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khepiari · 2 years

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Is Uta Hime a Siren Hybrid? One Last Theory Before One Piece Red Releases Tomorrow!

[My apologies in advance to mush your brain with this]

To be honest, this is the first One Piece Film I have been so intrigued about.

Firstly because our antagonist is not an old/middle-aged disillusioned man, but a late teen. Secondly, it is a Shanks centric story, though I doubt he will be in the cinema for more than five minutes! Thirdly, Luffy knows this antagonist, so the angst will be intense, defeating people opposite to his ideologies was easier for Luffy. But defeating someone he cares or like or worries about is always HARD: Remember Luffy vs Bellamy and Luffy vs Fujitora in Dressrosa?

Now, though, as previously mentioned my other theory, I do not think Uta is Shanks' biological daughter, but rather another child he saved or influenced or acted fatherly with.

I still think that, though many are going with fake memories, which to be fair is the most plausible narrative. It is not like Fake/Manipulated/Erased memories has not been done in One Piece. Recent canon example is Pudding rewriting/editing memories, Big Mom's Amnesia, Sabo's Amnesia, Sugar's doll making powers erasing memories of people's existence, Dr. Hogback's zombies losing their memories/humanity. And in a non-canon story of the anime filler arc, Strawhats had once lost their memories to a seahorse, it was in Ocean's Dream Arc.

So I am not discarding the manipulated/fake/altered memories theory, I just hope it is not that.

Now let's come to Uta.

I have been watching all her vlogs and little snippets on the One Piece U-Tube page. A few things that stuck with me are-

Uta has dual hair colour, red and white, not an unnatural thing for One Piece.

Uta is alone and always in her empty greenhouse type balcony while livestreaming.

Uta takes walks and picks up random shit, including flowers and bounty posters.

Uta has been livestreaming her songs from the island Elegia and has a huge fan base.

And Uta hates pirates!

After her declaring her hate for pirates, pirates came to Elegia to hurt/kidnap her.

So two videos were released, one is 6th part of Uta Vlog and Where the Wind Blows music clip with two girls swimming in very studio ghibli style art work animation [I will come back to this at last of the end of this theory]

Now, if you remember the first teaser of the Film Red, OP narrator asks if Her Voice Will Bring Eternal Peace or Endless Imprisonment. From every possible logic, people have been claiming Uta is a siren, which I won't say is farfetched, we have an entire race of fishpeople, long arms, long legs, dwarfs, giants, people with wings and more. A Siren is perfectly acceptable and possible.

As Siren's myth goes, they are half-human-half-birds and their voice is attractive to sailors. I am guessing pirates and marines have fallen prey to their voices, if siren race exist that is. And their voices can control desires, so we know who is going to fall for Uta's voice first if she is a siren? Sanji, that wee virgin boy, was a goner from the beginning! And who is going to not fall at all? Luffy. [Zoro, Law and Robin too I guess if we are thinking from desire POV, because Nami will fall for berry dreams and Chopper cotton candies].

Now coming back to if Uta, who is hailed as a hime and Usopp called her princess Uta, if she is a siren princess, there are many possibilities. Odachii had never sighed from writing stories that are grim or macrabe, under the jolly art of his world building we have seen a lot; cannibalism [Owner Zeff, Big Mom], necrophilia [Dr. Hogback], coercion of all kinds, slave trade, drugs, arms trade, war profiteering, human trafficking.

So out of many possibilities, my two brain cells have been fixated on two ideas.

First Elegia, Uta's island/kingdom/nation, I am assuming the worst. We know Shanks has been travelling for a long time, people who are familiar with Odyssey, know the sirens tried to tempt Odysseus and his crew, and they sealed their ears with wax. Let's assume a young Shanks like Odysseus and his young crew landed on Elegia. Either by luck or for business, and were not able to resist temptation and fell for the lotus-eaters or were seduced/coerced by Elegian Sirens.

Shanks let's face it is good-looking, so a princess/queen falling in love and desiring him won't be out of One Piece narrative. We already have Boa Hancock pining for Luffy. History repeats. Unlike Luffy, who has never been much about the romantic aspect of romance, Shanks is a different person. So maybe a young Shanks did father Uta, and somehow the spell broke, and he escaped and took Uta along. Or maybe while he was out sailing with Uta and meeting with Luffy, Elegia got attacked. [Now that we know Shanks stole Gomu-Gomu-no-mi from Marines, will that stop Marines from taking out revenge?]

I am going by Shanks' piracy brought in consequences for Elegia, which made him leave, I won’t say flee. And he left Uta behind with her mother because of his no-child pirate policy. As is the fate of One Piece moms; Uta's mom died of sickness or got killed or just disappeared or died of heart break because Sirens commit suicide if someone escaped their song spell.

Young Uta left on her own on a ruined island would channel her grief and project her anger to one species; Pirates. In every Uta vlog, she speaks fondly of an Elegia long gone and hit by tragedy. She also found pirate bounties and mocked rather roasted them on her livestream. Rest in peace, Big Mom's double chin. Uta hates pirates! She is extremely pro-marines as well. [Yes, I learned all these from her vlogs].

Second, we know lineage factor is a big deal in this universe. Sins of the parents are to be paid by the blood of their child, and since I am going by Uta is the biological siren kid of Shanks here, imagine her potential! That man can stop war, send haki waves from miles away, and split skies. A siren daughter with her father's blood in her veins! Her powers to manipulate and control people would be amplified. Not that we are going to get the exact version of the myth, the Asian bird woman are similar to sirens, but they steal life force, and we already had a life force stealing psychopath in the story.

Even is she is not a biological daughter, Shanks has a knack for fishing out brats with potentials, a siren child he rescued or met and provided refuge, could be another living weapon like Shirahosi. Sirens were good at changing tides. My point is haki has many forms that we know not off. If trained properly, it can manifest as armour, show future, knockout people, so how far can mind control be? Haki in hands of someone like Luffy is an extension of his physical powers, but if Haki is in hands of someone who is physically not so strong but brain smart it will manifest in different way.

Again back to Uta being blood related, Garp and Ace had mused in Marineford that Luffy was born with Conquer's Haki, as if it was ingrained in his genes, similarly if Uta is Shanks' child she must carry a part of the same genetic make up. Now imagine being a siren-daughter of the strongest living Pirate? You are untapped potential. I think Uta's big revenge plan is to amplify her voice-haki-power with help of the livestream and unleash her anger to avenge her mother/island. Her anger might not be in the form of violence, but subjugation of sorts, like how Toto Land was diverse but the essence of diversity was lost. Now, though the second trailer of the Film Red says, her dream is to bring joy to the world through music. She clearly believes as long as she sings the world be peaceful, we know it better after watching the smiles in action how forced happiness is not happiness at all. It is abuse.

I am not calling her a DF user of mythical zoan type: siren yet, but that would be cool too! Like Marco, to have a legendary DF! Actually, I would love it.

Now coming to Where the Wind Blows Clip where the swimming girls in studio ghibli style animation is happening and The World Continuation Clip. There are two girls in the first clip, one has white/silver hair and the other has red hair, both are waving at a ship sailing by. The second one has two girls one red haired and other white haired, then there is fire and, we are left with Uta with two hair colour!

I really don't want to go to the extreme of my imagination. But my two braincells have been shouting; Chimera Siren! Chimera are master of illusions with patchwork body of lion, goat, snake! And they could breathe fire, but recent versions and renditions of chimera are well creepy [Remember Fullmetal Alchemist?]

I hope all my theories for this cinema are proven gloriously wrong, but I can't just believe that this sunshine of a girl named Uta is fine. Most of the antagonist in One Piece have tragic backstories that leads to them becoming deranged, except Hody Jones, he was just hateful. So there is no way this little idol Uta is unscathed, she is certain her father abandoned her. The question is did Shanks trigger two parallel narratives? Where one child learned to see the better in the world and the other chose to distrust it?

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

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Trivia Tuesday

I decided to give you some details about Prey on the Heart since I have been planning this for about 11 months and I also researched the shit out of some of the details. Not that you’d guess it because almost none of that made it into the text itself so I wanted to put it out in the light.

- First of all, Violet. I mentioned that in the text but all hunting dogs including Violet are trained by Lysslis and they are conditioned how to behave. Valtor has been working on undoing some of Lysslis’ control over Violet but if it came to it, Lysslis could probably make her abandon him and side with her. Her grip on the dogs’ minds is that strong because otherwise Violet is the most loyal dog there is and would never abandon Valtor. Also, she’s had her shots against rabies so Griffin couldn’t catch anything from getting bitten. (Trust me, I was no fan of letting her get bitten and not get help after that but there was no way for it to happen. I needed their magic to be limited in some way (since they weren’t really supposed to have any but then the bracelets with obsidian happened and it was game over for my common sense.)

- About the magic in this AU (again, it was supposed to be just some rudiments in energy flows in the cosmos but my brain had other plans) - there is no Dragon Fire. Valtor’s fire magic is just that. The Ancestral Witches have their usual powers and they are after resources. Mainly, the resource of human lives since that can be used for unlimited purposes but they also don’t mind stealing other resources from other planets. However, the trick to that is that they need to know when and where portals to other planets will open and that only comes from deep knowledge about space and the energy currents in it. And that is where Griffin comes in.

- Obsidian is a planet with a lot of obsidian under its surface which makes it infertile and poor in resources since Obsidian is said to draw in negativity. As such it cleanses the rest of the universe but the planet itself suffers and that’s why it was never highly populated to begin with. The Ancestral Witches used that and bought a lot of the marked down land. They set up their mansion there and repopulated the barren forests with animals for them to hunt because they are just cruel like that. However, due to all the obsidian under the planet’s surface, their magic is subdued. Lysslis especially is not having a great time because obsidian is believed to block psychic attacks and so it affects her powers the most.

- And now for some general stuff on obsidian that kind of relates to my story. There are other colors of obsidian but I decided that black worked best for my story. Blades, statues, mirrors and jewelry can be made from obsidian and it’s also used in medicine since it’s better than surgical steel which that makes obsidian products is the main industry and main source of income for the planet. However, obsidian is easy to scratch, break or chip, which isn’t necessarily bad for the business since people will regularly need replacements. And now for some hilariously ironic (in the context of the story) properties of obsidian - it symbolizes purification, transformation, fulfillment, practicality, growth, exploration of the unknown (and enslaving the people from there apparently), new horizons. It enhances truth, acts as a shield against negativity, draws out mental stress or tension, clears confusion and provides clarity to the mind, helps you find who you truly are, dissolves emotional blockages and ancient traumas, promotes compassion and strengths, detoxifies, warms extremities (they really deep froze Griffin). Black obsidian specifically enforces self-control and facing your true self, gives strength and patience to overcome challenges, reigns in scattered energies, helps choose the path towards light and love. Also, obsidian is known as the stone of the spirit.

(This is a sketch of the obsidian belladonna I did way back when I first came up with the idea):

- The obsidian belladonna is something I made up as a species that is confined only to the planet of Obsidian. It is regular belladonna but with obsidian crystals running through the plants in black threads. They crystalize over the edges of the petals to form a thin, sharp black crust. It starts looking a lot like a shuriken but it’s a plant instead of metal. The obsidian crust is so fragile that it breaks when you cut yourself on it and that releases the poison directly in your veins. The obsidian threads run from the roots to the crust forming on the petals which is a problem because the root is the most poisonous part of the plant and that poison is now in the black crystal that just broke in your skin.

- Now the same for amethyst since I mentioned that island orbiting an uninhabited planet. I wasn’t originally going to include that but then I read up on amethyst and it happened. Amethyst is known as the Gem of Fire but at the same time is associated with February (aka winter aka snow and ice) and Neptune - the Roman god of the sea, which worked perfectly for me because I always compare Griffin’s temper to water. The name comes from the word ametusthos which means not intoxicated. Amethyst stimulates and soothes the mind and energies, is used to align planetary and astrological influences, controls evil thoughts, protects from treachery and surprise attacks as well as witchcraft and dark magic and disease and infection, brings victory, assists hunters, strengthens the thinking process and imagination and intuition, calms angry temperaments, gives meaning to relationships, heals skin, reduces pain and swellings. It is also known as the soul stone and symbolizes faithful love, energy of fire and passion, imagination, logic and emotion, self-esteem, self-knowledge. It brings comfort when grieving a lost loved one and a locket of amethyst can be used to call back lost love (guess what Girffin’s plan was there). It is known as the soul stone and is a fresh start crystal that is perfect for the researcher, scientist, explorer. It enhances efforts to change one’s situation and outlook on relationships (aka become a better spouse) and eases fear and guilt. It is also a seventeenth wedding anniversary gift which I found ironic because on the show Valtor spent seventeen years in Omega before returning.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #ancestral witches #prey on the heart #obsidian #amethyst #belladonna #trivia #trivia tuesday

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shattered-catalyst · 3 years

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Intro to OCD for the RPC part 1/?

This is a balmy 6 page document on the VERY BASICS of OCD by a person who has had OCD for over 15 years and knows their shit.

If you want to write a character who has OCD this series is going to be a good starting point. If you dont know much about OCD I encourage you to read it so you can be an ally to those of us who have the disorder.

OCD is made into a cultural joke and when there isnt the ‘Obsessive Cat disorder’ bullshit its an angst off with other people and their non-ocd intrusive thoughts. Its different. Do your research and be an ally.

This will cover the very very basics. The next post will look into subtypes of OCD and how those are experienced.

Whomst can write it?

Literally anyone as long as you

● Do so respectfully and not make a mockery of the disorder and the harm it causes in peoples lives

● Dont make OCD the characters single thing or boil them down to it entirely ● Do respect the experiences and opinions of muns who have the disorder if they have concerns about your portrayal.

● Dont milk it for angst - unless you have OCD in which case release some of your angst.

● Dont try and say you know what intrusive thoughts are because they have *insert any other neuro a-typical thing here*

● Dont police how Muns who have OCD choose to portray it. Its our experience not yours. I like to write out my characters OCD as I experience OCD so my experiences are different from other muns. OCD is very diverse in its effects but always ask if you arent sure.

. What isnt OCD?

● Cleanliness or organization- OCD is NEVER an adjective.

● Planning/ Hypervigilance/Organized/Methodical

● Turning light switches on and off, unplugging things (find out more on later time)

● “I have to organize my pencils otherwise it bothers me” “ I have to make sure my mattress is straight” “ my nails have to be the same length” are all typical responses from people WHO DO NOT have OCD.

● Making sure objects are lined up neatly

● Having things go in a particular order like the letters CDO as the joke goes

● Really loving Cats, Corgis, or Christmas; if you own any of these items i urge you to reflect and also send me 10$ (jk but do reflect)

The Barest minimum

Google OCD this will be an advanced version of OCD. This will be long but if you want to be aware of others or want to write the character you will read it.

OCD is made of Obsessions. Triggers. Anxiety, Compulsions/Rituals.

1. Obsessions are the thoughts

2. Triggers are the object/person/image/situation/smell ETC

3. The Anxiety occurs is at uncomfortable levels to the point of panic or anxiety attacks

4. Compulsions or Rituals are performed

*There is a variant of OCD called Pure O. In this individuals have the obsessions triggers and anxiety but there is NO compulsion or ritual. This is still valid OCD.

Obsessions are the precursors to the flawed unwanted and harmful intrusive thoughts:

Im going to use you so you really understand this because its important.If you misunderstand this you are basically encouraging a mental health condition and dont get a sticker for reading this far.

First check out this link as it has ALL the subtypes and examples.

Obsessions can be hidden by the intrusive thought and teasing them out can be difficult to do if you have the disorder because well its a disorder okay thats why. It boils down to ‘i could harm someone’ ‘i could cause harm’ ‘ i may have accidentally harmed ___’ ‘ i may accidentally harm’ etc

This is the flawed powerful belief that predate the Intrusive Thought.

Intrusive thoughts appear in every brain on earth. They are not special or unusual however intrusive thoughts with OCD get stuck in the brain- meaning they stay there no matter what you do. So yes , they are different from intrusive thoughts in other conditions.

The thing about OCD is that it latches on to what you hold dear; it may be you are a caring person and love children and animals- your OCD would give you intrusive violent or sexual thoughts or images. These are horrible to experience. They are not welcome nor appreciated and there is no benefit or positive side to having them.

If say social justice is something you hold dear your ocd may take the form of intrusive thoughts of slurs, jokes, visuals etc. These are horrible to experience and lead to high levels of anxiety and are not positive nor beneficial to have in any way shape or form.

Maybe you would not harm someone or you value others; your OCD may present as graphic intrusive images or thoughts around poisoning, stabbing,accidental..ly murdering (yeah you read that right), hitting, insulting etc someone else

I must emphasize this because it is critical that people understand POCD: for the sake of those of us who have OCD read this until its burned into your brain.

This is the fucked up awful Obsessive thought that you are/were/ or could be sexually attracted to children. This is NOT pedophilia. People kill themselves over this because they are afraid that these intrusive thoughts are true. People isolate themselves and dont have families out of fear of harming a child. People take work in different fields or avoid areas with children out of the absolute terror their obsessive thoughts could be true. This is NOT pedophilia. There is NO attraction present.

Most people who experience POCD intrusive thoughts would rather punch a sharknado than even THINK of hurting a kid in any way shape or form. That is why the OCD does its thing it is like having an abusive brain.

Again for clarity's sake

If you value social justice -> the intrusive thoughts violate social justice stuff

If you value animals -> intrusive thoughts come up with harming animals

If you care about the protection and safety of children -> POCD

Triggers would be the situation, scenario, object, person,creature, context etc that is related to the Obsession. It can be literally anything.

What follows is a hell of a lot of anxiety that can range anywhere from discomfort to full on panic attacks.

Everyone has different intrusive thoughts and everyone experiences different amounts of distress upon being triggered.

● As a side bar. Do not ever try and expose someone to their triggers or write about a character being exposed to their triggers as a way to help ‘cure them’ or ‘expose them’ to ANYTHING. What you are doing is literally taking someone with a mental illness and shoving them into a breakdown and thats a piece of shit move. Exposure therapy does exist and is done by professionals TRAINED in ERP. My parents did this a lot and I am positive I am not alone in that experience.

Compulsions or Rituals: Now you may be saying ‘hey i know what those are’ yeah dude me too and I have had ocd for over 15 years and trained in mental health for 7 and guess what. They teach ya wrong.

Compulsions or ‘rituals’ are any behavior done to alleviate the anxiety from the intrusive thought and trigger object.

This can be as passive as ‘i am leaving the room’ ‘ i am checking my body sensations’ ‘ i am trying SO HARD TO HEAR MY HEARTBEAT’ .

It can also be repeating the same thing over and over. To illustrate this I once mentally chanted the same song lyric line on a 3 hour plane ride because otherwise we were all going to die. I took one for the whole team.

It can be somatic things like counting your heart beats, focusing on your breathing, swallowing, staring and not blinking for so many seconds.

It can be readjusting clothing until the seams fit. It can be checking god yes checking IK its a common trope but it IS a compulsion that has ruined my life and can be as passive as checking my reality or texting for proof my cat is still alive. It can also be checking yourself for assurance you wouldnt do the intrusive thought or that the intrusive thought isnt going to happen.

Compulsions are mentally painful and sometimes physically painful;

● Washing your hands with scalding water for 5+ minutes can lead to horribly dry and cracking skin to down right BURNS.

● If you do the same movement you can mess up joints and ligaments. So if you pray constantly you may have knee issues from standing and kneeling.

● If your compulsion has you doing movement against an object ie say gripping and regripping something you get callouses.

● If you compulsively exercise you may get trapped doing something above a healthy amount or say going from not working out to running a five minute mile and wiping out on a treadmill because your brain demanded it. Totally didnt do that...

● If your compulsions make you rub against any object you can get friction burns and scars.

To put this in perspective 15 years of compulsions have left my hands and finger joints a complete mess, damaged my arm tendons, friction scars on my arms that only now faded, and scars on my legs from doing too much of an activity.

Its not lmao I gotta fix these pencils its real agony and real torture.

In short compulsions and rituals are not fun they are absolutely not logical, and we know they are not logical but we are forced to do them. Thats why its a disorder.

OCD disrupts relationships with social components such as ;

Obsessively checking in with partner/friend if things are ‘okay’ (this feels horrible to do too fyi like you KNOW things are fine but you cant NOT because the anxiety is SO BAD),

Relationship OCD is a WHOLE category itself! this ties into sexuality OCD where your obsessive thoughts prey on your sexuality (regardless of your orientation), your relationship, cheating or being disloyal etc.

OCD causes significant withdrawal from others, fears of being a monster, intense guilt over intrusive thoughts, disgust with yourself over the intrusive thoughts sometimes leading to self punishment.

OCD leads to strange behavior which more often than not leads to bullying and ostracization. To exemplify this I have an intrusive thought that I have stolen something when I am inside stores, my check-check-check-check-check-recheck! of my pockets gets me store security called so often its criminal.

OCD limits activities that may expose them to triggers or influenced by intrusive thoughts ie: not being able to take the train to work or only getting off at bus stops with even numbers.

OCD impacts where they spend time, who they associate with, what jobs they take or even if they have a family or not

OCD leads to overwhelming feelings of guilt, shame, and fear over having intrusive thoughts or images that they experience which causes them to socially isolate or have difficulty in social situations.

OCD leads to Hyperfixation: like a lot of other things but thankfully it is just hyperfixation and not different from other diagnoses.

OCD leads to rigidity or structured routines: I have listened to the same CD in my car for 5 years now. Every single day. 5 Years.And Im not okay with that.

OCD impacts standards we hold ourselves to and others: its like regular perfectionism but like add on 5 extra layers of anxiety!

OCD according to NIMH statistics

1.2% Occurrence among US adults

2.3% Lifetime Prevalence among US adults

34.8% Of Adults who have OCD suffer moderate impairment to daily functioning 50.6% of Adults who have OCD suffer serious impairment to daily functioning

OCD has strong co-morbidity with the following:

Tourettes Syndrome- is a genetic friend of OCD and if you have tourettes or OCD your chances of having someone else in the family is high

ADHD

Autism

GAD

Eating Disorders

Depression - this is a big one along with low self esteem because of the intrusive thoughts

Writers like to make jokes about characters “being OCD” well now they have clinical OCD and you should consider fleshing out your character with this information just as you would any other disorder.

Batman (DC)

Riddler (?)(DC)

Domino (Marvel)

Cyclops (Marvel)

#this took a lot of emotional energy and i am now terrified

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buzzdixonwriter · 3 years

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Spock Grok Shock Squawk

Lemme get my main thesis out in the open first thing:

The search for intelligent life in space is a quasi-religious endeavor.

The unstated hidden hope is that we will find up in the sky people who are better and wiser than us, and who will prove they’re better by sharing that wisdom, ushering in, if not exactly a golden age, then one of shiny brass.

The unstated assumption is that they will be like the Vulcans in Star Trek, more advanced than we are, but impressed by our courage and our curiosity and our just plain ol’ fashioned humanness so that even though they are technologically and culturally far superior to us, they’ll toss the keys of the galactic federation in our lap, letting us run things for everybody’s betterment.

Snowflake, please…

(I mean let’s acknowledge this is a white and / or Anglo / European colonial fantasy from the gitgo, okay? No sane species will let us anywhere near the torpedo room, capice?)

The Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence (SETI) is a harmless enough exercise, and I’ll be honest, it would be cool if they actually found something, but at its core it’s no different from going into a place of worship and attempting to contact the divine.

(Mind you, I have absolutely no objection to that in principle, either, but I know how a lot of supposed spiritual searchers are actually searching for cudgels to batter their fellow humans into submission; and besides, as will be pointed out below, the search for the divine shares some similar issues with SETI, so read on, MacDuff…)

My next major thesis is this:

Nobody knows what they’re looking for, SETI or conventional religion.

They dress it up in fancy costumes but when you strip both groups’ sky beings naked, you find they’re looking for people just like us in every important way (i.e., we understand them, they understand us, and they don’t hold us accountable for our bullshit).

Here’s a few issues I have with the current state of SETI affairs:

We don’t know what alien life would look like.

We don’t know how alien life would think.

We don’t know what alien life can sense that we can’t sense.

We don’t know how alien life would process information.

We don’t know how alien life would adapt to its environment.

(There’s more -- much, much more -- but these will do for the moment.

Point 1: I’m not talking about green skinned Martians with six limbs, I mean we don’t even know if alien life would have a cell structure or pass along generational information via DNA.

Personally, I think there’s a remote possibility life on Earth did not evolve but is a product of panspermia, in which case any life we encounter on other planets in this solar system may indeed use cell structure, DNA, etc.

But that’s just “a chance greater than zero” not hard evidence.

We literally have no idea what other life would look like so we have no way of knowing where or what to look for.

Someone familiar only with North American forest insects might have a hard time identifying life found at the bottom of the Marianas Trench -- and that’s part of the planet we all share.

There’s a fringe science called shadow biology that wonders if there may be life on this planet that we can’t identify because it looks and behaves so differently from us.

That’s another one of those “greater than zero” speculations -- but the fact we can define right now what would constitute alien life means all we’re doing is looking for Vulcans.

Point 2: We don’t even know how we think; howda %#@& can we anticipate how alien intelligence would think.

I got into this discussion decades ago at a sci-fi con and the fan I was talking with blithely assumed we would recognize one another as intelligent based on whether we used mathematics and my question then and now is: ”How would you know?!?!?”

Math is a symbolic language that (apparently) interprets basic underlying principles in a way that humans can grasp and apply.

The principles exist whether or not they are expressed, or how they are expressed.

We humans “see” 2 + 2 = 4 as “logical” because out symbolic language links the concept of two distinct objects added to another two distinct objects as being the equivalent of four distinct objects, but we have no way of knowing if an alien intelligence grasps the concept of distinct objects.

For them it may all be just part of a continuum.

There could be aliens desperately trying to contact us right now, using methods we can observe, and we just can’t grasp that there’s even a message to be grasped!

Point 3: Holy cow (no, not a religious exclamation), this point is huge and we just keep glossing over it.

Humans possess better color vision than canines.

We see three primary colors, they see only two (blue and yellow).

There are other terrestrial species -- butterflies and mantis shrimp, to name two – who see colors far beyond human range, well into what Dr. Seuss would call the “on beyond zebra” range.

Even if we could talk to dogs, we couldn’t tell them what green looks like: There is literally no place in their brain to process that color.

Or consider binocular vision, i.e., depth perception.

Most humans have depth perception but many -- for any number of reasons -- do not.

A lot of animals lack binocular vision (indeed, on Earth encountering a creature with binocular vision is fraught with danger because they’re almost always predators of some sort, using depth perception to attack prey).

Try explaining depth perception to someone who’s only had vision in one eye since birth.

“Well, it doesn’t have a color or a texture or anything like that, you really can’t ‘see’ it except…well…you actually can see it insofar as you can ‘see’ the actual space that exists between two objects instead of just guessing based on visual clues…”

Again, we may be bombarded with messages from space all the time that we simply lack the ability to sense.

Point 4: This is a lot like Point 2 but different enough to enjoy its own category.

I mean a couple of things when I refer to processing information.

First off, there’s the actual processing time.

Remember the sloth DMV scene in Zootopia?

Imagine we contact a life form that takes a standard terrestrial year just to express “2 + 2 = 4”.

The entirety of human history would pass before it could get to basic trigonometry.

How do you communicate with that?

(And what would you talk about?)

Conversely, we would be like ferrets on espresso, the worst form of cultural ADHD imaginable to them

And the script could be flipped!

We could be the ones taking forever to respond, their elaborate and erudite answers might flash by in less than a nanosecond.

We also don’t know what an alien species would value. We have Maslow's familiar hierarchy of needs but there’s no guarantee these would motivate any other species.

Thigs that would be extremely vital to us might be wholly unimportant to aliens and vice versa.

The fact our sky is blue is just an interesting fact to us, to aliens it might be the single most important thing they’ve ever encountered.

We simply have no way of knowing!

Point 5: Europeans encountering North American native peoples dismissed them as “primitive savages” because they didn’t smelt ore, they didn’t use wheels, and most of their cultures lacked a written language.

Ignore the fact they had well traveled trade routes stretching from the Bering Sea to the Gulf of Mexico, ignore the fact many of them governed and protected well organized territories the size of France or Germany, ignore the fact they lived in an environment not only abundant with easily available natural resources but also possessed the time to work those resources at a leisurely pace.

The European interlopers sure ignored those facts.

SETI looks for machine based physical communication from alien life (physical here including any form of energy used to convey information such as a telegraph or a laser beam).

Presuming alien life exists it may never have occurred to them to attempt to communicate in the manner humans do!

It would be like putting a mime on the radio.

The great unuttered chauvinism of the Drake equation and Fermi paradox is this: That there exists a basic template to intelligent life that’s so common the law of averages says we must find examples of it just like us wherever we look.

That’s an awfully big assumption, folks.

And we’re nowhere close to proving any of it.

#SETI #alien #science #religion #philosophy #intelligent life

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undercover-junkie · 3 years

Text

Interaction: Stewing In Salt

Because fuck it might as well post pieces of my writing somewhere. I might clean up some of my old ones and post here because they are plot/relationship relevant.

Context: After chpt 4 and James slowly floating away from Azul in every type of interaction besides business, Azul decides to “be the adult” in the relationship and come off as domineering as possible in hopes of opening a discussion (well not exactly, but you know how Azul is). Because good lord James being honest about anything is rarer than a pig flying. It elevates the cycle of James avoiding him to not end up saying something harsh and Azul pushing harder. Inside he’s cracking about losing James, inside he’s more hard to read until...

It blew up. Ruggie told Azul for a few bucks the places James runs off to after work specifically to avoid him. Perhaps it was the fact LEONA of all people was allowing James off hours “sanctuary” in return for James being his other “henchmen”, or James showing with his behavior to everyone else clearly Azul can’t control his “subordinates”--thus smearing his reputation, but it blew up. OctaTrio came to Savannaclaw to get James back, and it wasn’t pretty. Azul felt even more humiliated; Leona laughed at how he can’t keep a “boyfriend”, and the event of having to chase James around the dorm became the week’s gossip.

Do you see what I’m getting at? Azul when attached, shows off his worst traits. And boy is he attached to James.

And he hates/loves it. What a rush.

If only James would not do these things in front of others.

This is after the big event.

"Hey Ruggie, entertain me for a second, please?" "Hmm?" Ruggie absentmindedly stirred a pot, enjoying the scent of steamed carrots and onions as they mixed in with the broth. Man, he's hungry. Good thing James showed up to help him pass the time, or he'd eat before it's done. He glanced to the male standing behind him to show his interest."Shoot, James, your formality is showing." "Shit, really?" James tone was heard in mock surprise. "I've been working non-stop at the tutoring center, so that explains it." Ruggie shook his head, rolling his eyes and smirking."Excuses, excuses, just tell me whats on your mind." "Okay, but when you have fished, did you ever talk to the fish?" "Pft-is this what we're talking about?" He eyed the bottles of spices before grabbing cinnamon and shaking it over the pot. "Whether I have or haven't been sadistic to the fish I've eaten?" "It's not just about you and the fish, but about every prey animal you ever encountered. Did they ever talk back? Plead for their life? Think about it Ruggie, we can make money off of this somehow." "See, your brain goes to weird places sometimes, but I love it. Before I learned animal language I couldn't understand anything except 'stay away' and "I'll stand my ground', and those were from body language, not words." He hesitated, staring at the finished broth before scooping out a plateful using a ladle, adding a garnish, and handing it to James. "Thanks, man." "Yeah, no problem. Anyway,"as Ruggie scooped out another plateful for himself, he tabbed this act of kindness to his list of returned payments, and eyed James to let him know as such. James got the hint, meeting his gaze straight on and smiling before taking a seat at the table nearby. "after getting into NRC the fish during the training camp seemed more...alive to me. The squirrels wouldn't shut up about Floyd either. I swear it feels like a hex to know more." Ruggie sat next to him, chin on hand and elbow on the table as he took a slurp of his soup. "But knowledge is power, Ruggie." James laughed."Which is how were going to get money out of those animals." "Tell me big-brain." Ruggie already let his mind wander to future piles of madol lying at his feet. James was mad, but he certainly had some logic behind his creativity. Though something nagged at the bottom of his mind... What part did Azul have in this? He and James are business partners. "Well big-brain thinks that we can dam a river and have the salmon swim upstream for any jewels they find." "What next? Asking any beacons if they need a real-estate agent?" He felt himself grin, and James grinned back."Yup, so no one can break the dam without moral dilemma." "Genius, so i'm guessing you want my animal language expertise alongside yours." "Yes." "What about Azul?" James expression changed. "What about him?" "Arent you business partners?" Ruggie squinted at him, his face inches closer than before. James was frowning, perplexed, but with the the elephant in the room addressed it changed again. A scowl. "Were not on good terms. Did you hear about Jamil?" His face relaxed, and he nodded."Course I did. You and Azul got into an argument, i'm guessing...about him? And that's why your avoiding him?" "Azul said he expected 'better' from me, and thought I wanted to kill Jamil out of pure jealousy." "But you were jealous." "But not to that extent!" James looked to Ruggie pleadingly, but then down at the soup."I felt like a child being told off by their dad through everything. It's tiring, Ruggie." Ruggie glanced away, tapping his spoon against the side of his dish. Damn, what a pair.He stopped, and glanced back to James."Does he know that?""..." James bit his lip."Does he know that, James?""...I expected him to. He always talks about how smart is.""That's dumb.""...Maybe, but if he cared, he would have tried to understand me before this point."Ruggie shrugged before pointing the spoon at James. "Fair enough...but has he tried now?""...""I've seen him confronting you a lot. Why?""He...wants to know what he did wrong.""To do what?""To make it better." James slurped some of his own soup."Then why are you still arguing with him? Fuck James, he's trying to talk to you, and you push him away!"James squeezed his spoon, his voice rising. "But what if I don't want to fix it? What if I want to leave this ambiguous relationship behind?""Then tell him that. I don't know what you want, and I feel you don't either. Look at yourself first, and then talk to him." Ruggie stood up. "My time is up. I gotta get something for Leona from town.""...Are you mad at me?""...No, just frustrated." Ruggie let out a breath he didn't realize he held. "Now come on, we can look at the rivers and figure out which one to block on the way there. Right?" "...Duh."

#TWSTOC #TWST #Twisted Wonderland #TwistedWonderlandOc #NightysFCs #Ruggie Bucchi #Ruggie TWST

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encyclopika · 4 years

Text

Sneak peak of Missing Out Chap 4 - Home

Saw the work in progress Wednesday thing and...yeah, I owe a sneak peak. I haven’t been able to write for a while - a combination of computer issues and lack of inspiration has left me dry. Nevertheless, I got a whole scene done the other day. This isn’t all of it, and it’s probably not final, but you’ll just have to wait for the rest! Read Missing Out on AO3

***

There was that word again - “feral”. I've heard it all my life, here and there and more once I entered the underworld of villainy. It's a word to mean “person with an animal quirk”, and although it's not meant to be a slur, it kind of is. People let it slip from time to time. The human race has always craved an “other”. You would think with the advent of quirks that the uniqueness of every individual in the world would stop that bullshit, but you would be wrong.

Quirks are about as varied as there are people. Flight is boring as fuck compared to what some people have packing. Some people can make bubbles, others can summon camera lenses from their skin, some people can set themselves on fucking fire. And, hey, Ai could bring people back to life like they were never dead. But even with all of that crazy shit, there's just something about animal quirks that rubs people the wrong way. Something just clicks in people's heads that there is something fundamentally different about us. Something inhuman. And when you're not human, you don't get to pretend that you are one.

I left the scene of multiple crimes that night to follow the rest of my pay down the street. Flying all of a sudden became more of a pain than it usually was, and my side hurt like hell. I'd have to limit my time in the air. Landing on another roof closer to the murder warehouse, I listened for them.

Now, I know what you're thinking – damn, Asuka is such a dumbass going after the guys that just beat the shit out of him. And, yeah, I was fifteen. Spare me the logic. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, and I figured I had the upper hand now. The guys thought they left me crumpled in the alleyway; they wouldn't be expecting me at all, kinda like that bear trap dick. The darkness is my element and I work best in the cover of night when I can blend in. They'd never see me coming.

But listening for them was easier said than done. Between my side aching and the warehouse still spewing out the agony of death in all its putrid slender for my nose to catch, my other senses really weren't getting equal access to my brain. As I got closer, leaping to the next rooftop, my quirk took over, and I could tell multiple bodies were piled up in the murder house. It had to be, but at the time, my quirk wasn't developed enough yet to get an accurate count. That's actually a skill UA helped me to hone.

(A sidebar – when UA says it will nurture young heroes into capable pros, they really aren't kidding. Search and rescue drills are tweaked with my quirk in mind. They actually put dead rats - the kind you get to feed pet snakes or use for class dissection or what have you - into the dummies we have to find. My classmates get so pissed because I can do the entire operation more efficiently than any of them with my eyes closed. It doesn't help that I went into first year an empty husk of myself, but still tried my best to go through the motions and amount to something, anything at all. I came in with a prior knowledge of how villains worked and how to fight, even if it was dirty, and ended up breezing through most classes with a look of boredom. I guess after a while they just chalked me up to being the “silent but still a douchebag” type. When I woke up in second year, they had already determined I wasn't a class friend, but the class rival. It was like junior high all over again. God, I can't wait to just graduate and never see those fuckers again.

Anyway! Back on topic...)

I wasn't concerned with the warehouse, though my curiosity was growing. When I finally spotted my prey, they had stopped to rest and count their earnings under a security light in an alleyway right next to that warehouse. Giggling to each other about how they easily duped me, they leafed through the cash and determined the prices they could bargain for the parts they stole. You know, under my watchful eye. The alley they sat in meandered through to the next street, which meant they had two avenues of escape if I were to jump them. There were also two of them, and I could still feel one their fists in my stomach. Swooping down behind the entrance wall, I watched them and planned my course of attack.

I'm a quick fighter – if I can knock out an opponent, then I will opt for that over a drawn out scuffle. I can be as muscular as I want but that won't ever save for the fact I have hollow bones and weigh a lot less than you can imagine. The club of bone at the wrist of each wing is my best weapon, so the plan was to smack that shaved head as hard as I could with one, steal the money in his hand, and fly away from the cyclops with haste.

However, before I could work up the nerve to actually do that, a fog bank rolled in from the opposite street. The thick mist flooded the alleyway and covered my enemies, reducing them to silhouettes under the bright security light. Out of no where, a third shadow appeared. In the next instance, he moved in, his hand clutching a blade that was followed by a waterfall of blood from the neck of the taller cyclops. The cyclops gurgled, his hands going to clutch his neck as he crumpled, leaving the guy with the shaved head to suffer the same fate. The ghostly apparition seemed to teleport in front of him, another cascade of blood following a lightning fast movement across the neck. The body fell, and that was the end of them.

In the next blink of an eye, I was staring down into Karma's serious face, his eyes wide with adrenaline, but his mouth in a thin, diagonal line of frustration. Oh, and his knife was a centimeter from my jugular.

“Birdy, birdy, I almost killed you!” he said with that sing-song in his voice, even though he seemed mad and still hadn't dropped the knife. “What are you doing here? Over here?”

I pushed his arm down, lowering his weapon as I answered, “Those were my targets. They didn't pay me-”

“Oh!” Karma cut me off. “Snooze you lose, I guess.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, it really doesn't matter. They have cash on them. You can have it.”

“You bet your ass I can have it! I'm takin' it! Not for birds, anymore,” he said, whipping his knife so the blood splattered against the brick wall to my right. He sheathed it in its holder, and I could hear it sharpen as it slid in. “Now, gotta find a nice dumpster to hold the funerals.”

Karma's fog bank still hadn't cleared, although it became thinner now that the attack was over. He kept the air space over our heads thick, shielding our identities from the security camera that hung off one of the roofs. He was very in tune with his hunting grounds – he knew where every security camera was and knew the layout of the downtown area better than most people knew their ass from their elbow. His methods were known throughout the underworld. Most villains didn't make it out of his killing sprees, and so his reputation was built up like a legend. No one had ever seen him, but the results of his punishments were sometimes left in conspicuous places, and so the legend propagated. It felt like I was the only one in the world who knew Karma was just a crazy dude and not, like, a creature from another world. The first time I saw him cut someone down, it had been after a job just like this one. Karma had been hunting my customer for a long time, and decided he didn't want to cut me down, too. Instead, he explained himself, got me to cough up the details of my situation, and I guess he took pity on me. He said he wasn't a fan of killing kids, and so said he'd help me. And here we are.

“You might not have to,” I said as I approached him. He had knelt down to claim the couple hundred thousand yen my customer had just been counting some five minutes ago and stuffed it into the ratty pockets of his well-worn purple-striped pants. “Another villain was also on a murder spree tonight.”

Karma paused for a moment before asking, “How do you know that, Bird?”

“Kicked his ass about a half hour ago...he was chasing some kids down the block,” I explained, but Karma only studied me more. I sighed, trying to cover for myself. “You don't smell that? They came out of this building right here.”

I pointed up to the warehouse in front of us. It was getting hard to ignore the strong signal of death that wafted over me as thickly and ominously as Karma's mist, beckoning me towards the single metal door off to the side. A shiver ran down my spine, the feathers there standing on end. I didn't know for sure if it was safe, but if Karma was going to follow me, I figured we could take whoever was down there if it came to it. I really couldn't stop myself from investigating, the curiosity pushing me further down the alleyway to that door. I needed to know what happened; the thought that I could be next was a subconscious feeling that planted itself in my mind and refused to leave.

The metal door was unlocked and opened with a whine as I pulled it open, revealing a set of stairs that descended into a very dark basement. There was a dim light on somewhere down there, but otherwise, it set the perfect mood for a horror movie. The urban tomb was open now, and its contents sent a very strong message to my quirk that felt like someone stuck a flamethrower up my nose. I almost smacked myself with how quickly my hand raced to close my nostrils.

“It doesn't smell that bad,” Karma murmured as he dragged the bloodied body of the guy with the shaved head past me and sent it rolling down the cement stairs into the basement. “Then again...then again, maybe I'm just used to it.”

#my hero academia oc #oc: krow #my hero academia fanfiction #villain to hero #hero origin story #murder #sneak peaks #Missing Out #encyclopika art

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corvid-knight · 6 years

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Demon Eyes - chapter 5

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740258/chapters/31715238

tw for description of a car accident, blood, and death

You don't panic the next morning.

To be fair, that may be mostly because Karkat's not cuddled up to you when you wake up. He was there all night, though, and you're pretty sure he hasn't been gone long—even though the air mattress sheds heat faster than a normal bed would, the space where he was is still warm when you roll over into it.

Which is...good. Really good. You relax and pull the sleeping bag over your head to block out the morning light, realizing as you breathe in that Karkat must smell like honeysuckle and...okay, this is the absolute worst thought, but puppies.That's a pretty big component of the scent he's left on the blanket; that smell that anybody who's spent time around dogs too young to get bathed knows, warm and neither pleasant nor unpleasant, at least not to you. And with the sweeter and almost floral scent layered on top of it, you kind of wish the result wasn't so damn faint.

"Jesus fuck, Dave, do you ever think about anything normal?" Karkat sounds somewhere between confused and exasperated, and you uncover your face just in time to have a clean shirt and a fresh pair of jeans fall on it, blinding you again. "I didn't need to know I smell like a fucking puppy, okay?"

Oh, god, he heard all of that. Kill me now. "Why the hell did you have to listen?"

"It's not my fault all your mental blocks go down when you're half asleep!"

"A gentleman would stop listening when he realized it counted as spying, asshole." You huff, yanking the sleeping bag back over your head so you can start the slightly-complicated process of getting dressed without either getting up or having skin show. It probably looks weird as fuck to anyone watching.

Sure enough, Karkat's laughing as you struggle into your shirt, little half-muffled snorts that make your heart reconsider the proper cadence of your pulse. You can't even see him right now, and you're still smiling like a lovestruck idiot.

Lovestruck. Your smile fades as you get your pants on. Love. Do I—no. Fuck, no. I can't. I can't, he'll—

"Hey." The blanket over your head is pulled back, and you blink up at Karkat, who's leaning over you with a concerned expression that's rapidly becoming very familiar. "There's no 'he.' He's gone. It's okay."

"Who—fuck." Get that damn tremor out of your voice and try again. "Who said I wasn't okay?"

It's a little bit difficult not to flinch when his hand comes down toward you—you're in such a vulnerable position, flat on your back and tangled up in blankets and the clothes you just changed out of. This is very nearly a textbook example of what to never do around a demon, around anyone or anything dangerous...

All he does is smooth your hair back from your face.

"You're still not all the way awake." When Karkat takes his hand away, you realize you were leaning into his touch. "Which means you don't have to say shit for me to know it. I think I could've told you weren't okay anyway, though—it was pretty fucking obvious."

"I—" What? What, exactly? What the fuck are you going to say to him?

He saves you from having to figure that out by shrugging and interrupting you. "There's more granola bars on the driver's seat, plus a thing of crackers. It's a shitty breakfast, but we can stop somewhere and get you more later."

"Eh, I can run on what we got."

"Like fuck you can. Eat what there is while I pack this shit up, and we're stopping to get you more food later." He crosses his arms and scowls, and you make the decision to not start another argument right now.

Instead, you grab your clothes and hop down off the tailgate, going around to sit in the driver's seat and examine what Karkat's left there for you. It's kind of funny, actually—you kind of remember hiding these. It was a good six months ago, but Bro was going through one of his periodic phases where he pretty much left you to fend for yourself and sabotaged you every way he could. Acquiring and stashing nonperishable food items was the only thing you could do about it, and you guess there were some left that you never had to eat.

Pretty fucking impressive that Karkat managed to find them when Bro couldn't, though...

"Thanks. Remember that I'm more perceptive than that asshole, though." The demon opens the door to toss the neatly-rolled-up sleeping bags and air mattress in the back seat, then slams it again and comes up to your open window, grinning at you. "Do you want me to drive, or are you good?"

"I'm good." You shove the empty wrappers in your pocket. It's a shitty reason to want to be the one to drive, but that puts me in control of something. Feels better.

"Hey, I wouldn't call that shitty."

"Look, just 'cause you can hear me thinking doesn't mean you gotta respond to it."

"No, but sometimes you think things that come across as fucking stupid, and I have to clue you in that they are fucking stupid." Karkat snorts and steps away from the window; you retrieve the keys as he walks around to the passenger side. As soon as he's in you start the truck, and he nods. "We've got two more days of driving. Or one, if you want me to pull an all-nighter, or three, if you want to take it slow. Your choice."

"It's too early to make choices, man."

Another snort, this one suspiciously close to being a laugh as he picks up the phone. "Fair enough. But I'm still going to make you choose somewhere to stop for breakfast."

"Oh, fuck you." But you grin and shove back at him when he shoves at your shoulder.

You still refuse to actually choose, just to annoy him. Karkat talks you into stopping at the second McDonald's you pass, though, and he orders for you again. This time you eat before you let yourself zone out.

Three hours later, Karkat stops playing with the radio and goes perfectly still in his seat, and you drag your attention off the road and back to him. His face is perfectly blank, giving you absolutely no clue what's going on, but you can see too-sharp teeth in his half-open mouth, and unless you're imagining shit his skin's gone whiter and his hair darker. Closer to how he looked when he killed Bro; closer to fully, obviously demon.

"Karkat, what—"

His attention snaps onto you as soon as you speak, and you can't help but flinch and look back at the road. He's so fucking intense right now that having him look at you is like catching on fire.

"Pull over," he growls. And it really is a growl; deep, rough, and terrifying in a way that cuts through the logical part of your brain to the base programming, the leftover instincts from when humans were prey animals. It's a reminder that to his kind you might as well still be prey.

"But—"

"Fucking pull over! Now, Dave, fuck, pull the fuck over!" When he slams his hand against the glove compartment, you almost drive straight into the ditch. "Stop the car, stop the fucking car, stop—"

"I am, I swear, ju—just give me—give me a sec, I swear—" Shit. You can't finish talking. Karkat stops shouting, though, unclipping his seatbelt and continuing to growl as you manage to pull over onto the shoulder.

Before you can even get the gearshift into park, he's got the door open and he's gone, dashing across the road without even bothering to check for oncoming traffic. By the time you manage to get out of the truck, he's vaulted the median barrier.

"Karkat!" The demon might not even hear you. He sure as hell doesn't turn around. Shit. You pop open the glovebox, grab the first gun your hand touches, and shove it into the back of your waistband as you follow him.

You're climbing over the median when you actually figure out where he's heading, and you very nearly faceplant on the asphalt. It's a double dose of shit you're terrified of: a cop car with lights flashing but the siren silent, pulled over on the shoulder because some poor asshole's gone off the road and flipped their car. This one's as bad as any accident you've seen, too—the whole side of the car's crumpled, and the cop's kneeling on the ground next to a person so bloodied that you can't make any judgements on their gender or age.

Oh fuck no. I'm not fucking going over there. I don't want to see it, I can't see it, I can't—

That's what you're thinking, but you're still moving towards the wrecked car instead of away. Because that's where Karkat is.

By the time you get close enough to hear what's going on, the cop's on his feet with his hand uncomfortably close to his gun. Since he's got Karkat a few feet away from him, snarling like an animal, you don't totally blame him. Karkat, what the fuck are you doing—

He looks at you and whines, red eyes so wide they seem to take up half his face again, and you get a blast of anxiety and empathetic pain from him that makes you stagger back almost into the road. There's no words in the thought you catch from him, but you get what he needs anyway.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to step back—" The cop's talking to Karkat, but his eyes flick over to you. Good. You want his attention, although depending on how fast he can move that might mean you're about to get shot.

"Nah." You reach back and pull your gun, leveling it at him. Never mind that your mind's listing all the reasons this is a fucking horrible idea. "Hands up, buddy. Take a step back."

Don't shoot him, Dave.

The fucking safety's still on, man—nobody's getting shot here. Well, unless you fuck up. Then you're probably going to get shot. "Get your gun. Slow, 'cause if you point that fucker at me you're definitely going to the hospital." Bluff. The cop still does as you tell him, though, keeping his hand on the outside of the trigger guard and his eyes locked on yours. "Check the safety and throw it across the highway."

Once he's done that, you risk looking over at Karkat. If the cop jumps you now, you can probably take him. "Karkat?"

He's crouching next to the car, yanking at the door. Even from here you can tell that it's jammed, but you're not going to bet against his ability to get it open. Metal's already bending and warping further; the tradeoff is that he's even more obviously demon than he was before. Fuck.

"Go sit by your car," you tell the cop, lowering your gun. "Hell, sit in it for all I care. Call for backup if you want, just leave us alone for a couple fucking minutes."

"There's two kids in there," he says, and you barely manage to cover up the fact that that bit of information makes you want to freeze up and not listen to anything else.

"He'll get them out." And you jerk your head at Karkat, who's just jerked the car door not just open but completely off, dropping it on the floor and leaning into the interior.

"There's an ambulance on his way, you should wait for people who know what they're doing—"

"You know what? Fuck off. Have a little fucking faith and cooperate. Or don't. I don't give a shit." And you shove the gun back into the waistband of your jeans and turn to Karkat. What the fuck are you doing, man?

Fixing shit. Be quiet, Dave, I need to concentrate. The demon's kneeling next to the first person you saw; it's a woman, you see as you get closer, a young-ish woman with the side of her face so lacerated you can't bear to look at it. Try and calm those kids down?

"I can't talk to kids, man, c'mon," you mumble. But you still step over to the two toddlers who're sitting right where Karkat set them, the smaller one bawling and the bigger one just staring at his mom.

The bigger kid—he's maybe five years old—is the one you scoop up in your arms first. He doesn't struggle as you lift him up enough to get a look at his eyes, which is good, because you don't know enough about holding kids to be sure of not dropping him if he did. There's blood running out of his nose like the tears that his younger sibling is currently covered in, but his pupils look okay, and there's no other marks on him.

Not that that means he's okay. Even if he's not hurt, the poor guy's got to be at least a little fucked in the head right now.

You settle him on your hip and gently push his head to where he isn't looking at his mom, wincing as he decides to bury his bloody face in your chest. There goes another shirt.

The cop's still standing right where you left him; you look over at him and point at the crying kid. Thankfully, he gets the point without you having to say anything.

You make sure to stay between the cop and Karkat, though. Once the former has his hands full with wailing toddler, you look down at the latter. "How bad is she?"

"Worse than you were." His voice is still a growl, and he looks more demon than ever. You're very careful to not look at how his hands are slowly stroking across the woman's bloody throat. "Not as bad as the guy in the car."

"There's another one?"

"Yeah. Leave him. You can't help him, I can't help him, he's gone." Let the humans deal with their dead. If I don't talk her blood into staying where it belongs, there'll be two corpses when they get here instead of one. He raises one hand to shove dark red curls back from his face.

The blood shows up dark against his white skin and blends seamlessly into his hair. Your stomach lurches.

I'm going to throw up. I'm going to pass out. I'll wake up and I'll be in jail, for some fucking reason, I know there's a reason they could arrest me—

Except you can't pass out, because you're still holding a five-year-old with a bloody nose, who just saw his mom almost die. Dropping him wouldn't be fair.

Closing your eyes doesn't really help, but you do it anyway. Hugging the kid closer to your chest helps a little bit, even if it gets you started thinking about how the wet patch soaking into your shirt is blood. A kid's blood.

Jesus fuck.

"I'll be done in a minute, I swear," Karkat murmurs absently, still not looking up at you.

"You keep her alive, I'll wait as long as I gotta." If you get any dizzier, you're going to have to hand the kid off to the cop.

Thank you, he says in your head, and you feel him push at your mind just a little. For a second it hurts. Then the sick sensation fades away a bit, leaving a calm that you can tell isn't natural.

Natural or not, it lets you stand there and wait and shush the kid you're holding when he does actually start to cry. You don't think about anything.

After some length of time that you can't measure at all, Karkat sits back on his heels and wipes his hands on his already-filthy shirt. You hand off the kid to the cop and offer the demon a hand up.

Surprisingly, he takes it, and lets you pull him to his feet. You have to steady him as he staggers. "Hey. You okay?"

"We need to go." That isn't a fucking answer, but the way he leans on you might as well be. "I can't pass for human right now, we need to be gone before anyone gets here..."

"Yeah. I know, man, I know." Thank god that there's not much traffic, because you're taking most of his weight as you head back toward your truck. God, how am I going to get him over the barrier?

"I'll make it over," he mumbles, and immediately stumbles over something, almost falling despite your support. You're in the middle of the road, struggling to get him on his feet again, and you can't stop thinking about what'll happen if another car comes along.

A car door slams. A second after that the cop's on Karkat's other side, taking his arm and hauling him upright.

Karkat glances up at him for a second, then just lets his head fall forward. "Make sure she gets a transfusion."

"Can do."

That's all he says, all any of you say. The cop helps you haul Karkat over the median barrier, gets him into the truck when you can't do the lifting yourself, and shuts the door. He doesn't even look at you as you get the truck started and pull out onto the road again.

You're grateful for that.

There's absolutely no chance of you being able to zone out, though. You're too fucking worried about Karkat, who isn't moving at all. He's conscious, you think; if you glance over at him you can see a sliver of dark red under his eyelids.

When you've passed a dozen or so mile markers, you take one hand off the steering wheel and lean over to touch his shoulder. "Karkat?"

"I'm here." He only sounds half-awake, though, and although he jerks his head in your direction he doesn't raise it. "...for a little bit longer. Shit kicks my fucking ass, Dave..."

Fuck. If he's dying—

"Calm down. Gonna sleep, okay?" The demon's hand moves up and finds yours, patting you gently. "Stop somewhere 'n get food. When I wake up, I'll need it."

"Food. Okay. Anything else?"

Karkat doesn't answer for a moment. When his hand slips off yours, you look back over at him and see that his eyes are all the way shut now, his head rolled to one side.

He's out.

Despite the pure fear that shivers through you at seeing him still, with blood on his face, you don't try to wake him.

Half an hour later you pull over on the side of the road and change into a shirt that doesn't have a bloodstain on it. Your clothes don't fit Karkat, you're too fucking skinny for that, so you wrestle him out of his bloody shirt and into one of Bro's. It doesn't fit either, but on the too-large side rather than the too-small. A clean corner of your shirt and half a bottle of water takes care of the blood on his face and hands.

He stays limp through all of that, even the cold water on his face. Your fear is getting worse, even though you tell yourself that it's baseless right now.

Two more hours, and you finally admit that you're not safe to be on the road. Every car that passes you, you jerk and barely catch yourself before you pull the wheel too far over. Either you stop soon, or you're going to get both yourself and Karkat killed.

You pull into the first fast food place you see—Taco Bell—and tell the person who asks for your order that you want five of everything on the dollar menu. She makes you repeat that twice, either because your voice is so fucking shaky she can't understand it, or because she can't believe you didn't misspeak.

The why doesn't matter. By the time she tells you to go ahead and pull forward, you're a shaking, almost sobbing mess.

Thankfully, an order that large takes them a couple minutes to get together. You spend that time with your forehead pressed against the steering wheel, gripping Karkat's hand tighter than you'd dare to if he was awake and taking deep, forcedly even breaths.

The phone rings while you're waiting.

You can't bring yourself to even look at it. After a while, it stops.

Almost as soon as it does, a guy with a slightly confused expression is handing you a series of food-heavy paper bags. When you hand him the money he very visibly relaxes; you guess that he wasn't a hundred percent sure this wasn't some kind of prank.

He turns to get your change, and you're out of the parking lot before he turns around again. Fuck the change, you think.

You wince when Karkat doesn't react to that at all. It's amazingly easy to get used to the intimacy of telepathy, isn't it?

It's twenty-something more miles before you hit a rest area. Further than you really wanted to drive, but there's no way you can handle checking into one of the hotels you pass. They'd call the cops on you as soon as you walked in; shaky, obviously upset teens who can't even look someone in the eyes are at the top of the fucking list of people who trip suspicion switches. You know that, and you fucking hate yourself for not being able to turn off your physical signs of stress and anxiety.

At least you manage to keep the truck on the road and in your lane. Even when the phone rings again.

You still don't answer it, although this time you rationalise that decision with the thought that it'd be outright dangerous to talk and drive right now. Plus, it'd totally get you pulled over if you had the bad luck to have a cop pass you. This is the right decision. This isn't you being a coward.

Fuck but I'm so bad at lying to myself.

There's a very badly placed trash can at the rest area, and you come pretty damn close to hitting it. Thank god that you don't. Once you get pulled off to the side, you turn the ignition off, drop the keys in the cupholder, and lean over to put a hand on Karkat's shoulder.

"Hey, man. Karkat. Hey." Come on. Wake up. You're very careful to be gentle as you shake him. Don't hurt him. Don't fucking do that. Fuck, Karkat, please..."Karkat?"

There's absolutely no response. Yeah, he moves, but only because you move him, and the way his head rolls to first one side and then the other as you shake him makes you stop doing that.

Karkat looks dead.

You lay your hand on his chest and feel it rising and falling with his breath. He isn't dead. Don't be a dumbass.

"If he was awake he'd ask me why I just called myself a dumbass." Your voice sounds weird even at the almost-nonexistent volume you're keeping it at. Okay. No more talking to myself. When he wakes up I can talk.

He might be out for a while, though. Need to get shit set up to spend the night.

Okay. That, you can handle.

There's no way you're going to be able to lift Karkat into the back of the pickup. Getting him out of the truck at all is going to be tough, really, but you'll cross that fucking bridge when you come to it. A couple minutes of hunting through the backseat turns up exactly what you need: one stupid lil' tent that you're fairly sure hasn't even been out of its bag. Thankfully, that means that the instructions on how to set it up are in there with it, because without those you'd have a much longer and more frustrating setup ahead of you.

Even with the instructions it takes you twenty minutes, and you're almost sobbing again by the time you finish. You unroll the sleeping bags, spread them out in the tent, and go back to get Karkat.

He's heavy. He's very fucking heavy, or at least it seems to you like he is. Some of the difficulty might be due to the fact that he's not exactly helping, but still. This shit makes you feel useless as fuck. But hey, at least those feelings of inadequacy have the added effect of forcing you to grit your teeth and do what you need to do.

God, my back's gonna hurt tomorrow, you think almost ruefully as you carry the demon's limp form to the tent and lay him down in the nest of blankets.

You want to lie down next to him, curl up and stop thinking so you can stop worrying. Instead, you go back to shut the truck's door—and grab the phone, since you do need to see who the fuck keeps trying to call you. In a minute. I'll do that in a minute. Once I'm down there with him.

(Again, you're shit at lying to yourself. You're not going to check the damn phone tonight, and you know it.)

Of course, the fucking thing rings again while you're trying to figure out how to settle next to Karkat, so you don't have a choice. You wrap one arm around him, grab the phone with your other hand, and swipe to answer the incoming call. "Yo."

"Dave?" Well, its not Dirk. You recognize this voice, you really do, but all your mind's coughing up right now are simple observations instead of a name: it's feminine, she's at least concerned and maybe downright worried, she knows who you are. "Are you all right? I called Jake for a reading after you didn't answer the second time; what he came up with was worrying to say the least—

Okay, you do know exactly who this is. She stood in front of Bro when she was ten years old, arms crossed and face set in stern disapproval, and said those exact words. That his methods of hunting were worrying to say the least. (And you tried not to flinch when she said it and wondered if you'd have to step in between him and her.)

"... Rose?"

"Hmm. I'm happy you remember me, since I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself." You can imagine the quick, self-deprecating smile that flashes across her face. "Apologies. To repeat my question, are you all right?"

That's a very fucking hard question. "I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm okay." You really wish you didn't sound like you were trying to convince yourself.

"Dave, Jake told me the cards he drew for you and your companion. His interpretation was lighter than mine, but we both agreed that 'death,' 'danger,' and 'distress' were present in the spread."

Explain this shit to her. Come on. Do it.

You pull Karkat half onto your lap and switch sides with the phone, running your fingers through his hair. Smoothing out the tangles is doing you more good than it is him, probably. "There. There was an accident."

"A car accident?"

"Y-yeah."

"Gods, Dave, are you all right? How bad—"

"No, fuck, not like that. We weren't—I wasn't in the accident." You're going to freeze up, thinking about it. The fucking blood.

"I don't quite understand."

You take a deep breath and look down at Karkat, focusing on how his face looks peaceful instead of how he's not moving. He's asleep, you tell yourself. You have to do the fucking talking, you're the one who has to explain to Rose. You can have a meltdown after you do that.

"Dave?"

"I'm still here, yeah. We, uh." Breathe. Tell her. Don't tell her he's a demon, but explain what happened. "The guy with me, he saw—there was a car crash. We st—we stopped, okay, he's g-got some magic, healing shit—"

"I didn't know demons had that."

Your stomach ties itself in a terrified knot, and you open and close your mouth a couple times before you manage to say anything. "He's not a demon—"

"Karkat?"

"Yeah, but he's not—"

"Dave, it's alright. He told Dirk he was. We already know that." Rose's tone is reassuring, but all you feel is sick fear.

I'm taking him to be killed. I'm leading him straight to more hunters, hunters that aren't whatever the fuck I am, and his cover's already blown.

You can't breathe.

"Dave? Dave, are you still there?"

"No." Damn your instinctive responses.

"You said Karkat had healing magic. Did he use it? Is that what's wrong? I mean, I can't imagine why that'd make you so upset—"

"He used it, and he's fu-fucking asleep, and nothing I can do wakes him up." But then again, you're a hunter, like I should be. You'd want him to die, wouldn't you?

"Ah." There's a muffled sound that you recognise as Rose covering the mic on her phone with her hand, and maybe half a minute of even more muffled speaking. Two voices, hers and someone else's. Then, "All right. Is he breathing?"

Your arm's across his chest; you don't have to move to check the answer. "Yeah."

"That's good. Has his body cooled noticeably?"

He's still warmer than you are, so... "Not that I can t-tell." Damn your fucking stutter.

"Kanaya said you'd be able to tell, if his temperature started to drop. Unless he's clammy, that's all right." She sighs, an almost staticky noise through the speaker you have pressed against your ear. "He'll wake up, Dave. He'll be hungry when he does—"

"He told me that."

"Good; I assume that means you planned accordingly. Give him a while. Healing of any kind is an enormous expenditure of energy; it can take time to recover from, even for a demon."

Goddamnit. The reminder that she knows about Karkat's nature is like a kick to the ribs. "He's not a f-fucking demon." If only the tremor in your voice didn't point out your blatant lie.

"It'd be a pity if he really wasn't; John's quite excited to meet him."

Shit. "If he hurts Karkat I'll—" What? You'll what? Kill a hunter, kill the guy who was your best friend back when Bro let you have friends? Would you do that? Could you do that?

"Dave, please." That almost-pitying note of reassurance is back in her voice, and you have to bite down on your lip to keep back a sob. You don't deserve that shit from her. "No one wants to hurt Karkat, I promise you. If I thought there was a chance Dirk or John or Jake would be a danger to him or you, I'd fly down there and intercept you before you reached them."

"He's a demon." Fuck. That's the exact opposite of the point I should be proving."They'll kill him if they know that, Rose, they—"

"That isn't how things are, Dave." Gentle. So gentle. Like she's explaining something to a little kid, and now you are definitely and inescapably crying, even if you can almost keep it quiet. "Not for us. We don't kill demons and cryptids for no reason. If he's killed someone, perhaps—"

You can't fucking help it. You close your eyes and give up on stifling the painful, full-out sobs, because he did kill someone. You know he did. You watched him. And you can't fucking lie, you know you can't lie—if any of the hunters ask, they'll know the truth more or less immediately.

I'm going to get him killed. You shake your head and tighten your grip on him. If he doesn't die here, he will later, and it'll be my fault...

"Dave, please, talk to me, tell me what's wrong—"

Oh. Yeah. Rose is still on the line, getting further into worry by the sound of it. You switch ears with the phone again, swallow back a sob, and start talking without letting yourself think about what you're saying.

(Which is, admittedly, a stupid fucking move.)

"See, he's fu-fucking dead, then, and 'm dead too 'cause I ca—I can't let him go down without a fight."

"What?"

"He did kill someone." Your voice steadies again, maybe because you've slid down so you're lying on your back with Karkat pulled half on top of you and your arm slung across his shoulders. "Saw him do it."

There's a noticeable pause before Rose responds. When she does she sounds surprisingly calm, although there's a good chance that's deceptive. "Who, and why?"

"Bro." Deep breath. Tell her. "And because I asked him to."

Silence. You can hear your pulse beating in your ears and nothing else. Before she speaks again you count fifty heartbeats, enough that you wonder if she hung up on you.

"...I can't say I'm surprised." She still sounds calm. How the hell is she doing that? "Would you like to know something, Dave?"

"I—what?"

"The first thing I intend to do when I see your Karkat—and I do plan to see him; you're going to have to stay with Dirk long enough for me to make a trip down there—the first thing I plan to say to him is thank you. That seems horrible if you look at it without context, doesn't it? This demon killed one of my blood relatives, and I'm going to thank him for it.

"It isn't horrible, though. Or if it is, it's decidedly less horrible than the man himself was. I knew him, Dave, and so did Dirk. I'm going to guess that we didn't know the worst version of him—you may have, but he tailored his behavior to seem somewhat presentable for us—but what I knew of him was bad enough that I won't grieve him, and I will thank Karkat for killing him.

"Dave, are you still there?"

You barely manage to choke out a "Yes." That's how hard you're crying.

"The moment Karkat chose to protect and care for you, he became family, demon or no. You should know that."

"I—I d-do now." You sniffle and realize that she had to hear you do it. Fuck. "R-rose? Rose."

"Yes?"

"Thank y-you."

"I just wish Dirk had thought to clarify this matter. You shouldn't have had to be afraid for Karkat."

"Not—it's not his fault."

"I suppose that's true." She sighs again, and you know she's shaking her head with a small smile. "I'll still be scolding him as soon as this call's over."

"Be nice."

"Don't worry, I won't be too harsh. Just a reminder that most people can't read minds, is all." That sentence tenses you up for just a second, but then you remind yourself that there's no way she could know about the weird shit you and Karkat have. "Would you like to talk for a while longer, or would you prefer to be alone with Karkat?"

"Uh. I can't talk, Rose, not right now, I'm sorry—"

"Dave, it's all right. I'll call sometime tomorrow. Love you."

"Love you too." You say it without hesitation this time.

A moment later the phone beeps, and she's gone.

You set the phone down out of harms way and wrap your arms around Karkat, pulling him closer. He's still limp and unresponsive—and you really hate that—but Rose said he'd be okay. She said he'd wake up.

This'll be okay.

You curl up close to him and close your eyes.

Even as worried as you are, it's easy to fall asleep this time.

#demon eyes

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ihealthylife-blog · 6 years

Text

Muse /Amuse/Goal

Minimalism.

It’s a funny story but I haven’t been on tumblr since my angsty mood-driven teenage years. Since then, I’ve grown some. But it’s funny I miss the manic pixie dream chick girl I was, and I miss the hipster rebel who unknowingly made me become a greater goal getter. I miss Gina Park, lol. I miss her sensitivity and her scientific brain cells. I miss how everything was simple and easy back then. i miss her realness. I miss her rebel bitchiness. We were both Lena, rule abiding and responsible, Tibby, rebel and cynical, Carmen, strong and sensitive. I guess I miss her because we innately shared more in common than we thought possible. Both reformed rebels with a sharp scientific mindset and a dislike for the conventional and conservative. Both ‘wild children’ who could not fake it. But, unknowingly we both grew up. We are no longer the carefree girls of the past. We are minimalist chic and cool---we always keep it clear. We are corporate drones/scientists, apathetic, political, and polite. We are left brain scientists with attention to detail and an eye for logic.

I’m no longer the manic pixie dream chick. No, she is dead and gone. I was undeniably lethargic and too liberal then. No, she is dead and gone. Nor am I super fake and preppy. I was pretending to be someone I was not. No, she is dead and gone. I am undeniably cool in my minimalist chic modernity. I am a goal driven and task focused cognitive control cyborg. I am data driven and productivity cycle focused. I am a scientific stoic.

I am a goal driven pragmatic with high energy and habit formation=euthymic flat affect.

She has risen into Lauren Bacall (elegant noir/refined integrity) and Yunha Kim (insincere incognito/sincere skills)

It’s funny how I don’t relate to anyone I met during my college years as deeply as I felt connected to her. Perhaps, socioeconomically and intellectual integrity we are on complete opposite ends of the spectrum. The Asian community, including both Asian Americans and Asians, seem to be entitled, fake, and manipulative. Despite the similarity in culture and skin color, we share nothing in common--it’s only a matter of convenience and opportunity. The rich Korean/Chinese fobs who see you as an easy target/ prey and come to America with loads of money, intelligence, and cunning. They are the worst shit heads in the world. They actually are not innately intelligent because most of them are too afraid to go against the grain. Here, lies the rebel advantage. We see things differently and can take that second leap of faith and fortune. They have no morals and no manners and no mind. It’s survival of the fittest and it’s a matter of taking down the competition to get ahead in life.

Venus in Gemini Mars in Capricorn - learning logic and scientific stoic.

Focus on end goal.

Carmen would be a torqued-up cherry red gas-guzzler with a V-8 engine and four-wheel drive. She can make a mess of things, but she’s a lot of fun, she sticks to the road, and she’s got mad acceleration.

Lena would get good gas mileage. Like one of those hybrid cars. She would be easy on the environment and, of course, easy on the eyes. She would have state-of-the-art GPS, but it would be wrong sometimes. She would have air bags.

Bee would have no air bags. She might not have bumpers. She might not even have brakes. She would go a million miles an hour. She would be an ocean blue Ferrari minus the brakes.

And I, Tibby, would be a…bike. No, just kidding. (I am old enough to drive, damn it!) Hmmm. What would I be? I would be a muscular Plymouth Duster, dark green, with a picky transmission. Okay, maybe that’s just what I’d want to be. But I’m the one writing this, so I get to decide.

The Pants first came to us at the perfect moment. That is, when we were splitting up for the first time. It was two summers ago when they first worked their magic, and last summer when they shook up our lives once again. You see, we don’t wear the Pants year-round. We let them rest during the year, so they are extra powerful when summer comes. (There was the time this winter when Carmen wore them to her mom’s wedding, but that was a special case.)

Lena is the oldest. She is responsible, rule-abiding, selfish whenever required, steady as a metronome, and not always a thrill a minute, to tell you the truth. She knows how to take care of you. She knows how to be an adult, and she knows how to be serious. She doesn’t always know how not to be serious.

I admit that I, Carmen, am a classic youngest child—compounded by the fact that I grew up as an only child. There’s no end to my self-centeredness when I get going. I can be bratty and tempestuous, but I am loyal above all. I am loyal to who we are and what we have. I am worshipful of my sisters and worshipful of our sisterhood. I am not cool: you heard it here first. I feel like a mascot sometimes—the guy in the giant-headed fuzzy animal getup at football games, melting away inside his suit. When it comes to us, I’ll throw anything in.

Bee is our true middle child—free as a butterfly. She loves you, but she doesn’t care what you think. She’s not afraid; she’s got the rest of us holding that down. She’s free to compete, free to kick ass, free to fail and laugh about it. She can be reckless. She’s got less to lose; it’s been a long time since she had a mother. She’s such a force you forget she gets injured. You’ll see her stagger and realize she needs help long before she does. Your heart goes out to her. She doesn’t know how to feel her own pain, but she can feel yours.

Tibby is our younger middle child, our sly observer. She’s the quiet kid in the big Irish family who only wears hand-me-downs. She can be cynical, instantly judgmental, and devastating in her cleverness. She can also, as an old friend memorably put it, “change her mind.” She has a gift for exposing the lies—the lies we tell other people, the lies we tell ourselves. All of this is a casing around an exquisitely sensitive heart. She doesn’t turn her wit against us, almost ever. She entertains us with it, and uses it in her scripts and short films. If only anybody would produce any of them. Sometimes Tibby’s wit sweetens into wisdom. I think that’s what she gives us.

Its a state of no-mind. It’s a. state of one mind. Zen master skills initiated.

xoxo c’est la vie miss ya bitchez

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