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evolutionsvoid · 3 years

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For many sapient species, space is the ultimate challenge. The final goal, to escape the cradle of your birth and roam amongst the stars. It takes many things to reach the heavens, and all who have achieved it attest to the sacrifices needed to make such a thing reality. Intelligence, technology and time are a few of the many ingredients necessary to make it all possible. One merely needs to look around at the myriad of species that make up the Galactic Council to see what it takes to claim the stars. Ships of alloy, engines of light and minds of hope. When one at last achieves this great feat, they may believe themselves to be masters of this reality, that there is no thing they cannot conquer. If one makes the heavens their domain, and ride upon ships of light and energy, are they not gods? Roam the galaxy enough, though, and one will find an answer to that question. The void of space is a realm that can only be reached by technology and intuition, but those are not the forces that truly rule it. Even in the endless vacuum, chaos and nature still remain, and sometimes they carry a really big rock and a nasty disposition. Any space-farer knows that an asteroid field is a bad place to be. Despite all the shields and reinforced hulls, a big chunk of space rock can cripple any ship. Some have succeeded in finding ways to make these regions safer for travel, while ever-growing technology works to resist nature's minefield. However, there are some of these territories that no one dares to touch, zones that many navigational computers refuse to even skim past. In these places, it is not the asteroids people fear, but the things that live within them. Those who have traveled amongst the stars will tell you of the Oon'Grok, both out of amusement and fear. Massive space-dwelling creatures that call the asteroid fields home, and who make these regions absolutely inhospitable for any ship or station. The one thing you will be told but will never really be able to understand is their size. Only by seeing one with your own eyes will you truly fathom their mass. They are larger than a Cruiser-class vessel, making fighters and traders look like gnats in comparison. Capital ships are indeed larger than then, but this certainly does not make the Oon'Grok any less intimidating. Though smaller, they can easily grab a Capital ship and knock it off course, or perhaps even tear right through it. To go with their extreme size, the Oon'Grok are incredibly powerful. A part of this comes from their composition, as living in a vacuum requires a heavy duty body. They are harder than stone and steel, capable of shrugging off turret fire from a warship. With a hefty mass and specially designed muscles, they can use zero gravity to their advantage to hurl asteroids or even ships. Their limbs are strong and flexible, with their forelimbs able to split or merge depending on the situation. Each one ends in sturdy claws that allow them to grip and tear. To navigate the void, they have special organs that can emit a force to propel them through space. Their traveling speed is not the fastest, but it does allow them to overtake larger ships that are drifting along. Despite what some may claim, they cannot travel at the speed of light or make jumps. They can only swim along at the speed their organs allow, meaning that it takes them years to traverse distances that starships can do in hours. This is not a real issue for them, because Oon'Grok seem to live for centuries or even longer. Sustenance isn't an issue either, as they are a type of filter feeder. The long "hairy" tendrils that take up their head have been compared to baleen of certain species. The nutrients and energy that flows upon solar winds and drift through the void are caught and consumed in their hairy net. Oon'Grok can also add to their diet by crushing up asteroids and other debris, then catching the dust in their "beards." With a long lifespan, simple diet and impenetrable hide, these beasts are leviathans, and they live up to the name. What has made the Oon'Grok so famous to the galaxy at large is their hostility towards those who invade their territory. Oon'Grok live in asteroid fields, carving out nests and caves in the biggest chunks they can find. This is where their home and food is, and they are quick to defend it. Oon'Grok live in groups, and they create their colonies by gluing all their caves together in a hand-spun web. From orifices on their limbs, they secrete a bluish gel that quickly hardens when exposed to the vacuum of space. With careful movements, they can create strands of this stuff and use it to stick asteroids together. Humans have compared the resulting structures to a spider's web and a bagworm's case. They bring all their desired rocks together to create a huge clump of caves, which the group will live in. The size and shape of these formations may vary by the family group, as each has their own personal preference. This can even change overtime, as they get bored and decide to do some redecorating. Outsider Oon'Grok may invade their territory, which will lead to a dispute. Another of the group will challenge the invader and a nasty fight will break out. If the intruder loses, they will speed off to another patch of the field to tend its wounds. If they win, the family group will begrudgingly let them stay, with the loser often giving up their cave. These duels can be brutal, but their tough hide ensures that the combatants rarely suffer debilitating injury. An interesting thing to note, though, is that these fights can lead to the Oon'Grok using weapons. Grabbing smaller asteroids and using their special gel, they will actually craft crude clubs and hammers from their surroundings, and use them to batter foes. Primitive as they are, they are incredible powerful when wielded by these leviathans, which many space captains can attest to.

Fellow Oon'Grok are not the intruders that anger these beasts the most. Such an invader comes along once every couple of decades, so it isn't too big of a deal. The real thing that enrages them is the shiny screaming creatures that dare poke around their territory. It turns out that Oon'Grok communicate through special wavelengths emitted through their bodies, and they have sensitive receptors that allow them to pick these messages up. This wavelength is quite similar to the way most spaceships and stations communicate through the vast expanse of space, and this is where issues arise. To the Oon'Grok, an approaching vessel is an extremely noisy and irritating thing. Due to the vast amounts of technology and communication devices aboard any given ship, they are just constantly expelling these "noises." The sensitive receptors of an Oon'Grok are irritated by these alien signals, and it turns them aggressive almost instantly. They will be quick to smash the noisy insect that bothers them, and they have the ability to do so quite efficiently. A resistant hide means that laser fire is useless, and their bulk makes them an extreme threat. Be it a fighter or a capital ship, the Oon'Grok is perfectly capable of reducing it to floating scrap. Their claws can rip through hulls, and their powerful limbs can snap vessels in two. Even if one is to keep them at bay with a torrent of laser fire, they can win in a long-ranged battle as well. Grabbing small asteroids, they will hurl these rocks at annoying ships and smash them to pieces. While warships have the shield technology to survive an onslaught of lasers and missiles, none of them are designed to withstand the blow of a really big rock. Great Capital ships that could destroy an entire fleet have been turned into mere playthings in the hands of an Oon'Grok. The same clubs they use in territory disputes can also be used against a vessel. A single swing is enough to destroy shields and send the broken ship spiraling into the void. Victory against an angry group of Oon'Grok is impossible, the only option is to retreat while you are in one piece. Some have been successful in repelling an assault, but looking at the amount of losses they take to do so shows that retreat is a way better option. While the wavelengths that communication arrays and technology creates bring misery to the Oon'Grok, their calls are also capable of mingling with a ship's receptors. Those who survive an encounter with the Oon'Grok have noted that their signals act like a mass broadcast that can interfere with comms and receptors. Ships that are hit with these signals have said that their speakers and comms are suddenly flooded with "hoots and bellows." This is not believed to be what Oon'Grok actually sound like, as it is the technology trying to interpret a signal beyond its understanding. Regardless, many survivors warn others that "as soon as your comms start hooting and hollering, charge up the engines and RUN!" Due to the threat they pose to any space-faring vessel, Oon'Grok territory is restricted and avoided by all travel routes. All traders and travelers know where large colonies of these beasts dwell, and they always ensure their journey stays far away from these forbidden zones. Though normal space travel keeps clear of these territories, these areas are not completely abandoned. Smugglers and criminals know quite well that the law does not enter the lair of the Oon'Grok. Those who are pursued by the authorities may choose to jump into Oon'Grok space and force their foes to turn back. Certain smuggling routes cut right through these areas, as it keeps the law away and cuts down travel time. However, it should be remembered that escaping into these territories is not an easy or flawless solution. Pursuers of these criminals will tend to hang by the edge of these territories to ensure they don't turn around and try to sneak past. This means that the only way out is through, which means avoiding the Oon'Grok. No one knows how many of these smugglers have vanished in these regions, reduced to a scorched smear on a floating hunk of rock. This isn't the only use that the seedier side of the galaxy has for these forbidden zones. Some have found the dire flight through these regions to be quite exhilarating, leading to the formation of several illegal races. Though these events are run by shady organizations, none can deny the amount of gambling and interest it draws in. These races involve dozens of ships, who's goal is to reach the other side of an Oon'Grok infested asteroid field. The rules are few and vague, it is encouraged to come up with creative tactics or dirty tricks to get an edge on the opposition. In these events, the racers will find their opponents to be just as dangerous as the titans. No one will bat an eye if someone takes a cheap shot at another racer or if they bash another competing ship right into the claws of an Oon'Grok. The hosts of these events know full well that many viewers tune in to see the crashes and explosions, so this sabotage and rivalry is quite welcomed. In fact, some events may launch comm satellites into the field prior to the start so that the Oon'Grok are good and agitated before the racers enter. Though these illegal events are quite infamous and widely broadcast, the authorities rarely interfere. While bribes ensure the law stays away from these races, many enforcers claim they wouldn't stop them in the first place. Many will joke that these events do a great job at keeping the peace, as a good amount of scumbags wind up exploding during every race. Not only has their territory found a use for shadier folk, but others have developed an interest in the Oon'Grok themselves. Researchers interested in developing cultures and early stages of sapience find Oon'Grok to be fascinating. Their use of tools and crude settlements suggest an intelligence, and many wish to see how it grows. Unfortunately, there is not a lot of funding for this area of research, as many expeditions have ended in tragedy. Others look to the substance the Oon'Grok secrete, and wonder how it can be used in space-faring technology. A gel that can harden into sturdy armor when exposed to a vacuum could be quite useful for both suits and ships when it comes to breaches. It has even been suggested using these secretions as a basic foundation when it come to construction in space. This quick and sturdy material would be perfect for creating a simple skeleton that could then be easily built around. However, these musings are yet to be fully realized, as no one has found a way to perfectly replicate the substance. With the aggression of an Oon'Grok, gathering these materials naturally is also out of the question. Some may suggest trying to capture or domesticate one of these titans, but the Galactic Council has made it illegal to own or transport these beasts. Since they show a crude form of sapience, they are given the same protection as any other species of society. It is also illegal to own an Oon'Grok due to the fact that they are incredibly dangerous and can cause a whole lot of problems. These laws fully came into power after the Gigra Shipyards Rampage, which showed the universe how stupid it was to try and control these titans. The culprit of this incident was a wealthy collector who had dreamed of capturing an Oon'Grok. Such a feat would bring much fame, and no doubt such a thing could be easily monetized. Using an obscene amount of resources and tranquilizer, a hired fleet was able to locate a lone Oon'Grok and successfully sedate it. With the titan knocked out, the beast was netted and towed to the nearest shipyard. Due to its immense size and space-lifestyle, the creature could not be brought onto a planet or an outpost. Most space stations were ill-suited for such a cargo, so they chose to use a massive shipyard as their base of operation. There, they could easily finish the job and ensure the Oon'Grok was properly contained. Unfortunately, this decision turned out to be disastrous. Though the titan was fast asleep when it was hauled in, the vast amount of docked ships and their irritating technology proved to be enough to wake it. Pained by the ceaseless noise and electronic signals, the beast awoke and instantly broke free of its restraints. From there it went on an unstoppable rampage through the ship yard, causing obscene amounts of property damage and totaling dozens of ships. The factory arms and forges were ripped to shreds and capital ships were bludgeoned with debris and smaller vessels. After hours of terror, security and on-station war ships were able to push the Oon'Grok into open space, where it fled back to its home. The incident caused the Gigra Shipyards to lose over half of its functionality, and repairs took decades for it to return to its former glory. The collector responsible for the disaster survived the incident, as they had fled the second the beast broke free. However, it seemed that the consequences of their actions had been too much for them to bear. So much property damage and so many ships belonging to numerous governments and black market factions were destroyed due to their ignorance, and they couldn't live with the knowledge. Weeks after the rampage, the collector's body was found floating in the void. So wracked with guilt, they had apparently beaten themselves within an inch of their life, shot themselves in the head with a blaster then airlocked their own corpse. Truly a tragic and totally voluntary way to go. It should be noted that the Gigra Shipyards Rampage has become quite the famous incident on a galactic scale. Not only did it fortify the laws around the Oon'Grok, but it created the perfect reference for many folk and media outlets whenever a rich idiot caused the usual disaster. It is also a notable incident for enthusiasts in warships and space combat. At the time the rampage occurred, two famous ships were docked at the Gigra Shipyards: the EN Vera'Zun and the IA4 Rela'Kan. These two ships were renown for the roles they played in Skree'lad Insurrection. The two ships were on opposite sides, and both were the heavy hitters of their fleet. Despite the numerous conflicts, the two warships never actually fought each other in direct combat, resulting in lots of speculation years later. For the longest time, enthusiasts and historians would argue over which one would win in a duel. When the rampage occurred, the universe got its answer when the two got caught up in the chaos. The Rela'Kan was declared the winner when the Oon'Grok wielded it like a warclub and smashed the Vera'Zun in half. The Rela'Kan now also sits in the number one slot of "Which 10 Warships Are the Best Melee Weapons." Though the territories of the Oon'Grok have been thoroughly mapped and logged, it is important for any traveler to know that unknown individuals or groups can still exist. Navigational computers only know of the prominent populations, as it is impossible to track every single individual drifting out in space. Those who are driven from the family groups may wander the void in search of a new home, while entire groups may migrate when their territory faces an outside threat. A migration like this only occurs when rare anomalies may pass through the area and scare off the Oon'Grok. One case was when the True Pantheon was first observed, which was when they visited the Caldeon asteroid field. This massive region of asteroids was home to several Oon'Grok groups, but they all fled when one of the Pantheon's members flew into a fit of rage. These displaced groups wound up wandering into new regions and taking refuge near popular trade routes. After several trade fleets were destroyed, an effort was made to push the Oon'Grok back into the Caldeon field now that the Pantheon had departed. Another way that Oon'Grok can show up where they are not expected is through their ways of reproduction. It is believed that Oon'Grok can reproduce on their own, though a mingling with partners can be done to insure genetic diversity. What results are hardened eggs that are sealed with cocoons of their gel secretions. Despite their size and long life, Oon'Grok can reproduce quite frequently and create quite a few eggs each time. Due to space and resources, an Oon'Grok group cannot hatch all the eggs they produce. As a result, only a small fraction of these eggs will hatch at a time while the rest stay dormant. It has been found that these dormant eggs can stay this way for centuries, waiting for some type of signal for them to awaken. Oon'Grok groups may keep a portion of these eggs, but a time will come where they have too much. When this happens, they will attach clusters of them to a chunk of asteroid and use their strength to launch it into the void. The fate of these laden rocks is not guaranteed, but it seems a tiny portion of them eventually wind up passing through suitable habitat. If this happens, the eggs will hatch and the young will take over the area. If the rock is destroyed or sent on a empty path that stretches for centuries, that is no issue. All the Oon'Grok do is spread their seeds into the solar winds and destiny will decide where they shall land. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CAVEMEN! IN! SPAAAAAACE! At one point I was thinking about sci-fi universes and how many super intelligent aliens there were in each. Space travel and such is no easy feat, so obviously all these races need to be technologically advance and incredibly sapient. That got me thinking, what if there was a dumb one? What if there were space-faring creatures that were essentially cavemen? Obviously they couldn't get into space with just sticks and stones (and Orks already did that, so I don't want to copy), so I kept playing with the notion. Overtime, it evolved into a species that was already in space to begin with, so no progress or technology needed! Which then lead me to my favorite part of this: what if these space cavemen were incredibly OP? You can have all the fancy lasers and energy shields you want, but a big enough rock will beat it every time. Makes me wish I could draw more aliens, but for whatever reason, whenever I decide to make something a sci-fi alien species I lose all ability to draw the dang thing.

#caveman #alien #space alien #monster #creature #space caveman #art #drawing

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itsthesinbin · 5 years

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Always Watching (Yandere!Soundwave/OC SFW)

Thank you to @jinxkatkazama (won’t let me tag you) for your business!

If you like this fic, consider commissioning me!

Warning For: Stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behavior

Nienna still remembered when she first met the Autobots.

“Stupid fucking gps,” she grumbled, resisting the urge to throw her phone out of frustration. Of course, even following a fuckin’ COMPUTER, she still got lost. Of COURSE she did. This SUCKS.

She was simply mumbling to herself when she heard… commotion. Something big slamming into something bigger. Yelling and fighting. What the hell was going on?

Something told Nia to run, but she was a hard-headed girl. She ran, but not away from the fighting like she SHOULD have done. An absolute idiot, she is, it seemed.

What she saw crash into the street was… incredible. Terrifying.

Alien.

A giant, robotic creature had been slammed into the ground. A larger creature shot at her with some kind of blaster, and she had to roll out of the way. Nia had no idea what happening, but…

Girls gotta stick together, right?

She thinks the blue one is a girl, anyway- she sounded feminine. That was good enough for Nia.

She fished a large textbook out of her bag, whistling loudly to catch the bigger creature’s attention. It turned to face her, bright red visor shining down at her dangerously.

“Don’t you know you can’t hit a girl, jackass,” she screamed, chucking the book at the creature’s face.

It bounced off harmlessly. Nia didn’t really know what else she expected, but it wasn’t the creature coming at her with a giant gun.

“Oh shit,” Nia yelled, scrambling backwards. Before the creature could attack, the female had gotten up and slammed herself into the other bot’s back. While they fought, Nia hurried to a safer spot.

She heard yelling, shots fired, and then finally tires screeching as someone drove away. Nia felt her heart hammering in her chest, hearing clunking as one of the creatures approached. She was gonna die today. Of course she was.

The blue bot appeared, peeking around the corner she was hiding behind. She had her hands up, trying to convey that she wasn’t going to harm the human in front of her. Nia stepped back a little, but didn’t run.

“... Ugh, great,” she muttered, crouching down to Nia’s level.

“I know you have a lot of questions, and I can answer them, but you gotta come with me- you’d be in danger if I just left you alone. Got it?” Too stunned, Nia simply nodded, eyes widening as the bot transformed into a… fucking motorcycle. Great. Fantastic. Nia’s going to the looney bin.

She didn’t want to argue with a weird giant robot, so… she was going to be kidnapped by one instead, it seemed.

Reaching the base, meeting the others, was… something else. Seeing the other humans with them put Nia at ease, as well, after they explained their own situations.

So, now she’s stuck with alien robots and their human adoptees. Ratchet denied THAT association with the kids, but Nia can tell Ratchet is the MOTHERIEST of mother hens. It was cute.

Nia had time to kill, some days, and would idly watch Raf mess around with programs on his computer. Already having a bit of knowledge on coding and programming, she asked if she could help with anything.

“No, that’s fine-”. An alarm blared, cutting him off. He turned back to the screen, ignoring her as she looked over his shoulder.

“Scrap,” he huffed. “Someone’s found a signal? I thought everything was secure”. Nia saw the big computer flash something, and moved to let Raf work on his laptop.

Climbing up to the main console, she wondered if she should mess with it. Ratchet would KILL her, and, honestly, she had no idea what she was doing.

As she heard Raf getting frustrated and scared, however, she knew she had to try. She had to do SOMETHING.

Herr fingers flew across the holographic keyboard, the keys automatically switching to her native language. Thank GOD it did, Nia thought, or else she’d be FUCKED.

Nia looked up when the alarm ended, seeing the alert system had stopped. Raf ran a hand through his hair, glancing at her with surprise.

“Thanks for… the help- I didn’t expect you to be able to do that,” he said, eyes wide. Nia gave him a thumbs up, hopping down from the console.

“... How about I teach you how to keep up with the alert system,” Raf said, motioning for her to come over. Nia couldn’t help but feel proud as she sat next to the young boy.

Nia spent months with the Autobots, helping Raf with his security, and Miko with her music. Not helping Jack babysit, though, as he ended up babysitting HER as well. She was not a good influence on anyone.

She really shouldn’t have been surprised when she thought she was being followed, due to her… recent activities.

Another late night, another hour of being lost on the way home. Stupid GPS never worked like it should.

Nia felt like something was… off, however. The air felt heavy, and she constantly felt like something was staring holes into her back. Her chest felt tight with nerves and anxiety.

When she looked over her shoulder, she caught something dark gliding into an alleyway. It was big and birdlike, but definitely not organic. Nia swallowed thickly, turning back around and hurrying down the street.

Now that she was paying attention, she could hear a faint whirring noise from… whatever it was following her. God, it was terrifying.

She picked up speed, brisk walk turning into an all-out sprint. She recognized where she was, now. Nia knew how to get home from here. She’d get home, and call the Autobots. Everything’s gonna be alright.

When she found her home, she all but booked it into the house. The door slammed shut, she braced herself against it to try and stay upright. Her legs shook with adrenaline, and her hands were too unsteady to grab her phone.

She heard it outside for the longest time, zipping around the house. Seeing its’ lights shine through the windows. She didn’t know how long she stayed there until it finally left. Nia didn’t DARE move until she was sure it was gone.

The call with Optimus was shaky, and he had Bumblebee stationed outside her house for the night with the order to comm if anything suspicious happened.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Nia would feel like something was severely off. She felt watched. She felt like she wasn’t alone in her own home. It was horrible, not able to feel safe in the comfort of her house.

She had various Bots outside her home, keeping watch outside. That small comfort allowed her to be calm enough to continue with her normal routine, instead of turning into an anxiety-filled hermit. It just took a little longer to be comfortable enough to sleep at night.

Unbeknownst to Nia, though, someone was keeping a very close optic on her.

The Decepticons’ recon bot, Soundwave himself, had taken an interest in the foolish little human the vehicon complained about. Even if he wasn’t harmed, there was still a small crack in his optic that he wouldn’t shut up about. At least, until Knockout finally fixed it.

Soundwave was a little intrigued- he was interested in all of the Autobots’ little pets, but this one… this one was more annoying than the child.

After he tapped into Nia’s computer, he found the programs Raf had put on it. The ones she modified. He recognized the code, and a flame of curiosity lit in his spark.

So, this was the one that enhanced the child’s primitive coding, too? Fascinating. He’d have to keep tabs on her for a while. Make sure she isn’t planning to do anything that could be… detrimental to the Decepticon cause.

He’s sure Lord Megatron wouldn’t mind this little side project. It’d be to ensure the safety of the Decepticons, of course.

He kept a feed of her up constantly, alongside his usual duties. By the end of the first week, he knew her schedule. Knew what she liked to eat, what she sang while she cooked, how she liked her showers.

By the end of the month, he knew what she was going to do before she even did it.

He began to notice small changes about her, after a day. He had been sending Laserbeak to keep watch on her when she was out of her home, and she must have taken note of the Con’s coloring. She stopped wearing the blues and purples Soundwave had come to enjoy. Gaudy pinks and reds replaced her normal clothing, reminding him of Knockout.

He didn’t quite know why, but it made him angry, thinking she was matching another Con.

Soundwave found himself entertaining the idea of putting her back in clothes that matched his paint. Keeping her here, out of the reach of those weak Autobots.

Hm… He may be more involved with this project than he initially thought. Well… he has been loyal- perhaps Lord Megatron will allow him… a small privilege.

By the next week, he found himself waiting for Laserbeak. His little friend went to pick up his… new guest. Megatron had been pleasant about the idea, if confused. When told that this human was a friend of the Autobots, Megatron was proud of the idea.

Soundwave was fine using you as leverage. As long as he had the human.

The sound of screaming caught his attention, angry cursing filling the halls of the Nemesis as Laserbeak entered his quarters. Nia was dangling from the flying Con’s hold, kicking her legs and cussing furiously.

She fell quiet as she was brought towards Soundwave, anger replaced with terror as she was dropped into his palm. Laserbeak returned to his spot in Soundwave’s dock, slipping into recharge. As she stared up at him, Soundwave began a recording.

Megatron’s face appeared on Soundwave’s screen, startling the tiny, fleshy creature in his hand. One simple squeeze, and it’d be over. The idea of having this much power was… interesting.

“Welcome, human,” the recording began. “You are being given to my reconnaissance professional, and he has full control over your wellbeing- I suggest you behave yourself.” Nia’s face contorted, returning back to being livid.

“Fuck you, you bucket of bolts!” The recording, of course, paid her no mind. Soundwave thought it was amusing.

“You are here as collateral, but do not think you are above being killed, should you prove to be too much trouble.” Megatron grinned, making a wave of nausea wash over the human.

“Let’s hope your Autobots really do care about you.” The recording ended there as Soundwave entered his private room, adjacent from his work space.

Nia was placed into a small hole in the wall- well, small for Soundwave. It was VERY large for her. It had basic bedding, a bucket, and some food and water in the corner. There was a pile of clothing near the entrance, which sealed shut with a forcefield.

Instead of saying anything, Soundwave simply sat down. Silently, he observed her. Seeing her grow disgusted and enraged, realizing these were clothes from her home.

“You took these- what the hell is wrong with you? Are you some kind of sick freak?!” Soundwave smiled, under his mask.

Humans were so emotional, and so… lively. It was amusing.

“Sick freak,” he repeated, using Nia’s voice against her. She swallowed the lump in her throat, torn between screaming, crying, or vomiting. Considering the small space, and just a bucket, she figured throwing up was the worst thing to do, at the moment.

“This is more than using me as a bargaining chip. What do you want from me, you giant bastard,” Nia yelled, standing as close as she could to the forcefield. Soundwave stood, stepping over to her cell. Despite not wanting to show how terrified she was, she took a few steps back as his face appeared at her level.

Soundwave decided to give her a bit of a treat, since she’s finally here. Instead of using a recording…

“Want you,” came his own, mechanical response. She flinched a little bit, not expecting it to be so loud- or as robotic as it was. Ironic, considering she’s talking to a huge robot.

“What… do you mean?” The forcefield lowered, and Nia was grabbed before she could react. She struggled, growing more panicked as she was lifted into his hold.

“Watch you. Know you. Want you.” She stilled for a moment. Watching her…

“For fuck’s sake- did you bug my entire house?! Is that how you knew when I’d be home alone-!” He cut her off, placing a digit over her mouth.

“Yes.” He sat down again, letting her move his digit from her face. Her eyes- a lovely, bright blue that reminded him too much of the Autobots- shined with fury.

“Optimus is going to kick your aft, you stalking monster! And I’m gonna rip out your spark with my bare hands!” A silent laugh left him.

“Cute.” The mockery only infuriated her more. She tried to struggle as he reached up to run a digit along her hair.

“Stay here. With me. Whether Autobots come or not.” Nia tried to argue, but Soundwave was being hailed to the bridge. Reluctantly, he moved to put her back in her cell.

“Let me go! Let me out of here!” Soundwave paid the human no mind, leaving the room.

“Change clothes. Hate the red,” was all he said, before he left the room. She cussed at him as the door shut, sitting in the bedding angrily.

A screen appeared in her cell, showing a feed from Soundwave’s point of view. She knew it was him, because he made sure to start it up while staring into a monitor’s reflection.

“Always watching,” he all but purred, beginning his trek to the bridge. Nia glanced up, seeing cameras in all corners of her cell. He really could see her from all directions. She felt sick. He couldn’t help but smile, not that anyone could see. Even as she began to cry out of frustration, he felt as giddy as he did when he was a sparkling.

“Always watching.”

#transformers #tfp #soundwave #yandere #fic #mods commissions #soundwave x oc

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paganchristian · 3 years

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This is a spring-fed ditch or something, naturally occurring. My husband told me that gold is more likely to be found in places like this because of something or other, like that the water collects and doesn’t flow as much and he read some scientific explanation of it in an article about it or something.

Hm, but it made me just think, it’s pure and clean like a spring, but also, it is oftentimes a place where stagnation and pollution can pool. It’s mysterious and from the earth, springing up from hidden realms. It appears rather small and humble, muddy, low to the ground and not that far from a mud puddle in its overall appearance. The abode of frogs and salamanders and other simple animals. Snakes, roots, tiny cave-like tunnels descending deep into the earth, rocks. Moss, mold, fungi, and so forth. Everything of the ground, and the underground, dirty, simple, often overlooked things.

And so, but it was making me think of how the gold, the treasure of the self, the heart, and the mind can often be found in such lowly places of the psyche and such degraded, confused parts of ourselves, reached in such ways that look quite primitive and backwards, but what works to motivate and heal and such is sometimes really counterintuitive,...

because under it all we are instinctual and simple, half-conscious or unconscious, emotion-driven people much of the time. What works will account for and work with all that. Despite our brilliance, creativity, insight, knowledge, intelligence, the best and wisest and smartest still are instinctual beings and very simple in more ways than we generally even begin to realize and remember and account for in our plans for life. Which is why we all fail so badly, because we don’t know how to deal with the messy chaos of our real selves and the real world. Our polished, brilliant sides can’t handle and stifle the messy, crazy sides of ourselves and the world, no matter what we fool ourselves into thinking about that.

Religious leaders and teachings may use your weakness to push you into a cornered position because everyone seems to respond in this vigorous way to such approaches. They either submit, debate or all-out rebel. Now I think it can backfire if someone is wrongly led by such “tough love” kinds of tactics, and often that can be the case. Even if it’s not directly pushed on you from the outside, but only by reading books and words online or something like that, I have misled myself into self-hate, self-defeat and helpless, hopeless, shamed, guilted feeling of complete inability and I know some others have the same trouble.

Yet it’s not always so. I think I’m starting to see the potential usefulness in some of the more extreme views of religions that oftentimes those views can seem to me to bee just mostly wrong, or unfair, all-or-nothing thinking, judgmental, controlling rules, condemning threats and warnings, terrifying statements about you and about hell and so on.

But, still... what good is in all that? Well I think I’ve been seeing that the good in that can be that for some reason people often seem to only respond to all-or-nothing, overly simplistic ideologies. It’s like the more complex things get, the less likely they are to really act on them, to absorb, remember and follow or believe. The less emotional impact it seems to make. The harder it is to get on board with, all in all.

And why? I mean, it’s just simple to grasp a really basic, all-or-nothing proposition. It’s really simple to grasp overly exaggerated judgments (to grasp the concept of the simple ideas, not saying they really make sense, but the ideas they use are simplistic),... And, it’s simple to follow warnings and rules that are very rigid and clear and one-size-fits -all Then you have to only grasp one thing, one view, or a couple of views, dualism, black and white. Forget the many, slippery shades of grey.

The problem then arises because the real truth is there are so many forms of grey, there are so many different shades of grey for every weakness or problem someone can have. Then there are so many different problems. So some people don’t even have a particular certain problem or need to put the horse before the cart but others already have the horse and can work on the car, or whatever.

There are so many ways people just need and have to pay attention to their own little set of problems, directly, by blocking out all the other problems. And to deal with these problems simply, by seeing them in overly simplified extreme ways so that they can grasp and feel emotionally compelled by the ideas and find the motivation to try to change.

That is why religion is rife with contradicting, extreme views. There is a different set of warnings, threats and all-or-nothing rules for each set of problems out there, and there are even some less extreme views pushed along too, for those who are not still stuck on black-and-white and can handle a bit more grey.

Then you have all these things, that seem to contradict... So within one tradition, all within one sect of the spiritual religious group you’re in you can see things like, you have love promoted, and then punishment, and fear.

And there are the warnings against laziness, but you see others promoting ease, peace,

and creativity, versus extreme practicality,

and humility, versus unrealistic, puritanical, unnatural and forced levels of purity, (which tends to skew thinking and make you very aware of anything “impure” leading to arrogance, not true humility, even if you grovel before God, but compared to average humans you feel arrogant) and,

There is, being nonjudgmental promoted sometimes, but also, recognizing, resisting, and protecting from harmful influences and behaviors (but if you’re supposed to be so nonjudgmental that to speak of others’ problems openly and honestly is off-limits then how can you be aware of the problem, much less even start to address it, if the problem is because of something that others have done, that you can’t understand until you put into words).

Or religions promote performing some set of standards, versus living from your authentic honest self and heart.

Or extreme, unswerving obedience, and then you see the same religion preaching that you must do things from the heart because of sincere willing desire to do them.

Etc, etc, but anyway, there are just so many possible contradictions.

There is the God of love, infinitely forgiving, patient and never angry, and then there is the same God who punishes you, is angry at you, and places you in Hell if you don’t toe the line on certain rules. How is that the same God, and how can they forget they have described God in two contradicting ways?

And it’s ok to accept contradictions when you can say, to each his own, to every thing there is a season. But when you are brandishing angry and terrifying threats and warnings of hell and punishment and bemoaning your worthlessness if you don’t follow extreme, all-or-nothing rules,

Well then it’s not this do what works for you approach anymore. But the reason they need and use all that fear, and all of this all-or-nothing exaggeration is that people listen to it, it’s simple, obvious and emotionally riveting, and ...

It can work to help you overcome a certain problem. If you’re greedy, or lazy, or judgmental, or cold-hearted, or overly fearful, or whatever your problem is, then if you only focus on the extreme things that tell you to not be that way, to do the opposite extreme, then maybe you can find how to cure your problem. As long as you don’t go too far ito the other extreme, but maybe once you start to heal the problem you will self-correct and see how far to go and not really go as extreme as they say to do, ..

Especially if you notice they seem to promote contradictory values so how could they even really mean the extreme things they say? How can they mean God is extremely fearful and punishing and jealous and controlling, when they also say He is extremely loving and forgiving of you at all times? How can any of these contradicting extremes be real, unless one extreme is real but the other isn’t? Both contradicting statements cannot always be always true, that’s for sure.

But maybe these extreme approaches, rules and ideas, maybe,

They work to help people change. Because it compels them to pay attention when they could endlessly procrastinate if they viewed their problems in a way which felt less scary and less absolute and extreme.

I think that if I can remember this then I can finally find how to bend and twist these things and lop off the parts that don't work for me or add on things that I need to add to make them work and make the puzzle finally fit without the contradictory instructions that aren’t working for me.

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jolienjoyswriting · 5 years

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The Maze of the Manor, Ch. I

Chapter 1 of "The Maze of the Manor," an Essence of Ragnarok story.

Oh… hi, Mark. I didn't see you, there. So, I actually wanted to write a completely unrelated story… but, I'm kind of scared that, after all the pre-production work I've done (character models, research, lore, etc.), it wont turn out like I want it to. So, I've been writing other things, instead. This, in particular, is a story I've been mulling over in my head. It's one of those "seems like a fun idea, but I've got other things to do" sort of ideas. But, like I said… I've got cold feet about the story I actually want to write, so I made this, instead. x:

Word count: 17,853 – Character count: 2,939 Originally written: May 29th, 2019

A pushy bat and a reluctant fox go out to see a spook-house! Zoinks!

[ ↶ Prev. Story | ← Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter → | "IF" Chapter ↘ | Next Story ↷ ]

“This ain’ what I expected t’ find, at all…! Of all th’ things ta– un… believable!”

Joseph softly panted, his ears flicking as he looked up from his… rather compromising position. Seeing his best friend standing at the door gave him relief… until he realized why she covering her face and shaking her head. Slowly, he turned his attention back to the person that had led him to being in such a predicament… only to see sweet, red eyes and an innocent, white-furred face… albeit, with some red stains around the mouth… staring back. It was like they were looking to him for answers, as well. Unfortunately, all the fox could tell either of them was… “I– I can explain… Uhn… I think…?” The black-furred bat rolled her eyes. “Oh, this ought’a be good…” But, what, exactly, happened? And, how did get to that point…? –––––

“C’mon, Josey! It’s Masquerade Week! What better way t’ join th’ festivities than by goin’ to a real, live, spooky house…? It’ll be fun!”

That was the story Jessica sold her companion, the one-eyed, golden-furred fox by the name of Joseph, as she dragged him out of his house. Truthfully, he really didn’t feel like going out… or, really, doing much of anything. Two years prior, he’d lost his girlfriend in what could only be described as “a series of injustices.” It really messed him up in a number of ways, such as leading him to stay indoors more often and lose motivation with his freelance music compositions. Still, his friends wanted him to get out and have some fun, once-in-a-while – it was “good for him,” they said – and, for-better-or-worse, Jessica was the most adamant about it, often dragging him to one place or another… sometimes, completely against his will…

“But, I don’t want to have fun!” Joseph protested as he found himself dragged by the arm of his black turtleneck sweater. “Sure, ya do!” she immediately countered. “Everyone likes fun!” “You’re lying!” “Nuh-uh!” the girl in the turquoise sweater and hip-hugging denim jeans further countered. “What’s life without a li’l fun?” “Safe…” was Joseph’s guess. “Boooring!” was his companion’s correction. “Now, siddown, strap in, ‘n let’s gooooo!” “Doesn’t seem like you’re giving me much choice…” That observation was a little self-evident, all things considered. She had already pushed him into his car’s passenger seat, pulled the seat belt over, and fastened him in. Once she slid over the hood of Joseph’s green compact car, she hopped into the driver’s side. “This’ll be a hoot!” she told him while pulling the key from the fabric rolls of her cowl-neck sweater. “I promise!” “If you say so, Jess…” “Hey… would I lie t’ you?” Joseph grunted as she started the vehicle. “Only if it was for a good cause…” “Exactly! Now, let’s get’a goin’!” With that, she pulled out of his driveway and onto the road some meters away. Not long after, they were on their way to her so-called “spooky house.”

“Say, Jessie…” The red-head with the pink fringe hummed to her companion. Her red-and-green eyes were focused on the road, but her ears pivoted toward him, showing that he had her attention. “Where did you say this place was? We’ve been driving for a while…” “It’s way-way-waaay out ‘n th’ boonies!” was her cheerful reply. “Ever hear of a place called ‘Talwar Village?’” “You’re… you’re talking me to Talwar Village?” Joseph scowled. “Jessie, that’s… like… almost a day’s drive over!” “It’s a good thing we’re leavin’ now, huh?” Joseph looked at the clock on the dashboard. It read “11:20 AM.” “No– Jessie, stop the car,” he said as he whipped his head back toward the driver. “I did not agree to a road trip! Stop, turn around, go back.” “Oh, don’t be such a whiner, Josey! It’s not like ya had someplace t’ be!” “Jessica, I’m serious.” He glared at the perky bat. “Stop. The car. Now.” Jessica didn’t respond to his stern order and just kept on driving while quietly humming a song he recognized as one of his own. “Stop. The. Car.” Again, she didn’t respond. Joseph was starting to get angry… “Jessica U. Ingmann, if you don’t stop this fucking car right now, I will–” “You’ll what?” she finally snapped. “Bail? Yank th’ wheel outta my hands? Go ‘head! See what ‘appens, bitch!” The fox’s ears folding into a somewhat-hostile position and he growled, baring his teeth at Jessica. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate being encouraged to cause a car accident.

“Jessica…” he eventually called in a much calmer voice. “Please. I don’t want to go on a road trip. I’m asking nicely… turn the car around and take me home. Okay?” At that point, the bat-girl finally glanced his way. “Gods damn it, Joe…” she said with a sigh. “Yer such a big baby sometimes…” “You all-but-kidnaped me to go on some mystery road trip with you, Jess! You won’t even tell me where, specifically, we’re going!” He sighed, as well, before calming back down. “I didn’t want to come and I don’t want to go… I just want to go back home… where I can’t upset or hurt anyone.” “Dunno if ya noticed, kiddo… but, if ya ain’t drove me off, by now… nothin’ ya say ‘r do’s gonna bug me, none.” Joseph blinked, his ears perking. Jessica was grinning at him.

“Yer gonna have t’ trus’ me on this trip, Joe. Ya know I’d never do anythin’ that’d make ya miserable! ‘cept eat all yer food, that one time. Buuut, heeey! I promise, this trip’ll be worth it. Jus’… ya know… be patient?” She paused, retrieving a small device from her collar, which she handed over. “Play some cell phone games ‘f yer bored? Ya dun have t’ talk ta me ‘n it’s okay ‘f yer mad at me. Jus’… ya know… I want’cha t’ see this place. I been. It’s worth it.” “I… Of course, I trust you, Jess. It’s just…” He gave another sigh before looking down at the floor of the car. “You’re just so impulsive, sometimes… I barely even had time to get dressed, I didn’t brush my teeth or comb my fur… I’m surprised you even grabbed my phone.” “‘course, I did!” She grinned a little more. “We migh’ get lost, where we’re goin’!” “Really.” When she gave a nod, he lightly chuckled. “We’ll see, I guess…” “Tha’s th’ spirit! Ooh, speakin’ of… hope we see some’a them!” “I’ll keep an eye out. And, Jessie?” Her ears gave a flick. “Mm?” There was a brief pause… then, Joseph told her, “Thanks.” “Oh, dun thank me, love!” The bat-girl wiggled in her seat. “I’ve been dyin’ t’ get’cha inta this place! Watchin’ ya react t’ all th’ obvious spookums is gonna be so much fuuun…!” “Heh. If you say so…” The fox flipped open his phone and booted up a game before telling her, “Just don’t be surprised if my reaction to jump-scares is pretty dull…” “Weee shaaall seeeee, mwa ha ha ha haaah!” Her “spooky voice” finally got Joseph to crack a smile… which made her smile even brighter! She always enjoyed trying to cheer him up, but it really made her day when it worked!

Time moved on as the numbers on the travel meter added up. Two pit-stops and dinner at a truck stop delayed their journey ever-so-slightly, but as the sun swung from one side of the sky to the other, they knew they were drawing closer to their destination. That, and there was a road sign signaling “Talwar Village” being ten kilometers away.

“Man, when I said this place was ‘almost a day’s drive,’” Joseph commented as he noticed the sky, “I wasn’t thinking it really would be! But, yeah. It’s getting dark. I can see the stars– well, I could see the stars, I mean. All these trees kind of make it hard.” “It’s okay, Josey!” the driving bat told him. “Soon, it’ll be completely dark ‘n ya can look out th’ window at th’ beaaautiful night’s sky right above us!” “I also kind of forgot that Talwar really was out in the sticks. Uh, no pun intended.” Jessica snorted with laughter. “Suuure, it wasn’t!” “My brain’s just wired for puns, sometimes – you know that.” “Mm-hmm, jus’ like my brain’s wired fer tacos.” The fox tilted his head. “Uh… I don’t think that’s how–” “Here’s our turn!” Joseph hadn’t been full paying attention, but… “Huh? Wait. What did that big sign say? It looked important.” “Dun worry ‘bout that, Goldie! Jus’ settle in fer a long, bumpy ride!” “What do you mean, ‘a–’ guh-uh-uhh!”

Before he could finish repeating her thought, he got his answer. The road had suddenly turned rough and bumpy – and, for good reason! In the glow of the headlights, Joseph saw that… “This road isn’t paved.” “Yep! Rather, nope!” Jessica corrected herself. “Jessica…” Joseph looked at his companion with concern. “Why isn’t this road paved?” “‘cuz, it’s a primitive road!” was her overly-simple answer. “Is this a road…?” He gave a heavy grunt as the vehicle hit something that made it jump. “You sure someone didn’t just cut a swath through the woods and call it a day…?” “This is a recognized road, hun. It’s even on maps!” she assured him. “But, it just ain’ maintained by Talwar.” That made Joseph curious… “Why not?” “Well… it’s partly ‘cuz th’ owner’a this land won’t give th’ township permission… ‘e kinda jus’ wants t’ be left to ’is lonesome.” “Oh. I see.” Joseph paused… then, he hummed. “Wait. he wants to be left alone… but, he has a haunted house?” “‘Spooky house,’ Joe!” she corrected with a grin. “Okay, ‘spooky house.’ Still, it seems a little suspicious that–” “This road ain’t really s’posed t’ be driven on by modern vehicles,” Jessica suddenly interjected. “It’s s’posed t’ be driven by carriage! Adds to th’ atmosphere!” “Oh. That… actually makes a lot of sense.” Once again, he had to pause for thought. “Wait, if this isn’t supposed to be driven… why are we driving it?” There was another pause, though it was Jessica’s, instead of his. “I know th’ guy what runs th’ house,” she eventually told him. “‘e invited me over t’ see what’s what, ‘n… stuff!” “Wait, but you said…’” The fox narrowed right eye…before remembering that it was hidden under an eyepatch. He narrowed his left eye, then, before saying, “This sounds a little–” “We’re here!!” Joseph gave a blink, staring out the windshield. Situated ahead of their vehicle was a rather large, rather imposing manor that took up quite a lot of real estate within a grassy clearing within the deep woods.

Just from what he could see, the large building was roughly the width of four-or-five normal houses and it appeared to have at least three floors to it, including the ground floor… It was also painted in shades of brown, ranging from dark chocolate to cocoa with some of the trim being sand-colored. There were many windows in front and one-or-two balconies on the second floor, as well as a large porch in front with six steps leading up to a massive double-door.

“What… hang on…” Joseph squinted. “Is that… are those… Jessie?” “Yeesss?” the girl asked, grinning as she turned off the engine. “This place… doesn’t look spooky, at all.”

A closer look around revealed to Joseph that the porch was decorated with some colorful paper lanterns and, curiously, there was a swinging bench on the porch with some floral-print cushions. Some of the windows of the manor also had small plants on their shelves and several of them had elegant curtains on the inside. However, there was a distinct lack of bats… ravens… dark clouds or lightning… anything even remotely “spooky!” In fact, it just looked like a fancy mansion that didn’t even look that old, much less imposing.

“Oh, dun let th’ cheery exterior fool ya!” Jessica told him as she exited the vehicle. “It’s th’ real deal, ‘nside!” “No, seriously, Jess…” The fox frowned as he left his car and followed the excited bat up onto the porch. “This place just looks like a hidden millionaire’s house… or, something. I mean, did you see the potted plants? Look at this cute little swing! Jessie, this place is not spooky…” The bat-girl tilted her head, giving her companion a curious, almost innocent look. “In fact,” he continued, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you just hauled me to some random location, far away from town! Are you even sure this is the right place?” “‘f this wasn’ th’ right place…” Jessica started with a smirk, “would I ‘ave th’ key?” Joseph gave a blink as the girl withdrew something from her pocket. It did, indeed, look like a metal key… one that was perfectly ordinary and seemed to match the modern lock on the right-hand door. “I dunno…?” he said as she unlocked the door. “Knowing you, you might’ve got a key from some dude you were dating, then decided to go raid his house while he was away on vacation…” “Joseph. Really.” Jessica gave a look of disbelief. “Would I do that?” “I dunno.” The fox smirked. “You tell me.” For a few moments, Jessica didn’t respond. After that, she gave a wink and a grin, wrapped one hand around the old-style door handle, put a thumb on the lever, and gave it a push. Not long after, the door opened inward, revealing the interior of the manor to them both.

Joseph had expected the inside of the mansion to look a little different from the outside… but, he hadn’t been expecting the radical difference between the styles! The outside looked like it had been maintained and updated with the times, but the inside almost looked like something from the era of magic and superstition! The foyer led straight ahead and onto another set of double-doors at the end of a colossal hallway that, to Joseph’s view, might have been even bigger than the entryway of the Tower of Masamune! The hall, itself, looked wide enough to house several vehicles side-by-side, and the number of doors on the ground floor, alone, was astounding! There must have been a good thirty doors on that floor, alone… which made him wonder how many more doors were up on the first floor, which lay at the end of a tall flight of stairs on either side of them. Aside from the doors, there were also all the hallmarks of a stereotypical “spooky mansion,” such as suits of armor beside some doors and statues of various figures he didn’t recognize resting on pedestals beside others. There were a couple of velvet-cushioned chairs, here-or-there, and many paintings of people – mostly fancy women – on the walls. Finally, hanging above them was a massive, elegant chandelier made of crystal and gold. He wasn’t sure if it was powered or had candles… but, it lit the entire room without trouble, either way.

“Gah!!” Suddenly, a resounding thoom from behind caught Joseph’s attention! When he spun around to see what it was, he noticed… Jessica was grinning from-ear-to-ear, clearly trying not to laugh. It was pretty obvious that she’d been the one to slam the door, trying to scare him.

“What the Void, Jessica?!” he half-screeched as he put a hand over his chest. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack…?” “Told’ja this place was spoooooky, kiddo!” she laughed. “That wasn’t ‘spooky!’” he protested. “That was just… just… startling!” “Jus’ gettin’ ya ready fer th’ spooks t’ come!” The fox huffed and grumbled. “You’re an ass, Jess…” “‘n, yer adorable when yer frightened!” she retorted with a grin. “Looket yer fur all stickin’ up ’n stuff! I jus’ wanna pet’cha ’n tell ya everything’s aaall okay, aww…!”

“What… ever.” Joseph sighed, shaking his head. “Anyway… what do we do, now?” “First, I wanna show ya somethin’ cool…” “Okay. Lead o– h-hey, what are you–?” “Take my hand, Joe,” she warned in an oddly serious tone. “Dun want’cha gettin’ lost.” “How could I get lost?” he asked as she led him toward the left staircase. “This place doesn’t seem like it’d be hard to navigate…” “Oh, trus’ me! I been lost ‘n ‘ere, plenty! Had’a wait fer Ro t’ come ‘n find me. Was kind’a embarrassin’.” “You had to wait for who to come find you?” Joseph asked. “Ro,” she repeated as they sped past the first couple of doors on the first floor. “Ya know! Th’ overly-dramatic batty-bat what–” Jessica came to a sudden stop – both in vocalizations and in motion. Joseph had yanked on her arm.

“I’m sorry… Did you say… ‘Ro?’ As in, ‘Count Arturo Moretti?’” Jessica’s ears fell, but she didn’t turn his way. “Uuuh…” “Count Moretti, Lord of the Moretti Clan of Vampires?” “Uuuuuhh…” “The same Vampire Lord who wants to flay me alive just because we’re friends?” “Uuuuuuuuuuhhh…” “And… this is his manor? His home?” Jessica didn’t repeat herself a third time. Instead, she just gave an audible swallow. “You brought me to the home of a guy who wants me dead? You brought me into his domain? You willingly put me into what could possibly be the most danger I have ever been in? All because you were… what? Bored?” “I… th-thought you’d think it was neat…?” the bat skittishly responded. Once she gave a nervous laugh, though, she had to turn around. Joseph had wrenched his hand free from hers. “Welp,” he said as he spun around, “this was a waste of time. I’ll be outside. In the car.” “No, wait, don’t–!” Jessica called. When the turned, though… “Shhiiieeeet…” It was too late. Joseph… had vanished.

#fiction #Essence of Ragnarok #2055 #Maze of the Manor #Joseph Lithius #Jessica Ingmann #slice of life

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noonmutter · 7 years

Text

Final Acts

(( Fair warning: This got really long at about 3600 words. ))

Deliverance Point was abuzz, more so than it had been in a while. Everyone was feeling that mix of excitement and bone-chilling terror that preceded a major change on the battlefield. The Tomb would crack open any day now, and everyone was ready, and no one was ready. Most of the time, this problem was addressed by drinking, going to a brothel, gambling, and in some cases, deserting.

He’d gone with option three, and had come out actually profiting a little bit, but it didn’t really help all that much. Of course he’d cheated, but so had everyone else at the makeshift table; winning wasn’t the point, the actual game was whether you could keep the other guys from guessing your trick. Fair games were dull and people who took offense at basic loaded dice rarely had enough money to be worth the hassle anyway.

Option one came afterward, once he had the coin for it. His tolerance was far too high for going to bars unless he was willing to go broke until next pay day, especially bars catering to soldiers. He needed a lot of drink to get a buzz, but at least the mixed nature of the forces on the Shore made price gouging dangerous territory. You could get away with that sometimes, but not when a too-sober Tauren paladin was standing in front of you with six friends and a mug half full of water.

Option two... he wanted option two very much. He was lonesome, and there was an abundance of company to be found on the floating city, one short flight away. But he was spoken for, and he wasn’t a dishonorable man where it mattered. Even if he’d been willing to entertain the idea for more than a few minutes, he knew Shedwyn would be crushed. And then castrate him. And then Leon would probably show up and kick his head in...

Terry didn’t respect the deserters, but he understood them.

His reverie was broken by a poke in the side, and it took him a moment before he thought to look down. The goblin courier scoffed at him, then held up a clipboard and a package of simple brown paper and twine. “Sign here, mac.”

“Sign?” Terry couldn’t recall the last time he’d had to sign for mail.

“Yeah, sign. Y’know, pen to paper, scribble somethin’? Usually yer name. I ain’t picky, whatever’s fastest.”

Already tired of listening, Terry took the clipboard and scrawled something that might have been his name, but had even odds of being a bunch of swear words. To judge by the goblin’s expression, he interpreted it as the latter. He hung around a few seconds, looking expectant, but Terry had already started walking away. With an irritated sigh of “Cheap friggin’ Gilneans,” he took his leave.

Rather than returning to the hustle and noise of the Point proper, Terry walked out past the edges of the More-or-Less-Safe Zone. His personal campsite wasn’t too far from the point, but far enough that he could avoid most of his night terrors. Some of the dreams were stubborn and came to him regardless, but he chalked that up to general fatigue.

Sitting down in front of his tent with a soft grunt, he took a proper look at the package and clucked his tongue in disapproval when he found the address was printed, rather than handwritten. The sender’s address wasn’t one he recognized, and he hated not knowing where things came from. It didn’t stop him from opening the thing, but it made him somewhat wary. Turning it over to find the knot in the twine, his nerves settled when he found a letter held flush against the box, addressed “Terry - Read First” in Vember’s tidy hand. He didn’t recognize the wax seal holding the envelope shut, though.

Dutifully, he set the box down without unwrapping it and broke the seal on the letter. Although some of the phrasing sounded like Vember, the handwriting was not hers. It was even cleaner, almost like a printed script, and clearly painstakingly pored over to minimize spatter from the quill and avoid mistakes. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the writer had been using a ruler.

“Terry,

I hope this letter finds you at an opportune time. If you are not already, I would suggest that you be seated and, knowing you, alone. Following the events of our initial raid on the lab in Gilneas, a large number of notes and materials were recovered and sent to the Kirin Tor for further study. Among them were a series of objects revealed to be data storage devices, the functionality of which is best left unwritten.

The Kirin Tor were recently able to translate the information on these devices to a less primitive medium, and upon review, deemed it nonviable for research purposes and returned it to us.

Enclosed, you will find a Draenic crystal recording device, in which one sequence has already been stored. Upon realizing what it was, Vember and I determined its fate would be best left to you to decide. Please be assured that we did not play the recording in its entirety, out of decency and respect.

You are free to keep this device and the data on it, and I have included instructions on how to operate it. It is also possible to delete the data, or to record over it if you deem it necessary.

Respectfully, Lady Neun Shadhemir Vember Marlon Shedwyn Mair Lias” Just below that, in Vember’s own handwriting, was a single line:

“You have my word that I will not breathe a word of this to your brother. But you should. - V”

His hands were trembling once he’d gotten through the second paragraph. By the time he’d finished reading it, he nearly lost the slip that explained how the device worked in his rush to open the box.

The device itself was...underwhelming, a pleasant but bland quartzlike rectangle about eight inches across with a faint bluish sheen to it. Arcane energy arced between it and his fingertips for a moment before settling to an almost imperceptible warmth in his hands. It took him a few minutes to figure out he was holding it upside down, but once that was sorted, getting it working was a matter of seconds.

On activation, the device glowed bright blue, and most of the flat surface shimmered before turning a deep, pure black. The display was wobbly and unclear at the beginning, but clarified after a few seconds, until he was able to discern a set of hands--his hands--opening a door...

“Wha’ d’you mean you shot ‘im?!”

“Only in th’ leg, mate!”

“WHY DID YOU SHOOT ‘IM?!”

Diggs’ face was white as the hunter, barely out of his teens, pushed back his antlered hood and rubbed frantically at his scarred mouth. “I-I-it were a--there was a bloody--’e was a madbeast, Terry! Y’din’t say nuffin’ bout ‘im bein’ one o’ those!”

[Eyes wide, Terry mumbled “Oh god” to himself, but did not stop watching.]

Terry swore for the hundredth time in the last minute and a half, picking up his own rifle and moving his rucksack next to the doorway. He was glad he was already dressed. “You bloody nit, why were y’even carryin’? Y’were just sposed t’ watch ‘im!”

“Don’t put this on me, bruv! Yer th’one din’t fink t’mention I might be starin’ atta ‘ell’ound!”

The impact of Diggs’ back on the wall was loud, and he let out an undignified yelp when he felt something pop. Terry’s grip on his shoulders was like steel--angry steel--as he got in close and snarled, “Leon could be dead right now, you fuckin’--”

“What th’ bloody ‘ell is goin’ on in ‘ere?!”

Terry’s blood ran cold all over again as dad’s voice rattled both their brains. The man could really boom when he wanted to, and the tiny Duskhaven cabin they’d been given already amplified every footstep. He wasn’t the least bit surprised that Diggs bolted into the night the instant he could, leaving Terry standing alone, rifle in one hand, pack by the door, as his parents came inside. Bettany reached out to stop the fleeing man, but missed by a wide margin when he actually juked around her.

[A weak, mournful laugh. ”You cowardly prick.”]

They’d been away at their own party, but it was the old-folks’ party, so they were dressed a bit nicer. Mum’s hair was still done up the fancy way she liked, and she’d managed to keep her one good dress pristine for another day. Dad’s suit was already trying to split at every seam again, after a dozen trips to a dozen tailors. He already dwarfed his wife, but that suit made it even more obvious just how big he really was.

[Terry wished, as he watched the scene unfold all over again, that the suit didn’t fit because his dad was fat. It would’ve been easier to deal with him if he was fat.]

Graeme set one huge hand on his wife’s shoulder and stepped around her, not letting her get between him and Terry, though she’d already started to try. Bettany knew what was coming and her expression had shifted from confusion to determination almost immediately. The younger Ambroce stared up into his dad’s face [Terry noticed the way the image seemed to pinch at the edges; he’d been trying to look stern, and ended up scowling instead] as he came close enough to make out every stray whisker around the bush of a beard he wore.

I can still do this. It’ll still work. Just please, please, let it work fast.

“We’re leavin’. T’night. I already sent Leon a’ead.” The focus shifted for just a second to Mum’s worried frown, then back to Dad, just in time to catch his mouth twitch at one corner. When Graeme didn’t say anything beyond a low harrumph, Terry continued, voice audibly quivering this time. “I’m takin’ mum with me. It ain’t safe ‘ere.”

“What was tha’ rat bastard friend o’ yours screamin’ about b’fore ‘e ran like ‘e stole somethin’?”

“I--’e was--sposed t’ be... guidin’ Leon through th’--”

Graeme wasn’t having it, scoffing and beginning to pace back and forth across the narrow hallway while keeping his eyes solidly on Terry’s face. “That slag was Leon’s guide outta town? Th’same dipshit ‘o wanted t’ fight Kormac stone sober an’ couldn’t tell th’ dif’rence between moss ‘n’ poison ivy?”

Rather than trying to defend one of the weakest lies he’d told in his life, Terry bulled ahead, raising his voice to be heard over his dad’s. “We’re already packed in too tight, there’s more people filt’rin’ in ev’ry day, an’ there’s things in th’ woods out ‘ere! We ‘ave t’go b’fore there’s no way t’get gone!”

“I am not leavin’ my ‘ome be’ind just so you kin feel like th’ big man in th’ouse, boyo!”

Again, Terry’s eyes shifted to mum, looking to her for help. She just barely nodded her head to him before stepping forward, reaching for Graeme’s arm. “Love, it’s not safe ‘ere. ‘E’s not wrong about th’woods. You know tha’ better’n anybody ‘ere.” She was trying to force him to look at her, but he wouldn’t stop pacing, and eventually swatted her hand off of him.

Terry growled under his breath, moving closer to the door and holding out his hand. “I’m not doin’ this all over again. I’m--we’re leavin’, with or without you.” He held out his hand toward mum, but her eyes narrowed and then went wide. “Is that blood?”

Terry looked down and saw the dark red smear across his palm. It must’ve gotten on him when he’d shoved Diggs around. Saying nothing right away, he pulled a handkerchief from his shirt and began wiping it clean.

“Terry, what ‘appened?” Now mum was rushing forward, grabbing for his hand and intent on inspecting him for damage. He managed to dodge her once and once only before she whapped him over the back of the head and took his hand anyway. “It is blood!”

[”Don’t say it!” Cringing in almost physical pain, he knew what was coming.]

“Nothin’ t’worry over, it’s not mine.”

That, of course, was not the right thing to say, causing both of his parents to stop moving and look straight at his face. He knew what he’d done as soon as it’d left his mouth, but there was no taking it back. Bettany didn’t have a chance to say anything else before Graeme had crossed the room to shove Terry back a few feet.

“Whose blood is it then, boy? What’ve you done?”

“Dammit there’s no time fer this shit! Leon’s waitin’ fer--”

[Now, of course, Terry knew why he hadn’t seen it coming; he’d been talking, angry, panicked over his brother bleeding out somewhere in the woods. But it was plain as day on the screen.] As soon as the word ‘Leon’ reached his ears, Graeme’s eyes flicked down to focus on the rifle Terry still held. The stubbly parts of his beard began growing, and his eyes shone yellow for just a second.

Terry was still talking when Graeme picked him up and threw him across the room, and Bettany was shouting at her husband to stop by the time he’d gotten back to his feet. Face already becoming distorted and dark, Graeme paid her no heed. He was a walking cacophony of cracking bones and fleshy squishing as he stalked toward his fallen son, and growling--actually growling, bestial, impossible--from somewhere in the depths of his enormous chest.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

[He nearly dropped the crystal when Graeme lunged forward, a monstrous wall of black hair and yellow teeth. This part, he still remembered very clearly. He remembered thinking he was going to die, and that if he didn’t, he was going to turn into the same thing. He remembered thinking that mum was right there. That Leon was still outside, probably dying.]

The first few seconds were brutal and bloody, as a man pinned by a raging worgen always was. When he raised a hand to shield his face, one of Graeme’s claws went straight through his palm, nearly gouging his eye anyway. At one point, he’d managed to draw a bowie knife, but all that did was give the beast something to chew on and scrape up his muzzle with.

[Terry was confused. This wasn’t right. He’d had his rifle. He’d had his rifle, and they’d grappled over it, and he’d used it to block the worst of the damage--]

BLAM.

Graeme toppled sideways with an unmistakably canine yelp of pain. Terry turned his head to see Bettany holding his smoking rifle in shaking hands, eyes streaming, expression hard. She was clearly holding herself together as tightly as she could, and just as clearly, it wasn’t quite enough. “Graeme. Get up. Please.” When no response came, she cocked the rifle and took a single step forward, half-shrieking, “Give me back my ‘usband, you devil-dog bastard!”

He turned again, stunned, to look back at the thing that had been his father. As he took in the sight of the hulking brute laying in a rapidly spreading pool of blood with a gaping hole blown out of his side, everything shook for a few seconds. There was a distant rumble like thunder, but not quite the same, and the wolf finally stirred. Terry started to sit up, but fell down almost immediately with an agonized gasp. The sound shook Bettany out of her momentary lapse in control and she started toward him, only to stumble and drop the rifle when the world shook again.

This time, there was a shrieking sound, like trying to twist a wet branch until it snapped, amplified by ten million times and only growing louder. [Even muted by the playback from the crystal as it was, the sound was an assault on the ears. Still he watched, transfixed.]

He could barely see straight for how wildly the world around him shook, but he was able to see the black wolf rise. They both looked up when they heard splintering wood above them, and both saw the hole forming in the roof. Graeme looked at Terry for a moment--barely a quarter of a second--and bellowed something [he could almost make it out over the din] as he ran forward to shove Bettany out of the way. The beam fell scant seconds before the rest of the roof, and then the entire world tumbled into roaring darkness around him.

It suddenly went silent, not even white noise, and stayed that way for a few seconds before the display flickered again. Grey text, numbers, and alchemical symbols began scrolling across a solid blue pane, too numerous and rapid to read. The variations began to dwindle until it was just repeating two words: “ERROR” and “SOURCE.” At the very last moment--the last frame--of the feed, another single line flashed and then disappeared. It took a few attempts to freeze it long enough to read.

“SRCMEMDUMPT101 COMPLETE. EDIT MODE? Y/N”

Terry spent almost an hour rolling the recording back, playing it again, listening as hard as he could, rolling it back, playing it again... It was too damned loud and the controls on the bloody thing weren’t fine enough to isolate the voices from the noise. In spite of himself, Terry had picked up and run all the way back up to the Point, bothering every Draenei he passed in hopes that one of them would know how to manipulate the recorder.

Once he’d nearly gotten his ass kicked for bothering the same guy a third time, he forced himself to go back to his campsite. Nearly willing to admit defeat, he caught a glimpse of his commstone sticking out of his bag.

First step: Call Darlain.

...That was the only step he had, really. He was just kind of banking on her knowing somebody who could do it, or knowing somebody who knew somebody. Thankfully, one step was all he needed; the dwarfmum pointed him to Nirahsa, a name he didn’t recognize until Darlain finally fell back on ‘Draenei woman who says ‘yes yes’ a lot.’ Driven by an almost mad need to know, Terry shelled out for a portal jump to Stormwind, rather than using the mail or, gods forbid, waiting till later. He figured nobody would miss him for a few hours.

Nirahsa didn’t have a lot of reason to want to do him a favor, and he knew that, but he was desperate, sincere, and willing to pay her every coin he had to his name if she’d do it. He assumed it reminded her of Leon (actually, she just also didn’t have a lot of reason not to do him a favor). Whatever the reason, she finally relented and told him to come back in an hour. It was a diversion from her actual work, but she needed to take a break anyway, and easy work like that counted, right?

He still insisted on paying her for the work, especially once she handed him written instructions on how to use the little remote she’d put together for him. Had he been in his standard state of mind, he would’ve asked how much she had watched, but his concern was firmly on finding privacy to pore over the recording again. Terry did have enough sense to make sure he sent a message to Shedwyn, telling her he was back in town and to find him at the barracks.

Once he got there, he settled in to get to work.

[With Nirahsa’s tweaks, he was able to mute the background noise almost completely in a matter of minutes. It was with some trepidation that he pressed ‘play’ once again. He wasn’t quite expecting the voice amplification to work as well as it did; it was picking up things that weren’t even shouted. The sound was distorted from the effects applied to it, but functional.]

Graeme rose and grunted in pain. As the wolf’s head lifted to take in the sight of the building in the beginning stages of collapse, he growled “No” to himself. Then, he looked at Terry, and began to run.

[Yelling with almost no sound around to muddy it up, his voice made the crystal vibrate noticeably in Terry’s hands, almost startling him enough to drop it.]

“I’m sorry, Terry! I’m sorry! I love you! Find--”

Whatever else Graeme had hoped to say was cut off by another yelp and a scream as a beam almost as big around as he was slammed into his back, and the feed ended shortly after.

Terry didn’t watch it again, dropping the crystal on his cot and staring at nothing. At some point, his eyes began to water, but he didn’t move save to blink and breathe. When it finally progressed to tears, he didn’t make any attempt to wipe his face. In the next hour, he only moved once: to pick up his pillow, bury his face in it, and scream until he couldn’t anymore.

Just after dusk, Terry’s boots made soft squeaking sounds as he walked slowly through the damp grass. He came to a stop at the foot of the lilac-strewn graves, took one breath, read his father’s headstone, and froze. All the preparation he’d made in his head--things he’d rehearsed a dozen times over, words he wanted to say--dropped away in an instant, bringing him to the ground with his head hung so low his chin nearly touched his chest. His hands rested limply in the grass by his knees, and he wept unrestrained.

All he could bring himself to say were three tiny words, tearing themselves free of his painfully tight throat, filling the little clearing with ache and regret inbetween wracking sobs.

“Me too, dad.”

( @darbiebot @nirahsa @shedwyn @vembermarlon @neun-deserrat )

#and so arrives terry #fathers' day #mum #dad #mum and dad #HEY WHO WANTED TO BE SAD TODAY #I SURE DID #tw: blood #I GAVE MYSELF FEELS #AGAIN #my writing

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blind-as-x-bat · 7 years

Text

Monster Mash || Chatzy

Synopsis: A chatzy between Jubilee, Howie and Donovan taking place inside of the flat where Howie and Donnie live (also home to Isabella and 514a). Donnie and Jubilee are interrupted during an intimate moment by Howard and a fight breaks loose between the two Indian Hill survivors. Warren drops by for a visit and finds something he wasn’t expecting. TW: Blood, Gore, Violence

@bubblegumandfirecrackers @shcrkncdo @freqntflier

Also affects: @kristencoded @subject514a

Jubilee stood in front of Donovan, a grin pulling at the corner of her lips. "Okay. I have a surprise for you." She reached for bag, pulled the single key she had hidden in the front pocket and then tossed her purse back onto Donovan's bed. She couldn't help the excitement. This was pretty big for her considering it would show him how much she had grown to trust him. "Okay. Got it." She then straddled his lap, a giggle escaping her lips and she took one of his hands , turning it palm up before placing the key on it. "I know you like coming through the window and I'll still leave it open for you when I'm there but I wanted you to have this. You can come over whenever you want..."She suddenly felt slightly bashful and bit her lip as she brushed his hair to the side with her fingers. "You can stay as often as you'd like too."

Howie: It was a long day of looking for another Job, the free lance artistry wasn't cutting anymore. He needed to do something better. After the whole almost getting caught and taken in business, howie had decided to tone down the stealing. But today was a dead end, no bites. He let's out a sigh and blows the hair out of his face. Walking up to the apartment he turns the knob.

Donovan: "A key?" Donovan whispered when he held the key. He felt himself grin, Jubilee crawling on his lap. Straddling him. "Jubs..." He said her name. Placing a hand on her arm. "You're giving me the key to your place..." He leaned close, giving her a kiss on the lips. "You realize I'm never going to leave you alone now?" He whispered against her lips. Teasing her gently. He had never felt this way before. He had never felt this happy with someone in his whole life. "I love you." He had told her, without really thinking about it. The words just slipping out.

Howie: walking into the apartment he whistles lowly under his breath., not knowing if anyone was home he makes sure to shout out "HONEY I'M HOME!" Looking around he notices it was mostly empty, opening up all the bedrooms he checks if he was truly alone. Hearing soft gigging coming from Don's room he smirks. Slowly he opens the door and bursts in "USE PROTECTION! " He screeches, aiming to scare his roomies.

Jubilee nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. "A key." She whispered, rubbing her nose against his, a smile dancing upon her features. She smiled onto the kiss. "And that was kind of the point, babe." She giggled before capturing his lips once more, stopped to trail soft kisses along his jawline and she pressed her lips against his neck, her eyes widening slightly at his declaration before she looked back up at Donnie. "I love you too." She had never felt this way about anyone and she crashed her lips against his once more, pulling him closer, her heart racing. There was no one home which would be perfect. There was slight guilt there since she did respect Isabella and this was her home but they were careful and if it came to it, they would know when to stop. He had just told her he loved her, nothing could ruin her night.

Donovan: He giggled at the feeling of her lips all over him. "Oh, Jubs..." He purred at the feeling. Smiling to her, unbelievably happy with the key. With Jubilee. She was letting him into her life. It was so clear that she didn't think of him as a monster. A blood sucking vampire. She saw him as who he was. She said it. She said 'I love you too' and his guts tightened. Donnie's breath caught in his throat and he bit down on Jubilee's lip, jumping at the very sudden scream. He was terrified of loud noises and Howie's yell was no exception. "Howie!" He snapped towards the door, yelling right back. He wasn't focused enough to hear him until he shouted. He was caught up in the moment.

Jubilee moaned softly as he bit her bottom lip and was completely indulging in him, her focus on her boyfriend until she heard someone at the door. "Oh shit." The sparks between her fingers were dull from the anticipation of what was about to happen--something she had learned to control over the years. Her powers were always driven by her emotions and excitement was no different. When she heard Howie at the door however, she immediately removed herself from Donnie's lap and was back on her feet within seconds, not realizing a small spark had been emitted in Howie's direction. "Oh no!" She giggled softly, realizing how silly it was. A small spark wouldn't hurt but it would be annoying. "I'm sorry Howie! Are you okay! I freaked. You saw nothing here." She grinned as she walked up to him.

Howie: "I hope you don't yell out my name during sex." Howie winces, about to make a comment about leaving when a spark pops in his face. Screaming, running, fire all blaze in Howie's mind. A simple spark igniting memories of the past. Strange men with fire sticks burning him, the fire biting at his flesh as he struggles to obey. But the anger never vanishes, the anger of the beast waits for the right moment to s n a p. Eyes dilating he let's out a rumbling noise from the base of his throat, thoughts simplified to 'angry kill enemy'. Reduced to his primitive brain he see's the fire starter as a target. Rushing over to her he grabs her easily, throwing her as far as he can. Flashing his shark teeth at her out of rage, the ragged teeth promising danger and blood.

Jubilee 's smiled faded the moment she saw the change in Howie. She took a few steps back, bumping into Donnie's legs and held her hands out. "Howie? What are you--" Before she could finished her question, Jubilee was lifted off the floor and she struggled to release herself from his grasp. "Howie, please!" She had enough time to plead with her friend before she was flung across the room her head hitting the edge of Donnie's desk as her limp body fell to the floor.

Howie: Like the clock striking midnight the primitive rage blinks out, leaving a confused boy in it's wake. Julianne's pleas had snapped Howie out out of his trauma, he trembles confused and afraid of himself. He's never snapped back into that state, not since he was in the horrible hell called Indian hill. Fear grabs it's sickening hand around his heart as he stares helplessly at what he had done. "O-oh god. J-jubilee?" Her body wasn't moving, it was just laying there, as if she was D E A D. Letting out a frightened noise he rushes to her hands trembling. "O-oh god...j-jub please...say something...o-oh god what have I done...I-i..: he gasps out looking down at his hands, the hands that had hurt his fucking friend. Monster, he's a fucking monster.

Donovan: Donovan got to his feet when he heard Jub's tone in her voice change, her heartbeat accelerate like she was in danger. Then there was the sound of a BANG. And Howie's footsteps as he ran across the room. He could smell a bit of Jubilee's blood in the air and his silver eyes flickered to where he was. His voice bouncing off the walls, allowing the Bat-hybrid to know exactly where the other was. A low, growl left his throat as the threat stayed near his mate. And Donovan's sane mind was gone. All that was left being a feral animal. He moved swiftly to where they were and grabbed Howie by his head of hair, wanting to force him away from Jubilee. Aiming to yank the other to his feet harshly.

Howie: The harsh grab of his hair makes Howie jerk back, a noise of pain spouts out of his mouth. Helpless to the strength he get's pulled back, looking into the face of an enraged Don. His brother who's been there for him through it all reduced to a mindless beast. His own monster grow;s deep inside him, needing a taste of the violent blood it craves. But he struggles, hoping he can stop this mess before it get's any worse. "D-don. No come on, it's ok snap out of it." Tears bite at his eyes, leaving him no choice but push Don away, hands using it's full strength to get the danger away. "Don please, I don't want to fight you!"

Donovan: Donovan could hear Howie but the words weren't processing in his mind. The beast had taken over him and Donovan circled the other moving so that he was protectively in front of his girl friend. He could still smell Jubilee's blood. A small bit of it and her breathing was a lot quieter. His mate was clearly unconscious and the creature in front of him was the one who did it. His wings spread, large and threatening. Snarling loudly, clearly not hearing his brother's pleas before he leaped at the other like a rabid dog.

Howie: Having Don jump onto him snarling was the last straw, Once again Howie's mind shatters. The memories of blood, violence, and pain entrapping his logical reasoning deep in his mind. Leaving behind the monster who killed and feasted on human flesh. And he was hungry for blood. Letting out a threatening sound he falls backward with the weight of the bat on him. Snarling he turns his head an snaps his teeth around the prey's arm.

Donovan: He yelped when the other bit into his arm and he yanked it away from his mouth instinctually. Leaving a good gash in it. Moving it to try and hold Howie's head down. Letting out a loud screech before trying to aim for the other's neck with his own teeth. His large wings moving around both of them and his other arm attempting to hold Howie as still as he could. Straddling him.

Howie: The bite on his neck makes Howie screech out in pain. Using all his strength he struggles under the enemy. limbs moving around wildly trying to push the beast off of him. Aiming to push him out and off off him. His mind screaming to get out from under them.

Donovan: The vampire bat began to lap up Howie's blood, biting harder until he actually got a taste of it and immediately pulled back, spiting the blood on the floor beside Howie. The awful taste of his blood was enough of a shock that his hold on the other was momentarily loosened. Snarling at him again before going to bite him again. This time only aiming to hurt him and not to satisfy his thirst. A low growl escaping from Donovan.

Howie: Once the enemy had let go of it's vice grip Howie get's his legs between the two, aiming to kick him off with a push of his powerful legs. Hoping to throw the bat far as he can to get his bearings again. Being on his back is the worst position, giving the enemy too much of a tactical advantage.

Donovan: Viscous snarls and growling came from Donovan as he snapped at the other's face, trying to rip it apart with his teeth before he felt a powerful kick in his abdomen, sending him right into the wall behind them and crashing into the desk below it, his lamp falling on the side opposite to Jubilee and shattering on the ground. Luckily landing right beside Jubilee instead of on top of her. He wings staying spread out behind him. There was no fear in the bat as he stayed next to Jubilee for a moment. Hissing towards Howie. She was still in danger and his instincts were to protect her. He ran back at the other as fast as he could.

Howie: Once the beast had finally gotten off of him he springs back onto his feet. Watching the vampire stretch out his wings defensively Howie shows off his teeth, arms wide to show aggression. With a burst of speed he rushes to the other as well, hands aiming to grab a hold of the bat. He throws his weight as hard as he can into him trying to throw the bat off balance. Mind growling at him to rip the beast apart and then take his next meal on the vulnerable prey behind him.

Donovan: Though Donovan was a lot faster then Howie, the other was a hell of a lot stronger then Don was. The slam of the other's weight did force him off balance. And Howard grabbed a tight hold on him. Using his wings he grabbed a hold of him right back. One of the claws on his wings digging right into his back. Donnie tugged, trying to get the other to let go of his body. Trying to bite into his shoulder.

Howie: The world tilted as they both fell onto the ground, evading the bite at his neck he grumbles threateningly. The claw digs into his shoulder and he let's out a pained yowl. Pure rage roars it's ugly head, Howie having enough of the other balls his hands tight in a fist and throws a solid punch into the other's abdomen, aim to get the other to let go. The force somehow works and Howie slips from the others grip, rage pointing him to the weaker target. Walking over to the prey his jaw widens kneeling over it his teeth aim at the prey's neck. A killing bite.

Donovan: The bat let go at the particularly hard punch in his gut, but as the enemy went for his mate again he immediately got up and grabbed the other using all of his strength to pull Howie away from her. Throwing him back towards the door so that he would be out of the room. Wasting no time he went back to trying to kill the man attempting to eat Jubilee. Ripping his teeth back into his skin before pulling back when blood gushed into his mouth and spitting it right at the face of Howie.

Howie: Being grabbed and thrown out of the room surprises Howie, landing on his back when he crashes into the living room. The enemy was faster then him, getting too close and spitting at his face with his own blood. Rage engulfs the monster, attention shifted purely on his enemy. The monster didn't have claws only his teeth as a weapon, but his strength. Flipping back onto his feet he rushes to grab the couch, throwing it at the one who spitted at him. Letting out a roar to establish dominance, he is the strongest, he is the one who will rip this other beast apart.

Donovan: Donnie listened as something was picked up near the other. He let out a sharp toned sound into the air to better use his echolocation, he was able to identify the huge object and just barely dodged it. Hearing it CRASH into another piece of furniture he started to shake with fear. The sounds were too loud. Like a terrified animal, he ran into the next room, into the kitchen trying to stay away from the other. Giving him a few growls from the kitchen, to act like he wasn't afraid.

Howie: Following the beast into the kitchen the monster rushes in. Understanding that his greatest weapon was his strength he grabbed everything in his reach to throw at the enemy. The table, plates, chairs. Doing everything he can to hit his opponent with anything he can grab, letting out threatening noises at the male. He wasn't done with the beast yet, not until he grabs him with his t e e t h. Slowly walking closer to the male while throwing things at his direction.

Donovan: Donovan was able to avoid a couple of things but eventually he couldn't. The table smashed into him, and Donovan whimpered as he tried to get it off of himself. Letting out a couple more hisses. The next thing to hit him slammed his head back into the counter and he stopped moving all together. Going limp on the floor.

Warren: He had wanted to bring some take out for the kids and Isabella. It was a quiet night and he had been dealing with finding Megan. Hearing that Jubilee had a great lead did improve his mood and this would be how he was going to make himself happy. He had a key to the condo and opened the door, dropping the bags the moment he heard noises from the kitchen. Warren rushed in and stood in horror at the scene. What was going on?! Noticing Donovan on the floor, he ran towards him and made a barrier in between the boy and Howard. "Howard! Stop this right now! This is your brother! Come back to us, son." He quickly checked Donovan for a pulse, relieved to find one. "Come on kid, wake up. You're alright."

Howie: Hissing at the newcomer he shows off his teeth threateningly, the prey shouldn't come between him and his fresh kill. He was about to attack the mysterious being when the voice soothes something in the monster. Blinking rapidly he struggles to come back, pushing down his primitive mind and coming back into Howie. "W-what..." Blinking confusingly he looks around with wide eyes, confused by the utter destruction around them. "What...I...W-warren?" He asks softly, slowly sinking into his knees he struggles to remember what had happened. But most of the events come in bits and pieces. "o-oh...I.." He struggles to piece his thoughts. "is he dead...p-please tell me I d-didn't kill them..I..."

Warren: Warren shakes his head, knowing he needs to keep his cool. He has dealt with youngsters like this before Laura being the one that comes to mind. There was nothing that stopped that feral mindset and so he had to tread carefully. "Howard I need you to listen to me. He's okay. He's breathing but I need to take him to the hospital okay? I need you to call Isabella and Jubilee and let them know what happened okay? I can fly you too. It's going to be alright. I promise, son"

Donovan: The table was still pinning Donnie's body to the ground, he didn't move when he was touched or spoken to. Clearly knocked out and unlikely to wake up for a good while. Blood pooled around some of the spots where Howie had bit him. Blood from both of them was splattered around the floor. Small specks of it. The main mess came from the broken furniture scattered about.

Howie: "JUBILEE! Oh..I gotta check if she's ok." He mumbles out, Warrens words reminding him of the girl left in the Bedroom. He get's up on trembling legs rushing over to the bedroom quickly finding the girl next to shattered glass. Slowly walking to her he touches her neck- hoping to god she was alive. Tightly closing his eyes he waits. bump. bump. A soft pulse thrums under his fingertip. Letting out a sigh of relief he picks her up gently. Walking back to warren, feeling numb and broken inside. "S-she's ok...I-i can help bring them to the hospital..did...car?"

Warren: Warren arched a brow at the mention of his Jubilee and he stands up wanting to follow Howie but chooses to stay. "Jubilee is here?" He called out and then gasped in horror when he saw his...his daughter in Howies arms. "Oh my God " he felt hopeless and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "Okay okay. We're going in my car. I can't fly three. It's going to be fine." he bent down to pick Donovan up. "Let's go. We'll call Isabella from the hospital." IF he lost his calm, he'd lose everything. First Meg and then Jubilee. He couldn't bear the idea of losing both his daughters in less than a week. "It's okay. It's okay." He repeated to Howie for not only him but himself.

Howie: Nodding numbly he watches Warren take charge. Feeling weak from the bruises and bites all over his body he didn't have enough energy to argue or do much else. The man kept repeating it's ok, and Howie only wished that was true. Keeping his grip on Jub light he walks through the destruction of the home to the car. "Ok warren...ok..."

Warren: He didn't know where they would go from here or what had happened. He just knew that all three looked so broken. "After we get the three of you checked, you can tell me what happened " he opened his passenger door and placed Donovan there, running over to the other side to help Howie with Jubilee. He took her into his arms and kissed her forehead before placing her next to Donovan. "Come on Howie, ride in the front with me." His hands were shaking but her didn't want to show his fear. Warren started the engine and made his way to the emergency room. Hopefully his kids were going to be okay as he had promised

-END-

#CHATZY #warren #howie #jubilee

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faithfacts-blog1 · 5 years

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What It Means to Rob God

Will a man rob God? Yet ye have robbed me. But ye say, Wherein have we robbed thee? In tithes and offerings.

Malachi 3:8

The most famous Scripture on tithing is found in Malachi and it tells us that a man who does not pay tithes steals from God. But does this Scripture really mean what it says? Can a man really steal from God? Would God really allow anyone to steal from Him? Would they not be struck down instantly?

I remember working with people who stole from me. I did not react immediately nor cut them off. Sometimes thieves are given a grace period and allowed to reform. It is all part of the mercies of God. It is this mercy which Christendom has taken for granted.

Indeed, a man can steal from God! And men do steal from God. It is time to repent and turn away altogether from the practice of stealing from God.

1. Ten percent of your income is the property of the Lord.

And all the tithe of the land, whether of the seed of the land, or of the fruit of the tree, is the LORD'S: it is holy unto the LORD.

Leviticus 27:30

The tithe belongs to the Lord! Withholding your tithe is stealing from God. Leviticus 27:30 is a very important Scripture because it reveals that the tithe is actually the Lord’s property. Bringing the tithe to the house of God is not the same as giving a gift of something you own.

It is important to have a proper understanding of the tithe. When you think of something as belonging to another, you are less likely to want to keep it illegally. Since the tithe is not for you, presenting it to the Lord is not the same as “giving”. After you have paid your tithe and do not possess any property of the Lord, only then can you say you are giving something to the Lord. Remember this statement, “giving begins after you have paid your tithe.”

What if an armed robber robbed you in the night and came the next day to present you with gifts for your birthday? He only presents you with something he stole from you! That is what it is like when you do not pay your tithes but present other offerings to the Lord.

2. Not paying your tithe is stealing God’s property.

Will a man rob God? Yet ye have robbed me. But ye say, Wherein have we robbed thee? In tithes and offerings.

Malachi 3:8

God says you can steal from Him and you had better believe it!

Many people do not believe that a man can steal from God. A man can steal from God but it is dangerous to do so.

If you steal from a poor man you will probably get away with it. But if you steal from an important person, you will get into big trouble. The greater the person, the more dangerous it is to steal from him. Stealing from God is very risky business indeed because, God sees everything and knows each time you steal from Him.

Throwing your shoes at your dog will not get you into trouble. Throwing your shoes at your servant will not get you into much trouble. However, throwing your shoes at the president can get you into serious trouble. The gentleman who threw shoes at President Bush got himself into big trouble and ended up in prison. I am sure he had thrown shoes at other people before but never got into trouble!

Perhaps you have stolen from mere human beings and gotten away with it. But you will not get away with stealing from God.

3. The Bible admonishes thieves not to steal anymore.

Let him that stole steal no more: but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that needeth.

Ephesians 4:28

Many unbelievers are thieves in one way or another. An unbeliever steals at every chance he gets. If it were not for fear of the police or prison there would be much more open stealing. God does not want you to continue the practice of stealing that you learnt in the world.

Christ has redeemed a large group of liars and thieves to Himself and He urges them to leave their old ways behind. The nature of the thief is the nature of the devil. The thief comes to steal to kill and to destroy and we all know who this famous thief is. Why would you want to pattern your life after that of a thief? Now that you are born again do not continue to steal by withholding your tithes. Indeed, God has declared that not paying tithes is stealing from Him.

4. There will be no thieves in Heaven.

But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:

Matthew 6:20

There will be no thieves in Heaven! When you do not pay tithes, you make yourself a thief and therefore unsuitable for Heaven. Could it be that your failure to pay tithes could actually keep you out of Heaven? What if tithing is a more important subject than we have believed? What if these Scriptures are applied literally and you are prevented from entering Heaven because you did not pay tithes?

5. Stealing the tithe destroys your relationship with God.

Listen to the word of the Lord, O sons of Israel, For THE LORD HAS A CASE AGAINST THE INHABITANTS OF THE LAND, BECAUSE THERE IS no faithfulness or kindness

Or knowledge of God in the land.

There is swearing, deception, murder, STEALING and adultery.

Hosea 4:1-2 (NASB)

Stealing always destroys relationships. God has a case against thieves. Society has a case against thieves. Stealing destroys your relationship with the society. That is why thieves are put away in prison. Thieves are put in prison because they are anti-social and it is not safe to have them living freely in our midst. A thief destroys his relationship with the person he steals from. When you steal from God it will destroy your relationship with Him.

If one of your servants steals from you, his relationship with you will be destroyed forever. No one trusts a thief. No one feels free with thieves in his house. When you do not pay tithes, you become a thief and this destroys your relationship with your God.

6. Stealing the tithe will cause your demotion.

For they know not to do right, saith the Lord, who store up violence and ROBBERY in their palaces.

Therefore thus saith the Lord God; An adversary there shall be even round about the land; and HE SHALL BRING DOWN THY STRENGTH FROM THEE, and thy palaces shall be spoiled.

Amos 3:10-11

The Scripture above shows how the anger of the Lord is released against thieves. Their strength is brought down and their homes (palaces) are destroyed. Thieves are not promoted. Thieves are not given positions of responsibility. No one gives a thief a sensitive position. You would not trust a known thief with your purse. Why do you think God would trust you with His money? God may have wanted to pass large amounts of money through your hand but He will not be able to do that because you are known to regularly steal His money.

7. Withholding the tithe robs the church of its ability to function properly.

Robbing the church of the tithe robs the church of the ability to build the necessary facilities. Stealing the tithe robs the church of the ability to employ good people to work for the Lord. Stealing the tithe is therefore a very serious crime.

I once heard someone advocate the death sentence for people who stole money from the state. His argument was simple. Someone who robs a nation of large amounts of money actually deprives the country of the roads it could have built. The lack of good roads causes many accidents and takes many lives. This fellow argued that the man who had caused financial loss to the state had indirectly murdered many people through road accidents. He also contended that money stolen from the state prevented the government from building necessary hospitals that would save lives. This, he also argued, was an indirect way in which the thief committed murder. Because of these he declared that the death penalty should be applied to people who stole large amounts of money from the state.

This line of thought can be applied to people who withhold the tithe and rob God’s house of its rightful income. In so doing, they prevent the church from doing all the things that it could have done. Souls are lost and perish in Hell because people do not pay their tithes. Do not rob the church of the ability to hold crusades and win souls.

8. Stealing brings the wrath of God upon you.

The people of the land have used oppression, and EXERCISED ROBBERY, and have vexed the poor and needy: yea, they have oppressed the stranger wrongfully.

And I sought for a man among them, that should make up the hedge, and stand in the gap before me for the land, that I should not destroy it: but I found none.

THEREFORE HAVE I POURED OUT MINE INDIGNATION UPON THEM; I have consumed them with the fire of my wrath: their own way have I recompensed upon their heads, saith the Lord GOD.

Ezekiel 22:29-31

Often, when a thief is discovered, the wrath and contempt of society are poured out on him. Police are called in and the person is arrested.

In primitive societies, instant justice is meted out and the thief could be beaten to death.

In some societies the thief’s hand is cut off so that he will not steal anymore. All these are expressions of wrath towards thieves.

Is it any wonder that God’s anger is stirred up against those who steal from Him? Do you expect God to behave any differently towards people who steal from Him? Indeed, God is angry with all thieves who have deprived His house of what belongs to Him. When you do not pay tithes, do not expect the blessing of God. Expect the wrath of God to come upon you!

by Dag Heward-Mills

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ovenproofowl · 7 years

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The Doctor Falls Review

Tonight’s finale was... hard to put into words.

I’m not saying it was bad. I’m also not saying that it was free from criticism, because boy howdy was there a lot of that going around a couple of hours ago. Aaand still is. And honestly? I’m glad.

The thing is, what I’ve been seeing is a 50/50 split of reactions. You’ve got the “Oh My God That Was The Best Thing Ever-er’s’ and the simple ‘Moffat Sucks...er’s.’

Don’t get me wrong, there were a few mixed reviewers hanging about and I gotta stick my hand right on in there and say I’m one of ‘em. I’m a mixed. Total mixer.

Thing is, the episode was... exactly what I would expect of Moffat. That isn’t to say I hate his writing style, I don’t. Sometimes, his writing is absolutely amazing. Empty Child, anyone? Then of course, you have the absolutely terrible episodes that you wish never happened. *cough*The Time of the Doctor*cough*

Moffat has a tendency to go overboard with plot to the point of absurdity. He throws so many references in, so many different characters or bad guys or just crazy plot lines that it just can’t hope to be followed by a casual viewer. Then he calls it ‘the best thing ever’ and goes home - it’s also something he has a tendency to do with Sherlock. But let’s not mention Sherlock. Ever. Seriously.

Moffat likes crazy; and I mean, what’s wrong with crazy? The problem is his crazy is usually just... a mess. And that’s what this finale felt like. Messy. A bit squiggly - kind of like the time wasn’t quite used the way it should have been.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Simm and I’m so glad that he returned to the show. I loved Missy and the Master interacting and Capaldi was on fucking point this episode. His acting skill really shone through and his speeches were fucking incredible. There was some good comedy relief there too; good ol’ Matt Lucas bringing in the laughs with Nardole and also having this odd dark competency that I really like in his choice of portraying the character. Then of course there’s Bill and Heather getting together and fucking kissing and oh my god I really could just reblog twenty million gifs of that scene and pretend nothing else happened because yes girl, get some.

Buut I can’t, because I’m petty.

Let’s start with what really irked me. Bill and the whole Cyberman thing.

There are a lot of choices Moffat could have had when addressing the season finale. One of such I really hope was not killing Bill. Again.

That’s the thing. Honestly? I really don’t think it was necessary to kill Bill. It just seemed... I don’t know, there for the sake of it? Another reason to make a character suffer?

A lot of people have been saying stuff I agree with about the whole Bill thing. It seemed kind of cruel for Moffat to take the gay black girl and just sort of relentlessly torture her. She’s already gone through Hell in previous episodes, so what was the point of doing it again? The Master’s evil plan? To turn Bill into a Cyberman? Which by the way was really poorly explained. Like, who was even in control of that whole operation? The Doctor pointed out that the Master once ruled that ship and then had to take on a disguise, but then how did the Cybermen fit into it all? Why were they flying into a black hole? Why was that one random nurse seemingly in charge of the whole fucking hospital and yet she wasn’t being upgraded?? Like?? WHAT?

Needless to say, I think that Bill being a Cyberman wasn’t necessary. Moffat just wanted to put her in a position where Heather could become relevant. But it just came off as kind of messy. Surely Bill crying over supposedly losing her best friend and mentor would be enough to attract Heather’s attention? Are you meaning to say the only reason for the Cyberman thing was that awkwardly placed line about Bill having human tears? Surely that wasn’t really needed? Honestly, I just assumed the human tears meant that what had been done to her could be undone. I mean she was a primitive design of a Cyberman after all. Anyway, that’s just me throwing around ideas.

Then you’ve got the Master himself. Simm did an excellent job as being the Master, it was like he never left. And shooting himself in the back? Amazing. The scene with he and Missy both dying and laughing in the woods sent chills down my spine. BUT, he seemed kind of... underused.

We get all of this build-up, we know Simm is returning and we see the signs, but then when he does get there he spends about two minutes being in charge before the Cybermen come to chase him and then he’s really just there for exposition. I mean if you took the Master out of that episode entirely all that would have changed was that Missy would still be alive and Bill would hopefully not have been turned into a Cyberman. Two things I could totally live with, just sayin’.

I think Moffat spent so much time hyping it up, that in the end he never really thought of a way to kind of make the Master worth showing up. All he really did was apply eyeliner and lie on a brick wall before getting stabbed in the back by himself. All things he pulled off flawlessly but that’s not the point.

Finally, we have the PLAN. The big ol’ plan that the Doctor devises to save the kids and blow up the world. Sort of. Kind of. Not really.

I mean he’s already dying, like, a lot. He got electrocuted by a Cyberman and then he just got fucking laid into a gazillion times by Cyber lasers and jesus Doc that had to hurt. But then he saves the world *cough*notreallyjustsortofsavingabitoftimeIguesswhatever*cough* and blows up everything along with Cyber-Bill. I guess it would make sense for her to be a Cyberman to survive to cry over the Doctor’s corpse but... actually you know what, HOW did she survive? HOW did the Doctor not turn into ash? You’re telling me EVERY SINGLE FUCKING CYBERMAN got blown to smithereens but somehow those two fuckers are still kicking? Sort of? In Bill’s case at least? Ugh. Moffat.

I get what he was trying to do and you could pull it off to an artistic decision if you want, but it still could have been dealt with in a more realistic easy-to-follow manner. Let’s face it.

Then you have Heather showing up and the whole tear thing which was hard to follow but honestly I kind of stopped caring after the kiss and the gays in space and Heather promising Bill the world and stuff and just... I dunno man I transcended time and space myself there at that point.

Capaldi stole the show once again when he woke up and refused to regenerate. That whole sequence was beautiful and you could see him seeing the world through his past regenerations at that moment. Seeing all his companions was beautiful and tear jerking as always. Don’t fix what ain’t broke after all.

And then suddenly we’re faced with a Hartnell look-a-like and time itself stops to gasp. In other words I paused my TV to scream at it.

That moment was astounding. If One is back to talk some sense into Twelve about regeneration and we get a whole fucking episode about it? Twelve’s final episode!? Well, let’s just say it’s gonna be five long months ‘til Christmas.

All in all, the episode had its faults and it had its pretty good moments. I think the episode could have been structured differently, I don’t think Bill had to suffer like she did and I don’t think the Master was used appropriately for the hype we’d been given; but I also think that Heather and Bill being happy together and the Doctor proving to the audience once again just how much he cares made up for that in some ways. Not in all the ways. It could have been improved SO MUCH. Like, seriously, so much, I kinda wanna pitch some of my own ideas to BBC and see if they get picked up if it’s that easy to throw some of that shit at the scene, y’know?

But. I enjoyed it. I did. For all its faults, it didn’t make me cringe or angry. It just made me happy. It made me smile, it made me feel emotions that were right for the episode. And that’s good, I’m glad it that it did that and I hope it did that for a lot of you, too.

All I’m saying is, Moffat handing the writing and directing over to someone new is a good call. He’s exhausted his resources, he’s been getting shoddy for a while and we’ve been trying not to notice it but it’s been pretty clear. I hope Doctor Who gets a new breath of life without getting rid of the downright amazing things Moffat has brought to the show in his run.

Also, I hope Bill comes back because I am in love with her. And if she doesn’t, she better get a spin-off because I still think ‘Gays in Space’ is a great title for a show.

I’m glad I’ve been on this journey, and I’m gonna keep with it. I’ve followed this show for 12 long years, and I hope it’ll go on for a lot longer. Cheers, Moffat. Cheers to everyone who brought Who to life. And good luck to all the actors who won’t be returning after the Christmas special (even though I wish they were).

#doctor who #the doctor falls #bill potts #twelfth doctor #the master #missy

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nofomoartworld · 7 years

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Hyperallergic: “This Is a Revolutionary Moment”: Genesis Breyer P-Orridge on Intersectionality in Art

Genesis Breyer P-Orridge, “My Funny Valentine” (2013), Expanded Polaroid, C-print mounted on Plexi, 48 x 47.5 inches, edition of 3 (image courtesy the artists and INVISIBLE-EXPORTS)

Intersectionality is a powerful reminder of our connectedness, but it has arguably lost some of its weight due to overexposure. Many art critics have coopted the word as a lazy syllable for identity politics, vaguely encompassing discussions of race, gender, sexuality, and feminism. Intersectionality can seem like another big word meant to hide the art world’s ugly essentialism — an impulse to sort artists into epithetic categories.

But essentialism be damned. The Intersectional Self at the 8th Floor Gallery shows that this big word is more than an empty container. Intersectionality has the power to unite people, if we let it — if we can appreciate its nuance. In this exhibition, Genesis Breyer P-Orridge invokes intersectionality to destroy the body politic. As the founder of pandrogyny, P-Orridge seeks the collapse of all senses of identity into one self, one total humanity. (Accordingly, P-Orridge speaks with the pronoun “we,” not in the royal sense, but in the sense of unity with his/her departed partner in pandrogyny, Lady Jaye. P-Orridge also prefers the pronouns s/he and h/er to further demonstrate that bond.)

Pandrogyny manifests itself in the artist’s work as simultaneously humorous and visceral. As the founder of hardcore industrial music, there will always be something inherently confrontational in P-Orridge’s work, if also political. For example, “My Funny Valentine,” on view at the 8th Floor Gallery’s exhibition, is a kaleidoscopic image of hearts made out of an ambiguous assortment of body parts. Are we looking up someone’s skirt? Are these pieces of flesh from someone’s backside?

Through h/er work, P-Orridge puckishly calls for an end to gender as a construct, and so, h/er participation in The Intersectional Self feels apt. I spoke to P-Orridge and the broader world.

* * *

Genesis Breyer P-Orridge, “Mousetrap” (2016), cigar press, tampons, meunstral blood, resin, brass, 24.75 x 15 x 5.25 inches (image courtesy Invisible Exports)

Zachary Small: How would you define intersectionality? Do you ascribe to that phrase? Is pandrogyny intersectional?

Genesis Breyer P-Orridge: To be honest, we are not 100% sure. But pandrogyny is a wide-ranging and contemporary concept. It’s outside the gender gap. Our view is that society’s real issue is with evolution. Historical (we prefer to say ahistorical) progressions in the human species have lead us to this moment where we either mutate or disintegrate. Our war has always been with binary systems. What do you think the intersectional self is?

ZS: I think intersectionality is also a relatively new concept in the same way pandrogyny is. And therefore, I think it is still being defined and redefined. But generally, I’d say it is identity at the cross-sections of socio-economic and political status, race ethnicity, gender, and sex. It can be many other things as well.

Genesis Breyer P-Orridge, “Gender is a Drag” (2011), mixed media, 14 x 11 inches

GBPO: Okay, so both intersectionality and pandrogyny address the problematic issues of the body, identity, and socioeconomics. How do they interact and what do they mean? For us, it’s also a spiritual issue, which is something contemporary art avoids. The origin of art goes back to prehistoric times when people didn’t know if the sun would come back the next day. Our idea of consciousness was still primitive, and there was a terrible fear of the darkness. That fear gradually gripped civilization, which required control. And there was a long period of about 3,000 years when everyone linked their individuality with the idea of perpetuating groups. It was about submission: submission to individuals in order to survive. But we are past there! The problem is that some people still want to maintain control. And while our environment has become more sophisticated and complex, our attitudes and social behaviors have been left behind. Now is the moment when we must regather our thoughts and say that it’s imperative to reintegrate ourselves with our minds. Why are we here? What do we want to do? How can our experiences and physical life rationalize the material world?

Those in power create wars to maintain their opposition. But this is a revolutionary moment, and we cannot revert to the ongoing distractions of a binary system. We need to take back who we are and write the narrative of our own stories. It’s about stripping away our inherited archetypes and our distracting issues to look at our solid bodies, our experiences amongst people. Who is writing my story? Who am I submitting myself to? Who am I forcing to submit? What is it that I truly wish to be? That’s where the real battle will be: Will we have an evolutionary thrust or stagnation?

ZS: As recognition of your work has only grown, how do you make sense of your own rise to prominence in a political climate that exceedingly wants to return to binaries?

Genesis Breyer P-Orridge, “Red Chair Posed” (2008), C-print mounted on Plexiglas, 56.5 x 72 inches, edition of 3 (image courtesy Invisible Exports)

GBPO: We are really depressed, to be honest. We were not surprised about Trump or his cronies. We looked at the situation and thought about the worst that could happen. And it happened. It was instinctive, intuitive. People have been distracted for so long; they’ve become narcissistic, obsessed with selfie culture, and entitled to information. When we realized that Trump would win the election, we turned to our friends. We grew up in the 1960s. We were part of the psychedelic revolution. We worked with Gay Lib Street Theatre. And we were involved in political action when homosexuality was finally made legal in Britain. We worked with squatter’s rights, animal rights. We worked against apartheid. And slowly, we saw common sense winning. People became more tolerant. It felt like a liberal expansion where people were left alone unless they were destructive. Now, it feels like we’ve returned to postwar austerity — an austerity of ideas and imagination.

We did all this work and for what? To be rejected by these idiots? It’s depressing but I guess we must do it again. We are in an amoral conundrum where the people left to fight, the youngest, have yet to wake up. There is an old but very usable saying given to us by a Native American shaman that says, “No attachments. No judgment. No expectations.” We must become all things that the current status quo is not: kind, respectful, loyal, and forgiving. We must do what the establishment does not expect us to and be good people.

Genesis Breyer P-Orridge (photo by Drew Wiedemann, courtesy Invisible Exports)

ZS: Right, because the bureaucracy can only understand so much. It makes me think of the idea of comedy as rebellion, and I sense elements of comedy in your work. Would you agree? GBPO: Oh, of course! One of the great disappointments of our career is that no one noticed our dark, sarcastic humor. I’m from Manchester — what can I say? — we are famous for our sarcasm. Looking back at the 1960s, you have the yippies who go to Wall Street and throw money into the pit. It’s still talked about because it was such a simple action that jarred everyone’s realities. The symbol worked beautifully, humorously. Anyone that wants to evolve a thinking culture must look for ways to avoid overtly aggressive work.

In the 1980s, there was punk and industry. We were so angry and trying to destroy everything. That was the right strategy against Reagan and Thatcher because it helped adjust the culture. But we cannot use that anymore. They know that. They’ve diluted it, coopted it with money. It’s the same with Hip-Hop. Where is Public Enemy now? Power tries to bribe you. Don’t be tricked. Think about what they are used to — anger, rage, demonstrations — do the unexpected. Be kind and thoughtful. Speak with a considered voice and explain how you feel so there is no excuse for them dismissing you. Anyone that wants to evolve a thinking culture today must look for methods that shy away from overt aggression.

ZS: Do you think the art world has cultivated a thinking culture?

GBPO: No. What’s really depressing for us is how long the art world has followed in the shadow of the Young British Artists. Initially, they were smart, funny, and clever. “We hate art and there it is.” But now everyone wants to brand themselves that way. They aren’t thinking about content. Art must have a story, comment, some kind of information that you can take away. That’s the definition of art: creation.

Genesis Breyer P-Orridge, “Perfecting, undated,” mixed media, 14 x 11 inches

ZS: You’ve talked about pleasure as a weapon. What does that mean and how do we use it?

GBPO: When you make art, it’s implied in the content. Same with music. As an attitude, I see pleasure as an attempt to create a blank slate each day. One good way to do that is changing your name. That new person is just a name, and then you can say, “Who is this? What are they like? What do they do?” And that’s what we did. We invented Genesis. What happened to Neil? [Laughs.] Neil is the artist and we are the artwork that Neil made. We still exist but where the fuck is Neil?

ZS: Where is Neil? Does Neil ever come out?

GBPO: No, no. God knows where Neil is. We should make a tattoo saying, “Copyright: Neil Andrew Megson.”

ZS: “Have you seen Neil?” Put it on a milk carton.

GBPO: Put it on my leg! You see, we’ve created another little comment. It’s got humor but it’s saying something important. You can deconstruct yourself and become the truth, the author of your own narrative. Once you do that, every day becomes a story. You are free to decide your life.

ZS: Thinking about these ideas of reaction and resistance for queer people, I wonder what’s possible. If the pandrogyne is an intersectionality, a third being, does that also mean there’s a third world out there solely for queer people to inhabit?

GBPO: Oh God, there are infinite worlds. Anyone who’s taken acid will tell you that. If you can swallow a piece of paper and the world vanishes … We live in a moment when there are so many options to demonstrate our own perceptions. We need to give that ability to other people. Imagine humanity like a single living organism, maybe an amoeba. When the amoeba gets damaged — what’s the organism do? It marshals its resources together and heals itself. If the human species is one organism, and we believe it is, then we are all cells of a singular being. If everyone saw themselves as cells of the same organism, there would be no use for fighting. We could already be colonizing space by now! Curing illness! We could be that incredible species that maximized its potential and filled itself with love.

The Intersectional Self continues at the 8th Floor Gallery (17 W 17th St, Flatiron District, Manhattan) through May 19.

The post “This Is a Revolutionary Moment”: Genesis Breyer P-Orridge on Intersectionality in Art appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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