#Drain Lining Technology

[gillbrother]

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[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

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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

[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-

[anderstrevelyan]

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!

[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!

[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.

[natalievoncatte]

Here's a quick snippet of something I'm working on. This is from a discarded draft, but I'm still thinking of rewriting it and using it as the cold open for the story.

The bullet in her leg was going to be a problem.

Lena had been in scrapes before. This was, after all, the third version of her armor, each one built after the previous one had failed her in some way. It had taken her six long years to work out the balance between strength and agility, speed and power; to enhance her stealth abilities and find the right balance of preparation vs weight in her equipment. Prior to that she'd spent almost ten years preparing for her mission. Traveling, studying, learning, inventing.

At first her only concern had been blades and bullets. That had been easy to deal with. Her armored suit consisted of a base layer of electrically activated fibers that simulated fast twitch muscle fibers and could boost her overall strength output five fold, making her the physical equal or better of any enemy she might encounter in the field. A layer of kevlar-nomex triweave and proprietary composite armor plating over that made her quick and agile but well protected against guns and knives.

Tonight she'd learned that well protected wasn't totally protected.

It was almost funny, after everything that had happened in those five years, everything she'd overcome, that a gang of corrupt cops and mob thugs would be the ones to take her down.

Oh, and make no mistake, she had been taken down. She might have escaped the Axis Chemical factory, but she wasn't going to make it to the extraction point, and she knew it. She wasn't going to make it to Alfred this time.

They'd find her, eventually, pry her out of the armor, and reveal to the world that the Batman had been Lena Wayne all along. Of all the things she regretted as the plain flared in her thigh and she felt hot blood flowing beneath the inner layer of her suit, Lena was surprised to find that one of the things she'd regret most was not getting to see the looks on their faces when they found out.

She'd faced down plant toxins and freeze cannons and a shape-shifting monster. Aliens and metahumans and magicians. She'd taken them all on and come up ahead.

You know what? Lena decided, this isn't too bad. No, it wasn't a good death, but she was going out on her terms, knowing that she'd made some small difference. Maybe someone else could carry on her work. She'd left journals behind, set out instructions for what was to be done with her inventions and technology and the Wayne fortune. She would leave good in the world behind her. Martha and Thomas, the people who'd taken her in and raised her, would be proud. Bruce, her little brother who'd been the bravest man she ever knew, would be proud.

Maybe it would be a good death after all.

Lena stumbled through the open construction, threading between exposed I-beams. It wasn't in her to give up, to stop limping forward. She'd locked out her wounded leg, turning the suit rigid so she could hobble on it, and had already hit herself with an adrenaline auto-injector to keep her eyes open. She could make it to the extraction if she just kept moving.

Just keep moving.

As she limped forwards, Lena wondered how she'd get down. One problem at a time. She was in no shape to use a grapple line to get to street level. Keep moving. The pain in her leg was shocking, excruciating. She wondered if the bullet had fractured her femur. Maybe. She'd been hurt before, of course. Bullet to the back that slipped between armor plates and punched through, once, and all the ones that didn't hurt like hell anyway; it was like being pummeled with baseballs.

The display on the inside of her cracked helmet was lit up with warning lights and messages she didn't have time to parse. She knew what some of them were: Corrosive damage to the suit, drained power cells, her vitals plummeting, and the repeating all points bulletins declaring that the Batman was to be arrested on sight for the murder of Jack Napier.

Lena made it to the edge and leaned on a steel beam, looking down. Two blocks over to the extraction point. Alfred would be waiting for her. He'd get her out of the suit, patch her up, make it better. Alfred always made it better. She had to try. She had to try to get back.

Fumbling, she almost tumbled right off the edge until she slumped against the beam, her wounded leg starting to slide out from under her. She had to hug the steel to pull herself back up, prop herself up on the locked armor segments.

No, she wasn't going to make it, she realized. This was it. No heroic last stand, no final sacrifice, just bleeding out in a half-finished bougie apartment complex that had been stripped of all its copper five times. Lena wanted to laugh, but her lungs could only wheeze.

She almost didn't realize it when the half-skeletal building shook from a gust of wind.

No, not a wind. A blur of motion.

Her HUD lit up with proximity alarms, the onboard computers panicking when the sensor systems started failing from lack of power or severe damage. She really wanted to laugh. What now?

Turning, Lena put a hand on the beam to keep herself upright, and sighed.

No amount of preparation, no amount of refinement to her suit, would ever prepare her for this.

The Kryptonian strode across the plywood construction floor, cape majestically billowing behind her. Even in the dark she seemed alive with light, haloing her flawless golden curls and alive in her sky blue eyes, like she brought the sun with her. Her bright blue and red uniform stood in stark contrast against the muted grays, blues, and blacks of Gotham by night. Below them, sirens wailed. Hunters on the prowl for their wounded prey.

"What do you want?" Lena rasped. Her helmet altered her force into a deep growl.

"Batman," said Supergirl, "there's an all points bulletin out for your arrest."

"What else is new?"

Even now, she was the detective, stalling. The helmet's systems were scanning Supergirl's face, matching against her own facial recognition database using algorithms she'd written herself. The suit did all this automatically, so that she had complete files when she returned to the Cave.

"They're saying you killed a man tonight," said Kara. "I'm taking you in."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Lena coughed, the sound exploding in a garbled belch from her damaged helmet.

"You can barely stand," said Supergirl. "That wound in your leg needs medical attention. Just let me help you."

"Help me?" Lena spat, reaching for her belt. "Don't be absurd."

"You're coming with me either way," said Supergirl, edging closer. "Trying to fight me is pointless. You don't stand a chance."

"Want to test that theory?" said Lena.

Supergirl shook her head.

The suit came back with a facial recognition match.

DANVERS, KARA.

Her biographical data began to scroll across Lena's vision. She dismissed it with a laugh.

"It figures," she muttered.

"What?" said Supergirl. She moved closer. "I can hear your heart rate decreasing. I'll take you to a hospital. I promise, you'll get a fair hearing, you just-"

Lena laughed again. "A fair hearing. You must be joking."

Supergirl edged closer. "Wait. You're using a voice changer."

Lena's eyes shot open wide inside her helmet. "How... of course. Superhuman hearing, right?"

"Wait," said Kara, "wait, I know that voice. Lena?"

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Malleyuu Whump vs Flufftober: Day 19

abandoned cabin / Yarn

The wood creaked as fibers ran through the spinning wheel.

Malleus was always entranced whenever his grandmother wove. There was something hypnotic about whiling the hours away with one singular goal.

With the approaching frontier of technology, advancements being made seemingly as fast as Malleus could grow new teeth, textiles in all colors and shapes had become more commonplace.

He believed that was largely a good thing. The material comforts he often took for granted deserved to be proliferated among the masses.

For the House of Draconi, however, the act of spinning would likely be buried with them.

Black Scale Castle was lined with the efforts of his ancestors. Wedding tapestries, baby blankets, ornately embroidered frocks, even sets of pillowcases.

The majority was kept in the family vaults, as it was too large a collection to keep constantly on display, but at least one piece from every reign decorated Black Scale.

He knew his mother hadn’t made much in her short time. On the advice of several of the records of previous rulers, she had stayed her hand during her and his father’s courting phase, believing she had a whole lifetime to make him and his father more.

She’d been in the middle of a large rug that would have gone in his nursery at the time of her passing. The rug, loose threads and all, had been framed and hung in there instead.

“Before long,” spoke his grandmother, hands never straying from the spindle, “but hopefully not too soon, you will begin your own work.”

She continued. “Though you will decide for yourself what method, I feel it is important for you to know every step in this process. Do you know why?”

“No,” answered Malleus.

“It is because you must learn to appreciate the work that goes into love, and into a successful relationship.“

She adjusted something on the wheel before contributing. “Love, with the right person, can feel magical. Complacency in its source will cause the fountain to run dry.”

Malleus nodded, but he didn’t fully understand. “Who is this for?”

“This yarn shall be for you. I will teach you spinning later, but for now, we will start with knitting and crochet. You will make yourself a hat and gloves for winter.”

She patted her lap. “Come. Observe me closely.”

Malleus climbed up onto her lap, happy to be surrounded by his grandmother.

—

“So this is where you went.”

Malleus turned around to see Yuu in the doorway.

Members of Night Raven’s student body were on a field trip to the Briar Valley, to observe the Welcoming of Spring, and Malleus had generously lent them use of one of the many properties his family owned, this one a cozy cabin farther away from the bigger cities.

“Ah, I apologize,” he said, putting down his work. Being a good host was draining, but he’d had enough of a break.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Yuu, waving it off. “We were just setting up a board game. Wanna be on my team?”

Malleus took one last glance at his work to make sure he’d remember where he left off- a grey scarf, the same silvery grey Yuu often favored- and placed it to his side.

“I would love to,” he said, tongue curling around the word as the corners of his mouth rose as if by magic.

[bluetortoist]

Time for another Batman OC! Again not too awful original, but this one is my own take on the Brave and the Bold character Scream Queen.

She was Crane's star student, who became obsessively hopelessly in love with him enough to follow him down his path of a rogue while also both, harboring a complicated romantic relationship together. This one's a little dubious sooo

CW: Stalking, Student/Teacher descriptions down below

Name: Kathleen "Kathy" Holloway

Alias: Scream Queen

Age: 27

Gender: Cis Female

Identifies: Bisexual

Race: Human

Ethnicity: White

Nationality: American

Birth town: Gotham Heights

Current Living: Grand Avenue

Allegiance: True Neutral- Neutral Evil

Powers/Abilites:

Cursed hooded dress - Her magically cursed dress hoodie gives her many different abilities, such as below:

Flight

Invisibility

Sonic Scream - one of, if not her only, means of attack. It let's out powerful screams enough to blast through concrete and even metal to an extent. Every scream she emits is different sounding than the last; She hypothesized that the different screams it omits are most likely the screams it's collected from all of its past victims.

Life Force Draining - This ability is what helps power her Sonic Scream. It emits a different colored beam that is used to literally take the breath away of any living thing until the victim is drained completely of their life force (their breath per se), leaving them as a completely immobile, breathless husk. This, remarkably, is also collected by the cloak and stored as another victims scream to add to the ever-growing collection. This can and WILL kill the victim if not treated right way.

Medical/ Pharmaceutical Knowledge - Her family background and her Major in college has made her very knowledgable in the ways of treating illnesses, injuries, and even some knowledge in drugs/medicine. Even though she never got licensed, they are skills that absolutely do in a pinch and help with Crane in the lab sometimes.

History: Kathy Holloway was born into a wealthy family who does business selling medical technology. Perhaps not as wealthy and as influential as names like Wayne, but were still known and respected fairly well by those around them since they help contribute to some of the hospitals in Gotham. In her childhood, Kathy was determined by teachers to be intellectually smart for her age. However, she was als considered "the creepy weird girl" that her peers hated to be around or bullied her. It also didn't help that she had little interest in what other people her age liked and would sometimes get into arguments and fights with other kids. She was bothering a lot of her peers to the point that word got around and even her family couldnt help but think she was a problem child. But in response to her high intellect, they made her spend a few years of her childhood studying, then counseling at school and then taking finishing lessons at home as a means of keeping her in line and shaping her to be "normal" enough. It put a lot of pressure and hurtful abuse on her self esteem. She still wouldn't break from her usual self, but she tried her best to play along just so it could stop. When Kathy became 13, it started to feel pointless to her parents, and she was then considered "not to be bothered with anymore" and focuses on furthering her younger brother's growth instead.

Later on in highschool, it was at least a little less restricting than it was at home. Kathy was still ostracized among peers who grew up with her, but still managed to become friends and eventually a relationship with a senior year boy. However, she quickly became infatuated with him to the point of stalking him. She was caught and had a restraining order put on her, she was suspended from school for a time, which isolated her even more. She managed to graduate highschool with relatively no troubles, but as soon as she did, her family kicked her out of home, and cut her off after feeling too much shame from their failed and disturbed child. She hasn't made any attempt to contact any of them since. Luckily, Kathy had some money to her name, enough to find a place to stay, found a job at a nearby metaphysical shop, which was then when she found the cursed hooded dress that she decided to keep. When she discovered its frightening abilities, she quickly begun figuring out how it works and, taking inspiration from her favorite horror movies, uses its powers to commit small, haunted robbery's that left police and detectives baffled at how this is even happening. Gotta pay the rent and food somehow.

After a while, after finally scraping and stealing enough, Kathy uses said money to finally get into Gotham University. It was there she met Proffessor Crane, taking one of his Psycology classes. She didn't think much of him at first, but as soon as he acknowledged her intelligence and in her assignments (considering her one of his star students), how she saw how he revelled in his obsession with fear, and his phobia experiments on other people, she felt a kinship to him and his dark eccentricities and fell instantly in love with him. She would stalk him for a few months after that, trying to get his attention in any way subtle way she could. There was reluctance, but Jonathan gave in and thus begun having a relationship with his star student, albeit brief. She still stalked him, even finding out that he has taken on the Scarecrow persona after hearing how he was fired and kicked out of the school for his horrible experiments.

She continued her schooling after his attack on the University until she eventually got her masters, but continued keeping tabs on his whereabouts and activities. Even taking on her Scream Queen persona to help him out of a jam or two (much to Scarecrows confusion and uneasiness at first). She was finally caught one night when she got a little too brave sneaking into one of his secret hideouts and they found out both their identities. Scarecrow honestly thought that he would never see her again, let alone all that she has been doing without him noticing OR she was the reason behind a few of his close calls. Nonetheless, he couldnt take that risk no matter how fondly he thinks of her. But in response, Kathy insisted that as a compromise, she stay by his side and work alongside him in whatever he needed; She was more than willing to take this chance to be near him as much as she could. Scarecrow was both reluctant and distrustful at first. She knew his hideout and, apparantly, more so about him than he thought and could use it however she pleased. But on the other hand, she would've done so anytime but didnt and already said she is loyal to him (definitely stroked his ego). He definitely thought her strange abilities could be useful and knew how capable she was already. They, at first, agree to work together in the sense that they could both ruin each other at anytime, but Scarecrow soon starts realizing that they work together a lot better than he thought. Thus begun a complicated, twisted, slow burn romance that he never thought he'd get into with his right hand in fear, "Scream Queen".

Notes/Quirks:

Its typical, but she likes horror movies from all range of subgenres, but has a personal love for the ghost/haunting genre; she knows a very good amount of horror trivia; Some of her favorite directors are Dario Argento, James Whale and Wes Craven.

While in school, Kathy minored in Film/Acting because of her love of horror media and the means of producing and acting in them. Taking much inspiration from the actresses and female characters is what made her borrow the term "Scream Queen" as her alias.

While working at the metaphysical shop. She learned a few things like tarot reading from a former friend/employee of hers. She didn't entirely believe it (at least not at first before she found a literal magic hoodie for crying out loud!), but she thinks it's all very interesting to learn about.

She prefers to be called by her shorter name "Kathy" because she doesn't like her full name or when other people use it. Jonathan is one of the handful of people whom she let's call her "Kathleen".

The only family members that Kathy can say she remembers fondly or indifferently towards to was her little brother, and her estranged Aunt on her mother's side. Her Aunt being the one person she felt connected to due her Aunt also being seen as an embarrassment by her family. She unfortunately passed away when Kathy was 11. Kathy and her little brother, sadly didn't spend much time together. Her brother would be constantly away in his own schedule their parents made and was 7 when Kathy was kicked out. He doesn't remember much about her.

[edutainer2022]

In commemoration of that time, recently, when I delivered a conference keynote in a ridiculous o'clock timezone, after having been up and neck deep in other energy draining university commitments for three days straight on four hours of sleep at best, here's a little thing. I couldn't remember what I was talking about the minute the presentation ended. Scott Tracy is a public speaker extraordinaire on bingo sleep and adrenaline overdose. His brothers are worried and have to think on their feet. Special thanks to @astranite for nudging my muse in this direction.

AUTOPILOT

The trick was to get him off the stage. Scott Tracy, the Tracy Industries CEO, giving an opening keynote at the New Frontiers Expo had been scheduled a year in advance (involving the program committee begging on hands and knees for a year prior, Scott's annual commitments shuffling, some major security concessions, up to and including Kayo's team practically taking over the venue security altogether, as well as meeting a hard line of excluding any tech associated with Langstrom Fischler from the exhibits or conference talks).

Nobody could predict a mine collapse and Scott Tracy, the Commander of IR and Thunderbird One, being involved on site for the past thirty six hours (a good portion of that time spent underground without sleep).

The family medics' quorum, in full agreement with the family extended quorum, voted for canceling his public appearance and putting him on mandated rest. For a week. But Scott Tracy gave his word. So Scott Tracy gave his talk.

As keynotes go it was a huge success. Scott was passionate, funny and inspired, engaging the audience with dimples, moving personal touches and heartfelt convictions. The listeners were just about ready to "boldly go" wherever Scott would lead the way to a better, technologically enhanced and kinder tomorrow.

They divided forces in case the predictable worse actually came to pass. Virgil was behind the podium with a med kit and med scanner at hand. Gordon unironically got a tranq gun, which earned him a side-eye, but knowing Scott it might as well come handy.

John was in the audience, vigilant and listening to the keynote (and rather enjoying biggest brother public speaking prowess - seriously, how did Scott do it, half-dead on his feet?), ready to step up and take over if need be. That wouldn't be what the hundreds of Expo attendees payed and donated to R&D funds for, but they'd be getting A Dr. Tracy, at least, if The Mr. Tracy collapsed mid-sentence.

That was just the problem at the moment. Scott didn't. He concluded the speech, got a standing ovation, and was now just sort of hanging out on stage, swaying slightly. It was obvious he was running on dregs of fumes of an adrenaline high, refusing to crash on sheer willpower. It was also obvious Scott was completely unfocused and unaware where he was and what he'd been doing the minutes prior. The brilliant blue eyes were getting telltale glassy.

John had a FRANTIC Virgil booming in his earpiece. The public spotlight made the logistics of what needed to happen next tricky: they couldn't just drag him off the podium in a firefighter hold or tranq him - and spoil the profound impression of the speech; they also couldn't wait much longer till Scott fainted in front of everyone (and possibly injured himself by the fall). John was half on his way up to try and steer Scott bodily off the stage. Gordon would have been a better man for the job - dressing the thing up with a quip and some theatrics, but the Fish was still in uniform. IR on site, crashing the keynote, might have set off unwelcome panic, dangerous in a crowded space.

In the end, it was still Gordon's out-of-the-box thinking that saved the situation. They could all hear a boy's voice through their earpieces - Alan went for the highest littlest-brother-in-distress pitch he could master:

"Scotty, could you come here? I'm right behind you! Scotty, please!"

Scott could hear it too. A less exhausted brain would have remembered Allie was on the island still. They agreed Scott would take him the next day on a tour around the Expo and to several talks the kid wanted to attend.

But Scott's bandwidth capacity at the moment was reduced to the most rudimentary parent-brain instincts. So he started slightly, turned on his heel and marched backstage. It took a bit of flailing to placate a wild-eyed Scott that a) Allie wasn't in danger; b) Allie wasn't there immediately available for inspection and protecting from danger.

It came as close as Gordon clicking the safety off the tranq gun. But finally, the blue eyes stopped searching the perimeter behind Virgil's shoulder and rolled back. Scott slumped as a ragdoll in Virgil's hold.

John rushed to join the brothers the moment he heard Alan on comms. In between the three of them they settled the Commander on a hoverstrecher. Virgil insisted on a quick scan on the spot. Nothing more serious beyond bruises, exhaustion, stress and dehydration. Small mercies. Every single one of them had a private itemized inventory of possible injuries Scott might have "forgotten" to mention in order to be cleared for the keynote commitment.

Kayo's security team were clearing the path for them, off the Expo busy routes, to leave for Thunderbird Two discretely.

John lingered to brush the fringe off Scott's now noticeably pale forehead. His original intent was to go straight back to orbit after the biggest brother was sorted out. But now, there was no way Grandma or Virgil would let Scott out of the infirmary for the next forty eight hours at least. Nor would Virgil let biggest brother out of his sight for at least twice as long after. So it would fall to John to take Alan to the Expo and show the boy around.

John didn't favor crowded bustling places on a good day, but it was crucial not to disappoint or worry the kid. Scotty unconscious, sedated and grounded would have him anxious enough. It was also a great bonding opportunity with the baby-brother and a way to lift a bit of weight off Scott's shoulders. John knew biggest brother enough to foresee he'd beat himself up for succumbing to weakness and letting Alan down. John couldn't have that. So he landed a hand for support on Gordon's shoulder and all together they started the way home.

[anony-man]

Chubformers drabble #151!

Character: Tracks (G1)

Word count: 1k

Tracks was really starting to love earth and its many different quirks, but that came as no surprise the longer he stayed. The planet was, after all, growing just as infatuated with him—and who could blame its inhabitants for having such impeccable taste?

In short terms, earth was simply perfect. In long terms, earth was like the ultimate playground made especially for him, and Tracks didn’t hesitate to dig his heels in deep and get to enjoying his time. The sights, the sounds, and the atmosphere were tolerable, just as they were back on their home planet, but earth had a thing for scratching the itches that were just out of reach… and it treated him to a whole lot of extra pampering in the meantime.

Tracks was a pretty mech, and like all pretty mechs (which was pretty much just him nowadays), he deserved proper recognition. Being stuck in the company of other bots often grew tiring, especially when said mechs could hardly think about anything other than the typical cycle of energon, war, and adapting to the new environment they were stuck with. They could always learn a thing or two from him—should they even care to, that is—, but gone were the days that an important mech such as himself would stoop as low as wasting his precious time on company who simply didn’t value him like they should.

He was a pretty mech by nearly everyone’s standards… and pretty mechs deserved to be acknowledged for it. Shouldn’t pretty mechs get the recognition they deserved? He sure thought so, and thank Primus, so did earth and its native inhabitants.

For a mech such as himself, earth had its uses—and by uses, he of course meant never ending opportunities to really boost his hungry ego. He needed the support, and when their new world was so willing to give it to him, why shouldn’t he take it? Alas, constantly flaunting the beautiful frame he boasted turned out to be awfully draining on him, and the drag of such primitive technology on an advanced race such as his was… well, a lot. Luckily for Tracks, he wasn’t just a pretty mech, but a smart one, too.

Hungry egos were one thing, but hungry tanks? That was a whole new problem. Luckily for Tracks, earth was just as good about fanning the flames of his self-love as it was filling up his tanks to the top every time he needed it. Earth, meet Tracks. Tracks, meet a whole new take on refueling: and its name was gas.

Like all self-respecting bots (which, to no surprise, were few and far between nowadays), Tracks has been leery about indulging in earth-sourced fuels. He’d caught on quick that lingering at the communal feeding stations for non-sentient vehicles for a quick bite to eat was a thing amongst human kind, and he’d tried it just as fast. Sitting around running his engine and basking in the lingering stares and cooed comments directed his way was nice and all, but slag, if it didn’t eat up the little energon reserves he had—and fast. Fighting the Decepticons always took precedent over a little me-time, unfortunately, which meant if he wanted to stay longer, he was going to have to make a few sacrifices… and he certainly wouldn’t be starting with his personal time.

So maybe he should have drawn the line at guzzling knock-off energon every day instead of cutting his allotted showing-off time short. Maybe he should have taken the signs of tightening plating and the softening frame underneath for the warnings that they were. It didn’t matter all that much in the end, did it? After all, the humans still gawked, his alt-mode still shined, and both of Tracks’ insatiable appetites were kept well-fed. Maybe he should have stopped while he was ahead, but he didn’t.

There was just something so satisfying about sitting at the pump and getting to enjoy the curious stares of onlookers as his tanks were filled up to the top with rich, expensive gasoline. Tracks still indulged himself in rolling up to the front of the mini store and listening to the whistles and comments, of course, but as time went on, his trips to the pump began to change. He started to enjoy the feel of his tanks growing heavy and sloshing with unfamiliar fuel, and sometimes, if he were feeling extra brave, he’d chance pumping himself full of another gallon or two of the rich, heavy oil. It was just enough for the ride back home, and he hardly ever went over his budget, but… slag, he wanted more.

He had been desperate for the attention he deserved, and he received it. Now, with his tanks aching for a fuel so foreign to him and a source of food solely for his fattening frame, he was faced with the same dilemma. This time around, however, things weren’t so simple.

The ride back home to their base that night was slow, and with every rev of his strained engine, Tracks could feel his plating growing tighter. His ego was sated, his appetite too, but as he struggled to get himself up to speed and stay there, his stuffed, sloshing tanks begged for reprieve. He was stuffed to his limits and then some, and by the time he made it back, he knew the streets would be dark and barren.

Another day had come and gone in which Tracks set out with one goal in mind and left for home having achieved a whole different goal. It was embarrassing, honestly, the way his frame sagged under the weight of a good (and so, so very unhealthy) meal such as this, but he just couldn’t help it. He’d fed his craving in one sense, and in the other, he’d simply discovered a whole new craving to replace it.

It was a cycle of destruction, this mess he’d found himself in, but oh, earth’s fuel was just too good to pass up… it was the forbidden fruit of his kind, and he just had to have it. Truly, Tracks just couldn’t say no.