#Drain Lining Technology

[gillbrother]

Gill Brother Plumbing stands as Brampton’s leading plumbing service provider, recognized for exceptional expertise throughout Peel, York, Toronto, Halton, Hamilton, and Waterloo. Our team of master-certified and licensed professionals offers top-tier residential and commercial plumbing services. For dependable support, contact us at +1-647-895-8107.

[911plumbingconroetx]

911 Plumbing Conroe TX

911 Plumbing Conroe is a trusted plumbing service provider in Conroe, Texas, offering 24/7 emergency repairs, installations, and maintenance for residential and commercial properties. Their licensed and insured team specializes in leak detection, water heater services, drain cleaning, sewer line repairs, and more all delivered with prompt, professional, and affordable solutions. With a focus on customer satisfaction, they provide upfront pricing, same day service, and a 100% guarantee on workmanship. Whether it’s a routine inspection or a plumbing emergency, 911 Plumbing Conroe ensures reliable, high-quality service.

Contact us on (936) 344-3134.

[saturnville]

love calls | kelvin harrison jr.

Pairing: Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black Fem OC (nia) Summary: Kelvin takes the step to make things official between him and Nia. Warnings: Sexual suggestions. WC: 2519 AN: Everybody say thank you @youreadthatright for asking about Nia and Kelvin. Semi-inspired by Love Calls by Kem. Remember: Likes are nice, but reblogs, comments, and asks are encouraged. What were your thoughts?

Phone calls during work hours were the bane of her existence. Having successfully broken her self-proclaimed cell phone addiction, anything that was a cellular distraction was forbidden, especially during her shifts. She kept her phone across the room on a plush chair her mother purchased when she was promoted. It was nice and cozy, unable to be drained from overuse like its owner. It must be nice. 

Yet, her efforts were in vain. The do-not-disturb setting wasn’t strong enough to withhold the call that forced its way through technological blockages, and a familiar name made a special appearance on the slightly smudged screen of her laptop. KHJR. 

She'd scowl if she were skilled at holding a grudge, but she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips as she accepted the call. “I’m at work; you do know that, right?”

His soft chuckle warmed her body. After a few moments of reconnection, clear, brown skin, a pretty smile, and a crisp hairline appeared. So did a broad chest covered by a crisp wife beater decorated with a gold chain. Those lips. She inhaled sharply. “You gon’ fall behind for over a five-minute call, Ni?”

If she kept ogling at him, she might. Things between her and Kelvin had changed drastically since that night at his apartment. What was supposed to be one night turned into two, filled with pizza, deep conversations, and a warm body against hers when the night came to an end. When maintenance arrived on Monday, he was by her side, watching to ensure the handyman secured the new lock with enough precision that even Hephaestus couldn’t undo the work. 

They spent a lot of time together after that. On days when his schedule wasn’t as packed, he joined her for lunch, often insisting he take her to different restaurants around the city. When she was holed in at the office, he resorted to bringing food and flowers, which her co-workers whispered and inquired about when he left. They weren’t dating, no. Just two adults enjoying the company of one another and enjoying the company a little too much. 

Some lines had not yet been crossed, but if Nia didn’t regain control and dignity, she’d find herself in that man’s bed for reasons beyond a busted lock. Her instinct was to fall back. To regroup and maintain composure. She wasn’t twenty anymore. Love needed structure, and it required intentionality. It lasted all of two days until Kelvin came ringing her line as he usually did. 

Nia shook her head. “No, but I was in the middle of something. Don’t want a certain someone stealing my focus. Everything good?” 

Kelvin nodded slowly, brown eyes following every ebb and flow of her movements. Though on the call, she moved gracefully to write down a few things that came to her mind. She tucked her pressed hair behind her ear, showing off her cheeks and beautiful collarbone with a simple gold chain around it. Her lip was drawn between her teeth as she forced her pen across the paper. 

“Yeah,” he said after her eyes cut toward him as an extra push. “I’m back in town on Thursday evening; I wanted to see you on Friday. You got room on the busy calendar for 8?” Honestly, his asking was a mere formality to show respect for her time. One way or another, he’d be in her presence on Friday night, hell or high water. 

Nia’s eyes flickered toward her desk calendar. Half day at work, but he didn’t need to know that. No plans with the girls since they were all on weekend adventures, but he didn’t need to know that, either. Her pause was intentional, but delaying wouldn’t help her case, so she said, “I’m free at eight on Friday.” 

She hated how easy it was to say yes. She hated how it seemed to be the correct answer even more. 

“Smooth,” Kelvin replied but didn’t hang up.  His lips parted, but nothing came out. Nia tilted her head to the side. “What?” She asked, her pen still in her hand. Kelvin shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck, the gold necklace catching the sunlight at the right angle. “Nothing…just bring that smile you tryna hide with you. I’ll see you on Friday.” 

And Lord, it couldn’t come fast enough. By Wednesday, she was counting down the hours. By Wednesday evening, she glanced at the clock, almost jumping out of her skin when he called her to ensure she was still suitable for Friday evening. On Thursday, she shared the details with her closest friends, who encouraged her to go; as a good man, making it official within a month wasn’t usual. 

“He asked me out. He didn’t ask me to be his girlfriend,” Nia downplayed as she sat in the manicurist’s chair, her voice vibrating from the massage chair’s beating on her back. 

Roni blew a raspberry that caught the attention of nearby patrons. “Girl, he’s about to. He asks you out all the time. He’s taking you to a nice dinner at an expensive restaurant in the city and Lord knows where else. Just be prepared to be booed up by the end of the weekend and stop being so pessimistic—oh, I’m sorry, can I change my polish color?”

By Friday after work, she was shuffling through the racks at her nearest Zara after determining the dresses in her closet wouldn’t do. They were either too short, too long, not in season, or not weather-appropriate. She landed on something less traditional and maybe something that would hurt any other man’s pride but would have Kelvin complimenting her off the walls—the sharpest two-piece black suit. Kind of. She wanted the pants, but when she saw a pair of shorts that complimented the blazer, it seemed appropriate for the occasion. Coupled with her favorite black heels and gold jewelry, she’d be date night-ready. 

The knock came like a secret. Not loud. Not rushed. Just three, a soft three-tap rhythm against the door that made her stomach leap. He didn’t call. Didn’t text. No hazard lights reflected off her window to send a signal like Batman. Kelvin showed up as he’d always done. With presence. 

She rechecked her reflection, tamed the nonexistent wrinkles on her blazer sleeve, and adjusted the hem of her shorts. Her legs looked long, which she could attribute to her heels. Her skin glowed, and her necklace winked at her like it knew the night would end with a bang.

When she opened the door, the look in his eyes made her heart race. 

“Alright, girl.” He didn’t just look at her. He studied her like an unknown subject, his eyes decoding every step that led to her putting on that blazer that covered just enough but still gave way to a wandering imagination and shorts that showcased smooth, brown legs. His vision was focused on her, and its fingers drummed down her thigh. “How can I keep it together when you look like this?”

Nia’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “If I’m leaving the house, I might as well look good doing it.”

Kelvin hummed low and smooth like melodies from an old church choir. He stepped closer, one hand in his pocket, the other tucked underneath her chin. Not too far, but just enough to have her leaning into his touch. His eyes flickered down to her lips, full and covered in lip gloss he’d love to have smeared on his skin at any opportunity. “You gon’ let me kiss you now, or do you need another five minutes like you Ain’t been thinking about it since Tuesday?” 

She swallowed thickly. Her lips parted, but the words didn’t come quickly enough. So he did it for her. Leaned in and pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth. Not quite her lips. Not overly complicated. Simple enough to be considered innocent but intentional enough for Nia to know it was a shadow of something else to come.

Nia exhaled sharply. “You’re tryin’ to start something, Kelvin.” 

He smiled as he pulled back, his dark brown eyes never leaving her complimentary ones. “Nah, just tryna build something, if you let me.” 

That was enough for her knees to almost buckle, sending those five-inch heels flying off her feet. Roni was right. He was up to something. 

The ride to the venue provided enough time to get her mind and vagina in order before she made decisions on impulse. They were seated outdoors, which gave the perfect view of the city’s nightlife as the sun crested over the horizon and city lights reflected off building windows and car mirrors. 

The live jazz band's soft sounds soothed her anxiety leading up to the date. Paired with two glasses of the finest white wine to grace her taste buds, they had her feeling loose and ready to accept any proposition he could provide. It was further subsided by a delicious meal, conversation with stolen, lingering glances, and the most delicious chocolate cake brought out on a clean, white dish with chocolate writing: Will you be my girlfriend? 

Suddenly, chocolate cake felt like a commitment. One she wanted but wasn’t expecting so soon.“You did not,” Nia gasped, dropping the fork she prepared to use to obliterate the dessert he ordered. A child-like grin on her face. “Babe…” His lips curled into a smirk. “You Ain’ even accept my proposal, and you callin’ me babe, c’mon girl, let’s do this the right way!” 

They shared a laugh. When it died down, Kelvin took her hand in his, thumb caressing the scar on her hand and the jewelry on the middle finger. “Nia, we’ve been cool for a while, but this last month has been…something different. I could be moving too fast or too old to play games. Maybe both, but I know I want you and only you; I want it to be real between us…and I’d be honored to call you my girl if you’d let me.”

Thank God for some self-control, or she would’ve leaped across the table and painted this man’s face with her lip gloss. Instead, she settled for a soft yes and a smile, which seemed to do it justice, as Kelvin couldn’t keep the smile off his face no matter how hard he tried. 

The ride back to her apartment was filled with an undeniable tension they both tried to mask with soft smiles and whispers of old school R&B that played through the speakers. It followed them up the elevator and to her front door, where her hand ghosted over the knob, debating whether to end the night or let him press her against a wall and capture her lips in the searing kiss she'd internally been begging for. But the other part of her, the cautious part of her told her to slow down. 

The shift was noticeable. Didn't fall on blind eyes. Kelvin didn't step closer but he didn't move way, either. The ball was in her court, but his presence was undeniable. She could feel his warm breath against her skin, the hairs on her neck standing at attention. 

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Nia," he reminded her of what she already knew, but it didn't help. Her inhibitions were clamoring behind iron bars she'd constructed over the last few years. Did he have the key to open the doors? It seemed so. 

His patience was both a gift and a challenge, an enigma she struggled to grasp. Thankful that he was mature unlike men--no, boys, she was used to dealing with. Curious about the unspoken confidence that warned her once she was his, she was his fully and he was hers. 

Nia turned over her shoulder, her stunning side profile spotlit by the low lights of the apartment hallway. "Come in," she said after some time. She aimed for confidence, but hesitation lassoed her words into a whisper, leaving only a hushed breath to pass her lips. "You sure?" 

The door creaking open was his answer. 

The two hardly made it past the threshold before lust beat self control and his mouth was on hers. She couldn't recall how it happened. Maybe when her hand lingered too long on his chest or when his lips brushed against her neck as she unlocked the door. She didn't know. She didn't care. 

Nia moaned softly from the intensity of it all. Their kiss was sloppy and uncoordinated, but it sparked a match that lit a flame deep in her loins. She'd set fire to the whole place if it didn't simmer down. But she didn't want it to. 

There was something grown, sexy, raunchy about a man finding her so delectable that as soon as the door closed and the locked clicked, he was on her like white on rice. She placed her hands on his chest to still his movements, bending down to kick off her heels before she broke an ankle trying to keep up with his lips sucking on her neck. Her eyes rolled back behind heavy eyelids. "Mhm, wait, wait." 

Her breath came out in a shaky laugh. She pressed against him, not to push him away, but to ground herself and remind herself of who she was. Kelvin pulled back immediately, eyes scanning her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitancy. His hands stayed where they were, distant but respectful. Unmoving, but still reminding her that she was in control and he'd follow her lead. 

"You good?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. 

"Yeah, yeah," Nia nodded, her fingers clenching around his shirt. She didn't know whether to pull him closer or retreat. "Wasn't expecting you to kiss me like that."

Kelvin chuckled, "Well, I'm not afraid to admit that's all I been thinkin' about since Tuesday, but.." That made her smile. Really smile. The one that made her nose crinkle and her shoulders relax. Her hands slid up his shirt and her finger wrapped around his chain, and she pulled him in for a kiss. Slower. More calculated. Nasty. 

His hand slid down her back and settled on the cuff of her bottom that peeked through the bottom of her shorts. A firm squeeze made her knees buckle. So the shorts were a good choice, she noted. She whimpered against his lips, her body arching every so slightly into his touch. Maybe. The younger version of her would've used this as fuel to spiral into full-fledged fantasies. But this, this was in the room with her. And it was hers. He was hers. 

Kelvin pulled back enough to whisper against her lips, "Do you want me to stay?" 

She didn't answer right away. Didn't need to. She just reached for his hand and led him further into the apartment and into the unknown that a night full of vibes, fancy wine, and cute proposal could thrust them to. 

And whatever happened after that, she'd chosen it. And that was enough. 

-

Tags: @kirayuki22 @greedyjudge2 @notapradagurl7 @irishmanwhore @honeytoffee @theogbadbitch @jazziejax @kumkaniudaku @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @youreadthatright

[whimsicallywiddershins]

When I was young and I first read Briar's Book, it wasn't my favorite. It had slow parts, and it wasn't too exciting, not like wildfires and pirates.

But now, reading it again as an adult, after living through the covid pandemic, it's amazing.

I am amazed at the research Tamora Pierce must have put in for the book! The events of the books are nearly identical to the covid pandemic.

It's amazing she even chose plague as a topic for her fantasy children's story. It's not exactly a normal plot line for such books. And she didn't go the easy way out of *hurr durr medieval society uses leeches and doesn't understand how germs work* option that so many fantasy writers use. Instead, she came up with a believable system that supplemented magic with technology.

The healers using magic to check the body to see what the pox did, the magic sample boxes, the magic diagnosis tools, the use of herbs and magic gems to find the "keys" to the cure... even the use of magic to distill the essence of the disease in order to study it. All combined with the good leadership of Duke Vedris, who followed the epidemic procedures written by the Living Temple to try to halt the pox. He enforced quarantine on the guards that handled the sick, cleared out warehouses to make hospitals, forced everyone to wear gloves and masks, paid people to collect the dead and burn them, ect.

The way Tamora Pierce perfectly captured to fear of the pandemic. The fear of getting sick, the dread of the knowledge of new cases and deaths, the exhaustion of the medical workers and support staff, the way the healers drained themselves dry and got sick.

It all combined into a realistic magic plauge that made an incredible book far before it's time.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Thirty One - Broken Realities

Part Thirty

———

Mecha originally were designed to just be giant weapons, to fight the Quintessons without question. A one man army, so to speak. 

It was only after the first cycle of designs were additional designs and operating systems added, some of which have been discontinued for reasons that are still being kept from the public. 

Currently, there stands four different classes of mecha. Each with different monitors across agencies and organizations.

MECHA has them labeled as; Striker, Hunter, Tanker, and Rescue.

The last two are more so designed for the more human elements of the work than the battle elements of the work. As for the rest, their roles are strict and designed to fit the compatibility of the pilot. 

A Striker class is assigned to the general comparable pilots, they make up a majority of active pilots and their suits are more likely than others to survive strenuous battle. They are by far the fastest, from connection time to deployment time, it is half of the next fastest class. All designed specifically to fight and destroy the foreign invaders of Earth, every pilot goes through the striker unit compatibility testing.

A Rescue class is significantly dwindling in its usage, generally used for evacuations and reconnaissance of an attacked area. They were a natural evolution to the technology in an attempt to shrink it for better access.  Around one in every five pilots is found compatible to be used in a rescue class unit. Known for disaster relief, they have been seen as more of a harm than a good through the eyes of the public. Select pilots are given the opportunity to go through rescue unit compatibility testing. 

A Tanker class was originally designed and held exclusively by the USSR, the heavier and denser cousin to the Striker class. Also the first to have an onboard nuclear reactor to power the mecha suit. Around one in fifty pilots are found compatible with tanker class, generally running in family lines and found with stronger connections to military service. They have the slowest deployment time, but have been known to cause on average more amounts of damage to the foreign enemy. Military is offered the ability to go through tanker compatibility testing, once someone is found compatible biological relations are sent notices with offers of testing. 

Lastly, the Hunter class which has the lowest number of suits and pilots, around one in every hundred pilots is found compatible. Their deployment times are not logged, their design to both study and destroy Quintessons, reporting data to the pilots given organizations at large. These are rarely seen by the public and limited information is offered on them, used for covert operations against the invaders. Select pilots are selected for compatibility testing, there is no offered opportunity for the hunter class units and it’s given compatibility testing. 

All four classes are found to be important, though it is likely classes will continue to fall off the previously longer list.

—

It was still dark out when they all sat down and it almost felt normal to sit around with other pilots over other mecha, but nothing was normal, not now.

He was still drinking the water, trying to feel human again even if for only a moment. Ignoring the worried expressions of his crew, Hound drained the last of one of his water pouches with a sigh, “My god Hound, I said drink some, not down the pouch.” Cracking a smile, he shrugged a bit. 

The nausea ebated for the moment and he was able to lean back, closing his eyes. 

Sunstreaker whistled lower, “Damn Hound, have you been fighting this whole time?” Hound didn’t feel like responding, keeping his eyes closed for a moment longer before sighing and looking back at the screens.

“How long have you been connected?” Breakdown was frowning at him through the camera, eating some of the familiar purple alien food from their makeshift bowls. For a moment, he really wasn’t sure when his friend would have had time to get the food. 

Sighing, Hound rubbed his neck, “Since middle of last night, I think.” He winced and his hand came away bloody, sighing again he got up and shuffled towards his cot. 

It felt wrong, being small and moving around, but he needed to keep grounded, “Hound, your overuse is the worst out of all of us, always has been according to the memo.” Sunny was frowning, looking worried, “You’re doing a lot.” Hound nodded, grabbing bandages and antiseptic, moving to sit back down while grabbing his bag of food. Jugging the weirdest collection of first aid and food.

He tilted his head forward and started to clean his implants and older surgery scars, “The sooner we get through the overuse, the better off we’ll be in the long run, like Jazz.” Hound winced again as the antiseptic burned, he bit the inside of his cheek hard. 

Glancing up, both men were staring at him with worry, sighing slowly, he recovered the sores with bandages, “I’m alright.” Breakdown shakes his head, “It looks like you could sleep for a month.” Hound rolled his eyes, putting his helmet back on carefully, “We all probably could, but we’ll get time off once we’re adjusted to our new units.” 

He was getting the helmet adjusted when both the cameras of the others went out, he just got the audio hooked back up when his suit was nudged.

They couldn’t even have a moment to speak. 

It took only a second to get plugged back in, but he stayed on the floor, it didn’t take long for his visor to lighten at the audio cleared up, “Is he alright?” It was Optimus Prime, he glanced up at the frowning mech, “Uh, yeah, just tired.” Sunstreaker rested a hand on his shoulder. 

“Optimus Prime, sir.” Hound nodded slightly, “I apologize, I’ve been,” but Optimus was shaking his head, “You’ve been fighting for nearly two days straight, I’ve heard. You should rest.” Already shaking his head, Hound sighed deeply, “They need me out there, I will be fine for a while longer, sir.” Optimus frowned. 

Standing up, he stretches slightly and rests at parade rest, “Sir, where do you need us?” Optimus sighed slowly, looking at the horizon, “Where would you station your unit Hound?” Nodding some, he looks to Breakdown then Sunstreaker, “How much did you change the map in command, sir?” He hardly spared Optimus a glance through.

“I made adjustments to the line and placed my commanders and myself to the west, south, and east.” Humming, Hound kept an eye on the horizon, “I will suggest that Sunstreaker goes to the west and I’ll return to the east.” He brushed a hand over his head, sighing deeply, “Then Breakdown could cover your six, sir.” Looking over, he pauses for a moment.

Optimus was staring at him, much more intently than before, “Sir?” Optimus’s optics cycled once, then twice before he lightly shook his head, “I apologize, of course. Whatever you think is best.” Nodding slowly, Hound turns to the other humans, “You ready?” Both nodded.

Sunstreaker was likely smiling, “We’ll see you later?” Hound nodded, “You know what to do.” Giving a mock salute, Sunny was off at a run.

Breakdown sighed slowly, his shoulder cannon humming to life and turning, “I follow your lead, Optimus Prime, sir.” Optimus winced and sighed, adjusting his grip on his blaster, “This way, then.” He leads the way towards the west.

Taking a slow and deep breath, Hound turns towards the way he had come from, staring before starting forward slowly. 

—

The battlefield was chaotic, but Sunstreaker was gripping his controls tighter than he ever had, running straight at the enemy as if they weren’t something to be frightened of. 

Although the blades on his bracers needed to be sharpened, they would have to do for the current battle. Never in his life had Sunny seen anything quite like this, certainly never on Earth. The darkness didn’t help, but he was more familiar with the use of infrared against the enemy than most pilots. 

He collided with a Quintesson that a small group of bots was firing on, his fist and blade pulled back before striking at the face of the alien creature, satisfied with the smear of green covering his yellow in the dark. 

Fights like these reminded him of why he was a pilot, more than a dozen mecha behind him had been trying to hold off this thing and here he was grappling with it, to Sunstreaker that meant everything. 

For a second, the briefest of seconds, with the sand under the feet of his mech it reminded him of fighting back home. In the middle of the night, just him and a Quint on the beach, trying to tear each other apart.

The stars were familiar, just in the edge of his view as he tangled with the Quintesson, though it’s angle was different than he remembered, still the fight went a lot the same.

Fist hitting the side of the alien, blade slashing off one of the roaming tentacles and preventing it from wrapping around his suit. The voice in his ear though, that was a familiar one.

”If you don’t hurry up and handle that freak of nature it will try to get into Daytona Sunstreaker!” The voice in command was filled with a light static, something that he’d almost forgotten being so normal on Earth, “Alright, I hear ya!” He swore and tore off the tentacle that snagged his arm.

There was a quiet moment while he kept at it, ”I didn’t say anything.” That voice was clear and almost unfamiliar, he was too focused to listen to whatever else the voice had said after.

A crash of the thing to the ground made him drag air deeply into his lungs, gasping for air, “Your shifts not over yet Sonny, focus on the now and look forward to the later, alright?” Nodding slightly, he looked up and his vision cleared just in time to see another slamming into him.

They moved back several feet, his cockpit groaning with the force of it, the last of his visor shattering behind the protective cover and his cameras flared even in the dark. Spiderwebs taking over a lense or two of its own.  

It didn’t take Sunstreaker long to recover enough sense to start hitting and tearing at the thing, it was growling and screamed with every pull of flesh from it’s skeletal structure. He didn’t realize till the shot hit the Quintesson that he’d been yelling at it. 

Looking over his shoulder, he made eye contact with Bluestreak, who was perched up on a rock with a rifle in hand. Though as soon as the shot was clear, the light quiver to his hands returned.

Grunting with effort, Sunstreaker dove back on the fallen Quintesson as it tried to get back up, hands digging into the flesh of the beast. Tearing it apart in a vicious sort of way.

Deep down, he knew it wasn’t entirely the alien’s fault for the hallucination, it was a symptom of overuse. But they were the reason why he was experiencing overuse or why it even was a thing that pilots had to deal with. So taking his frustration out on it was better than on his friends. 

He kept tearing at it, until the ground was a pool of green and he was thoroughly covered in its gore. This was a time when he’d have to hit the wash racks, no questions asked.

Taking a slow deep breath, he straightened and looked about, there were other fights though they were starting to get further away. The push back of the few reinforcements was certainly helping. Turning, he looked back where Bluestreak had been, only having a moment to brace in the sand.

“You fragging idiot!” Bluestreak collided with Sunstreaker, holding him close as the remnants of his visor broke off into the cover over it. Sunny chuckled lightly, brushing a hand up Blue’s back, “I’m alright Blue, I’m okay.” But Bluestreak didn’t let go.

He held onto Blue, worry tearin at his gut while his friend clutched at him desperately, similar to how Sideswipe would hold him if after a mission almost went sour, how the few people he’d had relationships back on Earth had done. It hit him like a ton of bricks, or a direct hit to his cockpit would and he held tighter to Bluestreak. Sunstreaker took a slow breath, “So, this is what the inside joke is then?” He clutches Blue closer when the mech tries to pull away.

Though it was hard to breathe, he didn't want to let go, to face the war outside their embrace for just a moment longer. 

Closing his eyes, he just stands there, holding Bluestreak close, “I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon.” And Bluestreaks’ arms wrapped around Sunstreaker tighter, he sighed slowly, “I’m sorry.” Sunny chuckled lightly, “Don’t be, just, later.” Sunny slowly pulls back, smiling even though Blue couldn’t see it. 

Bluestreak’s face had changed color, infrared showing the dramatic shift in temperature, Sunny grinning pulled away knowing there was still more to be done, “I’ll see you later?” And for the first time, in all the time that they had known each other, Bluestreak was speechless.

Sunny made quick work of rerouting his vision to cameras without shattered lenses, one or two of the dozens, mostly hidden end by the cover protecting his bare head. It would be a horrific sight, he knew that deep down but now was not the time to worry or fret over it, running and sliding through the sand with that practiced ease. 

When the streak of yellow went running back off, Bluestreak vented slowly, “Fragging humans.” And he rubbed the plating over his spark with a grin. 

—

Dragging thrashing mecha while his cannon was booming on his shoulder felt weirdly familiar. Reminded Breakdown of his early days in the military, gun up and firing while dragging comrades hopefully back to safety. 

Except now he knew that the people he was bringing back would be alright, one of if not the best medic on Cybertron was planet side and screaming as just about everyone except for him. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do to not face the medics wrath but for the moment he was grateful. 

Leaning the mech against the mound in front of the newly dug trench, several other mecha reached over to grab him as Breakdown started back out into the field at a run. His footsteps shook the ground. 

It surprised him slightly, watching the Cybertronian’s in battle, the way it blew Breakdown away. Their kind knew and understood war, likely far too well, not unlike the people back home. 

Maybe it was the figure in the distance that actually blew him away. Back when they had crash landed on Cybertron, he hadn’t really noticed Megatron or Optimus Prime on the battlefield, to focused on being on a different planet. 

Now though, it was hard to direct his cameras anywhere else, to watch Optimus Prime tear apart their shared enemy unlike nearly any other Cybertronian he had seen. It was hard to picture someone like that on Earth being in the midst of battle, he couldn’t picture the president of the United States as they currently sat in power in the midst of a battle ensuring the safety of their citizens. 

Though that just might be his perspective on it, it seems far more normal to a number of the soldiers around to see the leader of their planet in the trenches with them.

Once he was to clear and mostly level space, he adjusted his stance and let his feet sink slightly in the sand till they hit the hard standing underneath. His cannon came online with an ominous hum before he brought his tracking system online.

It was already programmed to hit Quintessons, but he didn’t want it blasting apart mechs in battle, so he turned off the automatic feature, and started targeting. The cannon booming painfully loud on his shoulder every five seconds. Whine, hum, boom, silence, whine, hum, boom. 

And it would carry on like that till getting a medic ping or hearing the scream of a fallen soldier. 

Who he didn’t expect was the swearing of the commander himself, then the mecha who were quick to cover his retreat. Cannon disengaged, he ran over to be in front of him, “Optimus Prime, sir, I’ll provide covering fire.” He briefly assessed the injury, it was a sliced line, likely from the grip of a Quintesson tentacle.

An injury that he himself would have ignored, here through, it was different. 

“No, Breakdown, I’ll be alright.” Optimus’s voice was calm and he was scanning the horizon, “Sir, forgive me, the sooner that it’s patched up the sooner you can return.” He braced his feet, started to separate the landscape between the line and the enemy with dense firing, sending two pings.

One to the seekers who’d follow his line of fire shortly, and one to medical to alert them he was bringing another one in, “So, you have two choices, sir.” Breakdown was yelling over the sound of his cannon as the other soldiers spread back out, “You can come with me willingly, or you can be dragged there by me. It is your choice.” Optimus smiled and chuckled. 

Extending a hand at the next moment of silence, Optimus grasped it with his good arm, gun once again connected to his side. Shifting his weight, Breakdown was able to pull the larger mech up with an ease unfamiliar to Optimus. At least coming from anyone other than Megatron.

Breakdown stayed behind him, ducking his head out of the way as his cannon swiveled back around to continue laying down covering fire. Both their feet slipped in the blood covered sand.

It was a quiet walk, march, whatever they wanted to call it. Both men stayed silent as they went, Optimus choosing to stay quiet as Breakdown was focused on covering their backs. 

Only once they had made it to the trench line and past it, did Optimus start to speak up, “Breakdown, you seem… different from the others, not in a bad way. They seem to hold you in high esteem, but,” Smiling sadly, Breakdown nodded, “But I still stand apart.” He finally let the cannon die off at that moment, turning to walk with Optimus to medical.

With a sigh, Optimus nods and sits down on a crate, just outside of medical, “Do you mind me asking why?” Shrugging a bit, Breakdown knocks on the thin metal wall, “I am the oldest pilot, I also speak a different language from them. Our countries were at a standstill of conflict for decades, well, in a way.” He sighs and scratches below his implants lightly. 

“But to, as they say, make the long story short, I have been in this fight for longer than any of them. Almost as long as adding them together.” He sighs slowly, staring out back towards the battlefield, “I also was losing everything by coming on this mission. My parents, my brothers.” Breakdown’s voice wavered for a moment, “It was hard to accept.” He looked back to Optimus, shaking his head a bit, “But it’s the work.” He sighed.

Flatline came out of medical, “Optimus Prime, sir.” Was all he said before getting to work on the sliced line.

Breakdown watched, “It’s nothing to worry about, the four of us are human and the main connections we have to home.” He leaned slightly against the building before looking at the sky. 

Optimus stared, nodding slowly, “You care deeply,” Smiling a bit, Breakdown nods, “Yes.” Frowning though, Optimus shifted, “Yet you didn’t notice Sunstreaker’s visor.” Breakdown suppressed a chuckle, “I noticed it, it’s mostly covered.” He kept his eyes on the sky. 

“You seemed very concerned over Hound’s well-being, yet hardly commented on Sunstreaker’s shatters visor.” Optimus was frowning, he could see the corner of his optics crease ever so slightly and Breakdown shrugged, “Visors are easily replaceable on Earth, they are a common thing to break, it would be more surprising if none of us experienced it.” He shrugs lightly.

Optimus was still staring, “You speak as if this injury has become overlooked.” Chuckling lightly, Breakdown shakes his head a bit, “Sir, if you don’t mind. We are made to be replaceable, every part here,” He touches his arms and chest lightly, “Is replaceable. It’s by design, why all pilots have visors,” He honestly meant glass visors, but it wasn’t like they would be that specific on Earth.

That made the Prime look, it was hard to tell, maybe heartbroken, “We are meant to come apart and be put back together, mostly, and even the things at our cores have replaceable parts, though not removable ones. Once they are placed there after compatibility testing, new ones or what you have will always remain.” He lightly brushed a hand over his older generation implants, how much they stuck out compared to the others. 

“It is something you become accustomed to, our best scientists using us as science experiments.” He nods slightly and turns at the approaching footsteps.

Knockout was wearing a dark scowl, “Breakdown, please come help these poor idiots off the field and into the infirmary.” He only stopped when he saw the Prime, “If my Prime has no need of your assistance.” Optimus looked pained, “Of course not, please Breakdown, help Knockout with the injured.” Nodding a bit, Breakdown smiled behind his visor, “Yes sir.” He turned and started to follow Knockout, who shot him an odd look. 

Slowing down a bit, Knockout falls in next to Breakdown, “I hope you are healed.” Smiling a bit, he nods slightly, “Uh, yes, as much as I can be. Thank you for your concern.” Nodding too, Knockout toes the ground briefly as they walk, the firefight growing further away. 

As they walked, they fell into step comfortably, watching as the sky started to lighten with daybreak. 

The Prime stood back at the base of the line while Flatline was repairing the torn line, his trigger finger itching nearly painfully, both from anger and grief. Another species who didn’t see the cruelties of their kind was suffering across the universe, all while he watch some of their kin try and sacrifice themselves for his own kind.

———

A/N

I really wanted a Hound part at the end, but that would have made this chapter well over 4.5k and I think that Monday’s chapter deserves its special place.

Some stuff with Breakdown! I wanted the find the right moment to start diving into his character and I felt that it was finally to that point. Of course I still have everyone else to dive into properly but still.

Also, Sunstreaker being the least stupid (other than Jazz) out of the humans makes so much sense to me its not even funny.

Tags

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU!

Also thank you to @sightseertrespasser for your help with the Mecha classes. It meant a lot.

(I didn’t know I could only have 50 @‘s in a post… restructure of my tag list coming soon!)

[racefortheironthrone]

TLT World Building: The Nine Houses and the Logistics of Space Empires

Building off my earlier post about stele-and-obelisk travel and the River, I wanted to talk about something that's been rattling around my mind for a while, which is subluminary travel and the logistics of the Nine Houses. One of the things that has been brought up as a criticism of Muir's world-building as far back as Gideon the Ninth is that the Empire seems to have very, very fast non-FTL travel, such that Gideon and Harrow travel the 3.3 billion miles from Pluto to Earth in an hour, without using a stele. How, it was asked, does an Empire whose military relies on swords and whose medical knowledge is incredibly uneven at best, accomplish a technological feat of that magnitude?

I think we got an answer for that in Nona the Ninth:

“That ship’s not big enough for a stele. Don’t know if it’s big enough for subluminary travel, even. How did it get here?” Crown leant back in her chair, staring at the projector screen, head balanced in the crook of one golden arm. Nona noticed that her biceps showed even through her shirt, and that there were rubber bandages wrapped around one palm. She said, “Oh, that’s big enough for subluminary travel, Millie. See the double struts, and the massive exhaust? That’s a Ziz-class.” ...Crown continued, “The Ziz isn’t Cohort standard. And it’s not as big on the inside as you think. Look at the windows—see how there’re none on the back end? It’s mostly engine. Not plated either. It’ll get to sublume without many problems … but it definitely doesn’t have room for a stele. Camilla is right. It can’t travel by obelisk anchor.” Pyrrha said suddenly, “Crown. How’s the fuel consumption on a Ziz-class ship?” “Thirsty,” said Crown, brightening up at being asked. “Its cell would be totally drained after a day in subluminary. It only takes the powerful stuff too—thalergy-enriched, not just hydrogen blend. Hydrogen blend stuffs up the engine.”

The answer is necromancy. (Because of course it is.) The Empire infuses shuttle fuel with thalergy - and we know that the necromantic specialty of the Second House is to "drain thalergy from any living source and use it," so the Empire can treat thalergy as a fungible resource that they can extract, store, and then use somewhere else. Moreover, we know that the necromantic specialty of the Fourth House is "exciting thanergy into a state of fission" in order to produce explosions.

Since necromancy can easily convert thalergy into thanergy, I think that the Empire's higher-end shuttles are powered by necromantic pulse propulsion, such that shuttle fuel is burned to produce thrust, but then at the same time the thanergy is turned into a massive fission explosion behind the shuttle, producing even more thrust.

I think this also explains why the Second and Fourth are so disproportionately represented in the Cohort, because in addition to producing soldiers for the front lines, they're heavily involved with making the Cohort Fleets move. (I'm going to further speculate that the Fourth make up a lot of the Fleets' pilots, since that would fit their necromantic specialties, the nature of their planet, and their image as gung-ho "go fast" types.) This leads me to a few conclusions:

it explains why the Empire is so focused on short-term extraction; it's essentially stripping the thalergy for fuel to power subluminary transportation in the Dominicus system and beyond, in the same way that we're burning fossil fuels to power our economies today. There is a profound irony in that Mr. Environmentalist John Gaius has so precisely recreated the dynamics of the carbon economy through necromancy.

it explains how logistics in the Nine Houses work. If you can use necromantic fission drives to get from the outer edge of the Dominicus system to the core that quickly, than most of the logistical complexities of running a multiplanetary economy fall away. All you have to do is get your transport shuttle full of goods from the colonies to a stele at the edge of the Dominicus system, and then necromantic fission solves the "last mile problem" of getting your Necro-Amazon "just-in-time" deliveries to the hungry markets of the Third or the Fifth. You don't need to worry about the fact that you can't produce a lot of organic resources on thanergetic planets (especially ones that are space stations and the like rather than fully terraformed), because you just have everything delivered.

it similarly explains how logistics out in the colonies work. Even if you're at the edge of the stele network, necromantic fission shuttles can transport goods between planets in the same solar system with relative ease. It only becomes an issue when you're a ways out from the edge of the network, because that involves burning more thalergy-enriched fuel. Hence why Corona talks about "the Cohort movements didn’t make sense to her...shepherd planets got more costly the further the Houses extended themselves."

This makes me think of necromancy in a different way than I had before. Rather than just being about magic and warfare, necromancy is essentially the technology of the Nine Houses (aside from some legacy technologies that they have left over from pre-Resurrection), the tool that they use to solve all of their problems and make their society and economy and government function.

[medstudentinfandom]

Autistic Alastor thoughts! AKA this man is one of the most autistic men to ever autism, and my sources are like half projection. But! I also have many thoughts/justifications/headcanons that I wanna share. So here they are.

Alastor learned to mask from an incredibly young age. He was a mixed child growing up in the south in the early 1900s, I think he would have recognized VERY early on that he ought to not do anything that would draw more intention than necessary

Went into radio because that was the most socially acceptable way for him to have a career that fully centered around him talking uninterrupted about his special interests.

Had a bit of trouble while alive in finding the line of when dark humor went a bit too far. His jokes about the stock market crash were well received and seen as a lovely little reprieve from the terrifying reality. Making offhand comments about who the "New Orleans Butcher" should target next didn't land quite as well.

His refusal to adapt to modern times relates a lot to his autism. He's already learned everything he can about radio, went through the trouble of learning the powers he was granted in Hell, why would he waste his time learning about all this newfangled technology? All of his old tech works perfectly fine, thank you.

Personally I've pretty much settled in the fact that he is physically incapable of dropping his smile. BUT something something hypermasking to the point the desire to appear "normal" by neurotypical standards loops back around to being creepy and off putting to all nt's in the room.

I think he experienced that somewhat while alive (overcompensating for his lack of eye contact by staring at people HARD, etc.) and tried to adjust that. But in Hell? Full uncanny valley, he does not care, he will be strange and off putting and he will ENJOY IT

Going back to Alastor's refusal to adapt, his hatred for change also means he DESPISES how much Vox has changed. He liked Vox, he was comfortable with Vox, there was literally nothing wrong with the way Vox was. And then he went and changed his body and demeanor and he was supposed to want to stick around him (he does keep his old head to comfort himself)

Not really a big stimmer. Except that he bites. He bites so so much in the least sexy way imaginable. In any given moment if you pull off his gloves, he's got puncture wounds in various stages of rapid healing because the moment he needs to self regulate, he is chomping down.

I also feel the need to mention that I think it would be funny if, while they were close, Alastor consistently used Vox's arm as his own personal chew toy. Something about the silicone faux skin he uses just feels great to bite into, what can he say? This has unfortunately also resulted in Vox having a Pavlovian response of just holding his arm up anytime someone close to him gets clearly agitated.

Sensory issues, a plethora of sensory issues! Absolutely despises the feeling of wet fur, whether it's getting wet while it's still on him or he's cleaning it out of the drain. He has genuinely considered tearing all his fur out from the root to avoid it. Also, I despise his fuckass bob, but I like to tell myself the reason he cuts it Like That in the back is to avoid hair brushing against the back of his neck. That would make him Violent.

Noise is a tricky one. For the most part, he loves a loud, music filled and bustling club and doesn't mind it at all. But I think if he is already feeling overstimulated, someone talking a little too loud is enough to set him off.

Very touch averse, with specific exceptions. If he's the one initiating the contact, and especially if he's already tipsy? All good, that's fine. But if someone else is approaching HIM, especially when he isn't expecting it? Like 80% of the time he will not tolerate at all, and even when he will it is for a very limited amount of time.

And of course, should anyone ever approach and ask him if he's autistic? Well, he doesn't really know at all what you're talking about! His behaviors? Goodness, what's so strange about his behaviors, YOU'RE probably the weird one actually.

Perhaps I will add on to this if more thoughts come to me. Till then thanks for reading lol

[eyneyke]

The Moment pt3

Pairing: Max Verstappen x PewDiePie!sibling Summary: What if Felix had a genius brother who works as a RedBull's engineer and is also secretly dating Max part 29 of A Calm to my Storm Masterlist

aka. The Final Stretch – Max’s Miracle Drive

*just a lil heads up: while I am a fan of f1 and cars, neither english nor car and bolid technology are my forte, so bare with me and my questionable writing of Sam explaining something technical about the car :)

Two-thirds of the race is done, and the impossible is happening. Max Verstappen, who started at the very back of the grid, has fought his way up to fourth place. While no one doubted Max's abilities, today feels like a miracle. After his last pit stop, all eyes are on him, wondering if Sam Kjellberg’s overnight fixes will hold.

Commentator 1: “Max Verstappen is performing wonders today. I mean, he’s climbed from P20 to P4, but considering the issues Red Bull had with the car, this is nothing short of miraculous.”

Commentator 2: “Absolutely. His driving is superb as always, but we have to remember that what Sam Kjellberg did with that car—untested modifications done overnight—this is unheard of.”

---

Suddenly, Max’s radio comes to life.

GP (Race Engineer): “Max, you’re a second behind Alonso in P3. You’re 3 seconds off Sebastian in P2, and Lewis is 6 seconds ahead, leading the race. Behind you, Kimi is 10 seconds back, so you’ve got some space.”

Max (jokingly, but you can hear his breathing): Copy that. Hopefully Sam's still awake.

GP: “How are you feeling? The car feeling okay?”

Max (calmly): “We're both feeling good, mate. Great, even.”

GP (laughing): “Alright, Max, I’m officially handing you over into Sam’s beautiful arms.”

Max (laughing): “I do love those arms.”

As Max exits a tricky corner, preparing for the long straight, Sam’s voice comes over the radio.

Sam: “Max, I need you to empty the battery completely on this straight. 0% by the end of it.”

---

Commentator 1: “What? Did Sam just tell Max to empty the battery? That’s... that’s all the power he has left for this straight.”

Commentator 2: “Yeah, I don’t get it. They’re going to be a sitting duck without that extra energy. What is Sam thinking?”

---

Max follows the instruction without question, flooring it down the straight and draining the battery entirely.

Max (radio): “Battery’s empty, Sam.”

Sam: “Okay, go into the next corner like you would normally. Follow the line. When you exit, turn R20 on 55 and add power.”

---

The camera cuts to the timing screen. As Max’s battery drained, Kimi Räikkönen has gotten within 2 seconds of him. The pressure is mounting.

Max takes the corner flawlessly and follows Sam’s instructions. As soon as he exits, the car surges forward, accelerating, and continuing the drive rapidly despite the battery still being empty.

Commentator 1 (shocked): “What in the world is happening?! How is Max still driving?”

Commentator 2 (in disbelief): “I have no idea, but it’s working! He’s pulling away from Kimi now.”

---

Max (radio, laughing): “Sam’s arms save me again.”

Sam (dryly): “Shut up and finish the race so I can finally go to sleep.”

Max (laughing): “Sir, yes sir.”

As Max pulls away from Kimi, he’s closing in fast on Alonso in P3. The commentators are losing their minds, and the cameras show Christian Horner and Adrian Newey patting Sam on the back. Sam waves them off, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him. 

---

Final Laps

Max overtakes Alonso with a perfectly timed move, taking P3. Alonso can’t fight back, and just moments later, Kimi passes Alonso as well. The battle for the podium is heating up, but Max is now chasing down Sebastian Vettel in P2.

Commentator 1: “Verstappen’s done it! He’s up to P3, and now it’s a race between him, Sebastian, and Lewis!”

Commentator 2: “This is incredible. Sam’s strategy is somehow working, and Max is driving like a man possessed!”

---

On the last lap, Max gets a brilliant run on Sebastian coming out of the final sector and overtakes him for P2. Over the radio, Sebastian’s voice is heard, stunned.

Sebastian (radio): “Woah. That's amazing.” He says breathlessly and amazed by what he just witnessed.

--- 

The crowd is on its feet as Max closes in on Lewis Hamilton, who is leading the race. As they approach the final turn, Max makes his move, catching Lewis by surprise and sliding past him with a beautiful overtake.

Max Verstappen crosses the line to take the victory.

---

Post-Race Reactions

Max’s radio lights up again.

Christian (jokingly): “Max, you and Sam are the reason I’m going home with completely white hair after this race. I’m too old for this!”

In the background, Adrian Newey is heard laughing.

Max (laughing): “Happy to help, boss.”

Sam (dryly): “Good job, Max. Now, please don’t crash in the cool-down lap. Thanks.”

Max (laughing): “Sir, yes sir!”

As the drivers pull into the pit lane, the camera shows the Red Bull garage celebrating like mad, with Christian, Newey, and Sam at the centre of it all. Mechanics are jumping all over each other, and the energy is electric. Other nearby garages, including Mercedes and Ferrari, are seen clapping and congratulating the Red Bull team.

---

Commentators’ Closing Thoughts

Commentator 1: “What an unbelievable race! Max Verstappen wins after starting P20, and credit has to go to Sam Kjellberg for his work overnight. The modifications on that car—untested as they were—made all the difference.”

Commentator 2: “Sam’s miracle engineering and Max’s incredible driving... it all came together today. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

---

Online Reactions

@MaxTheKing: I cannot believe what I just saw! Max went from last to first?!? SAM IS A MAGICIAN! THIS WAS INSANE.

@RBRObsessed: Did y’all hear Max just casually say Sam’s arms saved him again? My heart.

@TheOvertakeMaster: Sam told Max something, Max ACTUALLY listened... and it WORKED. HOW?! HOW DID THAT WORK?!?

@MercedesFan92: Respect to Max, but Sam Kjellberg is the MVP of this race. His work saved that car, and Max trusted him 100%

@FormulaGod: Christian: "I’m going home with white hair." Sam: "Good job, please don’t crash." Them boyz are so tired they just want this weekend to be done

@F1LoverForever: Seb: “That’s amazing.” YES, SEB IT IS!

[rose-pendragon]

Lost and Found - Part 2

(Part 1)

“...that concludes the briefing.”

Ava stared down at the notes that summarized what she had just been told. The briefing had been short, but what had been said had immediately been rejected by her brain, so she was hoping that the notes would make more sense. But even after reading through the few lines of text three times, they still didn’t.

Critical reactor failure detected in JVX unit at 2152 hours

Target confirmed destroyed at 2153 hours

Last black box signal detected from JVX unit at 2154 hours

Remote communication attempts unsuccessful

SAR arrives at last known location at 2233 hours

JVX unit confirmed destroyed

SAR reports no life signs or remains of JVX pilot were found

Proprietary JVX unit technology secured

After a few more moments of silence, the person on the other side of the table cleared his throat. “Is there anything unclear?”

Ava had to take a moment to rephrase the question that was building into a scream inside her head in a more appropriate way.

“J-, ah, the pilot.” She swallowed. “No life signs or remains were found?” 

“The Search and Rescue team scanned the entire perimeter. The only recovered remains were those of the target pilot - and they had a lot of difficulty recovering those. There was some biological material in the seat of the JVX’ cockpit, likely burned skin tissue, but nothing else.” 

Another moment of silence.

“So…”

The person opposite her shook her head. “MIA. You know how these things go, Ava.”

Yes, she did. ‘How these things go’ meant a closed personnel file with a big red MIA stamp on it that was then shoved into a drawer and never opened or talked about again. She wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Requesting permission to lead another SAR mission to deter- ” “Denied. We cannot spare the resources at this time. Besides, we need you here to select a new pilot for the JVX once it’s repaired.”

“The JVX has a pilot, and as its handler, I - I mean, surely it’s in your best interest as well to recover all company property?”

“All company property that has been deemed essential has been recovered.” He paused for a moment. “I’m sorry, but it really isn’t up to me. Look, I know you both had a - well- ” He avoided looking at her directly while reconsidering what he was going to say. “If you would like, we can organize a memorial service.”

Ava felt like the air had been knocked out of her lungs, and the color drained from her face at the same time.

“MIA doesn’t fucking mean ‘confirmed dead’, Porter!” She noticed him recoil slightly just before she realized that she had shouted her last words. He quickly regained his composure. Ava noticed her own elevated breathing and heart rate and stood up - her leg brace only giving her a little trouble - to walk a few steps back and forth to calm down.

“Yes, but like I already told you, we cannot spare another SAR mission, so I’m afraid the only other option is to already consider KIA as the only possible outcome. Again, I’m sorry.” Before Ava could say something else, he continued, “a memorial service is the only thing I can offer. It won’t be very extravagant as it’s not usually done for pilots, but I can pull some strings. After all, considering his combat scores- “

Ava rounded on him before he could finish the sentence and backhanded him with such force that he almost fell out of his chair. She took a step back and forced herself not to grab him by his stupid immaculate white collar and smash his head into the table. 

Porter adjusted himself and sat up straight. His expression had defaulted back to his previous absolute neutrality, like a water’s surface calming down after throwing a rock into it. He hadn’t called security on her yet, which was probably a good sign. At length, he said:”Considering…the pilot’s combat scores were continuously above average, and if I put in a word on your behalf, I believe that a small memorial service will be reasonable. I’m willing to still extend that opportunity to you, as well as to overlook what just happened. I know you’re- “ He thought better of it, which probably saved his life. “Just let me know before tomorrow evening so I can make arrangements. I’ll send you the personnel files of the potential new JVX pilots so you can select one. That is all.” 

Without another word, Ava turned around and left the room, slamming the door behind her quite a lot harder than she had meant to. She didn’t care. She only had one thing on her mind, and it wasn’t going back to her quarters so she could look at files and pick another pilot. Instead, she took the quickest route to the hangar bay. 

She was going to find her June and get her back. No matter what. 

[gillbrother]

Gill Brother stands as a top-tier plumbing service provider in Brampton, catering to Peel, York, Toronto, Halton, Hamilton, and Waterloo with unparalleled expertise. Our master plumbers and licensed professionals are committed to delivering outstanding Residential and Commercial Plumbing Services. For dependable support, contact us at +1-647-895-8107.

[writeyouin]

Swerve X Reader – Changes - Chapter 12

Mistaken Identity

A/N – Thanks to a very beautiful comment, I was inspired to continue this. Hope it all makes sense, wrote it during a fever delirium.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Two Months. That was all it took for Getaway to place himself as your new best friend. It was just a game of going back and forth between you and Swerve, and it was so painfully easy. The most difficult part for Getaway was not laughing out loud at how easily he could manipulate the two of you.

When he was with you, he sympathised and gave you a shoulder to cry on, telling you all the ways he had tried to contact Swerve and how the mini-bot just wasn’t willing to talk to you (in reality, he barely saw that little orange brat.)

Then, when he knew that Swerve was going to build up his courage and talk to you, he took you out on a walk, parading you past Swerve, and keeping just enough distance so that Swerve would see you, but you wouldn’t see him. And, whenever your estranged hubby was looking, all he had to do was place a friendly arm over your shoulder, or hug you in such a manner that, from where Swerve was standing, it looked more like an amorous kiss. Getaway constantly walked a fine line, being best friends to one and lovers to the other; it was a fine use of his acting skills.

Between that, he worked on the only other bot that mattered – Rung. By manipulating some other bots into having mental breakdowns and bribing a few other bots into pretending they were mentally ill, well, your weekly sessions with Rung were now monthly sessions, and Swerve was so depressed that he had stopped seeing that soft-spoken do-gooder completely. Everything was going according to plan; there was only one more loose end he needed to tie up.

Now that you were in the right headspace and had been separated from Swerve for a while, Getaway had to make the break-up permanent. Yet, to do that, you needed to see Swerve, and if the two of you were left in the same space… Well, Getaway’s house of cards would come tumbling down, and that couldn’t happen. His lies were fragile, and one word of his forced miscommunication between the two of you would mean losing you as an ally, which he didn’t want if he was to successfully mutiny against the Captains.

Now, holo-forms were a tricky matter. Lately, Rodimus had had the top geniuses make them more intuitive and customisable so that the bots could feel like themselves even when disguised as another race. While that was okay, Getaway ordered some of his guys to refine the technology further and upgrade him so he could use his holoform in a way it had never been used before. The process was difficult, and moreover, it was exhausting, draining his energon reserves fast. He had to fuel up on refined high-grade, getting wasted to even use it, but by the time it had been on for even a few seconds, the buzz quickly wore off.

Yet, as Getaway looked at his reflection and was faced with a perfect replica of Swerve, he had to admit, it was all worth it; it even disguised his voice.

After a few practice runs of making himself look as pathetic and weak as possible, Getaway was ready to end your relationship with the no-good bartender permanently.

You got back to your hab-suite to find Swerve hesitantly holding a servo up to the door, then dropping it only to anxiously bring it back up, too afraid to knock.

Getaway in full holoform, saw you from the corner of his optic, having timed everything perfectly.

“Swerve,” You said, standing a short way from him. You wanted to rush over and embrace him, but he had been gone for so long. A small part of you was concerned that he would flee again if you tried, and there was another part of you that was afraid of the intimacy. He had left you, and you had honestly thought he would have been back long before now, even if it was just to try to talk things through.

You wanted your marriage back, but you still felt hurt and rejected, afraid the gap between the two of you would become a chasm if you made one wrong move.

Getaway saw the insecurity in your demeanour; perfect. He looked at you, imitating a stammer, “I I know I shouldn’t be here- But, I mean-”

That was strange. Swerve usually spoke so fast, even when he was uncertain of himself. Still, you supposed things would be strange from now on.

“Come inside, please?” You asked, closing the distance between the two of you and opening the door in invitation. Getaway-Swerve wrung his servos together anxiously but nodded soon after, going in after you.

The real Swerve, meanwhile, stood behind his bar, anxious about the two thuggish bots demanding drinks. He hadn’t been open in ages. Everyone knew that. Why were they here now? They didn’t seem overcharged, nor were they overtly threatening him, but something about the situation seemed so wrong, like they were trying to keep him from something important.

“Fellas, I already told you, I’m not open. You could try “Visages”, but-”

“We don’t want to go to “Visages,”” The taller of the two growled. “We want to drink here.”

The other bot didn’t say anything but grunted in affirmation.

“Uh, well-”

“Just a few drinks and we’ll be gone. Now, are you a bartender, or not? Cos if you’re not, well I don’t see why you get to keep this space to yourself and I think we oughta demand that Ultra Magnus give this place to someone who’s actually gonna use it, right Tailpipe?”

Tailpipe grunted again.

Swerve nodded dumbly. Yet, his processor was going a mile a minute. This wasn’t a shakedown. It was a diversion. But from what? There was only one thing he cared about.

Swerve almost blanched as he thought about the only other thing he cared about on the ship. There was just no way. Nobody would want to keep him from you… Unless they wanted to hurt you. Swerve was being paranoid; he knew that he was, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He held up his servos defensively, “Alright… Alright. Just let me get the glasses from the storeroom, kay? I haven’t been open for a while.”

The bots let him go, thinking nothing of the deception. Swerve made a lot of noise in the storeroom, loudly asking himself where he’d put the glasses while he shifted crates until he uncovered his secret escape from the bar. He’d initially made the hole in the wall for you, in case you needed to hide from any immediate danger, but he could squeeze through just fine. The other side led to a cupboard nobody used. He shuffled through, covering his exit, and walked out of the cupboard nonchalantly, too afraid to run or transform just yet in case the bar goons noticed him.‘Stick that up your tailpipe, dirtbags,’ Swerve thought indignantly as he got far away enough to start running towards the hab-suite.

You held your hands over your mouth, shaking your head, tears in your eyes, “No, I- You don’t mean it.”

Getaway-Swerve stared at the floor, avoiding eye contact, the divorce data-pad on the table in front of you.

“SAY YOU DON’T MEAN IT!” You cried desperately. “YOU LOVE ME. YOU’VE ALWAYS LOVED ME!”

Getaway-Swerve shook his helm, “I’m sorry. Everything that’s happened- It’s made me realise- We can’t last (Y/N). We’re too different.”

“NO!” You shouted, throwing your hands down. “No.”

“I- I tried to love you, but I- I can’t.”

“But-but I’m sticking with you, right?” You grabbed his servos hopefully, waiting for him to say the next line, your hands shaking when he didn’t.

“I’m… I’m going now, (Y/N). You obviously need time to think and- Well, I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

Getaway-Swerve pulled his servos from yours.

You shook your head, ugly tears smearing your paint job. Distraught, you tried your last gambit, the one true way that you would know if Swerve had really fallen out of love with you.

You grabbed hold of him, kissing him urgently. For a single moment, Getaway forgot his act, leaning into the kiss. You furrowed your brows. This was all wrong. It wasn’t that you thought that Swerve didn’t love you, but rather that Swerve didn’t kiss like that. His mouth moved differently, he was softer, more sensitive.

You pulled away quickly, confused and upset.

Getaway slid back into his act, “See? We don’t-”

“Who are you?” You weren’t sure if what you were asking made sense. Maybe you were still broken or your processor was fried, but in that moment, you were certain that wasn’t Swerve.

“W-what? I mean, it’s me- Swerve.”

“I’m sticking with you,” You growled. “Say it, what’s the next line?”

Getaway-Swerve hesitated.

“SAY IT!” You screamed.

Getaway-Swerve held up his hands placatingly, “You’re acting crazy.”Crazy? Swerve would never call you that. He’d ask what was wrong, or call a doc-bot for help, but he would never accuse you of being crazy. He always believed in you, no matter how insane you sounded sometimes, like when you thought mice were eating your chargers; it didn’t make sense, and everyone else told you to let it go, but Swerve listened. He set a trap to put your mind at ease and found a stray scraplet that was preparing to build a nest and reproduce.

Swerve was driving now, worried that the other bots were on his tail even if he couldn’t see them in his mirrors. They would have discovered his escape route by now and would be onto him for sure. He skidded to a halt at the hab-suite, a feeling of dread washing over him as he heard you scream obscenities.

“(Y/N)!” He cried out your name at the sound of something smashing against the wall inside.

He transformed and barged his way into the hab-suite finding… another him? What?

“Swerve?” Your brow scrunched up, and you were almost certain that you were going insane again and that it was your processor rejecting your consciousness.

The real Swerve pushed between you and the fake, glowering. He heroically lined up a punch, swung, pivoted and… missed.

You nodded. Yeah, that one was almost certainly your husband. You stood beside him, throwing your fist and uppercutting the bot the way Whirl had taught you when you were unsupervised with him.

Challenged and unfamiliar with Swerve’s body, Getaway’s holoform faded. He stood up shakily, the prolonged use having exhausted him, and suddenly his web of lies burned down as realisation dawned upon you and Swerve alike.

“You are a real fucking scumbag, Getaway. Get the hell out of here before I call security on your sorry ass,” You warned him, anger barely masking your abject horror and despair.

Getaway glowered, almost giving in to the impulse to have the last word before thinking better of it. He staggered away, rushing to his energon stash while you locked the door and stared at Swerve.

There were times when he ran away from his issues, but when you needed him, he was always there. Yet, you had to be certain it was the real him.

Swerve picked up on your uneasiness. He knew it had been far too long since he had seen you. His optics dipped down to the divorce papers on the table. Something you were considering, or more of Getaway’s elaborate scheme?

He reached up, then let his arm drop. Finally, he looked you in the optics, seemingly bolstering himself for something.

“I’m sticking with you,” He half-sang.

You waited, holding your artificial breath.

“Cos I’m made out of gl-” Swerve let out a mmph as you rushed him, kissing him.

Swerve melted against you, but kept the kiss chaste, pulling away to pepper your helm with little kisses. “I’m sorry,” He said between pecks, “So sorry- Should have- Been here- Love you so much- so- so- much.”

This was your Swerve, your husband. The mech who spoke far too much between intimate moments in a way you always adored. The mech who overthought everything and loved being in love more than other bots' ideals of intimacy. He was all about giving too much, always too impatient to wait. This would always be your Swerve.

[nowimjustastranger]

Has Sctmo!Ford ever had to mercy kill a Stan?

Unfortunately, yes.

Usually it's in a situation where Stan shut down completely and went comatose or if he suffered an injury that made him brain dead. If Stan's Ford is around (not trapped in the portal), they almost always can't pull the plug on a brain dead Stan or coax Stan out of his comatose state. And, despite recalling their conversation when they were younger where Stan didn't want to live that way more than anything and made Ford promise to just put him out of his misery, Ford can never to it.

That's where Ford 419"3 comes in. If Stan is just comatose, Ford will use an incantation to enter Stan's head while he's asleep and see if he can bring him out of it. But if Stan is just tired, and living would only prolong his suffering, then Ford will offer a quick and painless death. Now, Ford has alien shit that humans don't have the technology to detect, so he can kill Stan and make it look like a natural death. Usually he checks the medical chart to find out what medical problems Stan has that he could use as a cover. After whichever serum is administered, Ford will enter Stan's mind again and stay with him until his mind goes dark and Ford is forced out.

If Stan is brain dead, Ford can't even communicate with him, and he damn well knows Stan wouldn't want his empty husk wasting away in the hospital, draining his brother's funds. So Ford would tamper with the machines to cause a glitch where the ventilator shut off long enough to kill Stan without alerting the staff. It would look like a temporary fault in the system, one that affected several ventilators in the hospital. The other patient's ventilators would turn back on in time to prevent death, but Stan's would not. When the system registered that Stan had flat lined, staff would be notified. Although by then Ford would be long gone.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think Azul and the Tweels have a longer/shorter lifespan than others since they’re seafolk?

While it's not totally clear how aging works for a half human-half fae like Sebek, I'm pretty certain that all full-blooded non-fae have the same general lifespan as a human. I think the expectation that merpeople in particular (but not beastmen or humans) have extended lifespans comes more from lore outside of Twisted Wonderland rather than pointing to any actual in-universe logic that would imply it. It's an idea I often see in fan works of the angst variety--but I in no way think it's canon. Remember, just because it's the fact in one interpretation of mythos doesn't mean it's true of another interpretation of mythos!

There's two big pieces of evidence that merpeople in TWST age the same as humans. For one, all the flashbacks we get pertaining to the Octatrio's childhood (which theoretically should have been "a long time ago", not a handful of years ago) doesn't imply that a large period of time has passed. There are no major attitude or cultural shifts in the world around them. They also all seemingly matured at roughly the same rate, which is not the case for fae. Malleus, for example, is still considered "a baby", but we've never heard the merfolk characters be referred to or treated in this sense of "still being babies" since they're all 17. The Octatrio also does not act in ways which would show us they’re “out of touch” with time, unlike Malleus (who struggles with technology and being punctual), or Lilia (who expresses surprise at how much countries have changed and has worldly wisdom from his long life).

The other piece of evidence is book 6, part 82. Following the events at Styx HQ, the students all have a tearful reunion at NRC. Malleus also restores an aged Vil (his life force had been drained by Tartarus) to his previous youth. After this, Malleus expresses confusion at how "humans" like Vil can wither and fade in less than a century. 100 years seems like the blink of an eye to a long-lived creature like him. Lilia then informs his prince, "It's true. Human lives are as ethereal as silk thread on a spinning wheel—and just as easily cut short. But their fragility can be a boon. Interweaving and layering those threads creates the strong, resilient tapestry of their history. Such is the creature called man—neighbor to we creatures of the night." What's important here are the characters that fade in and out on the screen as Lilia speaks these lines:

That's right, even though Lilia's dialogue uses terms like "humans" and "creature called man" while referring to them having short lives, beastmen, whatever the heck Grim is, AND merpeople characters are included in the visuals of the scene. To me, this means that all nonfae have roughly the same life expectancy and that fae are the only major exception to this. There's other circumstantial evidence that supports this as well; Sebek calls all nonfae "humans", Malleus refers to groups of nonfae as "children of man", etc. I think it would also just feel weirdly dissonant if like half the races we know of (merfolk, fae) have long lifespans and not just the one (fae). It works better narratively to single out the fae as being abnormal. Not only would that make sense historically (because it partly explains why others feared fae specifically and why fae get othered), but it would also heighten the drama for book 7, which features Malleus wanting to stop the flow of time. What is added here if merpeople also have extended life spans? Nothing is; I'd actually say it might distract from fae having the spotlight this book.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Would you like an AU in this trying time?

Honestly, I can't remember if I sent you this one before because it is an older one from my brain, but I woke up with it on the mind. Rotating in my brain.

Anyway, another Dark Vampire AU for you.

Humans are, in a word, extinct. Not that they aren't around, but they don't exist outside captivity anymore.

When technology advanced and cloning became easy and cheap, Vampires no longer saw any reason to hunt and capture their food. Instead, they captured and controlled the whole world, putting humans in their rightful place as domestic food or tamed pets.

Cloning added in a new fun activity for vampires: Design Lines. Human beings genetically designed to taste delicious and to have easy to manage temperaments. A cross between Designer Dogs and GMO foods. Genetic control for the benefit of Vampire Kind.

There is a whole industry for design lines. The high end lines are seen as a way to flaunt one's wealth. Covens brag over what kind of humans they have in their possession like a rich person would talk about rare vintages of wine. Design Lines are ABSOLUTELY a status symbol.

Not all lines are Design Lines. Not all Vampires are rich or powerful, but they still need to eat. There are fodder lines that just get sold for cheap, just so Vampires can eat. Usually, these fodder lines are just Design Lines that were considered failures. Something went wrong in the genetics that made them imperfect. Imperfections are noticed when the human is pretty young, so they immediately go on discount and are bought by less affluent vamps.

However, it's a pretty big rule that Vampires don't bite human kids. It's not a law, but it's considered pretty taboo and Vamps would look down their nose at that. Kids don't have much blood. A vampire could ruin them before they grow. It would be a WASTE.

So, nobody realized how DELICIOUS the Blade line was until they grew much older.

The Blade line was a “failed” designer line. They came out with Pink hair, which was strange but could be waved off. The bigger issue was the temperament.

The Blade line was downright aggressive!

Why were the human kids so angry at being contained? Why didn't they act all docile and sweet? It's soooo weird. No one would want to purchase such an unruly human. So, the Blade line was sold off for pennies while they were still kids, the research for the line was scrapped, and the company responsible for creating them moved on to different projects.

Only for years later to find out that the Blade line had THE MOST DELICIOUS blood.

It becomes a collectors nightmare as suddenly all of these big name covens want to get their hands on one of the Blade line. It was a test line of only about 100 humans. Quite a few are already dead, drained by stupid or starving vampires. Some were killed just because they really are stubborn as hell and Vampires don't always have patience for that in their food. Many covens don't want to part with their sudden status symbols. Others are more than happy to win favor and trade one of the kids to a more powerful coven. It becomes a bit of a craze to try and get a Blade line. The company that created them tries to recreate them, but it never seems to work well.

It's a bit of a mess. A new item went viral and now no one can purchase it sort of mess.

Technoblade was purchased by a mid-grade Vampire coven when he was a kid. The Vampires in the coven aren't starving but they certainly aren't anyone powerful. They tended to buy fodder lines for food, but that was out of practicality and frugality, not desperation. They didn't needlessly throw away food, either. Only when it got too old to be of use anymore.

Technoblade had never been bitten. He was approaching the age that it would be acceptable and he saw the looks that the Vampires gave him, but he was also given a wary look. He HAD broken one of the Coven's nose when he swung a iron pipe at its face during an escape attempt.

He had been punished for that.

Anyways, the coven's wariness means that he is never bitten before the coven finds out what a TREASURE he is. How much he is worth. The coven argues on what to do with him. Keep him for themselves? Sell him for more wealth? It's debated hotly with the coven.

In the end, the decision is made for them when one of them accidentally offends the Antarctic Coven.

The Antarctic Coven demands recompense and the coven that owns Techno is frantic. So they do the only thing they can think of.

They offer their Blade Line human to repay.

That MIGHT have been completely planned by the Antarctic, but who could say?

So, this coven drags Technoblade along with his AKC paperwork to the Antarctic Coven, who act so very surprised to get a Blade Line human. Such a shock. But of COURSE they could forgive random coven, they have given them such a great gift.

Technoblade is less than enthused. Sure, the rooms are nicer and the clothes are fancier, but Techno is still not happy to be stuck in the home of leeches.

Anytime they try to so much as touch him, he tenses and tries to punch (or bite) them. Very feral kitten coded. Technoblade reacts with anger whenever Phil or Wilbur or Tommy coo over him. Over his hair. Over his eyes. It pisses him off even more when they seem to enjoy his scathing insults or glares.

Those ARE all trademarks of what he is, after all.

They DO have to confirm if he is ACTUALLY a Blade. Papers can be falsified, after all. And he COULD be from one of the failed recreations.

Of course, the easiest test for that is blood. To compare his blood to the records or the Blade line. Technoblade is VIOLENTLY opposed to getting blood drawn, even if it isn't through a bite. He's held down by Tommy and Phil while an expert carefully draws blood to be tested. Not only tested for legitimacy, but also for health, individual genetic anomalies, but they also rank it's flavor against the others in the Blade line. Just because you might as well be competitive about that.

Techno ranks in the top five on that. Wilbur laughs that his temper must be why.

Technoblade throws a vase at his face.

But he…doesn't get punished for that.

Some Vampire covens break the spirit out of their food/pets/humans. The Antarctic Coven doesn't care for that mindset. It's boring. It's weak to have to beat a human into submission.

They prefer a softer route.

It's so easy to make a human feel safe. It's so easy to give them softness and be rewarded with gratitude. They are well practiced in gently guiding a human to accept the collar they weld around their throats. The Antarctic Coven has done it time and time again.

They don’t bite a human until they are allowed. Until the human agrees. And, usually, that's pretty easy to do.

Except Technoblade is SO. Fucking. Stubborn.

He WON'T agree!

So they keep trying, using the ante. Upping the gifts and the seeming kindness. Giving him a soft room(only one door to leave), a beautiful window view (iron bars to prevent him leaving) and anything he could ask for(within reason). So why isn't he baring his neck for them????

And in that confusion, they have to ACTUALLY see Technoblade as a person. It's been CENTURIES since they have seen humans as people. Like, sure, they were human once, but they don't remember it. But they start treating Techno as a person and not a pet and things…shift.

They bond. They genuinely see Techno and they love what they've found.

Technoblade starts to enjoy them, as well. Their requests to drink become an inside joke between them, Techno giving colorful refusals.

Of course, eventually there would be a moment where Techno feels like they were just manipulating his emotions. Maybe he overhears another Vampire complimenting them on their methods, throwing them all back to square one.

Technoblade is angry and hurt and glares at them with hatred. He wants nothing from them. They can just take his blood and leave him alone. Stop with the games. Just bite him and take away the illusion that they actually care.

The Antarctic Coven looks between each other and agrees. They decide to bite Techno. Technoblade is in emotional agony and doesn't really notice how much the initial bites hurt. Especially with how euphoric it becomes as the venom numbs. Technoblade's head swims. And swims. Until he falls unconscious.

The Antarctic Coven decided that Technoblade wouldn't be food. He would become one of them. Changed. The only time they bit him as a human was to make him into one of them.

Technoblade sleeps for a decade, the change very very slow. And there are quite a few people who think that the Antarctic Coven have lost their minds. They gave up a priceless treasure. But The Antarctic Coven sees that Vampirekind lost something when they ruined Humanity. Like, they had truly destroyed Humanity. The concept of Humanity. And the vain and bored Vampires couldn't even see it.

Technoblade is going to be angry when he wakes, but that value that about him, not as a pet but as himself.

Lenn, words can't express how obsessed I've been with this one lately, I've been on a vampire AUs and bloodbag AUs kick lately the concept is so good and can be done in so many ways ranging from hurt/comfort to dark to fluffy and this one is just -ferally tears up the couch cushions-

[dearbhaalist]

I’m interested in your theory of what Gortash was a counsellor of? Or what department of high ranking official of the city he was working for?

Oooh thank you for the opportunity to talk about Baldurian politics 🙏 (somehow this developed footnotes) (and got really long, whoops)

I don't think I'm settled on who initially hired him—it could be one of the five officers of the city* who typically hire bureaucrats, or a duke (since it seems Florrick works primarily with Ravengard and the Fist).

I think most likely would be Earl Namorran (the Harbormaster circa 1482) or Thalamra Vanthampur** (either while she was Master of Drains and Underways or after becoming a duke), though I do picture some leeway in who the counsellors advise once they're in place, more about where their advice is needed than necessarily being tied to a particular area.

(I was trying to source back where I got that impression, and I think it's Wyll describing Gortash as trying to be an advisor to "the peers" in general:)

(He's thinking back to 1485 and before, when he still lived in the Gate—the "bit player" part became less true the closer you get to 1492, I imagine, especially with the narrator line that attributes the title counsellor to Gortash describing him as having considerable influence on industry and politics)

Some areas I could see Gortash being a fit to advise on would be a) weaponry (but we know the Watch marshal is skeptical of his ideas in 1492, and Ulder Ravengard certainly doesn't like his advice, so I can't picture him spending much time advising the Watch or the Fist despite any overtures), b) the flow of goods in and out of the city, and c) technology.

(Technology is why I'm imagining Vanthampur as a possible entrypoint: the drains and underways porfolio is prestigious because it's so technically demanding in a way that's beyond most patriars.)

And speaking of technology, personally I see him working a lot with the Gondians and the ways they interface with the city!

After Duke Torlin Silvershield's death, the high artificer of Gond becomes Andar Beech, who oversaw the temple's day-to-day under Silvershield and was critical of his involvement in politics—so I think that leaves an opening for someone outside of Gond's church to step in and do some of that liaising. Because the city really, really cares about the Gondians—they maintain those giant cranes that move all the goods at the docks and keep trade flowing, relevant to Namorran's work, and they repair plumbing in patriars' homes, relevant to Vanthampur's—and I could see him advising parliament and the dukes on how they might best get more use out of the Gondians and their inventions. (While at the same time using them as jumping-off points for his own.)

We know the Gondians likely had a lot of secret projects going on (I don't have a link, but the rumour's from Descent into Avernus!), and Gortash eventually takes their Foundry through fraud and blackmail, so I can picture him using his role as counsellor to twist his way in to learn more for leverage and to start to legitimize a partnership between him and the Gondians in the public's eye: setting himself up to take direct, forceful control like we see him having in 1492.

-----

*those five officer positions being: Harbormaster, High Constable and Master of Walls, Master of Drains and Underways, Master of Cobbles, and the Purse Master, per Murder in Baldur's Gate

**Follower-of-Zariel and owner-of-a-bathhouse-that-by-1492-has-a-bane-bhaal-and-mrykul-temple-under-it Thalamra Vanthampur!

[whalesongsblog]

WIZARDING EDUCATION IN THE SURYA EMPIRE.

If you haven't looked at the absolutely incredible lore @rambling-tam is building around their wizarding education system of North America, pls go check it out. It 100% inspired this post.

LORE DROP: In my fic, Hogwarts is a postgraduate university. Miradevi completed her undergrad education in her empire, which boasts one of the foremost magical colleges in the world.

The Surya empire is a blend of magic, muggle, and nonhuman beings. Each contributes in their own way, and the rigid lines of the European wizarding world are nonexistent. Here, the mythical and arcane blends with cutting-edge muggle technology and science, because the Surya empire firmly believes that diversity is the key to social progress.

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

Prior to the iron fist of British colonization, Indian (specifically Hindu) education was essentially a lifestyle. A holistic focus on education was coupled with studying texts like the Vedas and Upanishads with a guru. This was known as the Gurukul system, where a child would leave their family behind to live with their teacher and other students in the gurukul, often spending months to years deep in the forests. Education began at the age of five with the Vidyarambha ceremony, where the Goddess Saraswati, patron deity of wisdom and knowledge, was worshipped. Students from all over the world traveled to India to partake in this system and receive an education that focused on practicality, innovation, spirituality, and oneness with the greater universe. 

Miradevi Surya Lakshmi is the princess of the Surya empire- a fictional nation within the very real state of Rajasthan, modeled after Udaipur. Ancient legends and their magic linger in the soil, enriching every aspect of life in the empire. Weaver Witches spin intricate magic into each stitch of their handwoven garments, allowing the shimmering threads to shift and dance under the burning sun. Street vendors harvest dried chillis spread out on low stone rooftops under the full moon, made potent through murmured spellcasting. 

The intricately carved temples simmer with incense and shakti- the primordial essence of the Goddess. The figures depicting scenes from the Mahabharata and Ramayana painted with painstaking detail onto the temple walls occasionally pause in their actions to wave and grin at the temple-goers. 

Ma Kali bares her teeth and tongue in a fierce smile as she drains the blood of the demon Raktbeej, and college students hurriedly ask for her blessing as they dart off to their exams. The female pundits adorn the warrior goddess with fresh marigolds that hang alongside the stone-carved necklace of skulls on her neck. 

In the evenings, magic hangs hazily in the cold desert air as street musicians regale crowds with the magic they breathe into folk Rajasthani music. Goblin tribes from the deep desert stand alongside werewolves and muggles, leaning closer to the siren song of the music. 

The children of the Sun Kingdom live and die by innovation. Scholarly pursuit runs in their blood, a heat and need for excellence burning brighter than the desert sun. Whether in arts, sciences, or the arcane, the people of Surya strive to innovate and create new parameters for excellence. And no academic institution was more prestigious than Miradevi’s alma mater: 

YUDHISTHIR COLLEGE OF MAGIC EXCELLENCE 

REGION: Surya, Rajasthan. (Based on a blend of Udaipur and Ranakpur). Mountainous, mystical, and steeped in the ancient and arcane. 

PHILOSOPHY: You stand on the shoulders of kings, born into bloodlines that have nourished this nation. Do as the great Maharajas once did, and be a leader this land and these people can look up to. 

ARCHITECTURE: The college is built partly into the side of a cliff face and partly above ground. The massive library is built like a constantly moving corkscrew- enchanted to keep circulating, tomes from ancient eras till modern times stacked on towering shelves. 

Nothing is as it seems. None of the rooms are as small as they appear, and, TARDIS-style, everything is bigger on the inside. Old and new blend together, with ancient stone hiding the gleaming, sleek metal and glass of research labs. Parts of the college unfold and retreat as needed, warping time and space around it. A shimmer of magic that hangs around the cliffs and mountains conceals just how much of a behemoth the college is. 

Modeled after ancient Hindu architecture. Gateways and towers are oriented with stunning precision towards the sun and stars, with massive, marbled open courtyards that allow for fresh breeze to sweep through. Peacocks and magic creatures wander through the grounds and classrooms, occasionally providing a welcome disruption to a dull lecture.

ACADEMICS: Students find amusement in thought experiments and mock war-room scenarios where enchanted players move across massive boards in exercises of diplomacy and tactical strategy. The underground wing of the college, built into the steep cliffsides, houses the most advanced Dark Arts Research facilities in the world- access is coveted, and the price of losing oneself to the arcane is steep. But the students of Yudhishtir understand, better than most, the illusion of power and how quickly it can be lost. 

Muggle science blends with magic as astrophysics is taught alongside jyotish- the ancient Indian art of astrology. Quantum physics goes hand in hand with transformative magic, equations, and theoretical spells cluttering up blackboards. 

Here, the study of chakras means so much more than what it has been diluted to by the outside world. The chakras are energy cores within the body, keeping each element in alignment with the cosmos and their individual planetary connections. Health assessments begin with a full-scale examination of the energy strains in the body, probing for misalignments. The medical students at Yudhishtir study blood magic and osteokinesis- occasionally donating bones to the scholars of Nimitta Shastra. Also known as Omenology. 

Then, there are the students of Tantric practices. Ritualistic and occasionally misunderstood, tantra dissolves the borders between reality and maya- the great illusion of life. These students sequester themselves deep in the mountain chambers, focused on meditative practices and rituals that leave a residue of powerful magic hanging in the air like the desert heat.

SPORTS: India is the birthplace of chess. In the Surya empire, a similar game is played, called Chaturanga. The battlefield (in the form of the board) keeps changing- in the span of a few minutes, the tide of battle can turn, and it is up to the wit of the player to maintain an upper hand to secure a victory. It is usually a multiplayer game built on alliances, cooperation, and, occasionally, betrayal. 

Brooms in the empire are used for cleaning. If you ask a student of Yudhishtir what they do for physical exercise, they will point to the massive, fireproof stables hulking beyond the grounds of the university. 

Maharashtrian Venomteeth, Himalayan Whiptails, Desert Droughtcallers- each species is meticulously looked after and bonded to students that enroll in dragon-riding lessons. They’re rather spoiled. 

When Miradevi began her postgraduate studies at Hogwarts, she was very amused by the brooms.

MOTTO: Ahaṁ Brahmāsmi. I Am the Universe. 

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

Taglist: @amethystandemma @rosewoodcafe @butternutt613 @elisalsaa @okeydokeylackey @ravenwind-75 @berserkerrose