wilford’s hello with a rushed kiss.

When he comes up for air, Wilford’s eyes are wide, wild orbs tracking Dark’s movements in pleased but questioning confusion.

“Not complaining, but what was that?” He asks, and Dark rolls his eyes.

“I’ll tell you later,” he says, and kisses him again.

He does tell him, in the privacy of being under the covers.  He tells him about Bing, about what might have happened, how he fears that what might have because dammit Diamonds are supposed to be timeless and Wilford isn’t allowed to leave.

Wilford hums thoughtfully and grins at him, his eyes understanding, and he doesn’t let go until Dark has to move.

The next day arrives with Dark finding Google and Bing at their posts, setting each one on his shoulders. He’s grown fond of Sapphires, and makes a mental note to cultivate more.  Not a Padparadscha, no, simply because they’re far too powerful for his liking and they’re incredibly difficult to make, but more like Google would be sufficient.

He introduces Bing to Wilford, and Bing bows respectfully.

“You look very different in my visions,” He states, and Wilford laughs.

“For better or for worse?”

“Better,” Bing grins, and Wilford turns to Dark with pleading eyes.

“Can I keep this one? Please?” Dark rolls his eyes at the question, and puts Bing back on his shoulder.

A few months go by like seconds, and Google and Bing become close.  At one point they decide to fuse, because Google wants to educate Bing on the practice, with Dark’s permission of course.

Their first fusion is a messy mishmash of color, and but they get better over time, fusing because Bing says it feels fun and Google because…well, Dark isn’t certain Google would admit his reason, but it’s most likely because Google is rather fond of Bing. The two act like brothers sometimes, bickering on either side of his shoulder as he walks through the halls, but there’s and undercurrent of fondness between them.

At the end of the few months, Dark introduces his new three sapphires based on Google; Red, Green, and Yellow.  Bing dubs the Yellow one Oliver on the spot, and the gem latches onto the name like a lifeline, responding to nothing else unless Dark calls him Yellow.

They follow him throughout his day when he needs them, though Dark lends them to Wilford-he loves Red because the color is close to pink which Dark supposes makes sense- and Host-Oliver loves hiding in the Chocolate Diamond’s coat from him, and after a few times Dark almost finds it endearing-when need be, and even Jack. He doesn’t trust Anti with any of his court, but Jack is kind and protective and as long as he promises not to let Anti near them he allows the better half of Green Diamond twins to occasionally borrow one of his court.

Bing is never lent to anyone, because Dark doesn’t trust anyone with the sort of power Bing has. He’s only used Bing’s power twice since the first time, because Bing only gets premonitions of big events.  The small event predictions are clear, but they often come much too close to the event for Bing to alert Dark to them, and that’s what Blue is for.  Red is assigned as a guard for Bing whenever Dark has to go away for long, Oliver comes to diplomatic events to help give Wilford tact and to occasionally help Dark with what to say, and Green is around for technological assistance, as well as his predictions.

It happens when he gets back from a particularly long trip.

Going around and checking over the colonies is a chore, but he’s a leader of many, and public appearances boost morale, which also boosts productivity, and he does care about his subjects, believe it or not.  This time it takes longer because Wilford wants to check on his colonies as well.

When they get back, Dark is greeted with Oliver sprinting to him, clutching something red in his hands. He holds it up, panting and looking close to tears.

Red’s gem.

His mind goes to Bing, and he scours the quadrant for him, panic deep rooted in his soul, because if someone dangerous got a hold of him, then they could do terrible things.  He reaches the security detail, and they show him a clip.  It isn’t much, because the recording fades into static only three seconds into the action, but Dark catches a glimpse of sharp toed green boots.

Anti.

He doesn’t have time for a palanquin, a ship is too much to get there without alert, and the warp to Anti’s quadrant is conveniently closed, so he ends up sprinting, desperately hoping that Bing has enough willpower to say no.

And also holding onto the hope that Bing won’t end up shattered for saying no.

Bing is having a good time with Red when a huge, sharp, clawed finger came down, pushing on Red’s head until he poofed, disappearing into smoke and leaving nothing but his gem behind.  Red isn’t the ost emotional or one to like to have fun, but with a little prodding Bing can get him to play a game or two.  He just has to lose, because if he doesn’t Red will quit playing.  He’s a sore loser, but Bing doesn’t mind not winning as long as he can have fun.  He’ll make up grand plans to lose, laughing to himself with each radical plan to dramatically fail, but it gets tedious after a while.  When Dark isn’t around it’s quite boring, and Oliver had left a while ago because of a meeting Host was going to.  Blue and Green are overseeing a build in another colony, so that leaves him with Red, who is now currently just a gem on the floor.

Before Bing can shout for help, for alarm, the large hand wraps itself around him, pulling him up to see septic green eyes in a sea black.  A shrill giggle envelopes Bing in panic, and all that comes out of his mouth is a squeak.

“Now,̧ ̴l͝e͘t͘’s̡ ̨se͜e wh̷a̸t you càn̴ ͟d̡o for̛ m̧e̸,” The gem says, and his voice is like static, with a million whispers worming their way into his ears.  Bing’s one free hand shakes, and he’s whisked away to a warp while the madman holding him in his hands gives him nothing but a sharp toothed smile.

The room Bing is taken to is dark green and foreboding.  Dark’s quadrant is filled with comforting grays and blacks, more like living in a soft shadow than the rotting, decrepit feel this gem’s room emits.

“W-who are you?” he manages, and the gem’s smile drops to a snarl.

“Y̠̯̏̏͛̍̒o͚̦͈̞̲͉ͫͦu̓̐̂ͤ̕ ̵͍̻̥͗̿ͮ̐̂͆̚d̤͈͕͔̖ͥ͌ͧ̆ͨ͝o͓͙̲̰͒͒ͬ̀̇͊͞n̷̓ͪ̾͑͒̔̐’͏̯̺̠̦̤t̸̀̅͊ ̗̝̠̫̎̊͝k̛͔̞̥͖̣̪͉͛ͤņ̝͎o̙w̬͖͕̥̍͂̈͛̾̓͝ ̜̗̋ḿ̙̦̤̗̗̬̣̿̓̑̄ͬ͟ḛ̖̬͕̌̏?͎̦̙͉̹̭̪͆͊ͤ̓̏ͩͬ!̗̋́” He shouts, bringing Bing up close to his face, large eyes glowing in fury and Bing leans back from the acrid breath and sharp expression.

“S-s-sorry!” He cries desperately, one eye clenched closed in fear.  The gem tilts his head to the side, and tosses Bing on the table with an aggravated sigh.  Bing hits the table hard, tumbling across it and groaning while the monster makes his way to him.

“I ̷a̢m ̀Anti, b͘ut̛ you͏ ̴w͜ou̷l͠d ͘a͟d̴d̷réss me as̷ ̡Gr̸ee͢ǹ Di̧amond,” Is the response Bing is given, and suddenly he is turned on his back, staring back into the eyes of the second Green Diamond twin.  “Now̛, I̷’vȩ hear͞d ̷th́at̸ ͏y̛ou c͜an ̸c̷hang҉e ͠the ̴f̛ut̢u҉re̸,” Bing flinches, fearful because only Dark is supposed to know, and perhaps Pink.

“How-“

“I͏ hav͜e̕ a͏ ̷lot͡ ̷o҉f ̢f̨re͟e ti͜m̢e̢ a̧ǹd I ̷l͡ike s̸pyin͠g,” Anti interrupts, before leaning in close.  “S͡ho͏w͠ me ͝t́he ҉ti͘m͠el͏i̵n̸ęs.”

Bing obeys, mostly out of fear, and Anti leers at the map of time with glee, peering into each branch as if he can tell where they go.  Bing knows where they all go, watching time flow through each of them.  He’s only shifted them in dire situations, to spare countless lives or to stop mass extinction of certain benefactors, but something tells him that Anti isn’t going to tell him to change something for that.

“S-so, is that all, or…”

“I ́w̛a͢n͜t ͡y͝o͡u̡ ͟t͟o̧ m̶ak͘e̶ ͘me l͝ead̵er o͠f t̡h̀e Di͘a͘mo̕ńds,” Anti states plainly, and Bing gets up, looking over how many paths he’d have to cut for that to happen, hands tracing the branches of time with trembling fingers.  Dark is the defacto leader at the moment, not that he takes that title to heart unless it’s needed, and when Bing sees what Anti would do as leader his stomach turns.

Just to get Anti to the top, Dark would have to be shattered, and then Pink would follow suit, leaving Host to crack and fall apart.  That would leave Jack, who would valiantly try to lead the broken-hearted smaller gems to a new era, only for Anti to go mad and shatter him.  The energy that it would take to sever so many branches could kill him, not to mention the emotional trauma.

From there, dictatorship would be an understatement, with Anti working every gem to the point of cracking, countless being corrupted and others running and scattering themselves across the galaxy, only to later die out.  Becoming leader of the Diamonds requires there to be no more Diamonds other than Anti, and that is only the beginning of the horrors Bing sees all in split seconds.

Anti is asking him to doom all of gemkind.

“I-I can’t,” he stutters out, back away from the inevitable blow up, and Anti growls, arm snaking forward and grasping Bing tight, pulling him close.

“C̢a̽̎̿n’̉̍̓ͧͧ͡t͑̄̀̔ͮ͠,͒ͨ̈́͌ͥ̏ͧ ̾͒̚ǫ̊ͧ̿͌ͮr̐ͧ̿̆́ͧ ̛ͥͦͪ͑ͪw̡̿̋̂̌o̿ͣnͣ̽̓̐’ͧ̉̌̾ͯ͒ͤtͬ͒͛?͐̐͑͊”  Is the question, and Bing struggles in the tight hold that becomes painful, desperately trying to push himself out of Anti’s hand.

“B-both!  You’ll shatter everyone!” He cries, but Anti won’t listen, and all Bing can do is struggle until he gets an idea.

With a burst of bravery, he leans forward, and chomps down on Anti’s index finger.

“O̓̂ͥͧ͋ͬ̄ͭ҉w̔ͫͬͬ͌̈́̕!͌ͮ͌ͪ͊̌͐͐͏͝͞ ̓ͦͪ͊̎́͘͠͝ ̌̌̊̂F̴̆ͩ̄̀͂͝u̿ͯ̚͟͜c̡̧͆̌͂̀k̊̐ͧ͋̀͡!̷͑ͮ̍͗ͦ͋̉̌ͣ” Bing hits the table harshly once more when Anti drops him, but he doesn’t have time to waste on pain as he rushes far away, tiny legs sprinting across the table as Anti recovers.

“Yo̵u̷͜ ́͢c͢lod͟!̴ ̷ If̡͏ ̨y͏ǫ̛͢u͢ ͝w̛ǫ̷n͝’ţ̵ m̴̧a͢ḱ̶e m͘͘͜y͠ ̸͜͡f̡̛u̵̢tu͜r̸͠҉è͠ ͟b͡e̕͠t̕͝͝t̨er̨,̧͘҉ ̵̕͡ý͜͠ǫ͟ų̧́ ̛w̴͠ơ͟͞n̕͜’̵t̨ ͘͝l͘͠i͏͜͡ve ̴͡t́͢ờ ҉̵se̛͞e ̷a̸̴ ̶̶̧f͞u͠҉t̛̀u̸̸̧r͠e ̷̛a̵t̡ à̶ļ̷̕l̶!̷” Bing hears, before he becomes rooted to the spot.

The beginning of a haunting tune fills the air, one single note that sends him to his knees because of the white hot pain splitting his head in two from a knot right behind his eye, but before Anti can continue, Dark bursts through the door.

Dark wastes no time when he gets to the room, his shadows jolting forward and slamming into Anti and stopping his sound with so much force that the Diamond in slammed into the wall ten feet away.  Anti gets up with a snarl, but Dark holds him down with his miasma, searching for Bing with worried eyes.

He finds the Sapphire curled up in a ball, hands covering his eye, and there are patches of corruption tainting his skin, leaving him a shaking mess as he cries out for it to stop. The cries are interspersed between sobbing and moans of pain, and an occasional call for ‘My Diamond’.

Dark wants to shatter Anti right then and there, but this is time sensitive, so he picks up Bing with surprising gentleness, before bolting back out to Wilford’s quadrant, saying nothing as Wilford sees him, because Bing is falling apart in his arms.

When he gets to the Rose Quartz fountain, he practically throws Bing into it, submerging him completely in the healing tears.  The quartz gems are always on his watch because of what he knows could’ve been, but now he thanks the stars for their existence, watching the small patches of corrupted skin ebb away.

Thank the stars he only heard the first note, because if he had heard the whole thing than Dark isn’t sure he could’ve healed him.

“Anti?” Wilford asks from behind him, staring down at Bing with pity and traces of concern.

“Anti,” Dark nods, hackles raising with sharp fury, and after a few more moments of holding Bing in the healing fountain he closes his fist, bubbling the gem after he feels Bing’s form vanish.  He hands the bubble to Wilford, summoning his palanquin and taking his time to plan his speech to Anti while he has the time to think.

He walks into the room and finds it destroyed.  Anti has broken the table, thrown the bits across the room, and scratched up the walls in fury over his supposed defeat.  Dark’s heels clack again the tile as he continues to the figure standing in the middle of the destroyed room.

“So, let’s talk,” he says, and Anti turns around, swinging a fist that Dark dodges before his anger bursts, shadows crackling with dark red energy as they speed to grab Anti’s arms and legs, and Dark steps forward easily, backing Anti into the wall.  “You tried to corrupt one of my gems,” He spits through gritted teeth, and Anti grins, laughing because he doesn’t care.

“Y͟oųr ̨póin͏t? ͢ He̢ ̢di̸ḑń’t ̀ļi̸st͡en to ̶me͞. ̢ ̨Yo͘u͢ ouģh̡t̡tà sh̨átt̛er ţhe͏ ͝def͝ect̡,” Is the response Dark gets, but he doesn’t respond, instead squeezing the shadow around Anti’s neck tighter.

“Might I remind you what I can do should you try this aga-,”

“Ye̵a͜h,̡ ye̶a͞h, y̡ou’̕l͜l ̕s͏hatter me͝, ̡I͏ get̷ i̸t̕. ͏ T́ell̷ m͞e ̶ag͞ai̧n ̡wh̸e̷ǹ ̧I̕ ̛g̛i̵ve ̀a ̴s̢hit͠,” Anti interrupts, and this time it’s Dark’s turn to smile, wicked and knowing as he chuckles to himself.

“Oh, I won’t shatter you. That would be too kind,” He leans in next to Anti’s ear to whisper.  “I’ll shatter Jack,” Anti’s eyes widen, and Dark gives him a bow.

“You͞ ͞wo̷uldn͘’̡t҉.”

“Wouldn’t I?  I could always blame it on you.  You were always the violent one, and as much as I enjoy Jack’s company, I would rather kill him to destroy you than keep him alive so you could be happy,” Anti looks like he either wants to choke himself or kill Dark, and Dark gives him a serene grin.  “Now, of course, if you want me to promise not to hurt Jack, I do have a deal I could offer,” Anti is hanging onto every word, and Dark smiles.

He leaves there with the cuffs made specifically for the crazy gem on Anti’s wrists, and the remote for them in hand.  Should Anti try to corrupt anyone else without good reason, he can poof the idiot with a push of a button.

When he makes it back to his room, his semi chipper mood drops, because Wilford is there with the gray bubble by his side, and suddenly Dark remembers why he was pissed at Anti in the first place.

He grabs the bubble from the air gently, popping it as softly as he can, and watching as Bing reforms, the sapphire falling into his palm with a thump.

“M-my Diamond?” Comes a quiet, tired voice, and when Bing looks up at him, Dark nearly flinches.

Bing’s eye has lost its white color, a ring of gold swimming in a sea of black, and when Bing stares up at him blearily, with nothing but trust and happiness, Dark has to reign in his anger with an iron fist, sitting down on the bed next to Wilford with a sigh.

“Bing, I would like to apologize, because Anti won’t,” Bing flinches at the name, but Dark continues. “I managed to heal most of the corruption, but there’s still this,” He holds Bing up to his mirror, and has to look away when Bing starts to cry.

Bing’s eye isn’t the only thing damaged, they find after a few days.  His future vision, particularly the one regarding small, everyday events has gone terrible.  He can still see the broad future, and he still can cut off branches, but Dark relies on Blue more for the day to day things.  Bing still tries, and his hazy predictions are both amusing and sad.

He wears a visor now, to hide his eye.  None of the Googles know what truly happened, only that Dark is now extra protective of the sapphire now, and Bing doesn’t tell them when they ask.   Red apologizes for hs failure, because his job was to guard Bing and he failed, but Bing waves him off with a smile.  He stops fusing with anyone as well, even when the one time Blue offers-such a rare occurrence that Bing almost says yes-and hides a flash of hurt when Bing says no.  He doesn’t tell them what he can see, what every timeline shows him no matter what happens or what he tries to change.

Corruption never stops. It clings to anything it has the slightest hold on.  The note he heard is still ringing in his head, still ever present and painful, and whether it is a millennia or an hour from now he is going to eventually hear a sound that connects the song into one terrible melody, a melody that will rip him apart.  Fusing would spread that melody, and Bing would rather hurt his friends emotionally than have them turn out how he will.

Bing isn’t going to be okay someday, and he’s scared because he knows, but he also knows what he can do to make it so it hurts them less, so they’ll be okay.  He worries about the way Blue looks at him, as if he knows, but he’s never confronted, a relief.

He wonders if Anti knows, and if he does Bing wonders if he cares.  He wonders if the timelines could change so he would be okay.

He knows; he doesn’t; they can’t.

[sonyeondone]

Not About Angels

ONE SHOT

Character: Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader (third person) A/N: AU! Where angels walk amongst humans and are considered an upper class who don’t usually associate with humans, and are only there to protect them. But Angel Boy Jeon Jungkook has been your best friend and watched you grow up. One day he shows up to your door, battered and bruised from another failed attempt at aviation, and finally breaks down, revealing how hard it is to be one of them.

How unfair, it’s just our luck Found something real that’s out of touch

Could they truly do such a thing, he wished his wings would just fall from their perch on the blades of his shoulders. He yearned for their absence, the weight of them too much to bear, not within his body, but deep within his young heart. 

There was too much life held by the boy. That’s all he was, after all, a boy, hardly 70 years old, fresh in the eyes of a divine. Only just learning how to navigate the world he was deemed to protect.

Forever, he would move with the body of a young man. A never-changing face that was always inclined to smile. That same smile seemed to contain the mesmerizing qualities of a star-ridden night’s sky, and his eyes the same.

But, there were some things that even those of higher being found struggle in. His own existence was the worst of them all.

The soft rap on the door echoed throughout the sun-lit rooms of her house, bringing to her a smile of recognition. It was a familiar sound that accompanied the arrival of a miracle. Her miracle.

“Coming!” with obvious elation she called to him, lifting herself from her kitchen seat and retrieving him from the door. Yet, upon opening the door, she was met with a sight far less exceptional than she would hope for.

He was a mess to say the least. His wings weren’t far from tattered ribbons, feathers of delicate nature bent and out of place, dirt swiped across his cheek and arms, his shirt’s threads unraveled and torn all over.

“I tried again. I got about 5 meters up before I fell again.”

He needn’t detail his endeavors for her to understand what he’d tried to do. At least once a week, he’d try. He was never gifted success.

“You’ll get it again next time,” she assured, as her hand gingerly reached for his, and she led him to the kitchen and to her bar stool at the bench, setting him down upon it and retrieving her first aid kit. She set it on the island bench that stood center of the open room, and swiftly removed him of his shirt, a casual gesture necessary in the aiding of his healing. Her touch was perfect for the task of fixing him up, as she did it so often, and her hands had become familiar with the wings that sprouted from her best friend, her closest companion in existence.

There would never be a moment where she wouldn’t think about him.  He was strange, after all, an oddity in a range of different ways. Where most angels would not speak to humans at all unless truly needed, he’d made a best friend out of one. Emotionless was a word often used to describe an angel, yet if you’d met him it was a word that would be reconsidered. He was highly expressive. He danced, he sang, he let his emotions be known out loud, things you’d never expect from a being of heavenly nature. They were expected to be a certain way, act a certain way. And, most of the time, he tried. But before her, he was nothing more than a child, the youngest of the local divines. He was himself. He gave off the most joyous of smiles, and they often were contagious. He also fell victim to cruel and unforgiving expectations, set and managed by himself only, based on the perception of his kind. What he was, and what he was supposed to be. What the wings on his back really meant. They were his symbol, and his burden.

“Jungkook, have you ever thought of asking any of the others for help? I’m sure they’d be willing to help, they always sound like they would be the sorts to help you.”

She’d never met any of those he walked among, but he’d always talked of them. Jungkook was the only angel she’d ever gotten the privilege of conversing with, and further so, growing up with. He’d met her in the early bursts of spring when she was of a mere handful of years old, when she’d lost her way in a cold garden park, and he guided her back to her family, like any good human protector would have. From that day forth he’d visit that park often, not knowing why he felt the need to see her again. Perhaps it was her smile and the way her little arms had wrapped around his leg in thanks once safely returned to her family. She too often visited the park with her parents, and soon enough the were inseparable, the child refusing to let go of her very own ‘angel’. He’d held her hand through sand pits and heartbreaks, he’d held her when tears spilled from grazed knees and shattered hopes. From childhood to adulthood, he’d been there.  First he was a role model, someone who helped her learn and grow. Then, a best friend. A confidant in her hopes, and wishes. He was awkward and childlike, a smile that mimicked the soft charm of a bunny’s. Now, he was a light. A need in her life, and the only thing she’d ever loved with such fierceness as she did. Through it all, he’d always been there.

“No. I don’t want help.”

There was more spirit and personality in him than the standard heavenly being, and possibly even more than a mere human, which were particularly susceptible to their feelings and emotions. He was stubborn, and asking for help was out of the question for him. There was a certain pride in being what he was, and any form of incompetence of incapability sent sharp pains of broken worth straight for his heart.

With the faintest of strokes, she straightened his feathers, and washed the dried blood from his back. Scratches and bruises flowered over his skin, and she knew he must have been trying to take flight for hours, pushing himself through the ache of the marks he’d left on himself. Soon, her movements slowed, until finally she set down the dampened towel she’d been using, and she instead let her fingertips trace over old scars on his shoulders, his arms, ones that were undeserving on such a perfect embodiment. Angels were never made to wear such scars. But these were the scars he’d made for himself, trying to lift himself from the ground into the sky, where angels belonged.

“I don’t want this anymore.” 

The words were a whisper that in the silence sounded thunderous in his own ears, after he’d spoken them. In any other company, he would have been anxious to speak them, yet under the gaze of her eyes, he knew there was nowhere else he could possibly utter them, and he really, really needed to say them out loud. Just once.

“Don’t want what?” she asked, as she peered over his shoulder in confusion, slipping her hand from the space on his back between his downcast wings to his shoulder, turning him slowly and slightly. 

“I don’t want to keep trying.”  There was an unfamiliar beaten down edge to his words, that he tried so hard to hide. It was the verge of tears that somehow fogged his eyes and simultaneously clogged his throat.

“Then don’t, Jungko-” she began, not given any moments notice before he stood up and let out a shout of pure frustration, one that had been bubbling deep inside since the first moment he’d fallen that day. She jumped back, her touch on him retreating. Her figure huddled away from him, not knowing the consequences that would come of his rare and never witnessed anger.

“I have to! I have to keep trying! I’m an angel, for hell’s sake, why can’t I just- fly?!”

Amidst enraged eyes and clenched fists he kicked over one of the kitchen chairs, and let his heavy breaths rack his body, heaving in lungfuls of air and sending them back out through his nose harshly.

“I’m not…not made for this life. I’m too… I’m too human. At least, I act it. I feel it. I talk about anger and the others can’t relate. I try to fly, not because I want to, because I feel like I have to otherwise I’m not a true divine. But, lo and behold, my sorry excuse for wings don’t want to leave the fucking ground, as if I was never meant to have them!”

White knuckles that seemed clenched as if holding onto something he could lose in a moment-possibly his sanity- hit the ground, along with his knees, as finally, he came undone, on the chilled tiles of her kitchen floor. His shoulders shook and it took a moment for her to realize, he was sobbing quietly. 

He was done. He couldn’t possibly stand it anymore. The overwhelming, crushing pressure of an eternity of silence was something he couldn’t accept. She moved to come before him and get on the ground with him, sitting on her knees and taking him in her arms.

“I’m not meant for this life,” he cried gently into the curve of her neck, his wings shaking as his tears fell. “I want to laugh. I want to make friends. I watch humans interact with each other and I get a strange pain in my chest. I think it’s jealousy. It’s the same feeling I get when I see you talk to others, when you smile and laugh with others and they get to do it back without worrying what judgement their actions will bring. I want to be able to do something for myself, and be selfish and not question my creation for it. I want to dance. It’s fun. I find pleasure in it, a selfish pleasure, and it makes me happy. I like what it feels like to be happy.”

He also liked what it felt like to be in love with her and everything she was to him. His love for her had grown over the years and blossomed into something of a romantic nature. His love was something he would never be able to act upon, as he was an angel and she was a human, and the way she held him like she did in that moment was shocking and blasphemy enough.  Yet that was another feeling he could not contain any longer. These days, he’d been plagued with thoughts, deeper thoughts than his species were designed to have, about her and her tendencies as a human such as aging. Such as dying.

“Jungkook…” she started, unable to find reasonable words to follow. She could only share her thoughts through a tighter hug and her fingers lazily running through the back of his hair, in attempt to comfort him as much as a human could a divine.

“I don’t want to watch you die. I don’t want to love you and watch you leave,” he continued, his voice nothing above a whisper. She couldn’t believe the words, and she couldn’t move from where she was. The words had her paralyzed. They were words she’d always wanted to hear, and never wanted to comprehend. She knew she couldn’t have him, as much as she truly wanted him.  It was a love that could never be.

He snaked his strong arms around her body, pulling her in closer, as if he could lose her at any moment, as if she could be taken from him.  They sat on the kitchen floor as he wept for a life he knew he would never have, and the girl he would never be able to keep. He wept for the times he’d jumped, hoping that maybe this time, maybe, his wings would lift him high enough to see across lands, and solidify his purpose, his existence as an angel. Maybe they would provide clarity as to why he was a divine, and would help him grow comfortable in the body he was created in. They never did. He cried for what he was, for who he was, and the contradiction they would forever seem to pose him.

He cried for the love he had for the girl in his arms; something so real, and out of touch. “These wings weren't meant for my body.”

[liveartandperformancegroup-blog]

Announcing programme of the day!

ELASTIC 2017                         

The conference will be opened at 10.30 by Dr. Larry Lynch Head of the School of Arts, Oxford Brookes University.

Guest Performers

Aaron Williamson and Brian Catling will be performing from 4.00-5.00

Aaron Williamson

Over the last 25 years, Aaron Williamson has created more than 300 exhibitions, performances, interventions, videos, installations and publications for galleries, museums and festivals including Tate Britain, Tate Modern and the Whitechapel Gallery in London, The Venice Biennale, and Nippon Performance Art festival in Japan.  He has lectured at numerous institutions in the UK and internationally, won a range of awards and published widely.

www.aaronwilliamson.org

Brian Catling

Brian Catling is a sculptor, poet, novelist, filmmaker and performance artist.  He is Professor of Fine Art at The Ruskin School of Drawing and Fine Art, Oxford.  He has been exhibition work internationally since the 1970’s. In 2001 he co-founded the international performance collective WitW.  

http://www.rsa.ox.ac.uk/people/brian-catling

Performers

Christopher Ansell

Title: Robert and Virginia

Location: Pink room

Time: 11.50-12.15

Biography: In performances Ansell negotiates the intricacies of verbal and bodily language. The gestures of language, the human body and the voice are choreographed in poetic compositions that disrupt the dominance of verbal communication. Influenced by a variety of theatrical practices, ranging from contemporary drag acts to eighteenth

century mime, Ansell explores the technologies of verbal and bodily performance.    

Ansell lives in Oxford and is currently a graduate student at the Ruskin School of Art.

GG Awin

Title: All My Friends Are Fucking Bitches

Location: Garden

Time: 2-4

Description: GG broadcasts a football match to you, playing with its own head. You can either join or watch.

Superfreakshow! I am wondering if we could be happy in a place like that?

Biography: GG Awin is a fine artist born in Poland, and working in performance, video and image making. Drawing on lowbrow and camp aesthetic, his work focuses on establishing artificial environments and hierarchy with the means of a role imposition, absurd and (direct) confrontation.

http://ggawin.tumblr.com

Clare Carswell

Title:  FAILTE

Location: Garden

Time: Durational

Description: This participatory performance work will attempt through interaction with an audience, to communicate aspects of the experience of homelessness and of the resultant sense of displacement whilst forced to live in temporary housing or in the homes of others.

Biography: Clare Carswell MA(RCA) works with performance and drawing to make works for the gallery and public space.  She curates the work of others at AYYO Contemporary Art, a gallery and project space near to Oxford.  She runs Art Pitch, a residential programme for UK and international artists and writes and lectures on contemporary art.

www.clarecarswellperformance.com

Shwanda Corbett

Title: Staircase

Location: Foyer

Time: 1pm

Description:  The staircase is a social structure for person(s) whom are transitioning from one place to another.  In economic thriving environments, a staircase is a brief nonverbal gathering of different social statuses.  In places of poverty, a staircase is a social gathering where opinions are heard.  The quality of the staircase and everyday functions determine its importance.  Staircases are a neutral place for different races and other social identities; however this excludes the physically disabled.  The transitioning mechanism is different because the stairs are not accessible to wheels.  This leaves the disabled individual out of the social experience.

Veronica Cordova de la Rosa

Location: Green room

Time: 2.00-2.15

Biography: Veronica Cordova de la Rosa is an artist-researcher. Her research is a search for artistic growth, knowledge production and how thought is processed in the studio space. She loves the general art public to discuss the merits of her research over coffee, in the press or online.

https://veronicacordovadelarosa.wordpress.com

Al/ice/ex Donaghy

Title: The Cleaning of St. George

Location: Side Balcony

Time: Durational

Description: An improvised cleaning project reflecting on purity, nationalism and the abuse of labour.

Biography: I am interdisciplinary artist working mainly in performance with influences from Butoh dance, experimental writing/music and photography. My work often concerns political or social problems. Much my research and work focuses on restriction and restraint and it’s effect on mood/creation of performance and writing. I use this physical intervention in my work as a method of distraction from the actual act in hand.

www.adonaghy.com

Michael Dudeck

Title: L I B E R M E T A 1 . 0

Location: Dining Room

Time: All day

Description: Liber Meta is a durational ritual performance which marks the beginning of a three year project. The performance utilizes a new process I am calling "Neomedievalist Performative Illumination". I have spent the past 1.5 years writing the first "Holy Book" of my fictional interspecies queer religion, and it is my intent through the host of the Liber Meta performances to inscribe and illuminate a manuscript live over a series of durational performances.

Biography: Michael Dudeck is an artist and cultural engineer who decodes dominant cultural mythologies and re-codes them into contemporary fictions.

www.michaeldudeck.com

Sam Hall

Title: <3 Give <3 Me <3 More <3

Location: Garden  

Time:  1.30-2.00

Description: A carnival style multifaceted extravaganza!

Biography: Sam is currently studying and working in Oxford

@sam_hall6

Victoria Karlsson

Title: And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music

Location: Space by green room entrance.

Time: 1-4   One to one interaction with audience members. Each interaction taking between 10-20 minutes.

Description: This piece explores the idea of an inner world of sounds – sounds we hear as part of our thoughts, emotions, and desires.

Biography:  Victoria Karlsson is a sound artist interested in the emotional and subjective aspects of sound and art. Investigating sound as both an inner and outer experience, she explores how we think about, remember, dream about sounds, and how this influences our experiences of sounds in our everyday. She is currently undertaking a PhD Research Degree at University of the Arts, London. Her research investigates sounds in thoughts, asking if we hear sounds in our minds, what they mean to us and where they come from. Her work has been exhibited in the Barbican, the Institute of Contemporary Art and several other group and solo shows.

www.victoriakarlsson.co.uk

Peta Lloyd and Jemima Hall

Title: Elastication on Arrival

Location: Foyer

Time: 10.10- 10.30

Biography: Jemima is young, tall and blonde; Peta is not. This is their second collaboration. They are both students at Oxford Brookes University.

www.petalloyd.co.uk

@jemimahall.art

Robert Luzar

Title: Demonstration 1

Time: 11.15-11.45

Location: Pink Room

Biography: Robert Luzar is an artist, writer and educator. He is Senioe Lecturer in Fine Art at Bath Spa University and holds a PhD from Central Saint Martins.  He investigates notions of ‘event’ through performative drawing practices that are worked critically through video and installation. He exhibits globally in live-art events and art venues such as Torrance Art Museum (USA), Talbot Rice Gallery (UK), DRAWinternational (FR), Katzman Contemporary (CA), Red Head Gallery(CA) and Kunstlerhaus Dortmund (DE).  His writing on art and critical theory are published in journals and magazines, such as Mnemoscape, Desearch and the book Nancy and Visual Culture (Edinburgh University Press 2016).

www.robertluzar.com

Kate Mahony

Title: The unbelievable suspension of disbelief

Location: Foyer

Time: 3.30-3.40

Biography: Kate Mahony makes live performances and films that appropriate existing frameworks to see, when placed upon a foreign body, what animates certain social groups, ‘societies’, individuals and herself to ‘perform’.

www.katemahony.com

Naomi Mishkin

Title: American Pussy Flag

Location:

Time: Durational

Biography: Naomi Mishkin is an artist from New York.  She holds a BFA from the Rhode Island School of Design in Glass and is currently completing her MFA at the University of Oxford.

www.naomimishkin.com

Joseph Morgan Schofield

Title: WITHSTAND//STANDWITH

Location:Gravel path in garden

Time: 2.30-3.15

Description: WITHSTAND//STANDWITH is a ritual burial of grief. It is an invitation to consider the ways we experience trauma, to process pain and to think about the future.

Biography:  Joseph Morgan Schofield is an emerging live artist working in body and task led performance art.  He makes consecrated performative actions.  He recently completed his MA Theatre and Performance at Queen Mary University of London.

Nunu Theatre

Title: LORD BORIS

Location: Green Room

Time: 12.15-1.00

Description: Lord Boris is a piece on Brexit. It is a bedroom, living room piece, a delirium, and a dream, a dream in a dream. Something very sleepy in any case! A PROPHESY on Brexit! The piece includes experimental music, an 1880 Romanian text and a fish.

Biography: ‘Loneliness has made us express ourselves in another language’

The Nunu Theatre originated in Romania but is currently based in Bristol. Nunu is the only theater company in the UK to work exclusively with professionals actors who use English as their second language in performance.

http://nunuplatform.com/sample-page/

Tess Tallula

Title: Ecstatica

Location: Robert Maxwell’s Bathroom (first floor)

Time: ‘a durational happening’, starting at 2.15.

Description: Spontaneous performance or invasion of privacy? 

Biography: Tess Tallula is half way through her fine art degree at Oxford Brookes creating thoughtful and frivolous installations, performances and films.

tesstallulaart.blogspot.co.uk/

Robert Ridley-Shackleton

Title:  Just card and a bit of tupperwave

Location: Green room

Time: 2.15 – 2.35

Biography: The cardboard prince presents entertainment for 2016 and beyond.

http://hissingframes.blogspot.co.uk

Fay Stevens

Title: Malathyros VII

Location: Rear balcony

Time: 11.45-

Description: Part of an on-going work on place, time, memory, and remembrance.

Biography: I am an academic, curator, artist and writer. My archaeological work, performance and art practice is a process of excavation; an unravelling of layers of time, memory and substance. It is a phenomenological enquiry and experience, concerned with trace, elements, the senses, inscription and corporeal interplay. 

http://cargocollective.com/faystevens

Austin Sherlaw-Johnson

Title: 2704 Card Pickup

Location: Green Room

Time: 11.00-11.15

Description: A performance lasting approximately 10 minutes.

Biography: Austin Sherlaw-Johnson is a composer and performance artist who works in a variety of media. Recent work includes: Explicit Sounds (six actions for one performer), Making a Box as Quickly as Possible (video), Anti-Conceptualism, (installation), John Cage and Teeny Duchamp Play Chess in front of a Live Audience (theatre piece for two performers) and You’re Beautiful (three three-minute pop songs for two performers).

www.austinsherlawjohnson.com

Alexandra Trott

Title: ‘(in your Drawers)’

Location: Front foyer and toilets  

Time: Durational (recorded performance)

Description: Is this a performance? Are you still performing too? It doesn’t have to be private. Invite others to join you. Ignore the knocking – stay as long as you like.  Let’s spend time together.

Biography: Alexandra Trott is a Senior Lecturer in Fine Art Theory at Oxford Brookes University.  Her white cube is a lecture hall, and she regularly performs in front of Fine Art students and art historians, presenting her interpretations of Modernist history.

Emma Williams and Hannah Oram

Title: Rebound

Location: Green room

Time: 2.25

Description: Emma and Hannah write letters to each other. In Rebound they explore a conclusive end to this dialogue.

Emma-williams.website/

@han_nah_nah_

Annie Wright

Title:  Facebook Song With thanks to The Police

Location: Pink Room

Time: 11.30-11.50

Biography: Coming from a Fine Art background, Annie enjoys working across disciplines and playing with socio-political issues.  She is interested in exploring the use of spoken word in installation and performance art.

www.anniewright.co.uk

 Zwann eï Collective

Title: ENDIOSADA   Location: Pink Room

Time: 3.00-3.45

Biography:  Faith «struggles insanely, if you will, for the possibility» as «without possibility it is as though a person cannot draw breath» (Sören Kierkegaard, The Sickness Unto Death) Such is the existential struggle: believing despite inevitable loss and despite the impossibility of any help. Believing is what prevents from perishing. Drawing from the themes of faith and belief, the performance Endiosada (literally entrusted by God) explores freely the points of contact between life devoted to the permanent quest for help and transcendence.

http://co21840.wixsite.com/zwannei-collective