#}Intersection Incognito

[but-aint-this-texas]

to all BIPoC friends

please don't give up. You can make it through I swear. They've tried to erase you in the past, and they can't try again. We will make sure they can't try again. There are ways you can get out of the country, and if you can't, you can get help to lay low for a few years. We are on your side. We will help you and we will get you resources.

to all disabled friends

you can make it through. I promise, you will have a good support system to get you medical help and accommodations. If you don't have good family or friends, please reach out. Put up a gofundme. Go to support groups if you can. We will make sure you keep autonomy. Please don't give up. There will be better times, you've just got to keep going.

to all women and intersex friends

they can't control your bodies. We won't let them. Everyone sane is on your side, you have everyone's support. If you need medical help, we are here. We have resources, and people, and opportunities for you. We will fight for you and your autonomy. There are better days ahead.

to all queer friends

you have a giant community behind you. We will all help you and support you. If you need to live incognito for a few months, or years, just remember you have hope in future. Just please don't do what they want. Don't lose hope. You can stockpile HRT, you can go DIY if you're willing. You and/or your partner(s) will make it through. You have us.

everyone who intersects

you are being hit the hardest. You are struggling, but I promise you, you have the support of your communities with you. We will help you and keep you safe. Don't distance yourself, you need community right now. The support of non-americans, of people in privilege, is crucial to you and you have to remember to utilize it. We will help.

There are better days ahead, please make it through. If you die, you will never be able to live out the good days. Four years or less is all it takes. I know you can do it. You are strong and I am so proud. I love you.

[erisenyo]

If it’s not too late/you feel like it, maybe “shh, c’mere” for zukka? Because the only thing Zuko’s worse at than showing emotions (other than anger) is being comforted because of said emotions (at least in my brain haha) also ik I said this in tags but I absolutely adored your Ty Lee suki ficlet with the crystals it hugs my heart ;-; she’s protecting her friends

。゜゜(´Ｏ`) ゜゜。

For this prompt game!

“—and the utter gall of them to suggest—”

“Uh huh,” Sokka says, tugging Zuko by the wrist around a clump of slow-moving market shoppers.

“—like I haven’t spent months on the proposal—”

“So much time,” Sokka assures him, taking a moment in the next intersection to orient himself against Caldera’s cratered rim before pulling Zuko left.

“—to just come in and in one meeting—”

“Ridiculous,” Sokka agrees, shooting a quick, apologetic smile to the person who gives him started, half-offended look.

“—think they know more than me—”

“You researched a lot,” Sokka sympathizes, dragging Zuko clear of the line at his favorite food stall, which he's regretfully going to have to come back to later when Zuko—

“I researched—Sei Zun research—we researched—"

—isn’t at risk of popping a vein. Or starting to spit rainbow sparks in public, which would really give them away. Going incognito and relying on people’s expectations of where a Fire Lord won’t be only goes so far.

“And you did a really good job of it,” Sokka soothes, picking up the pace a little as Zuko hisses out a curl of smoke through his teeth.

“To just eel swan in—”

Sokka lets out an audible sigh of relief as he sees the sign for their destination, hand-painted and cheerful, before clearing his throat and quickly offering, “So rude."

“—and imply that I don’t care enough about—”

“Sh, c’mere,” Sokka interrupts as he pushes into the curious crowd thronging the square, Zuko spitting himself to a stop and making a low, seething noise of outrage. “Don’t be like that,” Sokka huffs, rolling his eyes and tugging on his wrist again. “C’mere.”

Zuko gives him a sideways, nettled look, clearly annoyed at being managed. “What are you—” he cuts off as he finally swings his glare up to actually take in their surroundings. Sokka can see the moment he realizes where they are, his face going suddenly slack with shock, mouth working silently a moment before he finally whispers, disbelieving, “…The baby animal adoption drive?”

“Mhm,” Sokka says, breaking free of the crowd and turning to walk backward so he can get a nice, good look at Zuko taking it all in.  

“The one we couldn’t make last year?” Zuko asks, dazed, stumbling along after Sokka.

“Mhm,” Sokka grins.

“And couldn’t make this year?”

“It rained last week,” Sokka reminds him. “They had to move it.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, with feeling, and Sokka doesn’t resist the urge to plant his feet and keep pulling, tugging him into his body so he can enjoy Zuko's closeness and also the dumbstruck look on his face.

“Yeah,” Sokka hums, dropping a light kiss onto Zuko’s lips and murmuring against his mouth, “Want to pet your feelings out?”

“Yes,” Zuko says, plowing forward through Sokka like that was all the permission he needed, face somewhere between determined and transfixed, and Sokka can't help but laugh before spinning to follow.

Sokka trails after at a more normal pace, grinning to see the tension melting out of Zuko’s body one kitten fawn and goat puppy—and inexplicably, a baby puma goat—at a time, until Zuko’s practically a boneless pile on the ground, baby animals crawling over him, head pillowed in Sokka’s lap.

“This was the best idea Aang’s ever had in his entire life,” Zuko mumbles into the side of the tiny kitten owl determinedly navigating his face.

“It was a pretty good one,” Sokka agrees, unable to do anything except smile at the sight. Spirits, he must look stupidly fond and sappy right now, but he can't seem to find it in himself to care about who might be seeing it.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this was happening,” Zuko slurs, both hands focused on giving ear scritches, and Sokka pauses on the braid he’s working into Zuko’s hair.

“It worked out, though, right?” he checks, relaxing again when Zuko lets out a deep sound of contented agreement and after a long moment adding slow, like he’s drunk,

“You have work to do.”

“Eventually,” Sokka hums, perfectly content to be where he is for now.

“Poak and Sun Chen are waiting for a reply?”

“Hawks only go so fast, and they need to rest, too, love,” Sokka shrugs, searching around a moment before plopping another kitten fawn onto Zuko's chest. “It’s nothing that can’t wait a few hours,” he assures him.

And nothing worth missing the sight of this, for, of Zuko’s small, delighted smile up at him before he turns to coo at the new creature, everything else happily forgotten.  

[jazzman-crothers]

TRANSFORMERS - THE EXTRACTION (Short Story)

During the Great War on Cybertron, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are dispatched to locate a Minibot with information vital to the Autobots. They must find him before the Decepticons do and learn what secrets he carries.

“You know this is a bad part of town, right?”

Pushing their way through a crowded street full of vagrants, thugs and punks, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker did their best to blend in and not draw attention to themselves.

“This whole place is a town full of bad parts,” replied Sunstreaker. “And what did you expect we’d find in Kalis? The Decepticons turned this place into a junkyard like they have with any city.”

“Complete with walking spare parts,” commented Sideswipe as they walked past a group of Empties, sitting against the wall, begging them for energon.

Sunstreaker was disgusted. He didn’t want this assignment and was still mad at his brother for accepting it on their behalf. “Let’s just make this quick and get out of here. I feel like I’m walking through raw sewage.”

It would be hard to argue with Sunstreaker’s dismal opinion of Kalis. The city had seen better cycles long before the war left it in ruins. No structures were left untouched by the war. It was rare to find a building fully intact as most had been bombed or torn down during the battles fought in the city. Whatever structures did remain were hollowed out husks of their former selves.

Debris on the streets made it almost impossible to drive on while piles of rubble blocked off routes and major intersections. The destruction was so incredible that famous locations and landmarks were unrecognizable. And long after the fighting decay ravaged Kalsi, as corrosion broke surface structures, covering what remained qwith patches of reddish-brown rust.

Come nightfall, the city would be in complete darkness. There was no energy to illuminate what city lights were still intact. It was the reason why the two Autobots visited the area before nightfall, as it was riskier to venture through Kalis when it was dark. While the Decepticons posed a constant threat, the chance of running into a gang only made things worse. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were more than confident in their fighting skills but taking on superior numbers wasn’t ideal.

On this mission, the two Autobots had to keep a low profile, leaving their missile launchers at headquarters. Carrying heavy weapons in plain sight around Kalis was asking for trouble. They were armed with their standard rifles, folded away and hidden on their person, along with all the rifle clips they could carry. Their Autobot symbols were covered to hide their allegiance and not give themselves away. And to blend in with the population of Kalis, and much to Sunstreaker’s chagrin, both Autobots rubbed as much dirt and muck as they could all over their bodies before entering the city. Sideswipe couldn’t wait to tell the others back at base how much it angered his brother.

“I think we're close to where our contact is hiding,” said Sideswipe, looking around. The two Autobots were told the individual they were looking for would be in the tallest structure close to Kalis’ former city hall. Sideswipe spotted a building that, though damaged, stood above the others nearby. “He’s supposed to be hiding out in the highest building. And since the wreck over there is only four levels high, I say that’s our best bet.”

“You’re making yourself look like a tourist,” scolded Sunstreaker. He didn’t want to attract any attention and thought Sideswipe could do a better job at remaining incognito. Before he could say more, Sunstreaker tripped over a robot he hadn’t seen lying on the ground. “Get up you lazy grease stain before I -”

Sideswipe grabbed his brother’s shoulder before he kicked the robot. “You need to learn how to be nicer to the locals. Besides, I think he’s dead.”

Sunstreaker looked again and saw that the robot had been there for a while. He then proceeded to wipe the foot that tripped over the deceased robot across the ground to clean it. “Let’s find this guy and get out of here. Did Prowl tell you why he’s so important?”

“Nope,” said Sideswipe, “Said it was best we didn't know. Don't even know his name. But Prowl told me he’s a Minibot with an attitude and never shuts up.”

“Great. Just what we needed. If the Decepticons find him first, he’ll probably tell them everything they want to know,” complained Sunstreaker as he studied the building where they believed their contact was located. “Let’s head to the back and find a way up.”

When no one was looking, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker crept through the back of the building and found a stairwell. Silently, they made their way up, careful not to make any noise.

The inside of the building was just as bad as the outside. Decrepit walls covered with cracks appeared as if they could fall apart at any astro-second. The floors were covered in rubble from the shelling the building had taken and computer terminals and electronic equipment lay in decay.

As the Autobots made their way up to the next level, they remained quiet and kept alert. “What do you think this place used to be?” asked Sideswipe as they arrived on the second floor.

“How should I know?” snapped Sunstreaker. “Does it matter?”

“Could be important being so close to city hall. Records hub? Finances? Might be connected to why our friend is here,” reasoned Sideswipe.

“I’ll be sure to ask the tour guide next time they pass by. For now, let’s just grab this loser so we can haul cinders out of here.”

“You just want to show off your new paint job back at base, don’t you?” quipped Sideswipe.

“Be sure to remind my fist later on to thank you for volunteering me for this mission!”

Sideswipe was about to tell Sunstreaker to keep it quiet when the two Autobots froze. The sound of someone running could be heard, then a crash followed by whimpering. Sideswipe looked at Sunstreaker who was pointing upwards, indicating that he thought it came from somewhere further up. Sideswipe nodded his agreement and the two crept up the next flight of stairs.

Once the Autobots had reached the third floor, they could hear voices in the distance. Like the levels before this one, the area was in decline. While the piles of debris gave cover for Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to hide behind, the rubble scattered across the floors made sneaking around silently difficult.

From behind a smashed data terminal, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker dared to look at the commotion ahead of them. From there they could see a group of Decepticons. Six of them spread out around the room with one in the center who seemed to be in charge. The head Decepticon held a smaller robot with one hand and a heavy pistol in the other. There was a discussion going on between the Decepticon and his victim that the Autobots couldn’t hear but could imagine was about.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Whispered Sunstreaker.

“Yeah, he’s smaller than a Minibot,” replied Sideswipe. “I know Minibots are supposed to be small but he’s more like a Nanobot.”

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. “No, stupid. I mean, we got to take down these guys hard and fast then get the frag out of here. And we have to be careful since our contact is out in the open.”

“Yeah, I know. Ok, since I’m the better shot, I’ll distract these guys while you sneak in and get this party rolling. Double click on the coms where you’re ready.”

“You’re the better shot?” Sunstreaker was tempted to start gunning down Decepticons right there and then. “Just give me a few astro-seconds to get in position before you get your rear axle shot off.”

Before another word was spoken, Sunstreaker headed off toward the Decepticons using every bit of cover he could find. Sideswipe checked his weapon, making sure it was fully charged and ready. While waiting for Sunstreaker, Sideswipe eased in a little closer, trying to hear the conversation.

“Don’t lie to me or I’ll pop your head off right now!” threatened the Decepticon as he shook the Minibot in his grasp.

“I don’t know anything, you over-sized pile of slag! I was hiding in here because it looked safe. I know nothing about what you're asking me.”

The Decepticon began to bump the handle of his gun off the top of the Minibot’s head. “You don’t seem to understand. We’re in charge here and the reason I haven’t terminated you is because you have information we need. So keep lying and see where that gets you!

Sideswipe felt positive this was the one they were looking for. He just hoped Sunstreaker would be ready before the Decepticons killed their contact.

Staying low as he rounded the corner of a wall, Sunstreaker still had a way to go before he could flank the Decepticons. Once in position, he would take down the Decepticon in charge. With him out of the way, their contact would be free and those under his command would panic, then he could gun down at least two more and if he had to, go hand-to-hand with anyone who got too close. This way, he and Sideswipe could make short work of the Decepticons and even up the odds. Just so long as Sideswipe didn’t get cocky.

Sunstreaker spotted the perfect spot to launch his attack. He quietly moved over the rubble, not to make any noise and reveal his presence. When the faint hum of something behind him spooked Sunstreaker, he swung his rifle around and came face to face with a worn-out-looking robot.

Sitting against the wall and covered in debris, the robot was old, rusty and lacking Energon. His optics brightened when he saw Sunstreaker and was about to beg him for energon. The Autobot threw a hand over the robot’s mouth, silencing him before he spoke and giving Sunstreaker’s presence away. Unable to move, Sunstreaker swore to himself that he hadn’t seen the old robot and now too far away to help Sideswipe.

“Ok, I’ve had enough of you,” said the Decepticon in charge. “Let’s take this road trash back to base where they can painfully pull out the information Megatron needs.”

The rest of the Decepticons started laughing as they prepared to move out. Sideswipe wondered why Sunstreaker hadn’t signaled that he was ready seeing that they needed to take action immediately.

As the Decepticons were about to leave, Sideswipe made his move.

“Hi, guys,” jumping to his feet with his rifle raised, Sideswipe smiled as he caught the Decepticons off guard. All of them, except for the commander, had their firearms stashed away leaving them unarmed. A fact Sideswipe greatly appreciated. “Ok listen. I hate to break up the party but it’s after curfew and I have to get the little guy back home. He gets really cranky if he doesn’t get his late-cycle recharge so why don’t you drop him gently and I’ll leave you in peace and not pieces.”

“You’re here!” yelled the Minibot. “It’s about time you lousy Autobots showed up. This is what I get trying to do the right thing, a single Autobot who thinks he’s funny. Do me a favor and shoot this moron before he shoots me.”

The commander raised his weapon and placed the barrel against the Minibot’s head. “Yeah, Autobot. Shoot me. And your little friend here will be dead like you as soon as my team perforates your chassis.”

Sideswipe wanted nothing more than to open fire but kept his cool. “I bet I can pop your can off your shoulders and you won’t even blink,” Sunstreaker’s absence was making Sideswipe nervous as he could tell the Decepticons were itching to blow him away. What the frag was keeping, Sideswipe wondered.

“Energon?” begged the old robot even after Sunstreaker had whispered to him that he needed to leave. Whether the burnout didn’t understand the situation or didn’t care, he wasn’t leaving until he got what he wanted.

Seeing no other choice, Sunstreaker dug into his compartment unit, pulled out a handful of energon chips and shoved them into the old robot’s mouth. Content and now quiet, the old robot chewed on the treat allowing Sunstreaker to hurry off.

“Drop your weapon, Autobot,” demanded the commander. “Or I’ll kill your friend.”

“Actually, we only just met,” Sideswipe joked as he fought to maintain his composure.

“What of your pathetic sense of honor? Autobots are supposed to put the lives of the innocent before themselves,” taunted the commander.

“Yeah, I think Prime may have mentioned that. How about we keep that between us, ok?”

Sideswipe tensed up, almost pulling the trigger when he spotted movement. One of the Decepticons made his move, pulling a weapon from his leg compartment. Sideswipe whipped his arm to the right and let an energy bolt fly from his rifle, hitting the Decepticon in his chest. As the Decepticon fell wounded, the other Decepticons quickly armed themselves and returned fire.

Sideswipe ducked and was forced to the floor as energy bolts ripped through the broken wall he hid behind. He began crawling away, hoping to find a better position. The Decepticon commander called for his troops to hold their fire. “Move in and kill him. Let’s get this over with as we have better things to do.”

As the Decepticons began to search for Sideswipe, Sunstreaker made his move.

Turning the corner, Sunstreaker fired at the Decepticon further from him, reasoning he was the closest to Sideswipe. The Decepticon never saw it coming as the energy bolt struck him in the back of his head, killing him instantly.

As the others turned about to see who had shot their teammate, Sunstreaker ran up to the closest Decepticon, shoved the barrel of his weapon against his torso and fired repeatedly. The Autobot’s assault broke down the Decepticon's armor as energy bolts ripped out his back.

“Decepticons, fall back. Time to leave!” yelled the commander as he ran for the back of the room.

Sideswipe poked his head out just in time to see Sunstreaker dive for cover. He then got up and ran to engage the Decepticons as they retreated when the one he wounded earlier rushed him, desperate to take Sideswipe down. Instead, Sideswipe activated the pile driver function in his arm, swung an uppercut punch connecting with the Decepticon’s chin, taking off his feet and out of the fight.

The Decepticons filed out the doorway into the next room, shooting randomly around the area to cover their escape. Seeing they were gone, Sideswipe looked for his brother. “Sunstreaker, come out and stop hiding!”

Sunstreaker came out from behind a broken terminal and started after the Decepticons. “Come on, this isn’t the time to be funny.”

“Where were you?” demanded Sideswipe. “You were supposed to back me up.”

“I was being nice to the locals like you told me to. Now, step on it!”

As the Autobots ran into the next room, they nearly had their heads taken off as projectiles flew past them. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker manage to find cover behind a row of old storage containers as a single Decepticon stood in front of a smashed out window, covering the escape of his teammates.

“They’ve left the building,” yelled Sunstreaker as he stuck his gun over the containers, firing blindly. “If they make it to the street we’ll lose them.”

“Tell me something I don't know!” countered Sideswipe. “Just keep shooting.”

“What the frag are you doing?” Sunstreaker watched in shock as his brother hopped the containers.

The Decepticon wasn't able to target Sideswipe as he fought to avoid the energy bolts Sunstreaker was shooting, giving the Autobot the chance he needed. Running across the room, Sideswipe leapt for the Decepticon tackling him. Both Sideswipe and the Decepticon fell through the window and disappeared.

“Idiot going to kill himself before any Con does,” complained Sunstreaker as he ran to see what happened to his brother.

The crowd outside, who had heard the sounds of battle coming from the building, ran in fear when Sideswipe and the Decepticon crashed onto the street.

Dazed, Sideswipe looked up to see the horror on the faces of those he almost landed on. Then he caught a glimpse of the Decepticon escaping through the crowd. As he got up, the group swarmed Sideswipe and started pulling on him as they begged for Energon. “Whoa, easy there. Hey, hands off the merchandise!”

Sunstreaker shook his head in disappointment as he saw what was happening below. “Why everyone likes this moron more than me I'll never know.”

Seeing the fleeing Decepticons, Sunstreaker jumped from the third level and transformed in mid-air. He sped off down the street when he landed, doing his best to avoid hitting any bystanders and debris in his way. “Anytime you want to get back to work would be great,” chided Sunstreaker as he drove past his brother.

Activating his rocket pack, Sideswipe leapt up and flew above the crowd. “I'm just getting started, bro.”

The retreating Decepticons soon spotted Sideswipe as he rapidly approached. “One of the Autobots is gaining on us. Take him down then meet us on the highway,” ordered the commander.

Hearing the commander’s orders, the Decepticon who Sideswipe tackled stopped running and drew out a sniper rifle. As he took aim, the crowd started to panic when they saw the weapon, running to get out of harm's way.

With Sideswipe in his scope, the Decepticon patiently waited until his sights lined up for a headshot. His focus was broken when he heard the roar of a cyber car coming towards him. Lowering his rifle, the Decepticon saw Sunstreaker leaping toward him in mid-transformation.

The sniper rifle broke in half when Sunstreaker kicked it out of the Decepticon’s grip. The Autobot followed through with a quick two-punch combination to the Decepticon's face and then a leg sweep. Once on the ground, Sunstreaker grabbed the Decepticon's hand and pulled his fingers backwards until he heard screaming. Then with two quick kicks to the head, Sunstreaker’s opponent was out of the fight.

“They’re headed for the highway!” yelled Sideswipe as he flew over. Sunstreaker could see Sideswipe was right as the two remaining Decepticons and their prisoner made their way up the road toward the highway entrance. Transforming back to his alternate mode, Sunstreaker drove after his brother.

Feeling more than confident that he could take on the two Decepticons up ahead, Sideswipe poured on the speed. He’d have to get in close and get in between their contact and the Decepticons before taking them on.

That's when Sideswipe heard the deafening roar of massive engines from behind. He looked back and saw two sky cruisers flying right at him.

Sideswipe flew down just before one of the cruisers smashed into him. As they sped ahead, Sideswipe could see Decepticon symbols on each ship. “Sunstreaker, we got party crashers!” Sideswipe said into his comlink.

“I see them,” confirmed Sunstreaker. “I don't know about you but I don't feel like going home empty-handed.”

“I just hope this Minibot is worth all the trouble,” said Sideswipe as he saw one of the cruisers land on the highway.

The Minibot was pushed inside one of the cruisers as the other two Decepticons followed on board. “Get us back to Kaon quickly! I have a gift for Megatron and I’m sure he’ll reward me generously when I present it to him.”

As the doors began to close, the ship’s pilot began to take the cruiser back up to the air. Then all inside the cruiser heard something in the distance coming towards them.

Before the doors were fully shut, Sideswipe flew in, colliding with the Decepticon commander. The Minibot fell from the commander’s grasp when he and Sideswipe crashed into the wall. Sliding across the floor, the Minibot yelled obscenities as the other Decepticons on board watched in confusion.

Knowing he was outnumbered, Sideswipe wrapped an arm around the commander’s neck and swung him around to use him to shield his body. With his rifle aimed at the squad of Decepticons in the cruiser, Sideswipe saw that he was outgunned as everyone with a weapon had him in their sights. The Autobot didn’t feel any better when he felt the cruiser lifting into the air.

Rushing towards the cruiser, Sunstreaker watched as it began to take off. Accelerating, the Autobot almost crashed into several bystanders before entering the highway. With just seconds before the cruiser was out of reach, Sunstreaker veered to the side, transformed and jumped off the highway’s guardrail. With both arms extended, Sunstreaker grabbed the cruiser’s hull as it headed toward the sky.

Out of the corner of his optics, Sunstreaker could see the second Decepticon cruiser. He hoped they hadn’t seen him as he climbed the hull, looking for a way into the ship.

“Put down your weapons and I’ll spare your commander’s life,” demanded Sideswipe. The Decepticons didn’t budge as they kept their weapons trained on him.

The commander laughed. “See Autobot? Your cause is doomed to fail. My troops will never give in to the likes of you.”

Then from the corner of the ship, came more laughter. Everyone had forgotten about the Minibot who was almost hysterical. “These losers will have to answer to Megatron once we’re out of here. So long as he’s in your grasp these morons are screwed!”

The Decepticons took a moment to exchange glances with each other. Sideswipe wished the Minibot had kept his mouth shut as he had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen next. Without warning, the commander’s body shook as he was pelted with laser bolts. To escape Megatron’s wrath, the Decepticons decided to kill their commander to take down Sideswipe. The Autobot held fast to the commander’s body as he returned fire, hoping to take down as many as possible before he went offline.

Hearing the commotion behind him, the cruiser’s pilot turned around to see what was happening. “What the slag is going on back there?”

The sound of tapping brought the pilot’s attention back to the front of the ship. He almost jumped out of his seat when he saw Sunstreaker outside looking in through the cockpit window. Before he could take action, Sunstreaker fired several shots through the glass. The pilot was dead before he hit the floor.

The cruiser tilted violently, tossing everyone inside against the wall. Sunstreaker fell through the broken window, sliding across the flight controls. The cruiser jerked again and almost flipped upside down.

Sideswipe ditched the commander’s body, now almost torn to pieces, and took advantage of the situation. Using his rocket pack for extra momentum, the Autobot leapt about the inside of the cruiser, tackling Decepticons while blasting whom he could with his rifle at point-blank range. “Give me a hand or get us out of here, Sunstreaker.”

“What do you think I'm doing?” grumbled Sunstreaker. “The controls to the cruiser are smashed.” Somewhere between shooting the pilot and landing on the flight controls, Sunstreaker had caused some damage. Realizing regaining control of the cruiser was impossible, Sunstreaker abandoned the cockpit to help his brother. Running into the fight, Sunstreaker started trading blows with the Decepticons. “Any ideas on how we get out of this one?” He shouted.

“Yeah. Grab the micro-droid and let’s ditch this bash!” said Sideswipe as he shoved an elbow into his opponent’s face.

“Micro?” protested the Minibot. “I ain’t small and I ain’t no droid! Do you want to know who I am? I’ll tell you who I am!”

The Minibot was scooped off his feet when Sunstreaker grabbed him from behind, covering his mouth in the process. “Time to take the high road!” yelled Sunstreaker as he hit the emergency button to open the cruiser’s door.

As they had done hundreds of times before, Sideswipe would carry Sunstreaker to safety using his rocket pack. Sunstreaker hated being carried by his brother but knew that sometimes it had to be done. Taking the first step, Sunstreaker jumped out of the cruiser while the Minibot screamed in fear. Sideswipe quickly followed as the remaining Decepticons fired after him, trying to bring him down.

The Minibot didn’t stop screaming even when Sideswipe grabbed Sunstreaker, stopping their descent. Sunstreaker covered his mouth again and watched as the cruiser lost altitude. The cruiser exploded when it crashed into the ground, sending fire upwards along with debris. Though he cared little about the citizens of Kalis, Sunstreaker was happy the cruiser fell into an open area away from the citizens in the city streets.

Sunstreaker’s moment was interrupted when projectiles started flying past him. The second cruiser was chasing after them. “I don’t mean to be pushy, Sideswipe. But aerial target practice wasn't part of the mission’s parameters.”

“Ummm, Sunstreaker? We have a problem.”

“What?”

“My rocket pack took a hit,” Sideswipe had felt the impact when he jumped out of the cruiser. He hoped it wasn't serious but when he received internal systems warnings he knew the damage was critical.

Before Sunstreaker could say another word, the rocket pack started giving out. Slowly the engine began choking and the three robots began to descend until the thrusters spat out smoke and went offline.

All three fell somewhere into a cluster of ruined buildings and disappeared.

5 paracycles later…

The remaining Decepticon cruiser had searched the area for the Autobots and their target. They had even brought in reinforcements to assist in finding them. While the cruiser remained airborne, the reinforcements scoured the streets, looking for the trio, harassing everyone that could have seen them.

Bearing no results, the Decepticons reluctantly called it quits. Their troops regrouped, leaving Kalis behind without the Minibot they wanted to question and not knowing what happened to the Autobots.

As the last of the Decepticons left the city, a group of Empties against the wall watched them walk away while begging though who passed by for energon.

“It's about time,” Said Sunstreaker as he stood up. From his body fell old, worn-out tubes that he used to hide his appearance. The Empties he hid in between begged him for more energon. “Hey, I gave you all I had to help us hide. I’m all out.”

“Go easy on them, Streaker,” Said Sideswipe, joining his brother from the same hiding spot. Sideswipe had draped himself with scraps of wires wrapped around his body. In his arms, he held the Minibot. Since the little Cybertronian wouldn’t shut up, he was tied up and had his mouth gagged to keep him quiet as they hid. “Ok, the Cons are gone. Time to hit the road and take motormouth here back to base.” Said Sideswipe as he handed the Minibot to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker held the muffled Minibot away from himself as it protested. “Oh no. I ain’t carrying him back, in robot or alternate mode.”

Sideswipe removed his disguise just in time to catch the Minibot after Sunstreaker threw him back. “Ok, then what should we do? Put him on a line and drag him back?”

As the two brothers argued about the best way to return to base, the Minibot wished he never found the information either side could use for their efforts in the war. It had caused him too much trouble and nearly his life. But since the Autobots didn’t have a reputation for extracting information violently from those who held secrets, he figured he made the right choice.

… so long as these two idiots didn't get him killed on the way back to their base.

The End.

[digital-corruption]

Unrecognisable Part 50

As the sun began to set, Jake became restless. The normally calm, focused hacker was suddenly fidgety. He tried to hide his leg shaking underneath the desk, but it didn’t escape my notice. It seemed he was watching the clock even more closely than I was and time for us to leave for his first session was quickly approaching.

In preparation, I looked up the directions on how to get to the doctor’s office online as neither one of us had a working phone, and I wrote notes on a scrap piece of paper I found. Trying my hardest to burn the map into my memory, I took into consideration all of the likely busy intersections with high foot traffic and police presence. Obviously, we would want to avoid walking near the courthouse and other government related buildings. The office itself was in a four-storey building with other medical professionals in a rather dense high-end area of the city. Studying the satellite view, I noticed an alley behind the building. That would be our point of entry to avoid being seen.

With a plan in place, I stood up from my desk and went to get myself ready for going out. Afterwards, I reheated some leftovers for dinner and encouraged Jake to eat as well. Without saying a word, he reluctantly joined me in the cafeteria, but he spent most of the time pushing food around his plate rather than eating. However, once he realised I wasn’t being fooled by it, he started eating. I’m pretty sure my unimpressed glare gave away my feelings on the matter.

By the time we were leaving to visit Dr. Cumming’s office the night was in full swing. People dashed between work and their evening plans, which made moving incognito easier as everyone around us was in a rush to get somewhere. No one gave us a second glance. Had our faces already fallen from the public mind? Was the collective memory that short or were they that consumed with their lives that we didn’t even register in their consciousnesses? Still, we had our masks and hoods on, and avoided eye contact as best as we could.

It felt good though to be able to be amongst the crowds again. I wouldn’t have thought our isolation over the past week was so isolating when we were still in the middle of the city, but there was something to be said of blending in with everyday people, even if it was a guise. After all the craziness, it was reassuring to be part of society and civilisation. Like we weren’t such monsters after all. Like we had the same rights and privileges as anyone else around us. Like we were the same. As our train weaved back and forth, I imagined living a standard, average life where this was just par for course. A life where I didn’t have to fear for my life every day of the week or run at the sight of a cop. A life where I had consistently clean clothes and a roof over my head. Everything I took for granted in the past. I glanced at Jake standing beside me, casually in a protective stance over me while scanning the crowd for any potential threats. I couldn’t fathom giving him up just to have the luxuries of the past again. If you asked me whether I was willing to make all the same choices again with the knowledge I had gained, it would be yes every time.

As the train approached our station, I pulled out my notes to confirm the path again, but I kept them as a discrete, folded reference so it wasn’t too obvious that we weren’t familiar with the area. I felt like a kid again bringing sneaking notes in for a test, but I really didn’t want to draw attention to us. Jake noticed though and despite trying to hide his reaction, I could tell he was mocking me behind his mask. Still, he shifted his body to help me conceal my cheat sheet from prying eyes.

We exited the train station onto streets lined with niche cafes and quaint eateries. Cleo and Jessy would’ve had a field day trying to choose just one place to eat. I could almost hear them arguing over which option was best only to decide on visiting both, one for the main meal and the other for the dessert afterwards. Jake and I though, we didn’t fit in a posh neighbourhood like this. We stuck out like sore thumbs so we made haste through the area. As soon as we moved off the main road, I saw Jake noticeably relax. Perhaps the smell of overpriced hipster coffee started to get to him.

Around the next corner I spotted the building that housed Dr. Cumming’s office. It was a rather unassuming building with a plain, executive  concrete exterior. At the front there was an entrance to the underground parking lot beside a double glass door entry to the building. A couple of buildings before it was a narrow entrance to the alleys. Motioning to Jake, I took the lead and navigated us down the alleyway around some tight corners to the rear of the building. A metal chain-link fence wrapped around the bottom of the building, enclosing the parking garage. I peered in and could see it was mostly empty save one car. However, the fence was pristine with no gaps or holes. I started to think that maybe entering via the rear wasn’t going to be a feasible option without something to cut the fence, then Jake whistled to get my attention around the far corner of the building. There he had found a gate, but it only had an RFID electronic lock with no handle or keyhole. I put my hand on the gate and sure enough, it was firmly locked.  

“We’re not going to be able to enter this way unless you have a pair of bolt cutters on you,” I pointed out. “Now I’m wishing we kept those.”

Jake didn’t respond. He busily rummaged through his backpack, then pulled out a small handheld device. To the untrained eye, it looked like a portable game device, but after a couple of button pushes, the electronic lock beeped and clicked open.

“What?” I did a double take as I pulled the gate open.

“Bought it at a market,” Jake shrugged and shoved the device back into his backpack. “It mirrors RFID signals.”

“What kind of a market? Hacks R Us?” I teased.

“Something like that,” he smiled. “After you.”

Nervously, I entered the dank underground carpark. The lighting was shockingly bad with half of the fluorescent lights either not working or blinking erratically. Though it was nearly empty, it still felt like something or someone was lurking down there. If Jake had not been with me, I might have been inclined to leave and take my chances with the main entrance of the building. Jake though wasn’t even fazed by situation. He walked right past me towards a door at the far end of the garage. As I walked closer, I noticed the faded stepped line beside the door acting as a sign for the staircase. The door was unlocked, but the weight of it caught Jake by surprise. The knob slipped out of his hand, however he caught the door before it slammed closed.

“It’s heavy,” he warned as he held it open for me. “Which floor are we going to again?”

“Floor 3. Time to get our steps in,” I joked.

The concrete staircase was surprisingly well lit compared to the basement, and unlike every other staircase in the city, it didn’t smell like piss or vomit. How low had my expectations gotten? Still, after four flights of stairs, the door for floor 3 couldn’t come soon enough.

Feeling a little out of breath, we slowly stepped into the corridor, giving our heart rates a chance to settle. The hallway was rather barren with plain walls and doors for each office. Some had simple, single door entries with a small, look-through window and plain text signs simply with the specialist’s name and credentials. Others had more elaborate double glass door entries and pretentious signs, as if it made a difference in the doctor’s skills and abilities. For instance, the cardiologist had a floor-to-ceiling stock photo of a middle-aged couple smiling beside their entrance. That was an impressive amount of money spent considering it wasn’t like people normally window shopped for their specialists. I really had to fight the urge to draw curly moustaches on their  faces. You can imagine my relief that Dr. Cumming’s office had plain double doors with a reasonable sized window in each. No ridiculous advertising. No pretentious typeface.

Not surprisingly we found the office doors locked, but peeking through the windows, we could see that there was still light emanating from the slightly ajar door at the back of the reception area. The doctor was still there, catching up on his paperwork as he said he would be. I glanced at Jake. He stood back, hands in his pockets, and waited for me to take lead on the situation.

I let out a sigh and knocked firmly on the door, then waited with bated breath for a response. It seemed like an eternity, but after a couple of minutes, the door to the private office slowly opened. The light momentarily blinded me, but then I saw the doctor’s silhouette approaching us. He checked us out through the window, as if to confirm who we were. I started to feel nervous about the whole situation until the lock on the door clicked open. The doctor stepped away from the door and nodded. I glanced at Jake again. He was stoic and difficult to read, but when his eyes met mine, they seemed to express trust in my decision.

Nervously, my sweaty hand gripped the door knob and turned it cautiously. Opening the door felt like opening a gateway to another dimension. I stepped through first with Jake close behind. He pulled the door shut and locked it up again.

Meanwhile I glanced around the small, but typical reception area. There was an imposing wooden reception desk that had been fitted with acrylic screens bolted directly into the wood. The screens themselves had laser jet printed signs written in German cut out and taped to the screens. Given we were standing in a doctor’s office, I could only imagine the long words that looked like gibberish were referring to health insurance or doctor’s referrals. There were only six grey ergonomic seats, scattered in socially-distanced pairs around the room. On closer inspection, these were bolted to the floor. In the corner stood an old-school water cooler, breaking the silence with its mild rumble. It too was bolted to the wall. The walls featured geometric abstract paintings, which felt more like a modern take on the old Rorschach inkblots than actual artwork. I couldn’t help but wonder if they served an ulterior motive in the waiting room. Given how many objects in the room were bolted to prevent them from being used maliciously by patients, I had to assume the paintings too were secured. Just how violent were Dr. Cumming’s patients? Did he have a habit of choosing just the most disturbed cases or was provoking outbursts part of his method? Lilly had praised Dr. Cumming for helping Hannah so sincerely that I hadn’t given it any thought, but I started to have second thoughts.

“MC. Jake,” Dr. Cumming broke the uncomfortable silence. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Did you tell him?” Jake hissed.

“No, I assure you MC did not reveal your identities. Not intentionally at least,” the doctor spoke up before I could respond.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” I cut in quickly. “Especially given our public reputation.”

“Which Hannah tells me is a series of false accusations. I have to admit though that my curiosity of the situation may have persuaded me to make this most irrational decision,” the doctor admitted.

“Hannah? How is she?” I asked.

“As you know I cannot speak in detail of her situation, but given Jake is family, I can say we have been making progress, though the recent news concerning the two of you has made her very distraught,” the doctor explained. “That aside, I want to make myself very clear. You want my services, and I will provide them at nothing less than the full rate. Jake will be protected by doctor-patient confidentiality, but this does not cover any grievous crimes. I will be forced to report any murders, sexual offences or drug dealings.”

The way the doctor looked at us, he knew we had blood on our hands. I gulped instinctually, “Payment is not an issue, but I don’t understand, why would you agree to meet with us if you don’t trust us?”

“My work is in the interest of helping clients. Sometimes that includes helping clients come to terms with their past actions and guide them moving forwards. I regularly work with attorneys and the law to works towards better plea bargain arrangements with reduced prison sentences where appropriate or time in a facility until-,” he detailed.

“Neither of those is an option,” Jake interrupted.

“But you do not deny guilt,” Dr. Cumming commented.

“Dr. Cumming, Jake is being pursued by a corrupt, international political group that seek to silence him permanently. Holding him anywhere would be signing his death warrant,” I redirected the conversation. “Guilt or no guilt.”

“Is that so?” the doctor raised his head inquisitively as if he didn’t believe it. “Without knowing the full situation, I cannot give any recommendations at this time, but if Jake’s life is indeed endangered, then we must take that into account in our journey together. In coming here tonight, you’ve already taken the significant first steps and for that I commend you, Jake. Now if you would enter my office, let’s continue that positive movement.”

The doctor gestured to his private office for Jake to enter. I turned towards Jake. He clearly was still not sold on the situation. He looked at me and his expression softened. Sighing he walked towards the back office and went through the doorway with one last glance over his shoulder before disappearing from view.

“Please make yourself comfortable here,” Dr. Cumming waved around the waiting room. “But before we get started, is there anything you would like to tell me?”

“Um, no, I think it’s best for everything to come from Jake,” I shrugged as I sat down in a seat hidden from the front door.

“Then let me be more direct. Care to explain your bandages?” Dr. Cumming asked out of concern.

“Oh, uh, that’s a long story,” I replied nervously. “Wait, you think Jake caused these?”

“It would be irresponsible for me to overlook any bodily harm in either one of you,” the doctor explained.

“Jake didn’t do this! I did! No wait, let me explain. I was trying to save Jake. There was this fire, my hands were tied, and he was having an episode,” I tried leave out as much detail as possible.

“Your hands were tied? Was that consensual?” the doctor frowned.

“No. But no, Jake wasn’t the one that tied them! As I said it’s a long story,” I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was getting harder to keep the story brief.

Dr. Cumming paused for a moment while he took a moment to think. “The fire at the warehouse last night? You were there?”

“Oh, um, yes we were,” I responded nervously.

“Several bodies were found. Not all of them were burnt,” he frowned.

“You know about that?” I questioned. “I didn’t see that reported in the news.”

“My cousin is a coroner for the city,” he answered honestly. “She found the state of some of those bodies rather concerning.”

Conflicted, I burst out, “Those gangbangers had abducted Jake and were trying to force him to hack to get them money!”

“So you believe their deaths were justified?” he raised his eyebrow.

“They attacked me!” I exclaimed.

Dr. Cumming kept pushing, “Would you say you were outnumbered and in fear for your lives?”

I lowered my shoulders in relief that we had an understanding, “Yes.”

Dr. Cumming nodded then moved towards his private office. “Give us an hour.”

[naradivision]

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

Timeline

Age 0:

Born the second and last child to Enchu Kanata and Mayonaka Kanata, making Mamori Kanata his big sister.

Age 2:

His father strongly disagrees with his mother in regard to a certain matter.

His Mother becomes colder and pays less attention to him whenever she has a quarrel with her husband.

One time by chance, he heard his mother said he was such a pain in the neck out of rage and that carves a deep damage on the young boy’s heart.

Aside from his father who usually busy with work at his studio, his big sis is the only one who is always by his side.

Age 9:

Often gets picked on by the rowdy kids in his school because he is always seen clinging to his sister’s side, but the last time he winds up beating their leader to a bloody pulp after that foul-mouthed starts making fun of his big sis, making it all known and clear that he isn’t so ‘harmless’ as everyone thinks.

Feels very guilty afterwards and gets badly scowled. He promises his big sis not to use violence as the solution ever again.

Age 10:

After the quarrel surpasses their breaking point, his mother divorces his father and changes her name back to her maiden name, Komayaka ███████.

His mother decides to move out with her daughter back to her parents’ place which later on becomes the territory under Chuohku.

His older sister bids him a bitter farewell at the end of his 10th summer, already worsening the old wound in his heart.

His father begins his single-dad life raising him.

Becomes fascinated with his father’s work.

Age 13:

Somehow his sister stops contacting him.

To cope with loneliness, he tries learning to play guitar on his own.

Age 15:

Helps out at his neighbor’s grocery store and earns his first extra pocket money.

After observing how his father works on his project, he makes attempts to mix his favorite tracks in secret and sometimes shares them on the online platform

Gains his first fan who often encourages him to try various styles of music, sparking his love in making music even more, although that said fan is keeping their identity anonymous like other incognito users on the internet.

Sadly due to the nature of their tele-friendship, at some point he has lost touch with them. However, he believes that if he keeps making friends with others, then their paths will eventually intersect in one day.

Age 16:

Starts high school

Just before his 16th summer, butters up his courage showing a piece of melody that he wrote by himself to his father and hopefully asks him if he could add this new piece into his upcoming album, which his father happily agrees and brings it to his workplace, promising his only son that he’ll come back to celebrate his birthday with him.

A fire suddenly breaks out at the “Σummer sign” studio on one night at the beginning of his 16th summer —Or to speak more precisely; on his own birthday. The boy fell asleep while waiting for his dad without knowing that he will never coming back.

The police verify that the dead body they found is his father and sum up the case to be just another accident caused by his cigarette yet to be completely extinguished. This news rips his heart to shreds in the next morning, making him put the blame on himself that he is the reason his father had to stay late on that night.

With the forever absence of the band’s heart, his father’s band “Σummer sign” disbands afterwards.

Suddenly drops out due to the shock from his father’s demise.

Lives in his apartment all alone, throwing most of his time into getting more and more part-time work.

Seems to withdraw himself from music for a while as he becomes frustrated whether his love for music is actually his own liking or just because he wants to be close to his father.

Age 17:

Returns to school and repeats his first year after getting his circumstance set in stone.

While having nowhere to go after school, still finding himself stop at an unknown clubroom where he heard his father’s song being played and that’s the first time when he meets a senior who later invites him to join his music club.

Returns to music once again. At some point he is even open for commissions of mixing the audio for clients online.

Asks his senior to coach him on honing his guitar skills.

Succeeds to convince Takane Gunjou, the other student rumored to be the problematic dropout of his class, to come back to school.

Takane becomes his friend and soon joins in his club.

Age 19:

Present

His senior graduates, asking him to look after his club and the newcomers.

Encounters the gangsters trying to snatch away the mysterious package that was designated to Ajisai Residence. Discovers the three Hypnosis Microphone contained inside, together with a trapped Siamese kitten.

Decides to participate in Division Rap Battles alongside with Asahi Tomoharu and Saigo Fuyugami, as the leader of Nara Division “Miraitabi”

Temporarily takes the kitten into his team’s care, naming her “Ojou-chan”.

Comes across Gentaro Yumeno during his field trip at Shibuya. After exchanging a few talks, he starts to doubt that the writer has known something about his father.

Asks Takane to be the new president of their club instead of himself

Meets ANGE, the enigmatic cyber girl who reveals herself that she has been pirated in his house’s electrical system, and establishes some agreement with her in order to let her stay at his place for the time being.

Meets the suspicious guy named Asebi Minazuki who introduces himself as his father’s old friend —Finding out later that he is actually a celebrity who has just returned from his mysterious hiatus 2 years ago.

Finally graduates from High School and starts attending the university in the department of ‘Music Production’.

Asebi introduces him to Unkai Haruka, the professional audio engineer of 怪陸 Production, and somehow succeeds in coercing convincing the misanthropic musician to accept him as his apprentice.

Starts an unofficial internship at the said agency.

With much of ANGE’s pestering, is planing to learn more about other instruments.

Debuts an indie unit “Sunflower & Sea anemone” together with ANGE.

Schedule

12 p.m. - 1 p.m.:  Work on the tracks

1 a.m. - 7:10 a.m.:  Asleep

7:10 a.m. - 7:30 a.m.:  Freshens up and gets dressed 

7:30 a.m. - 8:20 a.m.:  Grabs something to eat or makes breakfast 

8:20 a.m. - 8:30 a.m.:  Drops Ojou-chan at Asahi’s shop 

8:30 a.m. - 9 a.m.:  On his way to the university 

9 a.m. - 12 p.m.:  At class

12 p.m. - 1 p.m.:  Lunchtime 

1 p.m. - 4 p.m.:  At class

4 p.m. - 7 p.m.:  Part-time jobs / Given task by his mentor

7:00 p.m. - 7:15 p.m.:  Bikes to Ajisai Residence

7:15 p.m. - 9 p.m.:  Dinner and spends time with the rest of his team 

9 p.m. - 9:15 p.m.:  Bikes back to his apartment with Ojou-chan

9:15 p.m. - 9:30 p.m.:  Showers 

9:30 p.m. - 12 a.m.:  Free time / Work on the tracks

Character Hashtags

Regular Hashtags

#Nara boy at your service

#Best wishes

#Utattemita

Trauma Hashtags

#Home alone

#I’m fine just a bit tired

#Fleeting like the summer dream

Other Info

Hobbies: Has many… but ones of those involve making music and organizing his place

Weaknesses: Self-critism

Trauma: “No matter how hard I try, those whom I love so dearly were all fading away from my life.”

Social Media: @summer4yuu

Drinks: Can I pass?

Smokes: Hell no–

Special Skill: “I’d like to assume my adaptability in singing or DIY-ing things, but somehow my friends insist that my greatest forte is just being my usual me —WHAT”

Intro Quote: “Hello there, welcome to Nara! The weather looks nice today, doesn’t it?”

Trauma Quote: “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Maybe everything is just my fault for hoping a little bit too much...!”

Ending Quote: “Ah, it’s summer again —Make sure you don’t get lost this time!”

[brandyschillace]

A lurker comes clean:

I have had a tumblr for years. But I didn’t post; I just followed and enjoyed the ride. I didn’t use my own name, either; it was nice to have an incognito location to de-stress and ‘fan’ things (#GoodOmens, #ofmd, #mandalorian, etc). But I grew to really enjoy this community and to look forward each day to interacting… so I decided it was time to actually put a photo of myself on here:

Hi. It’s me. I write things. Nonfiction and murder mystery fiction and articles for WSJ, SciAm, Wired, etc.

Fun facts:

I grew up in an underground house next to a cemetery (with a pet raccoon)

I’m a historian of death, medicine, and science. Not surprising, probably, considering number 1.

Favorite fiction authors include Stephen Gallagher, Alex Grecian, @neil-gaiman and Ngaio Marsh.

I run the Peculiar Book Club (variety show with authors + FB group and book club)

I was once locked in a basement bunker ‘private museum’ behind a bank vault door, to see a collection of gynecological medical equipment and a walrus skull. And that’s not the weirdest place I’ve been.

More about me: https://brandyschillace.com

[bitcoinversed]

How To Buy Bitcoin Anonymously

So you want to buy Bitcoin anonymously, but all the exchanges keep asking you for your passport or address?

The first thing many of us learn is that, contrary to popular belief, Bitcoin isn’t inherently incognito. Your name might not be shouting out from your Bitcoin addresses, but there’s this inevitable intersection where our digital adventures meet cold, hard cash.

That’s where things can get a tad bit personal.... Read More

[osamu-jinguji]

My favorite books in Feb-2023 - #14 The Brain: The Story of You – October 6, 2015 by David Eagleman (Author) Locked in the silence and darkness of your skull, your brain fashions the rich narratives of your reality and your identity. Join renowned neuroscientist David Eagleman for a journey into the questions at the mysterious heart of our existence. What is reality? Who are “you”? How do you make decisions? Why does your brain need other people? How is technology poised to change what it means to be human? In the course of his investigations, Eagleman guides us through the world of extreme sports, criminal justice, facial expressions, genocide, brain surgery, gut feelings, robotics, and the search for immortality. Strap in for a whistle-stop tour into the inner cosmos. In the infinitely dense tangle of billions of brain cells and their trillions of connections, something emerges that you might not have expected to see in there: you. This is the story of how your life shapes your brain, and how your brain shapes your life. Review Nature "An ideal introduction to how biology generates the mind.... structured around crucial and wide-ranging questions, saturated with per- sonal and social relevance. And Eagleman’s answers are consistently clear, engaging and thought-provoking." Brian Eno "David Eagleman's wide-ranging roundup of the current state of knowledge about the brain is concise, accessible and often very surprising. It's a strange new world inside your head.” Stephen Fry "David Eagleman’s The Brain its an astonishing read. On every page there is a revelation so fantastic as to make one gasp. It would be impossible to take in if we didn’t all possess that impossibly extraordinary thing, a brain. Eagleman comes closer than anyone to solving the mystery of how to find the self inside the grey electric mush between our ears.” Ruby Wax "David Eagleman makes it easy to comprehend the most complex collection of cells in the Cosmos - our brain. If neuroscience had a rock legend this would be him.” About the Author David Eagleman is a neuroscientist at Stanford University, an internationally bestselling author, and a Guggenheim Fellow. He is the writer and presenter of The Brain, an Emmy-nominated PBS/BBC television series that asks what it means to be human from a neuroscientist's point of view. Eagleman’s research encompasses time perception, vision, synesthesia, and the intersection of neuroscience with the legal system. He is the author of many books, including Livewired, Sum, Incognito, The Brain, and The Runaway Species. Dr. Eagleman appears regularly on National Public Radio and BBC to discuss both science and literature.

[nutsandlightningbolts]

Intersection Incognito

@nimbasah

The Nimbasah Tech Convention was one that drew people in worldwide, and Clemont, at least this year, was no exception to that. The young man had attended a few years prior, but found his experience and bit more difficult to navigate than he’d anticipated, both literally and figuratively.

As it turned out, being an inventor brought him a certain level of fame amongst the type of people that attended said conventions. He knew this to a degree, even having been invited to host a panel on Independent Technology Development on that first year he’d came and went. He didn’t anticipate, however, the swarms of people who professed themselves as fans slowing his every advance around the convention hall, preventing him for the experience of actually getting to see and observe some of the demonstrations and booths that he’d hoped he would’ve.

“If this is what being a celebrity is like, I can do without it…”

That was what he’d said after he left after that disastrous tour of the centre years ago, but this time, he had a plan, albeit, a simple one.

He’d dragged out of his old closet, a gray hoodie and track pants, threw the hood up over his head, wore a pair of prescription sunglasses over his eyes in favour of his usual pair of glasses and strolled into the main atrium.

No one was the wiser, at least not yet.

It felt odd having to take measures like this, since he, for the better of part of his life, felt like he toiled in obscurity. However, as much as he was glad that his name had made inroads in certain parts of the population, namely among those attending events like these, he had honestly preferred the idea of being able to stroll around freely without worry of being detected by someone who could or would blow his cover by asking for something as inane as an autograph.

“So far so good…” he mumbled to himself, making a stride down towards the personal electronics section of the expo.

For the moment, he managed to blend in. Or at least, he thought he was…

[kor-ee-an-door]

I have too many DickKory WIP from when I used to write fanfiction, but one particular storyline is very interesting and I have thousands of words of dialogue in this storyline that I'm probably never going to finish so I wanted to write down the outline here because DickKory works so well for comic books and it's a shame that DC writers are unimaginative.

The story was originally set during the Titans Vol 1 era so when Kory returned to Earth for the first time after she and Dick separated, but a few months into the new team dynamics and them trying to learn how to act around each other as exes for the first time, but honestly, it would work at any time as long as Dick's in Blüdhaven.

Kory comes to Blüdhaven incognito, needing Dick's help as Nightwing and as a detective, but not offering much else. Whatever they need to discuss, it has to be there and it has to be between them strictly.

Kory being so tight-lipped is strange for Dick and him having to get used to this new version of her is strange, and adds another layer of tension, but he knows it's mutual. If they want to move forward, they have to get used to the fact that they don't know everything about each other anymore (this is the angst part, not crucial to the story but because of the timeline I set it originally, things are tense).

Upon arriving, Kory explains that she was contacted by a family in Blüdhaven whose daughter went missing. They can't contact the police because they're refugees from another planet, and the police can't know.

Then we learn that there is a neighbourhood in Blüdhaven that is made up of alien refugees that have been operating for decades. With so many things happening in the city, the neighbourhood was able to grow unnoticed, held up by different groups operating on Earth that Dick does not know, and no other hero or government does either.

They asked Starfire because she is well known in their system, as "The Princess Who Escaped The Citadel" but also because of her involvement with other factions in space when she was away from Earth. They know that she is a Titan, but they asked this to be kept only with her. It was Kory who asked to involve Nightwing because he is a good detective and he can be trusted.

So they set off to look into the neighbourhood and talk to the family of the girl. Dick looks into the personal belongings of the missing person while Kory talks to the family. The community has one leader who seems to be monitoring their exchanges, Dick especially.

The detective parts of the storyline which look into this normal teenager is juxtaposed with the dialogue of the family, which adds the space elements and realities to the story like the technology they use to disguise themselves, the girl's past and actions etc.

The family is concerned, not only for the safety of the girl but for the safety of the community if she is discovered.

We learn a bit more about the Elder of the family, who brought the children from the warzone of her planet after a conflict left their system ravaged and she escaped with a group of orphan children who were in her care. She is overjoyed by being able to have one more person with whom to speak her mother tongue, the language all but forgotten now.

After some discussion, the community leader tells them that there is something else as well, something they didn't know how to tell the family in their current state. He takes them to an abandoned building a little outside the neighborhood which the local kids use for fun sometimes. Everything seems like the usual mess in there, all but one small pool of dark blue inky stain that is unassuming to anyone who doesn't know what it really is: blood.

And that's about the end of issue one! This is a lot of information anyways, but I want to see more mystery in comic books these days and Dick and Kory live in this intersection that I think would make a lot of things possible, creatively speaking.

The rest of the story kind of goes into them working as a team, dealing with their emotions and the uncomfortable reality they have to face now thay they are not together so there is some fighting as well, but more fighting because of unresolved romantic tension than not. I had the chapters mapped out somewhere, but at the end of it, this is my quiet fuck you to all the editors who thought Kory and Dick couldn't work in the others' genre.

[thenamesblurrito]

give it up for ask dump six

desperately trying to keep my inbox under 30 so i don’t feel so overwhelmed that i end up answering none of them at all. there’s a few food asks i’m working on too but the art isn’t done so have some pure text answers instead.

this is a loooong one folks, buckle in! answered asks include hovering/parkour, heroes working out combo moves, everyday uses for powers, heroes and junkers, marketing and merch featuring heroes, banishment, Cybertronian workers’ rights, secret tunnels, funerary practices, poison immunity, and repair nanites

it depends on a person’s frame. usually, flightframes can only hover a little bit, depending on the strength of their thrusters, placement, and how much lift they can add with their wings and kibble. really powerful frames can get maybe half their height above ground? and hovering won’t stop a fall, but it’ll certainly slow it to a safer degree. (this is not applicable to hovering quintoid frames, who’s entire ambulation depends on hovering a bit off the ground. they can’t get very high, but they can sustain it for ages.) and then there are the rarer “exotic” rotor winged frames, like Windblade, who are actually capable of real, if ungainly, flight in root mode! the combination of thruster and rotor generates enough lift to fly a bit even when poorly balanced and unaerodynamic in root mode. it’s more difficult and dangerous than in alt mode, but still! flight!

parkour really just depends on an individual’s strength, flexibility, and derring-do, just as with human parkour. Cybertronian cities have much taller, wider, and more strangely shaped buildings than human cities, so there’s a much different playground to wander through. partial transformations and taking advantage of kibble are probably staples of mech parkour. i don’t think i know enough about it to expound further

yes! it’s hard for me to verbally describe, but i don’t have time or energy to draw any of it right now so this will have to do. there’s more than these ofc but they’re just quick examples

the Elite Guard are, of course, the best at these, since literally part of their relic-given powers is teamwork. Elitas 1 and 4 always swoop in to give an extra boost with wind or gravity, Elita 2 is really good at spraying explosive energon crystal spears right where they’ll intersect with Elita 5′s flames and blow up, Elita 3 provides just the right metallic terrain for Elita 4 to bounce around and hit enemies, and Elitas 1 and 5 can create fiery tornadoes with ease

the rest of the factions aren’t quite as good, but there’s some! Rodimus and the Mistress of Flame have gotten good at using his fire and her skill to reforge their environment on the fly, and Cheetor will use both Ultra Magnus and Optimus as convenient springboards. Thunderblast often takes advantage of Cyclonus’s teleporting to send a blast of energy exactly where she wants it to go, Triptych creates ice boulders for Scourge to hit like golfballs at targets, and, while unintentional, hearing both Hellscream and Galvatron yell at the same time is pretty incapacitating. Sixshot is pretty adept at working with Airachnid to tangle up an enemy in her cabling, and Abominus is immune to Soundwave’s sonic blasts and can actually be used to ricochet the sound

PFPFFGHTHT somebody pops over to Six Lasers Over Cybertron to ride a rollercoaster as a full on magical vigilante i’m wheezing

so, just casually hanging out in hero form is difficult, because they are very much publicly branded as violent insurgent gang members in the middle of a turf war to take over Iacon and spread anarchy. whether or not the average citizen believes this varies, but if a hero is spotted, Enforcers are usually called. either because the heroes themselves are dangerous, or they only turn up when something else even more dangerous is going on. they’re hounded by the media too, so just hanging around is kind of impossible unless they want to be crowded/and or constantly flee crowds, and going incognito is pretty difficult since they’re so visually different from normal folks. the Autobots usually end up escaping to Simfur to experiment with their hero forms, and the Decepticons have found a big broken space in the undergrid of the city that they haunt. the Elite Guard don’t need a secret base, and the Predacons have mostly eschewed this too.

that said, many of them do take time to do small random acts of kindness when they’re around. the aforementioned fetching cats out of trees, for example. but since powering up is usually a big to-do and being in hero form attracts a Lot of attention, it’s actually easier to find everyday uses for powers when not powered up! power levels in kid form vary, and it also takes them awhile to figure out some of them can summon their physical relic, but there are definitely uses. perhaps the most dramatic use is Minimus casually manipulating the weather. it’s a little impractical, and has almost no practical use by defending the school or something, but... the feeling of a vast storm swirling around outside, while he sits in the middle of it and feels each lightning bolt strike exactly where he knew it would, and each gust whipping between buildings as if it were his own breath? it’s just. appealing. (Orion and Windblade are happy he’s starting to think of this power as his, instead of some great burden to carefully bear only when he must. but, maybe keep the thundering down on nights before big tests?)

heroes and junkers actually have a very interesting relationship where they both kind of pretend not to see the other group, because the other could get them in major trouble. related to the above answer, junkers are some of the few people who won’t chase or report the heroes on sight out of fear and/or admiration. they know very well not to bother another person trying to hide and won’t harass them. and heroes, even though they’re sort of Iacon’s most wanted, could still do a lot of damage to junker communities by reporting where they are and what they’re doing. there’s an element of silent mutually agreed “look the other way”

that said, they don’t literally ignore each other! the Decepticons spend a lot of time in their “territory” as it were and are on pretty good terms with the junkers that live in their general vicinity, like Terminus. in fact, Thunderblast seems to think of him as a pretty valuable ally for some reason, even entrusting him with parts of plots. the Autobots have found an effective way to get the school into lockdown to protect the students is to first go to Wreck-Gar, and he often has some Interesting news off the street with which to warn them. Elita 2 realized she can quickly and easily prevent them from starving by finding energon for them, and will often make time to seek out a junker or two to dump a haul of stolen crystal in their arms, and the rest of the Elite Guard follow her lead

however. none of them actually make it their mission to seek out and uplift junkers or regularly provide for their basic needs. junkers aren’t really lacking for housing in Iacon, since so much of the undergrid is dilapidated and unpopulated, making it good shelter for junkers, but they have other needs that go unmet. many of the heroes figure it’s sort of a losing battle, as the system is set up against them and a few factions, however supernaturally powerful, cannot help everyone forever. so the junkers, as well as other institutionally oppressed groups, sort of slip through the cracks of their priorities. even Nightracer falls into the trap of trying to elevate herself above her fellow junkers as Thunderblast to become “better” somehow. and this oversight of marginalized people is a major catalyst for the formation of the Predacons. the few of them can’t do much, ultimately, but they still make a point of helping. Sixshot carves out access tunnels and breaks barriers for them to navigate through. Airachnid actively hunts down Enforcers seeking junkers. Abominus brings fuel and other practical resources. they can’t actually save/provide for every single junker, but they deliberately do their part to shore up the community

HA that’s one way to put it! yes, some of them do, although given the above bit about how they’re, uh, wanted figures, it’s not like they have the time or freedom to sign a contract, star in an ad, or become a spokesperson for a brand. you try to get a hero in a film set with a script, Enforcers will knock your door down to arrest them before you can even set up the cameras. even stickers will burn right off once the hero powers down, so that’s temporary at best. and any payment for this can’t be accepted, because the heroes have no bank accounts, and their physical money is inherently digitally tracked, so even powered down kids can’t use it without giving themselves away

the usual deal works out a bit like use of a public figure’s image. a manufacturer/marketing/merchandise company representative will try to flag down the hero’s attention during one of their random appearances, ask if their image can be used in art/merch/advertising/what have you, and the hero either consents or refuses. the smarter ones make sure a nearby news broadcast is recording the conversation, as a form of accountability in lieu of a legally signed contract. sometimes they can negotiate for payment to be donated to a local charity or victims of the latest supernatural disaster instead of being paid to the hero. manufacturers of merch will often publicly give some pieces to the heroes as a form of advertising, and a few of them really like this

Optimus, Missy, Rodimus, Cheetor, Elitas 1, 4, and 5, Hellscream, Scourge, Thunderblast, Drift, and Sixshot have all consented to their images being used, although only Optimus, the Elitas, Scourge, and Sixshot were smart enough to very clearly specify the limits of this usage. (to be fair to Missy, she was in the middle of stabbing Hellscream, so she was a bit distracted. and Hellscream was of course in the middle of being stabbed) Ultra Magnus said no, full stop, Galvatron declined to answer by railing against the commercialization of social justice movements for half an hour, Cyclonus just stared silently at the ones who ask until they’re intimidated enough to leave, Triptych gives exclusively non-answers, Elita 2 somehow manages to never give anyone opportunity to ask her, Elita 3 refused outright, Abominus turns around and leaves when asked, Airachnid shoos the asker like a pest, and Soundwave makes his own merch. somehow. there is of course stuff made without their consent, but it’s technically bootleg (like how there are official Hasbro Transformers toys, and then the not-actually-Transformers by other manufacturers that are Clearly this character with a fake name)

so the difference between execution and banishment is, you definitely know the status of the person you execute, but not the one you banish. execution isn’t for justice, it’s for spectacle and fear. banishment doesn’t do that, although it does remove undesirables from society in a way. i mention this in these theoretical Junkion ideas, but it’s far too easy to lose track of someone out in the huge expanse of space. what you’re imagining is precisely what the people in power do not want to happen! they already have the unruly colony of Carcer that grew out of a prison planet, they don’t want another one! you might think that shooting someone off into empty space to wander forever without resources or the ability to contact anyone is a death sentence, but mecha are inventive and resilient, and it’s best not to risk it. the closest you’ll get is sentence to indentured servitude out in a satellite or space station, but even then there’s a risk that someone will slip their bonds and catch a ship with some spacers who don’t care for laws

this was a really interesting question to think about. there’s a few levels to this.

Cybertronians are pretty strong and durable in some ways, but in other ways have some hard limitations. it depends on individual frametype and specs, so each person has their own safety rules, as it were. a flightframe doesn’t really need a tether to work on the tip top of a tower, because if they’re blown off they can just transform and fly back. but that same flightframe could never work in or under water. vice versa for an aquatic frame. so instead of OSHA-style standardized safety regulations made universally required across the board, each individual will have medically and practically determined requirements written into their file. their boss cannot ask or command them to do something outside those requirements, as doing so would be violating their function. that’s not to say there aren’t ways to exploit/cajole someone beyond their boundaries, but it’s a legal AND cultural no-no in functionism, because function is just as much about what someone cannot do as what they can do. (this unfortunately doesn’t cover workplace abuse like emotional or physical abuse, as that isn’t part of a function, just interpersonal relationships.) that said, there have absolutely been instances where, especially with government-led projects, something dangerous or ill advised was still greenlit, and they simply put the undesirables on the job, like beastformers. “disposable” in the face of a greater goal

and also, this isn’t a capital-driven society! there are far fewer instances of reckless practices designed exclusively to generate and hoard wealth, instead society is supposed to be a well oiled machine with every part working perfectly together, and cutting corners would not fit. there’s a form of faux-UBI in place, where everyone is assigned energon rations according to their need and function, doled out by the government, and often housing is also assigned. (obviously junkers are excluded from this, because they have failed their function and thus don’t deserve the resources given out to uphold functions.) disposable income can be gained and used, sure, but wealth will not change your class or function. getting a different function requires proving yourself more capable in a different area, which has nothing to do with money. bribery and greed and fraud all exist, but not in the same capital-centric model we have here. this is one of the reasons functionism is so terrible yet pervasive, because in theory it meets a lot of needs and pushes people towards their best selves

unions aren’t really a thing? there are function communities, to the point where major functions actually have guilds, political sway, even sitting senators like Pharma. they determine what exactly falls within their function, subfunctions, variations, regulations, etc. but it’s more of a governmental department than a workers’ group. if workers were to strike, they’d simply find people with a frametype to fit this function and bring them in, whether or not they still work in their assigned function. a strike would likely result in a lot of criminals under indentured servitude... or junkers. so it’s happened before, and it might even force some changes if enough people strike, but it’s Much harder and so it isn’t an established thing like it is here

oh there are plenty! they are in fact a natural feature of Cybertron’s geography and extend all the way to the core of the planet! if you look at the cross section here, you can see how every chunk of land is just a huge stack of strata squished together. those blue lines threaded throughout are natural structures like tunnels honeycombed between layers, scaffolding and labyrinthine supports, leylines and crystal seams, organically formed roads or superhighways, enormous cave systems like the Argon Sea, or faults where strata layers have misaligned or buckled. in some places, the layers at the surface of the planet, not compressed by miles of material on top of them, have lifted upwards like the pages of a well-used paperback, creating huge overhangs and caves. civilization on Cybertron has always been subsurface just as much as surface dwelling. Simfur was underground even before it was sundered, Kaon doesn’t just have pits, it’s inside pits, and plenty of other cities are built partially or fully inside natural and/or excavated layer structures. never too deep, as that’s both incredibly dangerous and disrespectful to Vector Sigma, but there are plenty of mecha who don’t regularly see the sun as the majority of their lives are spent underground. even cities built aboveground are often huge and towering enough to have their own literal underworld, like Iacon’s undergrid

so while the existence of planet-wide tunnels and substructures is hardly a secret, there are certainly people who take advantage of them or even make their own to use as hidden paths and secret passages. smugglers and black market dealers like Shadowstriker certainly make regular use of them off the beaten path as it were, despite the danger of sudden shifts, floods, or collapse

it depends on local culture ofc, Cybertron is politically one united whole but culturally a whole mess of different people groups, but disposal of the body is usually the same across the board. there are sinkholes and acidic marshes across Cybertron that function as a sort of “intake” for the living planet, basically the inverse of a hotspot, and these are used as what we might think of as landfills. specific material is sorted out and filtered into designated areas, and usually there will be an area for disposal of living waste. a body will be given back to Cybertron/recycled into Vector Sigma. the same is true for most of the colonies, who have fewer natural landfills like this but use them similarly. junkers, unless they live close to one of these that they can easily sneak into, generally find the deepest/most hidden parts of their cities and entomb their dead there, hoping that the corpse will find its way into the circle of recycling eventually

(some particularly arrogant upper class folks believe they’re important and amazing enough to be preserved after death, formerly-living statues to be memorialized and admired for who they were in life. while this has been a practice on-and-off in various cultures for awhile, it usually shows up as mausoleums lined with dead and honored family members, instead of literally a prettified corpse propped up in a public square or company building. it’s kind of gross and unsettling, but at least not unsanitary. there’s enough of them now that it’s not uncommon to see them in high class sectors, but still weird. it’s been going on since the Stratocracy began, mostly only in northern city-states like Iacon, Altihex, Protihex, and Praxus. Jhiaxus, founder of the Academy, was actually one of these who had his body preserved as a statue, but the corpse is tucked away somewhere so the student body doesn’t have to stare at it)

the actual funerary rites differ by culture. Iaconian tradition dictates waiting until the corpse has greyed completely, then holding a solemn service with friends and family. Tarnish people hold a party in memory, painting themselves with the colors of the deceased, and Kaonic funerals are very similar, strung with lights the color of the dead’s optics and biolights. in the city of Vos there’s often a beautiful flight procession escorting the body down to be buried, and Urayan mourners will donate a meaningful personal object to be put to rest with the dead. Tyger Paxians and Hydraxish, surrounded by the Rust Sea, find it fitting to lay their deceased down in the rusts that always sought to kill them, whereas Crystal City citizens ornament the dead with the gorgeous crystals they were surrounded by in life. junkers vary wildly depending on where they are and how they survive, but they’re famous for their secret, furtive funerals and low mourning songs, often finding it more important to visit where the deceased liked to go in life rather than where they died. Velocitron holds a celebration of life instead of mourning the death, whereas Caminus has ritualized three-to-five day shutdowns for the friends and family to do nothing but grieve. Carcer can’t have a funeral without an awful lot of booze and fifty or so uninvited guests, Devisiun often holds onto the corpse until a sibling, partner, or other family member has died so they can all be laid to rest together, and some places in Eukaris actually break the body into pieces to be recycled in different areas

(the post this is referring to)

FFJGHDF yea it’s possible! that’ll be an amateur attempt at murder, because a truly responsible killer would do their research and/or select a poison universally deadly. i don’t have the brainpower to come up with any right now. venom from mechanimals would be a good bet, as they’re specifically designed to take down other technological prey, instead of gambling on one substance or another just so happening to be toxic to a certain individual. or maybe figure out if they’re allergic to something and expose them to it

(the post this is referring to)

internal nanites are usually locked to one person, yeah. maybe between twins and close trines it’s possible. because repair nanites are hardcoded with the body’s natural frame layout, inserting them into another frame means they’d do the wrong sort of repair work. almost analogous to a cancerous growth, they’d try and “repair” the body they’re inside to become the body they came from. that’s an entirely different horror story than this vampire idea!

now, nanites other than internal repair nanites can be shared. paint nanites are easy to donate, as they can be easily reprogrammed by the frame, and someone with a “skin disorder” can try paint donations from healthy donors to get their own paint in line. the color will shift over to their own natural colors in a few days as the nanites adhere to the armor and are reprogrammed. “digestion” nanites, ie the ones inside a mech’s self repair forges that sort out ingested materials for use, could possibly be transferred, as they aren’t doing the repair, just the sorting that comes before the repair. but transfer of body parts in general is rare, as it’s often SO much easier to use sentio metallico, artificial additives and boosts to the natural repair system, and/or manually tool a part to be inserted and assimilated

[captainkurosolaire]

Battle Architect

The mighty sorcerer warped now his favorite go-to Voidal Relic, the worst one, The Scroll of the Twelve. He navigated his digit to true decimation, this trifling lot, couldn’t comprehend what unfathomably spell he foreknew and could invoke. Under the extent raging battle. Shiro managed to retrieve himself close enough to scoot into Captain and pull out from the Seeker’s pocket his chained pocket-watch, which if carried recent enough could date injuries to time and be used to personally rewind them upon a once activation. He couldn’t go too far, only enough to deal with the most recent grievous wounds. But it was better than anything to keep them as many in the fight of their lives. That last pommeling Captain would’ve either sustained his death or regardless been out of commission. The hour hand’s began spinning at Shiro’s responsive aether who was proficient in time-magick, but couldn’t stop time after losing much of his full arsenal to the lecherous resurrection, even Diamond Ice was scarce for him to use.  Breathe regained into the lung’s of Captain and injuries minute’s ago dissolved. As his amber came forth and he looked stunned, hasking for air, looking dismayed. “Shiro…” He had been once mend like this before by the same source very long-ago. But that’s because Noble and Pirate both shared a similar woman’s interest who coaxed them to fight against the Sea Civilization Empire. “Don’t…” Scowling not wanting to be thanked. He loathed that not only Captain but his entire Crew was sacrificing themselves seemingly all for him. That’s so damaging to pride… To be so weak. “Wait, that's Judas? ...He’s like a completely different person, I knew he could survive th’ Eternal Sona Flower. But t’ remain himself… Incredible…” He once required using Relic's petal’s for desperate measures but inevitably, that brought the ruling demise of his former Chef, and dearest Xaelic matey, Masao.  Both their feline ear’s began hearing a bone chilling spell beginning to utter suddenly, “OH NO!” Shiro said horrified aside Mhachi cell’s and Kuro also ingrained deep influenced cell’s of vein coursing Amadapori. Heard the beginning of it and felt their bodies about to explode from their very existence, unlike the damage they risked bringing all nature and forms, throughout all their lifetime they were being judged. It’s what brought an end to their better ancestors and ended the most notorious War. Silv’a flavoring salivated this conclusion. “GREEN…--” Captain burst aloud, “IF HE PERFORMS THAT WE’RE DONE!” Any of the remaining Crew if had consciousness felt the same sentiment but unable to vocalize. “WRA-” On the tip of Silv’a’s tongue about to use the most indomitable destructive spell, Greenwrath. Atypically that wouldn’t have been fearful to all them but because of the Scroll, every nature or ethical law behind spell change codes or loosened restrictions previous base on emotional stress. With Silv’a’s hefty Umbral alignment of multiple aspects feasted on, it would’ve been potent enough to take out the people of this room with complete mass-purge. Each Goldbrand and Noble head’s count of them would be worth many, many years accelerated typically on the wielder invoking Scroll, but Silv’a’s ageless body negated it all. Out of the entire selection that spell was among the worst. Soon as the sorcerer however moved his index finger enough over to the second-half after ‘a’ in ‘wrath’ a massive explosion blew up over him. Piercing eardrums and shoving people back from the magnitude. A trip wire. Judas planted every single movement earlier and his cowardice acts as previously stated, they were all intended. Each of them carefully maneuvering and shifting. Each feint, they were meant to loop and coil nearly-fully invisible aetheric fiber string wires.  From the bottom hilt’s of his dirk’s carried them, to his mere finger tips, in the middle of rushing when his hand’s swayed, he was meticulously cutting redundant wire’s to intersect over and over.

This resulted in a spider-web-like response. Combining various string was also an added strategic level of his intelligence. Not only did he have overlapping wires, some were facades. It explained that when Silv’a tried to remove himself from in a leap, he was prevented because he was entangled from below legs. But that wasn’t all either. It was his entire upper torso and arms to every individualistic finger. The aetheric nature he could do many things, using the wind aspect he could reposition at any point even already served purpose wire’s that were destroyed or needed realigning to prevent suspicions. The First Crewmate abundantly stood by his entire body was also suffering extensive linked injuries and cut’s that weep over into his clothes. Each wire he connected on himself meant he needed to account for the range between his target. Agony creeping over his visage and heaving breath formed. To hide such overwhelming power from the surface was a feat beyond many tricksters. But he was the best poker face. Last drifting scrap of parchment of that Scroll was unusable charcoal turning into ash from the flammagentius cloud of debris the explosion created. Detonation wires were scarcely Judas’s usage. His big-attack was all or nothing. It cost him to aetherial tether interlacing wire’s to his own heart, taking a severe toll on his life-span. Bloody drenched. Shiro and Kuro looked at each other… “I don’t believe it… He did it!” Disbelieving emotions were so confused, they went from drastically feeling inevitable dread they felt their spirit’s practically lift out of them. Only to feel a stun of amazement. Captain always knew compared to his own self that Judas possessed ahead of his time techniques, trickster inspiring abilities and sheer intelligence that far many underestimated. Even when Captain battled against the Hyur as ‘Bellum’ he wasn’t fighting in his normal style to remain incognito with his dedication, changing his style to adopt personas, a lot the Seeker learned from this prodigy. This hellish nightmare felt unthinkingly over. There didn’t appear to be any traces left as the dusting cloud began to dissolve.                          (Previous) << (Voidal Relics) >> (Next)

[vanmccannonlyfans]

Your a leo too, righ? What do you think of all the talk about van and his personality?

yes! i think something a lot of people don't get about astrology is that it's more than just your sun sign, and placement and aspects are both really important in giving a full, nuanced picture of one's personality and life. think about how benji and bondy are also leos, but they all have such different personalities! this is how natal chart comes into play.

however! we do now that van is a virgo moon, so considering the interplay of his sun and moon can give us some broad level ideas about him.

your sun sign represents your identity, the energy you put out into the world, who you are at your core--that's why people are always joking about how van is such a leo, since his brash, outgoing, confident side is so tangible! solar leos are also intensely creative and love children, which are both things we know about van!

decans are the division of your sun sign--each sign has 3 decans and they can provide a deeper understanding of what ~flavor~ of your sun you are. decans are approximate, and some say aug 1 is 1st decan, while others say it's 2nd. i could honestly see van going either way: 1st decan leos are what we think of as "stereotypical" leos--prideful, glorious, charming, energetic--while 2nd decan leos are optimistic, the center of attention, dreamers, highly ambitious. something interesting about 2nd decan leos is that they are thought to have big smiles with big teeth, and van certainly does! i could really be persuaded that van is 2nd decan, because 2nd decans create opportunities when there are none and are known for funny and entertaining.

your moon sign controls your emotions and intuition, how you process and express your feelings and respond to others expressing their feelings. your moon also defines your comfort zone and vulnerabilities, and what you need to feel secure. this is especially prominent in van with his lack of social media, his intense desire for privacy--lunar virgos are notorious for leading quiet, unassuming lives. obviously it's hard to be incognito when you're a rockstar, but we've seen how van isn't fussed with keeping up appearances and having the best of everything.

leo suns with virgo moons are kind of contradictory because leo is a vibrant, passionate, warm sign and virgos tend to be practical, reserved, and careful. when these two intersect, it can create periods of great confidence that are punctuated with bouts of worry. i think we see a lot of this contradiction in van--how he'll tell a photographer he's not attractive enough for a portrait, then respond "i know" when a fan tells him he's beautiful. or how he said he'd never stop playing a hit but don't play tyrants anymore :/ we also saw that period when he seemed really unhappy, had police escorts to his hotel after shows, didn't want to meet fans...which is very different from the guy who used to greet everyone and hang out with fans after shows.

leo suns with virgo moons tend to reign in some of their bravado and exercise a bit more modesty than the typical leo. think about how kylie jenner is also a leo and puts every aspect of her life on social media for the world to consume, and we don't even know where van lives or what he's up to when he's not on stage!

one thing that leo suns-virgo moons align on is perfectionism with a tendency towards career obsession.

another thing i think is interesting is that leo sun-virgo moons can place a lot of restrictions and rules on themselves, and we definitely see that in van with this refusal to let others see his songs before they're finished or in his very limited wardrobe!

i'd love to read his full natal chart, i think it would be so interesting! without it, there's only so much we can deduce...

[costofbeauty-a]

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Mable HATES being asked questions about AUs in media. She does research the multiverse, and she does enjoy watching nerdy stuff, but she tries not to let the two intersect.

Bryony, when she's not at work, has a rather impressive flower garden. She grows some vegetables, too.

Aliana has decided to make a master document for all the horrible puns she's stumbled across. Being the tech wiz she is, there's enough backup that in the event that someone tries to delete it, she can still access it.

Celosia is a huge fan of murder mysteries, which sparked her interest in, well, murder. She actually tried to write her own murder mystery once, though found more interest in researching than actually writing.

Mable used to be a Furfrou groomer after graduating from college. She will occasionally petsit for her teammates' pokemon, and doesn't seem to have many objections to doing so.

Bryony is perhaps the best of the Flare scientists to go incognito as an ordinary civilian. This started from her personal desire to take more classes and not be recognized as a higher up in Flare.

Strangely enough, out of everyone in Flare, Malva's the only one who dyes her hair! Her natural hair color is a dark brown.

Less a headcanon for a muse and more a headcanon for Flare's origins, but Team Flare (or the Flare Foundation, back then) started as a charity organization. For the most part they acted as a place to provide living essentials for the poor, such as food, clothing and a place to stay.

[haru-sen]

Angst!AU

First off, thanks to the anon ask that sparked me actually writing this out.  It’s been a rough week.  But this was fun.  Second, it’s a draft and details may change when I actually get around the writing the fic.  

The Jesse on Route 66 chapter takes place a little before this. 

“He’s four hundred meters out. The vehicle is heavily shielded. I have not detected an escort.”  Zee’s drone floated beside your hovercycle.  “But this is still ill-advised.”

You shrugged, idling on the low rooftop, taking cover in the shadow of a massive viewscreen advertising a new fantasy drama.  The actors were pretty, but the fight choreography looked too stilted.  If you were at home, you would probably be bullied into watching it.  If anyone still wanted to be in the same room as you.  

“You can request backup.”

“Don’t need it,” you said, mapping the trajectory of the armored car.  If it was just the one vehicle, Zee was enough.  You just had to get her through the physical barrier of hardened shielding.  She could penetrate the firewalls on her own.  And more importantly, Zee was the only one not mad at you right now.  

“They would come.”

You frowned.  It was really unlike Zee to harp on this shit.  “It’s not necessary.”  

“Neither is going after Cian Barrett on your own.”  

“I’m not on my own, I have you,” you said, not taking your eyes off the car.  In this moment, you could almost forget that she wasn’t Athena.  You could forget that Athena wasn't really Athena any more. You could forget that Blackwatch was nothing more than a memory of scandal. You could forget...so you did.  That part of your brain wasn’t necessary for this job.  

It was like slipping into your old armor.  It was like coming home.  The world faded away.  There was you, Zee’s drone, and Barrett’s car.  Everything else was secondary.  

There were no identifying marks on your bike or your armor. The form-fitting suit was all matte black and shielded for direct combat. The helm, styled after a motorcycle helmet, covered your features entirely.  Not your usual outfit, but your “Keres” identity had political links.  Best to be incognito for now.  

The sun was just beginning to dip, and the traffic was heavy. Zee would be able to jam the emergency transmissions, but there would be a lot of witnesses.  There would be calls to emergency services. You were running this operation in broad daylight, and you couldn’t summon the urge to care.  

“This is very reckless,” Zee said.  

“Yeah, but Hong Kong is our territory,” you said, gritting your teeth behind your helmet.  “Are you saying we can’t do this in our own backyard?”  

“...It’s the only reason I’m agreeing to it,” Zee said primly.  “But this is our backyard.  Try not to shit where we eat.”  

You chuckled, a little surprised by her use of profanity.  “It’s nothing you can’t handle.”  He was three hundred meters out.  The overlay on the inside of your helmet fed you more statistics.  The vehicle’s armoring class was higher than you expected, but it had side windows.  Windows were always a structural weak point.  You waited for Barrett’s car to reach the next intersection.

On cue, the light shifted to red, stopping the car in front of him. There was a slight reverberation as Zee tethered her drone to your bike.

You shifted gears, and then suddenly you were dropping forward, accelerating even as you fell.  

Barrett’s car was a thick monstrosity, black and purple, custom-made by Vishkar: hard light kinetic shields, front and rear turrets, a Farraday cage overlay to prevent hacking.  All of that was geared to stop bombs, guns, or cyberattacks.  None of it would stop you.  

You leaned into the turn, holding yourself at 45 degrees off the ground, the bike still accelerating as you slipped into traffic. You pulled yourself upright so you could slide between stopped cars.  You took the innermost lane hovering on the border of oncoming traffic.  

Barrett’s stopped car was just ahead.  

“Cut it,” Zee said.

You released the controls, letting her take over as you drew the spike. Eight inches of hardened omnium, the point already starting to glow with heat. It was a simple tool, perfect for shorting out Farraday cages and breaking glass.  Feet jammed in the stirrups, you rested your left arm across your chest, the spike in your metal hand.  Powering up the prostheses and the tool took half a second. And as you passed Barrett’s car your arm snapped sideways, driving the metal into the glass with inhuman force.  

You pierced a thick line through layers of glass, polymer shielding, and then tore through the metal frame, breaking the continuous line of the circuits.  Now there would be a hole in the hard light armoring and the Farraday cage.  In seconds, the spike grew too hot to hold, so you let it go, swinging yourself off the bike.   You just had to carve the hole.  Zee would open the way.  

“I’m in,” Zee said, as the locks popped.

Grinning savagely behind your helmet, you yanked the door open, even as someone within emptied their gun at you.  You jerked back behind the door, getting a glimpse of an omnic bodyguard switching weapons.  

“Zee?”

“Working on it,” she snapped.  

If you’d been alone, you could have used an EMP, but if you’d been alone, you wouldn't be able to pull the data from his devices.  And that was more important than simply killing Barrett.  Not that you planned on sparing him.  Not after what Sakai had let slip. It had taken a lot of work, but in the end, you’d gotten what you needed from what was left of- You winced inwardly.  You didn’t need to think about that right now.  

You drew your gun, angled it, and fired into the car at where the bodyguard had been sitting.  You heard the shots connect, metal rending metal.

“Watch where you’re shooting,” Zee snapped.  

You were never in any danger of hitting her, but if your bullets made it out of the vehicle... You gritted your teeth.  A ricochet probably wouldn’t kill a civilian.  You swung around the door, gun raised.  

The omnic was a smoking wreck.  An armored woman lay bleeding on the ground.  

An older, dignified “gentleman” in a suit, Barrett was pressed against the partition, his own weapon raised at you.  But his hands shook violently. There was blood on his face and in his gray hair, but you didn’t see any serious wounds.  

“Where is she?” You snarled.  

“I don’t know whom you’re talking about!” Barrett shouted defiantly, words blending together in his thick brogue.  

“I think you do,” you sneered, taking aim at his knees.  

“Incoming!” Zee shouted as light flared in your peripheral vision.  

Three things happened at once.   The delivery van in a neighboring lane opened up, half a dozen armored Talon troopers pouring out. And then a sunburst struck the front of Barrett’s car.  You dove to the side, taking cover behind the rear bumper of the vehicle, and then a wave of force rolled you under the next car as an explosion rocked Barrett’s vehicle-though it didn’t come apart.  All around you, car windows shattered from the concussive blast.  

“Is that-?”  You winced, dragging yourself out from underneath a jeep.

“No, not one of ours,” Zee said sharply.  “You need to get out, now.”

“KA-BOOOOM!”  The voice was male, the accent distinctly Australian.  You blinked as you watched a heavily singed blonde man kick Barrett’s front tire. “Hahaha!  You’re blowing up! And this tire is blowing out!”

You staggered to your feet, ears ringing.  There were armored Talon troopers sprawled across the asphalt.  And twenty yards away, Cian Barrett was rabbiting down the crowded streets.  

“Fuck,” you snarled.  

“Move!” Zee shouted in your helmet more forcefully than you’d heard in a long time.  You ducked low, running past prone troopers.

“How did you miss them?” You hissed.

“-I don’t know,” Zee said, her voice distant in your hear. “Transmitting this back to base.”  

“I think they’ll see it on the news,” you huffed.  

There was a ping in your helmet as someone tried to call you.  You ignored it.  

“There’s no way they know about Sakai,” you growled.  Because the only people who knew what you’d done to Sakai and how you made her talk, well, they were on your side, even if they weren’t very happy with you right now.  

“This isn’t for you,” Zee said, even as a Talon trooper raised her gun at you.  “Drop!”

You dove forward, rolling through a brackish puddle, splashing foul liquid everywhere.  It was good thing you were wearing a helmet.  

“Come here.”  A chain shot over your head, a massive hook sinking into the woman’s armor, and suddenly she was airborne.  You turned your head, watching as a massive man in a gas mask yanked her to him.  

“What the hell?”

“Junker mercenaries,” Zee said.  “They’re here for Barrett too.  Avoid them.”  

“Lucky, you butthead! I know you can hear me!  I know this tech can withstand bigger explosions, even if Hong Kong can’t! What the hell is going on?” A very familiar, very angry voice shouted over the comms.  Someone had hacked your settings, not hard considering it was her hardware to begin with.

“Busy!” You shouted, trying to catch sight of Barrett.  In the distance you saw an older European man rounding a corner-

“Yeah, well so am I!  I have the fucking Minister of State Security on hold! Auntie has shorted out the power grid in a six block radius.  Oksana is trying to take out any peripheral electrical surveillance. What in the ten hells do you think you’re doing?”

You flinched.  “I was going after Barrett.  But I’m not the only one.”  You hesitated.  “We didn’t know about the backup.  Or the Aussies.”  You didn’t say whether or not you would have still made the move if you had known.  Better not to go there.  

There was a moment of distracted silence.  She was verifying your claim. “I see that...OK.  Look, you need to get out of there.  Those Australians can take the fall.  You don’t need to get caught up in it any more then you already are.”  

“Barrett has information I need,” you said tightly, vaulting over a low wall as you dodged down an alley, running parallel to the street you saw Barrett turn down.

There was a heavy sigh.  Because they all knew what you would do to get that information.  

“Give me some more time, Lucky.  We can find them too.  You don’t need to cut the answers out of every single Talon agent you dislike.”

“It’s therapy,” you hissed, swearing as dirt and garbage erupted behind you.  A concussive blast nearly knocked you off balance.  “You’re always telling me I need more of that.”

“This bomb’s for you!” The Junker cackled, rapidly closing the distance.  

You swung around, raising your gun.  

The Junker blew past you, literally hoisted by his own petard.  He just waved, winking at you as he rocketed through the air.  

Behind him, three more Talon troopers surged forward.  

So many targets, but it wasn’t a hard decision.  

The visor of your helmet overlaid the shot trajectories, even as you raised your gun in your left hand. Three T-Zone hits, three corpses toppling.  The skill was unnatural as fuck, but you wouldn’t argue with the results.  

You turned back to see the Junker, with his goddamn peg-leg, meters ahead of you. He squinted at you for a moment.  

You surged forward.

“Oh good, I had no idea where he went!” The Junker chuckled as you passed him.  In that moment, he tossed something in front of you, even as you jerked to the side, narrowly missing a steel-jawed trap.

“Aww, c’mon,” he groaned.

You just shook your head and kept moving.  You were very tempted to shoot him, but if Talon was here for him and the big guy, then you might be better off letting him live.  The old you might have been more concerned about the chaos.  But Cian Barrett was getting away.  And that was unacceptable.  

“Zee, I’ve lost visual contact.  Do you-”

“He’s two blocks north,” another voice chimed in.  “You can cut though that alley up ahead and jump the fence.”  

You inhaled sharply.  After what you had done to Sakai, you didn’t think she’d speak to you for another year or two.  And maybe you deserved that. “Thanks,” you said after a moment.  

“Yes, well, be more careful,” she said quietly.  “I’m mad at you, but I’ll be even madder if you die before we can talk about it.”

Dying might easier.  But you were smart enough not to say that out loud. “I’ll be home tonight,” you said.  “If I can wing it.”  

“Kara misses you,” she said hesitantly, in a way that might mean someone other than Karalika missed you.  Which made you smile in spite of the situation. Karalika probably did miss you, but she’d be fine.  Everyone else spoiled her.    

“Yeah, and if you make a bigger mess of this, I’m going to feed her sweet bean paste till she shits all over your room!  Picture it! Bean shits everywhere!” Your “boss” shouted over the comms. “You’ll be mopping the goddamn ceilings for days!”  

If that happened, maybe you’d stay in Hong Kong a little longer.  You turned down the alley, still hearing the peg-legged Junker hopping along behind you.  The fence was three meters high but you leapt onto a closed dumpster, pushed off a support pole, and flung yourself over the chain links.  You dropped down with a heavy thud and picked back up.

“Zee, you have my ride ready?”

“In a minute,” she said, sounding distracted. It should not have come as a surprise, she was balancing a larger workload now.  

With the explosions nearby, the crowds were thinning. You scanned the street- And there he was! A few blocks up, Barret shoved a street vendor and tried to duck into a shop.

You moved quickly through the press, following him into the little electronics stand.  

Sweaty and disheveled, he slumped against a headphones display, panting.  He was not doing a very good job of hiding.  You glanced sharply at the shopkeeper who ducked into a back room.  

Raising your gun in your right hand, you seized him by the collar.  He flailed vainly against the metal.  

“Wait! No! My people will pay handsomely for safety!”

You held up him by the throat, watching him twitch and shake, fear in those pale gray eyes. Your helmet was opaque.  He would not see anything but his own distorted reflection. “Your money means nothing.  I want information.”

“I-I-” He stammered.

“Widowmaker,” you snapped.  “Where are they storing her?”  

He shook his head frantically.  “I don’t know!”

“Agent Sakai seemed to think you did,” you growled.  

“That was a month ago!  I don’t keep close tabs on all combat assets.”

“Bullshit! Where the hell is she?!” You squeezed tighter, rage making your arms shake.  

“I don’t have a fucking clue!” He shouted back.  “They keep the freaks with O’Deorain.  Widowmaker, Sigma, Reap-”

Glass smashed as a giant hook hurtled through the storefront.  You spun, holding up Barrett as your shield.  That thick chain wrapped around his waist.

Maniacal laughter sounded, far too close.  It made your blood run cold. The giant Junker was huge, and only wearing bits of armor, with lots of visible flesh.  The piggy tattoo on his bulging stomach said “Wild Hog Power.”  Barrett screamed as “Wild Hog Power” reeled him in.  

It really wouldn’t do for Barrett to be ransomed.  He was Moira’s financial advisor, and one more nail in her treacherous coffin.  You slapped your gun back into your left hand, letting your helm’s targeting software direct your shot.  

A neat red hole burst in Barrett’s skull.  Much neater than Sakai had been.  But Sakai had been personal.  

“Wild Hog Power” shook Barrett like a doll, the corpse flopped around, neck flopping at an extreme angle. “Wild Hog Power” was breathing hard, hunched over Barrett.  Bestial and berserking, this one was less human than most.  He looked up then, clocking you instantly.  He began spinning his chain.  

Your insides shriveled, an atavistic reaction.  This was a very dangerous place to be.  “Zee-”

“Go out back!”

You jumped the counter, narrowly dodging that damn hook.  More gunfire blew over your head, and you rapidly crawled out the back exit, finding your hoverbike waiting.  

“Thanks!” You hissed, even as you hopped aboard, staying low.  “Chances of extraction?”

“Not any time soon,” your boss huffed angrily.  “I’m busy doing damage control.  Looks like there was a lot of it- mostly property, but also quite a few civilians with shrapnel injuries. Hospitals will be overcrowded.  We’re offering additional support to the locals. You can lay low for now.”

“Understood,” you said.  Your safehouse not too far off.  Checking your mirrors, you saw the Junker pair standing together in your dust, watching you make your escape.  

**

You went radio silent.  You were sore, but you’d gotten off lighter than you deserved, given the amount of mayhem you’d helped instigate.

Your safehouse was well-stocked and decorated to someone else’s taste. It was filled with Pachimari paraphernalia, though there were all kinds of stuffed animals on the couch. Kittens, hamsters, even a piggy.  You shuddered slightly.  “Wild Hog Power” had taken Barrett mid-sentence, but you’d already known about Reaper. Sakai had spilled everything in end, both figuratively and literally.

You showered first, setting aside your battered gear for repairs.  Then you changed into sweats. You considered external healing, but there was no need.  As long as you got a good meal, you’d be back in fighting shape after dinner.  

The kitchen was full of novelty appliances and decorated in an alarming shade of pink enamel: the fridge, stove, sink, cupboards, everything. You’d been here a week and you still weren’t used to it.  But it wasn’t all terrible, there was a bubble tea maker, and you fiddled with that – doing it from scratch wasn’t hard.  But the machine took a few minutes to set up. You started the rice cooker too.

You had filled the fridge yourself, with fresh groceries and a beautiful raspberry chocolate cake covered in ganache. You were still working on improving your recipe for fish head curry. The freezer was packed with dimsum.  Idly, you began heating up a pan of oil. Your body needed a lot of calories post-combat and cooking gave you some time to meditate.  

The Talon troopers had not stepped in to save Barrett from you.  Talon had not been waiting for you. They’d only come out when the Junkers were in range. So Talon had been expecting those Junkers.   Your helm had captured enough footage that you could research the men. Zee had forwarded a large file to you.  

The demolitionist was a man named Jameson Fawkes.  He was a caricature of all the shitty, fried, explosion-happy maniacs you’d met through the years.  Nwazue had been painstakingly responsible.  Hell, Vo had been a pain in the ass, but- You exhaled slowly.  Vo hadn’t been so bad.  Not really.  You stared at the fridge.  She would have loved that cake.  

“Wild Hog Power” was a man named Mako Rutledge.  There wasn’t a lot of information about him.  But you knew “incredibly dangerous” when you saw it.  Both men had accumulated massive bounties and were wanted in several countries. You’d be surprised if they made it out of Hong Kong alive.  

But that wasn’t your problem, you didn’t need to go borrowing more trouble. You had more than enough.  

Your problem was how to save Widowmaker, especially since she didn’t especially want to be saved.  

Your problem was that you knew exactly who was wearing that stupid skull mask and calling himself Reaper.  But you didn’t know why, and that was just as awful.  You had theories, of course, but even the best case scenario made you sick to your stomach.  

Your problems all stemmed from the past, the sort of unresolved bullshit that only worsened over time. Jesse had been trying to get in contact with you, but you’d been putting him off.  You still weren’t sure if you wanted to see him now, no matter what kind of intel he offered.  

But you would, eventually.  Not because he’d been your friend.  Not because you were ready to forgive him.  Not because you missed him. But because you needed every advantage you could get in this war.  

“Lucky, you need to see this.”  Zee’s cultured voice came on over the sound system.  A security monitor flicked on.  You stared incredulously as the two Junkers traipsed up the stairs and through the halls on the building, clearly looking for someone.  They were still several floors below you. You had no idea how they’d tracked you here.  

You could run.  You knew this city pretty well.  There might not be fighting.  There might be more collateral damage.  It was hard to say.  

You could fight.  The building was not unoccupied.  It would not survive. There would be more collateral damage.  

You could try diplomacy.  But you weren’t entirely sure if those men were capable of rational thought.  The Junkers were insane. Look what they had done to their own country.  You certainly didn’t want to invite them in but...

But the enemy of your enemy was useful to know.  

You went back upstairs to change clothes.  

**

It only took them a few minutes to reach your door.  But you were ready. You had changed into a simple black jumpsuit.  It was short sleeved and with a flattering cut, the fabric draped elegantly. You put on makeup, just enough to be a polished hostess.  You didn’t play a honeytrap any more.  Not if you could help it.  Your only jewelry was a thick white band around your left wrist.  It had a pearlescent glow against your dark metal arm.  You took a deep breath, checking the cameras and finding them loitering outside your door, Fawkes fiddling with a goddamn mine, Rutledge blocking the entire hall.

You opened the door, and stared coolly at Fawkes, wondering if he would really detonate the bomb right here.  He better not.  

“Eh?” Fawkes gaped at you, clearly shocked that you’d just opened the door.  

“What are you doing?” You sighed, one hand on your cheek.  You sounded more like an exasperated teacher than a security operative.  That was intentional.  

“Err...nuffink.” He shoved the mine behind his back like a child.  Up close, he was younger than you first thought, though life had not been kind to him. He was scorched and sooty, patches of hair missing, his clothing near rags.  It didn’t look like he cared.  

Behind him, Rutledge regarded you silently, possibly surprised that you had answered the door without attacking, possibly trying to identify you as the woman on the bike.  But with the mask in place it was too hard to tell.  

“You were-” Fawkes jabbed his finger at you accusingly.  

“Yes, I was there,” you said.

There was another awkward moment of silence as they tried to process your declaration.  Honesty was certainly the best policy, when it got you a tactical advantage.  

You regarded them politely.  “Well then, are you going to come in for dinner?”

There was another long stretch of silence as the men looked at each other trying to figure out if you were being sarcastic.  

Rutledge tilted his head back, and you realized he was sniffing the air.  

Fawkes blinked rapidly.  “I don’t like prawns.”

“Are you allergic?” You asked, stepping back to let them come in.  

He glanced back at Rutledge, panic on his face.  This was not how he pictured the encounter going.  You didn’t think most people he met invited him inside for a meal.  

“No,” Rutledge said. His voice was low and dangerous.  

“No, just don’t like’em,” Fawkes fidgeted, and then shoved the mine down his pants.  

You nodded.  “There are slippers if you want,” you gestured to the shoe rack by the door.  It was good manners to take off one’s shoes, though you weren’t going to press the matter with them. You walked back to kitchen, not looking to see if they used them.  You walked down the hall, half expecting a bullet or a hook in the back.  You fiddled with your bracelet, trying to keep your stance relaxed.  

There was a crashing noise, and you flinched, before looking over your shoulder, to see Fawkes trying to shove the broken shoe rack into some semblance of its previous shape.  Rutledge was holding up a very large pair of Pachimari slippers.  They would have fit Reinhardt. You had no idea if they would fit him, but your support staff stocked a broad range of sizes.  

There was a distinct rhythm as Fawke’s leg clicked against the wood.  But it sounded like he was wearing a single slipper.  Maybe one of those furniture leg felts would work on the peg-leg.  You had not considered that.  He followed you from the foyer into the kitchen.  You went to the freezer and pulled out the rest of the dimsum.  You could steam the dumplings, sticky rice packets, and bao, and maybe you’d have enough for Rutledge.  

“Whatcha making then?” Fawkes asked, looking around the kitchen in wonder. He sniffed the air a few times, his eyes bright.  He had terrible posture, shoulders hunched as he eyed the stove with distrust.  

“Fishhead curry and dimsum.”  The curry was still simmering.  “Would you like something to drink?”  Coffee in the jittery demolitionist would be unwise.  Alcohol might be worse. You checked the bubble tea machine.  “I have milk tea with boba.”  

“I would kill for some!”  He nodded vigorously, rubbing his hands together.

“Sugar?” You asked, your metal fingers twitching as you poured.  

“Half!” He did not have an indoor voice.

The machine dispensed bubbles, tea, and sweetener according to his order.  You offered him a cup with a metal straw.  

Squealing, he took the drink from you and then Rutledge reappeared.  Without a word, he snatched the cup out of Fawkes’ hands, popped off the lid, and sniffed.  Then he looked at you.

You poured yourself a cup and took a drink.  Using poison had definitely occurred to you, but with Rutledge’s clearly altered biology, there were too many variables. The tea was a little too sweet, but the tapioca bubbles were the perfect texture.  

“Come on, pig face!  If it ain’t poisoned, give it here!”  Fawkes grabbed for the cup. Rutledge let him take it back, apparently not bothered by the name calling.  

“Would you like some?”  You asked, taking another drink.  You had beer, but you purposefully did not want them drunk.  You didn’t need them rowdier.  

“Full sweetened,” Rutledge said after a moment.

You nodded and made him a cup as well.   You gestured to the round table.  “Please, have a seat.”   The chairs would probably hold.  Your boss got a kick out of making equipment way more durable than it needed to be, just for fun.  

Fawkes straddled a chair, slurping his drink and watching you intently like a feral animal.  

Rutledge carefully sat down, adjusting his mask so he could drink.  

“Fancy pad,” Fawkes said, clearing his throat while he looked around.  

“A friend’s place, I’m only visiting,” you said, not exactly lying.  You stirred the curry.  It was fragrant with spice and coconut milk, but needed to thicken a little more.  You checked the steamer, finding the shrimp dumplings and the soup dumplings to be ready.  You placed the metal steamer tray on a mat on the table and gestured to the cupboard.  “Bowls and plates are up there. Chopsticks and silverware are in that drawer.”  You returned to the stove.  The oil was hot enough for the deep fried taro pouches.   You tossed them into the oil, watching them sizzle.

“Ooooh,” Fawkes was suddenly over your shoulder.  “Wozzat?”

“Fried taro, with ground pork filling.” You paused, glancing over at Rutledge.  He was eyeing the steamer tray of dumplings.  He had not gotten up for plates or silverware. “The yellow and kind of translucent ones have shrimp,” you told Fawkes, gesturing at the food on the table.  “But the round white ones are pork.”  

“Eww,” Fawkes scowled at you.  “I don’t like prawns. Buggy little bastards taste like shite and are filled with-”

“You don’t have to eat them,” you said firmly.  “But where I grew up, there wasn’t food to waste.”  

Fawkes squinted at you.  “But here you are in this fancy city pad-”

You flipped the fried taro with cooking chopsticks.

“-Stealing work from honest Junkers, and acting like-”

You had to maneuver around him to get a plate for the taro. He was getting worked up.  You glanced briefly at your left wrist, wondering if you had made a mistake.  

“Get out of the way,” Rutledge barked.  “Can’t you see that she’s busy?”

You raised a brow, a little surprised by that reaction.  

Fawkes was too.  He blinked inquisitively at his partner.

“Be useful: set the table,” Rutledge said gruffly.    

Fawkes snapped to attention then, skittering over to the cupboard to grab plates and utensils.  You turned back to the roiling oil and began fishing golden brown taro cakes out of the pot.  You filled the plate, and set it down on the table. They were steaming hot and would burn your mouth. Rutledge sat there stoically, watching your every move.  He had not touched the food.  In the corner of your eye,  you saw Fawkes gracelessly slapping a handful of silverware onto a stack of plates.  

You set the rice cooker on the table and checked the steamer trays.  The sticky rice and bao were done.  And the fish head curry was a deep orange color, with pieces of okra, taro, and eggplant cooked soft in the sauce.  You would have liked to simmer the sauce a little longer, but you couldn’t help the timing.  You turned around to see Fawkes seated with two forks and a bowl.  It looked like you had two spoons, a bowl, and a plate, and Rutledge had two plates and pair of chopsticks.  

You brought the pot of curry to the table, and then went back to retrieve more utensils and rice bowls. You set them in the middle of the table, and started scooping rice. You passed the bowls around, noting that still none of the food had been touched.  Paranoia or manners?

Fawkes straddled his chair, surveying the table greedily.  

But Rutledge looked at you expectantly.  

“I am not religious,” you said, unsure if he wanted you to bless the meal. “But I do not offer the courtesy of my kitchen to my enemies.”  

He nodded.  “I am Roadhog.  That’s Junkrat.”  

Professional names then.  “I am known as Keres.”  

“Hooley dooley, Carrie, you got some fancy grub,” Fawkes, who was Junkrat, reached forward and grabbed a taro dumpling with his hands.  “Hot! Hot! Hot!”  He bounced it in his hand while you served yourself some curry.  Junkrat seemed like a more fitting name.  

Roadhog used his hands as well, carefully snatching dumplings and other appetizers, but setting them down on his plate. He wasn’t eating directly from the communal dishes, and you appreciated the courtesy.  

You raised a brow as Junkrat grabbed his own share of curry and began squirting Sriracha into it.  

“You might taste it first,” you said, because you had been liberal with the spices and the peppers.  

“I eat gunpowder for breakfast, Carrie!”  He jabbed his fork at you, eyes blazing.  “Don’t need no drongo telling me how to eat a fish head!”

You chuckled.  “All right.”  You sipped your tea watching keenly as Junkrat shoveled a spoonful into his mouth, grinning triumphantly at you.  It took a few seconds, but as he swallowed, his face began to redden, his cheek twitching.  Sriracha really wasn’t that hot.  But the peppers you’d used were pretty potent.

Roadhog spooned half the curry onto his plate, splitting the fish head and taking the larger portion of that as well.  

They were two different kinds of dangerous.  Junkrat needed to be balanced – too much stimuli and he flew into a manic episode.  Too little and he stirred up trouble to keep himself from being bored. Roadhog was a pressure cooker, holding it in until he hit critical mass.  Keeping them both calm took different strategies.  

Doing so was less difficult than it sounded. You were used to dealing with dangerous difficult people.  After all, back in Zurich you’d been so good with-

You stopped, mid-bite.  Yes, that’s exactly what the Junkers reminded you of.  Your goddamn Blackwatch hardcases.  Fuck.  The wheels of memory ground out another realization: Hell, when you’d first joined up, your manners were only marginally better than Junkrat’s.  That was such a long time ago...

The blonde man was still chattering about how the fish curry wasn’t that hot, while he piled more rice into his bowl and shoveled it down his throat.  Then he loudly drained his cup, still protesting that he had no trouble with spices.

Roadhog noticed your hesitation and slowed his eating.  

You took a drink and went back to your curry.  It could have used a little more tamarind.  The coconut milk mellowed the sharpness a little more than you expected.  

“Well, as long as you find it acceptable,” you told Junkrat when he finished his rant about his tolerance for spicy food.  “I’m still working on the recipe, so I understand if you think it’s lacking.”

He blinked.  “Oh, no.  ‘S good.”  He slurped down another bite and gave you a thumbs up.  

“I’m glad,” you said.  

“Meant to say, that’s some arm you got there,” Junkrat chirped, knocking on your metal limb with his own prostheses. “How’d you lose it? Shark?  Salty? Hamster?” He mimed biting motions with his hands.  

“Terrorist attack,” you said, taking another bite of curry, though in that moment you only tasted ash.  

“Bomb?” Junkrat asked.

“Yeah,” you said, though it had not been that straight forward.  

“Who?” He asked eagerly.

“Talon.” You took a sip of your tea, the sweetness bracing you.  

“Oh yeah, they’re absolute drongos,” Junkrat cackled.  “Keep inviting us around, like we want to join their stupid club with their dumb scrap metal lackeys.”  

“So they’re trying to recruit you?” You asked.

“Mebbe,” Junkrat gave you a sly look.  “Mebbe they’re after me treasure.”

You laughed a little too hard at that.  

“You don’t believe me?” He puffed up then, smacking his bare chest. “Me and Pig Face are rich! We could eat like this every day if we wanted to!”  Madness flared in those eyes.

Under the table, you rested your bracelet against your knee.  

“Shut up, idiot,” Roadhog grumbled.  

“She’s laughing-” Junkrat’s head snapped to the side, reminding you of a mongoose about to strike.  

“You told a joke,” Roadhog’s voice was dangerously low. “Sometimes people laugh at your jokes.”

Junkrat crossed his arms, looking sullen.  

Children with their delicate egos.  You gave a wry smile.  “I thought it was a pirate reference.”  You tapped your knee.  

“Oh,” Junkrat looked at you sideways.  “Of course it was!”  He laughed a little too loudly.  “I really had you two going! This is a dinner party, Roadhog!  You gotta be personable. And I am nothing if not a courteous house guest!”  

Even with the mask on, even if you’d never seen his face, you could feel Roadhog’s exasperation loud and clear.    

“They were really invested in grabbing you today,” you said.  “But there are a lot of cells in Talon,” you said.  They pulled off heists and robberies, though it was usually for things other than money: tech, hostages, an unsavory means to an end... “I can’t claim to know what their intentions are.”

“Of course they want us to work for them! You saw us out there! Regular professionals! We were on a roll!” He grinned at Roadhog, jabbing him with a bony elbow.  “Eh? Eh?”

“Stop that,” Roadhog growled, picking up his plate to drink down the curry sauce.  

“But you did steal our kill though.  He was worth more alive,” Junkrat said, narrowing his eyes at you.  

“Sorry, personal business,” you said with a shrug. “I lost more than an arm to those bastards.”  And given what you had learned from their dossiers, you probably could have left Barrett with them, confident that he wouldn't survive the experience.  They had no love of “suits.”  But you hadn’t known that back in that little electronics shop.  

“Yeah, I get it,” Junkrat heaved a dramatic sigh.  “There are some things money can’t buy.”  He grinned at Roadhog.  “But if that’s the case, you should still try the proper application of high powered explosives!”  

You laughed softly, in spite of the situation.  He was a crude, vicious, and dangerous child.  Maybe he reminded you a little of Vo, of Fitzpatrick, of Távio, and others. Maybe you were just getting old. “I know it’s effective, but I don’t have your talent in that field. Never picked up the knack for anything beyond the basics.”

“I could show you a trick or two,” Junkrat flashed you what had to be his idea of charming smile.  Somewhere between a leer and the awkward smile of a student portrait, he showed far too many teeth.  And he waggled his eyebrows at you.  

You were far too old for this shit.  But you put on hand over your mouth, trying to smother your snickers.  

Junkrat grinned at Roadhog, nudging him with his elbow.  “Suppose she fancies me?  She did invite us in for this real intimate dinner. Ladies don’t just roll out that hospitality for anyone.”  

Roadhog just shook his head.  

“Unless she’s interested in you,” Junkrat murmured a low shocked voice. “Hooley dooley, mate! You don’t think-”

“No, you don’t think,” Roadhog said setting his plate down.  “This is business.”  

Junkrat blinked.  “But dinner-”

“Friendly business,” you said.  “A simple “getting to know you” sort of event.  Though let me emphasize, I don’t share food with my enemies.”    

“Not government,” Roadhog said, utensils set at straight on his plate, indicating he was done.  “Not Talon.”  He looked around. “Corporate security? PMC?”

“Sort of,” you said.  

Junkrat scowled.  “We don’t work for suits.”

“I represent the Peaceful Life Society,” you said.  

Junkrat snorted.  “That’s a silly name.”

“I’m still not sure if it was meant to be ironic,” you said, sipping your tea.  “But yes, it is.”

“Triad business?” Roadhog crossed his arms.

“It could be,” you said.  “We can talk business.  We can talk about cake.  There is no pressure. I’m not here to try to strong arm you.”

“You wanna hire us, Carrie?” Junkrat asked.  

“I have work, if you’re interested.  I have cake, if you aren’t.”

“But we can only pick one?” Junkrat frowned.  

“No. We can just start with dessert,” you said and got up.  You brought the cake out of the fridge.  And when you turned around, Junkrat was hovering over your shoulder, flitting back and forth, staring at the cake.

“Look at that, Roadhog.  Just look at that beauty.  Just covered in chocolate, a goddamn mudslide of chocolate. It’s gonna be too sweet,” he moaned.  “It looks pretty, but they overdid it-”

“It’s dark chocolate,” you said, a little indignantly.

“And all that coating is gonna be gummy pasty sugar shit-”

“It’s not fondant,” you scowled, genuinely offended by the thought.  

“It can’t be as good as it looks, there’s no fucking way!” He wailed, clearly more interested in being dramatic than listening to a word you said.  

You glanced over at Roadhog feeling a growing respect for his levels of patience.  “Would you like a slice?”

He nodded.  

You almost asked if he wanted Junkrat’s slice, but decided to be the mature adult here.  You set the cake on the counter and cut two large slices for you and Roadhog, and one small one for Dramarat.  Against your better judgment, you made coffee to go with it, possibly making it half-caf because your guests were so excitable.  

“Let’s go in there.  I don’t feel like clearing the table right now.” You handed each man their own plate and fork, and poured yourself some black coffee.  You took a seat in a single chair, while the Junkers took the couch.

Junkrat poked at the plushies, giggling to himself as he tossed the pig at Roadhog, nearly missing the other man’s plate.  

“Watch it!” Roadhog snapped.  

You set your drink down on the glass coffee table and took a bite of the cake.  There was a generous spread of tart raspberry liquer filling between each layer of chocolate cake.  Smooth chocolate ganache replaced the frosting, with fresh raspberries adorning the top of the cake.  It was rich with just the right amount of sweetness.  Gabriel would have-

You did not finish that thought. It would have sat badly with your curry.  Instead, you set the plate down and took a deep swig of coffee.   When you looked up, Roadhog was delicately eating his slice while Junkrat was still staring forlornly at his own piece.  

“How is it really?” Junkrat tried to whisper, but he was about as good at it as Reinhardt.

“Find out for yourself.  Idiot.”  

“I’m not like you.  I can’t just eat anything. I’m a connoisseur!”  

Roadhog just shook his head in disgust.  

Junkrat begrudgingly took a bite, grimacing the entire time.  Uncertainly pinched his already pointy features.  He chewed, slowly relaxing as he tasted the cake.  The transformation was nearly instantaneous.  He went from pissing and moaning to an open mouthed quiet awe.  He stared reverently at his slice and then shoved the rest into his mouth.  

You sipped your coffee.  

“Hooley dooley that’s good shit,” he murmured, mouth full of crumbs. “Can I have more?  Before pig face eats it all?!”

You still couldn’t see much of Roadhog’s face, but you could feel the heat of the glare directed at Junkrat.  

“You both can have the rest.  I’m pretty full,” you said, picking up your plate.  There was three quarters of a cake left.  Maybe they could take it to go.  

“Are you sure?”  Junkrat squinted at you.  And then hopped up, bouncing into the kitchen with glee.  

...Oh, maybe you should not have given him that much sugar.  

But then Roadhog was on his feet, lumbering into the kitchen with heavy steps.

“Hey, back off! This is mine!  Carrie said I could have it!”  

“Fifty-fifty,” Roadhog said, pushing Junkrat out of the way.  He lifted the knife and made a sharp cut.  

“That looks more like sixty-forty!”

“Get your eyes checked,” Roadhog said, taking a slightly bigger piece.  

“Come on, don’t be such a pig!” Junkrat jumped, trying to snatch the cake out of Roadhog’s hands.

“We can always get more cake,” you said.  

“...Really?” Junkrat perked up.  

“Yeah, I don’t mind going for more dessert,” you said, even though the bakery was closed. If they pushed, you could get ice cream or something.  

“Oh,” Junkrat grabbed the remaining portion.  “I guess that’s OK then.” The importance of the distraction was to get them to disengage.  You did not want them coming to blows in the apartment safehouse.  Both men returned to the living room, Roadhog taking the far corner of the couch.  Junkrat sat closer to you, eating happily while he poked at the plushies with chocolate-smeared fingers.  

“Didn’t figure you for the stuffed animals type,” Junkrat said, turning over a pirate Pachimari in his lap.  He bounced it a few times, then looked around rapidly, then tried to act casual slinging it to the side.

“I didn’t decorate,” you said with a shrug.  “But they are really cute.”  

“I guess they are,” Junkrat jammed his hands into his pockets. “If you like that kind of thing.”  

Roadhog coughed.

“I mean, I don’t,” Junkrat sputtered.  “I’m a man of sophistication and means.  I just know that they don’t make the pirate one back home.  They were limited edition,” Junkrat said, staring longingly at the pile of plush.

You sighed.  This location was going to be metaphorically burned after this encounter.  You could make some good will offerings.  “My friend won’t mind if you take some.” You paused. “If you had someone back home whom you thought might like one.”

“Oh.” Junkrat perked up. “Really?  Because I think Little...James might like one.  Just some neighborhood kid,” he added quickly.

Roadhog just sat very still.  

“And his little sister...Jamie might want one too,” Junkrat grinned.  

“Go for it,” you said sincerely. “Think of them as...party favors.”  You glanced at Roadhog who  just sat there eating his cake.  

“Carrie, you throw the best dinner parties!” Junkrat squeezed an armful of plush, some of them squeaked. “If more people did it like you, dinner parties wouldn’t be so goddamn boring!”

“Thank you,” you said. “I try.”  

“But I don’t know about working for your Triad buddies.  We’re free agents!  We don’t like being tied down!”  Junkrat looked up from the plushes, expression grim.

“I understand,” you said.  “If you’re fighting Talon though, I’d like to collaborate some time. Or  at least not get blown up or shredded by the two of you in combat.  I’d extend the same courtesy, of course.”  

“Carrie, you’re a nice lady who owes us some more cake.  I would never-” Junkrat pressed his hands to his chest.  “Never ever ever.”  

“That’s a relief,” you said.  You hadn’t expected them to onboard today.  This was just first contact.  You could cultivate the ties over time.  

“Truce,” Roadhog said.  The cake was gone, but there was no trace of it on his fingers, lap, or mask.  

“Truce,” you said with a smile.  

**

Junkrat had stuffed his bag full of toys, though you didn’t miss the piggy tucked on Roadhog’s hip, almost completely hidden by the chain.  Junkrat was snoring now, draped across Roadhog’s back.  He

“If you’re interested,” you said, offering him your card.  “We can talk about it over cake.”  

Roadhog grunted, accepting it.  Those massive hands delicately placing it in a pocket.  He paused, looking down at the bracelet your left wrist. He snorted.  

“Hardlight projector?”

“Yes,” you said.

He nodded.  “Military grade?”

“Of course.”  Because you could be friendly and well-armed. Always hope for peace, but prepare for killing the shit out of your enemies.

Roadhog stared at it for another few seconds, clearly contemplating the other way this encounter could have gone.  “Thank you for the meal,” he said, ducking to go through the door.  

“I had fun,” you told him.  “We should do it again some time.”

**

You sat on the roof, admiring the brilliance of the skyline.  A shuttle would pick you up soon.  A local cleaning service would take care of the facilities.  The Junkers had come and gone with minimal damage. Cian Barrett was dead. Zee had access to his files.  Not a bad day’s work.  

Zee’s drone hovered by your shoulder.  “You still have a way with delinquents,” she said.  

“Takes one to know one.” You fiddled with the bracelet.  It wasn’t your best weapon, but you could use it well in close quarters.  “You can take the girl out of the bar-”

“That is such a crass statement with racist overtones,” Zee said, her tone frosty.  

“Sorry, you’re right.  I don’t need to be repeating that shit,” you said.  You tilted your head back.  You’d spent a couple months in Phuket before you had found Sakai.  You’d picked up some of the lingo, the ways to blend in.  You’d need to shed those habits sooner rather than later.  “How are things back home?” You asked.

“Settling.”

“That could mean any number of things.”  

“You know Feng was never mad about what you did.  She was worried about you.  She still is.”

“I know.”  You toyed with the a large bulldog plush that had somehow been left behind by the Junkers.  If Oksana didn’t want it, maybe Karalika would. “But Oksana...”

“She needed time to come to terms with what she saw you do.  She’ll get past it.  She adores you too much. This was an eye-opening experience about our line of work. Her father has always sheltered her.”

“Her father-” You scowled.

“Will get over himself when she calms down.  He exaggerates all faults. Honestly, all of you are so overwrought and emotional.  Presenting the On Sing Serial Drama: tune in next week for more shocking events and emotional fallout in a real time comedy of errors,” she said in biting tones. “Foolish children. These things take time.  You have to account for that, Lucky. Stop being so impatient.”  

You smiled wryly.  “Thanks, Auntie.  You really do know best.”

“I know, and while you are acknowledging my wisdom and experience, let’s talk about what’s going on with you.  You really need to talk to another professional about what’s going on in your life,” she told you primly.  “Don’t give me the “oh, who’s going to understand the psychological effects of brainwashing, and faked deaths, international conspiracies” speech.  That’s cult of exceptionalism foolishness. Conspiracies aren’t what’s sending you to therapy, it’s your manner of handling the stress. Psychologists understand complications, betrayals, PTSD.  That is what you are asking for help with, untangling your feelings and yourself.  This isn’t about politics or tech.  Your situation may be unique, but your reactions?  Textbook.”

You winced.  “You broke me down faster than I did Sakai.”

“Yes, well unlike you, I’m not playing around, or trying to draw out the suffering,” she said.  “And unlike the others, I don’t care what you did to her.  She earned it.  But I do care what it implies about your mental state, and how it affects the rest of the family.”

“I went too far,” you agreed after a moment.  “I’m not sorry.  Not yet.  But I know I went too far.”   Maybe not far enough to join Talon as a double agent, commit atrocities to win their trust, and then finally exact your brutal revenge.  And that was the best case scenario in a certain Reaper’s case.  

“Make sure you tell that to everyone else.  Ask for their help in keeping you honest.  It will go a long way in earning you some grace.”  

“Yes, Auntie,” you said with a heavy sigh.  You stared out over the city. The night was warm.  “I still have one question.  How did they locate me so quickly?”  You gave the drone a sharp side eye.  

“You need allies.  They have survival skills,” she said, telling you everything you needed to know.

“With friends like you, I definitely need more allies to watch my back,” you scowled, though you couldn’t muster any real ferocity.  

“I had full faith in you,” she said solemnly.  “And total control of the discretely placed turrets.”  

You just shook your head.  “Auntie-”

“You cannot slaughter your way through this, Lucky.  Not if you want to protect the others.  Do you think Oksana is ready for this war? Are you willing to risk it?”  She didn’t give you a chance to respond.  She already knew your answer. “No, you need to be smart and use diplomatic methods too.”

“You’re not wrong, but I think I just used up all my diplomacy,” you said dryly.  

“You should probably work get it back soon,” she said.  “Jesse McCree has just arrived in Shanghai.  He has...information. And he’s insisting that he tells it to you in person.”

****

Yes, you should know all the ally characters referenced, except Karalika.  I’m fine spoiling in the comments if you want to guess. 

My week was stressful.  10-11 hour shifts, a sick cat, cat had teeth extracted Friday and is high out of his mind (or had a stroke? I don’t know.)  I’ve had force feed him a feed a few times this weekend.  He keeps falling off things and walking into walls. He’s not using the litter box.  I am super tired. 

[ad1thi]

since i literally cant watch a single show without making an au out of it: 

The K2 au where Tony is the illegitimate son of mafia matriarch Maria Carbonell, and has been hidden away in Italy for the better part of 10 years while Howard uses the knowledge of Tony’s whereabouts to force Maria into helping him win the one thing he’s coveted since he started out as Mayor - the US Presidency

Bucky Barnes is a soldier who’s been living incognito for as long as he can remember, and he’d like nothing more than for the rest of his life to continue that way. Their lives were never meant to intersect, but then they collide - literally. Bucky saves Tony from a group of thugs chasing him through the metro; and life as he knew it is no longer the same

Suddenly Bucky finds himself in the middle of a dangerous game of chess between players who’ll do anything to win; and Tony is an extremely volatile pawn that nobody seems to be looking out for - except for Bucky himself