#Oil Central Heating

[jetairco]

The need for dependable and effective heating systems grows as the seasons shift and the temperature drops. Oil central heating systems have become a popular and efficient option among the range of options offered to many homeowners. In this blog post, we will examine oil central heating, including its benefits, how it operates, and why it is still a reliable way to heat homes. If you are looking for any Oil Central Heating, Boiler Repair Services in Smithtown, Hauppauge, St. James Lake Ronkonkoma Commack, Northport, and Long Island, contact JetAirCo. 

[reasonsforhope]

"The man who has called climate change a “hoax” also can be expected to wreak havoc on federal agencies central to understanding, and combating, climate change. But plenty of climate action would be very difficult for a second Trump administration to unravel, and the 47th president won’t be able to stop the inevitable economy-wide shift from fossil fuels to renewables. 

“This is bad for the climate, full stop,” said Gernot Wagner, a climate economist at the Columbia Business School. “That said, this will be yet another wall that never gets built. Fundamental market forces are at play.”

A core irony of climate change is that markets incentivized the wide-scale burning of fossil fuels beginning in the Industrial Revolution, creating the mess humanity is mired in, and now those markets are driving a renewables revolution that will help fix it. Coal, oil, and gas are commodities whose prices fluctuate. As natural resources that humans pull from the ground, there’s really no improving on them — engineers can’t engineer new versions of coal. 

By contrast, solar panels, wind turbines, and appliances like induction stoves only get better — more efficient and cheaper — with time. Energy experts believe solar power, the price of which fell 90 percent between 2010 and 2020, will continue to proliferate across the landscape. (Last year, the United States added three times as much solar capacity as natural gas.) Heat pumps now outsell gas furnaces in the U.S., due in part to government incentives. Last year, Maine announced it had reached its goal of installing 100,000 heat pumps two years ahead of schedule, in part thanks to state rebates. So if the Trump administration cut off the funding for heat pumps that the IRA provides, states could pick up the slack. 

Local utilities are also finding novel ways to use heat pumps. Over in Massachusetts, for example, the utility Eversource Energy is experimenting with “networked geothermal,” in which the homes within a given neighborhood tap into water pumped from underground. Heat pumps use that water to heat or cool a space, which is vastly more efficient than burning natural gas. Eversource and two dozen other utilities, representing about half of the country’s natural gas customers, have formed a coalition to deploy more networked geothermal systems.

Beyond being more efficient, green tech is simply cheaper to adopt. Consider Texas, which long ago divorced its electrical grid from the national grid so it could skirt federal regulation. The Lone Star State is the nation’s biggest oil and gas producer, but it gets 40 percent of its total energy from carbon-free sources. “Texas has the most solar and wind of any state, not because Republicans in Texas love renewables, but because it’s the cheapest form of electricity there,” said Zeke Hausfather, a research scientist at Berkeley Earth, a climate research nonprofit. The next top three states for producing wind power — Iowa, Oklahoma, and Kansas — are red, too.

State regulators are also pressuring utilities to slash emissions, further driving the adoption of wind and solar power. As part of California’s goal of decarbonizing its power by 2045, the state increased battery storage by 757 percent between 2019 and 2023. Even electric cars and electric school buses can provide backup power for the grid. That allows utilities to load up on bountiful solar energy during the day, then drain those batteries at night — essential for weaning off fossil fuel power plants. Trump could slap tariffs on imported solar panels and thereby increase their price, but that would likely boost domestic manufacturing of those panels, helping the fledgling photovoltaic manufacturing industry in red states like Georgia and Texas.

The irony of Biden’s signature climate bill is states that overwhelmingly support Trump are some of the largest recipients of its funding. That means tampering with the IRA could land a Trump administration in political peril even with Republican control of the Senate, if not Congress. In addition to providing incentives to households (last year alone, 3.4 million American families claimed more than $8 billion in tax credits for home energy improvements), the legislation has so far resulted in $150 billion of new investment in the green economy since it was passed in 2022, boosting the manufacturing of technologies like batteries and solar panels. According to Atlas Public Policy, a research group, that could eventually create 160,000 jobs. “Something like 66 percent of all of the spending in the IRA has gone to red states,” Hausfather said. “There certainly is a contingency in the Republican party now that’s going to support keeping some of those subsidies around.”

Before Biden’s climate legislation passed, much more progress was happening at a state and local level. New York, for instance, set a goal to reduce its greenhouse gas emissions from 1990 levels by 40 percent by 2030, and 85 percent by 2050. Colorado, too, is aiming to slash emissions by at least 90 percent by 2050. The automaker Stellantis has signed an agreement with the state of California promising to meet the state’s zero-emissions vehicle mandate even if a judicial or federal action overturns it. It then sells those same cars in other states. 

“State governments are going to be the clearest counterbalance to the direction that Donald Trump will take the country on environmental policy,” said Thad Kousser, co-director of the Yankelovich Center for Social Science Research at the University of California, San Diego. “California and the states that ally with it are going to try to adhere to tighter standards if the Trump administration lowers national standards.”

[Note: One of the obscure but great things about how emissions regulations/markets work in the US is that automakers generally all follow California's emissions standards, and those standards are substantially higher than federal standards. Source]

Last week, 62 percent of Washington state voters soundly rejected a ballot initiative seeking to repeal a landmark law that raised funds to fight climate change. “Donald Trump’s going to learn something that our opponents in our initiative battle learned: Once people have a benefit, you can’t take it away,” Washington Governor Jay Inslee said in a press call Friday. “He is going to lose in his efforts to repeal the Inflation Reduction Act, because governors, mayors of both parties, are going to say, ‘This belongs to me, and you’re not going to get your grubby hands on it.’”

Even without federal funding, states regularly embark on their own large-scale projects to adapt to climate change. California voters, for instance, just overwhelmingly approved a $10 billion bond to fund water, climate, and wildfire prevention projects. “That will be an example,” said Saharnaz Mirzazad, executive director of the U.S. branch of ICLEI-Local Governments for Sustainability. “You can use that on a state level or local level to have [more of] these types of bonds. You can help build some infrastructure that is more resilient.”

Urban areas, too, have been major drivers of climate action: In 2021, 130 U.S. cities signed a U.N.-backed pledge to accelerate their decarbonization. “Having an unsupportive federal government, to say the least, will be not helpful,” said David Miller, managing director at the Centre for Urban Climate Policy and Economy at C40, a global network of mayors fighting climate change. “It doesn’t mean at all that climate action will stop. It won’t, and we’ve already seen that twice in recent U.S. history, when Republican administrations pulled out of international agreements. Cities step to the fore.”

And not in isolation, because mayors talk: Cities share information about how to write legislation, such as laws that reduce carbon emissions in buildings and ensure that new developments are connected to public transportation. They transform their food systems to grow more crops locally, providing jobs and reducing emissions associated with shipping produce from afar. “If anything,” Miller said, “having to push against an administration, like that we imagine is coming, will redouble the efforts to push at the local level.” 

Federal funding — like how the U.S. Forest Service has been handing out $1.5 billion for planting trees in urban areas, made possible by the IRA — might dry up for many local projects, but city governments, community groups, and philanthropies will still be there. “You picture a web, and we’re taking scissors or a machete or something, and chopping one part of that web out,” said Elizabeth Sawin, the director of the Multisolving Institute, a Washington, D.C.-based nonprofit that promotes climate solutions. “There’s this resilience of having all these layers of partners.”

All told, climate progress has been unfolding on so many fronts for so many years — often without enough support from the federal government — that it will persist regardless of who occupies the White House. “This too shall pass, and hopefully we will be in a more favorable policy environment in four years,” Hausfather said. “In the meantime, we’ll have to keep trying to make clean energy cheap and hope that it wins on its merits.”"

-via Grist, November 11, 2024. A timely reminder.

[serpentface]

A pair of chul.

Finally pulled the plug on my long-debated 'are there any suids in this setting or just the entelodonts' issue. There are no pigs, but some of the domesticated entelodonts play similar roles.

Nechoi are a broad clade of ungulates. Most are medium-sized generalist omnivores, though a minority are very large and predominantly herbivorous (an even smaller minority are bear-sized and occupy similar niches).

One species of nechoi has been domesticated and is widely utilized as livestock, which I'll be referring to as chul (this is the Burri language word for these animals, and is the common term in the part of the setting I do most writing in).

Chul have four toes per foot, but two of these are entirely vestigial nubs of bone only visible as a small bump. They lack the tusks of some of their wild cousins, though the upper cuspids of boars are still somewhat exaggerated in length as a display feature. Most morphs have floppy ears, and virtually all have full-body fur cover. As an ancestral trait, boars develop huge cheek flanges and a fatty back hump, which primarily serve to display fitness to prospective mates and intimidate rivals (the flanges may also provide a degree of protection to the face and neck during fights). Some domestic morphs have lost this trait, but it is very often preserved for its utility as a source of oil or calorie-dense meat.

As livestock, their main utility is for meat and hides. They do not provide many resources while alive (save for manure and perhaps blood), so they are rarely central to the subsistence of people who tend them. Sows well-accommodated to human handling may allow themselves to be milked, but their milk output is low and the flavor is notably gamey, and no domestic populations exhibit selection for milk production. What makes them most valuable as livestock is their generalist diets. They can eat almost anything, are not dependent on seasonal growth, and are low maintenance and do not have to be moved between different pastures. Chul can essentially be fed on garbage, and transform this into a large meaty carcass and good hides.

They primarily eat nuts + seeds + tubers + fruits + leaves + invertebrates, and will opportunistically predate on small vertebrates. They readily consume carrion, and their powerful jaws and large molars are capable of crushing bone. Their heads are not as adapted for digging as pigs, instead having flexible lips to select and crop food items. When pursuing edible roots/tubers, they usually dig scrapes with their hooves or rip whole plants out from the ground.

In captivity, Chul are usually provided refuse to eat (inedible parts of crops, byproducts of butchered animals, uneaten or rotten food, etc) and will roam a small home range to supplement this with forage. The flavor of their meat ultimately depends on their diet, which can cause notable individual/regional variations in taste. They are sometimes 'finished' on a higher quality diet of grain/nuts/starches/fruit to produce a mild-tasting carcass with sweet fat.

They pant and sweat to thermoregulate and are not dependent on wallowing, though will gladly do so when given the opportunity (they're also fairly strong swimmers). They have sweat glands across most of their bodies, and will sweat very heavily in heat and require large amounts of water to stay hydrated. They originated in the tropics and do not molt into winter coats, though some populations in temperate climes have adapted via thicker year-round coats (though usually must be actively fattened before winter. They require a lot more upkeep in temperate zones and aren't as common there).

They are notably vocal. When foraging together, they make soft barks to keep track of each other (kind of like this). Babies produce squeaky bleats as contact calls (kind of like this, but much shorter). Boars are known to produce loud, deep bellows when displaying (sounds somewhat like a red deer but a little higher). All will produce low moaning growls when threatened, sharp barks when behaving aggressively or in pain, and panting huffs when excited/happy/playing.

When left to their own devices, they generally form into herds of sows/young/juvenile males. They do not establish discrete territories, but will generally stick to overlapping home ranges as long as food resources remain reliable. They are very social animals, and these herds can become quite large when resources allow (though they are typically on the small side, with 2-6 adult sows per herd). Sow bands form social hierarchies based primarily around size and age. Dominant sows are usually the ones to chase off subadult boars, and may chase away subordinate sows if resources are scarce. Unfamiliar sows will be integrated into herds with little issue if food resources are stable (though the process entails a few hours of posturing and displaying to keep the hierarchy established).

Subadult males usually live in small bachelor groups (almost always with siblings from the same litter), which form dominance hierarchies largely based upon size. Boar bands with stable hierarchies may remain together for life, and have greater reproductive success overall than lone boars. However, boars can be extremely aggressive towards unfamiliar boars, particularly when in the presence of sows in estrus. There are some ritualized elements to confrontations between boars to prevent escalation into deadly fights. Most confrontations can be resolved with posturing, roaring and yawning to display teeth and jaw size, and will usually escalate no further than shoving matches before one backs down. Fights usually begin with face to face open mouth posturing, which will turn into slashing and biting with the cuspids. Outright fights can be deadly, and boars with a number advantage may not stop until the opponent is mortally wounded or dead. Even when confrontations do not end in fights, confident boars are known to target the scrotum of fleeing rivals in attempt to castrate them.

The best practice is to geld most of your male chul and keep only one boar per herd. It is generally safe to keep multiple intact boars together if they're from the same litter, but this can create other problems, as boars in bands will wander farther and are likelier to get into confrontations with those of your neighbors.

They are also more physically dangerous in general than domestic pigs, being similar in size but stronger with a significantly more powerful bite force. They are not particularly aggressive towards people, however. Most respond positively towards the company of handlers and enjoy close interaction, and are likelier to hurt you by accidentally knocking you over than in acts of aggression.

All in all they cause proportionately fewer deaths than cattle. The big difference is that a cow who kills you will ultimately leave your corpse alone, while a chul will readily eat it.

[northgazaupdates]

24 January 2024

Filmmaker Khaled Tuaima photographs a falafel vendor. The man behind the counter has set up his makeshift shop (mostly comprised of canvas sheets and poles) in a central area between several shelter centers in northern Gaza. In the absence of electric heating, the man uses wood to heat the oil, which is incredibly labor-intensive and time-consuming. Further, being out in the open is dangerous, as he could be targeted by IOF snipers or drones at any point. He stands out there anyway so that he can provide for his family. The prices of the few basic necessities still available in Gaza have increased astronomically, leading people to take desperate measures to survive.

Source: Khaled Tuaima on Instagram

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Eighteen - Headaches

Part Seventeen

———

Copper, a surprisingly good conductor of heat and electricity. It’s used for building materials and in various alloys. It is used in wiring, plumbing, and industrial applications, such as mecha suits.

They are also used for a number of other applications, the metal is malleable and can be bent into ideal shapes for specific applications. It has antibacterial properties and is resistant to corrosion, it’s often used in the making of spirits. The heat applied is spread evening to the surface area and can heat the liquor evenly to make the process simple enough that it has been known to happen in military housing or on fronts.

Copper stills range in size and capabilities, able to make several types of liquor depending on the resources accessible to the user. They can make whiskey, though the aging process takes a considerable amount more time in separate barrels, than several clear liquors such as vodka, gin, and moonshine. All taking different ingredients and time frames.

Though distilling without a license is illegal in the United States, it doesn’t stop people from learning how to distill their own liquor and distilling in international territory depends on whose territory you are currently at host to.

—

The apartment was nearly cold and they were all out of their suits, Prowl had yet to make an appearance as he was still dealing with details down at central. For the moment, Hound was up in Breakdown's suit and had his tool kit with him. It had been moved from the Odyssey the first time one of them burst a line, the poor shuttle was getting less and less use the longer they were working with the Cybertronian’s. Breakdown was laying down in their makeshift bedroom, it was a platform with cots on it for them all in the bedroom, so the lights were turned down in there for him. Sunstreaker was watching Hound work, trying to take in the repairs and understand what he was doing, but unlike Hound who’d worked on military machinery before being a pilot the only experience Sunstreaker had was super-charging cars. Sure, there was some overlap but not nearly enough.

Hound swore and pulled his hand back, it was covered in oil from a burst line, though the glove he wore protected him somewhat, “Sonny, grab me that line clamp.” His hands were halfway into Breakdown’s shoulder by the time Sunstreaker handed over the clamp, “Fuck, I’ll have to get fluid for the system.” They worked like that, every few minutes Hound would swear and Sunstreaker would dive into the tool kit for something he needed, “I’m going to hold this piece back, you’re going to go in with the wrench to finish the repair.” Pausing, Sunstreaker looks up, “But, I don’t know how to repair a suit,” “And you’re going to learn cause my hands can’t reach the inner joint.” Sighing deeply, Sunstreaker adjusted his stance on the plating before going into the joint.

It took then a few hours to get the arm adjusted and recalibrated, Knockout did a great job but the lines needed to be redone in the spare material from earth, the cybertronian stuff just wouldn’t hold up to the suit's weight or stress.

Sideswipe comes out of the bathroom, groaning, “Are you two almost done up there? I want to head into Iacon Central.” Sunstreaker gives him a look, face streaked in oil and grease, “Sides, now is not the time. If we don’t get Breakdown’s suit repaired everyone will start to figure out what they're not supposed to.” He crossed his arms, frowning, “Well Prowl doesn’t want us going into town by ourselves, Jazz is asleep, and you two are more so breaking Breakdown’s suit.” Sunstreaker groaned and pulled away from the wires, pointing at his brother, “Just, hang on,” Shaking his head, Hound turned toward them both, “If you two are just going to bicker do it elsewhere. I need to focus.” Sunstreaker turned, “But Hound,” “Now Sunstreaker. If this isn’t repaired before our meeting with Joan— I mean the Prime, damnit, then they’ll insist that Breakdown goes to Knockout again.” Sunstreaker sighed slowly, “And he’ll actually run the scans this time,” “Only to find a tiny organic in his chest instead of the typical spark.” Sideswipe almost looked sheepish, almost, “So please, for the love of god, go argue somewhere else. But don’t disturb Breakdown.” Hound wipes a hand across his forehead, smearing the grease across it while he goes back into the repair. Leaving the twins glaring at each other.

—

Hound was the only one going to the meeting, Jazz was taking the twins into central Iacon just to shut them up for a klick or two and Breakdown was still resting though his suit was at least repaired. Hound had a pounding headache, once Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had stopped arguing they’d turned music on just low enough to not wake Breakdown but loud enough to grate at Hound’s migraine. Prowl had come to let them all know they were effectively free and Jazz had made quick work of cornering the twins, “Let’s go into Iacon Central, go to the market. Hey, there is a pretty cool upgrades place I think you two will love.” Sunstreaker had tried to argue but Sideswipe covered his mouth with a far to practiced ease, “Yead, that sounds great. Just the three of us hitting the town. We can get the stuff for our project while we’re out.” There was a moment of pause before Sunstreaker lout out the biggest and most dramatic sigh Hound had ever seen, “Fine, but only for the parts we need.” Jazz was grinning, which couldn’t be a good sign. His head was pounding.

”I worry I don’t even want to ask what you’re getting parts for,” Hound was back in his suit, rubbing his forehead as the twins to into their respective cockpits, “Oh don’t worry commander,” That was never a good sign, “This will be something we all can enjoy, after a few tweaks.” And that really wasn’t a good sign, “We’ll have to stop by the Odyssey for some stuff too Jazz.” Sunstreaker was the first up, stretching lightly while waiting on his brother, “Oh yeah, if we could get this stuff going tonight it would be perfect.” Hound’s head was throbbing and their conversation was not going to help ease it, Jazz laughed, “Yeah, we can stop in at the warehouse on the way back.” Sideswipe stood and started to usher the pair out, “Alright, don’t wait up. We’ll see you two sticks in the mud tonight.” The door slid open and shut harshly, as if they were able to slam a door like that.

Prowl stood there, staring after where the three of them went with a frown, “Should we be concerned?” “Definitely.” Sighing Hound moved around and grabbed the tablet that he’d been given when they landed, rubbing his face, “Is Breakdown joining us?” Shaking his head, Hound tucked the tablet into his chute holder, “No, I’ve ordered him to rest and last I checked he was sound asleep.” Prowl nodded slowly, frowning, “Will he be alright?” With a nod, Hound starts towards the door, “It’s a concussion, he just needs rest and time to heal.” “I don’t think Jazz has had a concussion before,” Prowl’s voice was tinted with concern, “Well, after you’ve had one you’re far more susceptible. The older suits, like Breakdown's, don't have all the same protections for concussive force.” He knocked lightly against his chest, “Or the same structure for the assistance suits. We have this guy, named Blur, he used to race back on Earth. he said it would be smart to put something called a HANS device in. Most of ours are attached to the piloting seat then clip onto our suits, Breakdown only got one installed before the mission.” Sighing a bit, Hound shields his eyes a bit as they go out into the hall, “It won’t stop everything, but it’s meant to help for impacts and things.” Prowl nodded slowly, watching before falling into step with Hound.

They walked together in silence, which Hound was grateful for, able to turn down his audio receivers for a bit before Prowl cleared his throat, “Hound, are you feeling alright?” He was thankful the mech kept his voice low, sighing as he nodded a bit, “Yes, Prowl. I’m alright. Just a headache.” Prowl’s steps slowed, he was frowning, “Do you want to postpone the meeting? I know that when Jazz gets headaches they can be helped with being in the dark and not in your suit.” Sighing, Hound shook his head, “No, no the meeting is too important to postpone. Plus, it could help with some of my headache. Once we’re there I’ll take something for it.” Nodding, Prowl fell back into silence, Hound smiled a bit, “So, uh, How are things with Jazz?” Prowl chuckled lightly, shaking his head, “I can see small talk carries over no matter the species.” With a shrug, Hound looks at him, “Well?” Prowl shook his head.

It didn’t take long to hear what though, “Things, as you phrased it, with Jazz are fine.” Hound hummed and Prowl almost whipped around, “I know that tone.” Laughing and holding his head, Hound held up his other hand, “You can’t answer the question with just rephrasing it on Earth, otherwise people will definitely think things aren’t fine.” Prowl sighed, rolling his eyes a bit to Hound’s amusement, “Then Jazz and I are doing well, certainly better than others.” There was a touch of tone there that Hound thought sounded like sarcasm but this was Prowl, nodding a bit, Hound cleared his throat a bit, “I take it you spoke with Mirage and found out what uh, a word that doesn’t translate is.” Frowning, Prowl shook his head, “What are you talking about?” At least you could count on Prowl for being the last one to hear the gossip, “Mirage and I were speaking on the shuttle back here, I mentioned being divorced—“ Prowl almost jumped out of his plating, “Which clearly translates to something horrible but it’s just the legal separation between two people on Earth, two people who were married but no longer want to be.” It took a minute for Prowl to be able to speak, “That word translates into the breaking and permanent separation of a joined spark,” He takes a breath, “It effectively would mean, for us, that your Conjux has since passed and that is an incredibly painful experience.” Nodding a bit, Hound sighed, “Yeah, I figured it was something like that. No, I was married young and it didn’t work out for a lot of reasons, but she’s not dead.” Prowl cracked a smile at that, nodding.

The sunshine made his head throb again, wincing a bit as he turned down the brightness of his visual feed. Prowl rested a hand lightly on his arm, “Are you sure,” “Prowl, this meeting needs to happen.” His steps stalled for a moment, “Why?” Hound sighed and glanced back towards the apartment building, “We need to rethink the structure of our team, right now if we continue the direction that we are, I doubt it’ll end well.” “Meaning?” Prowl was trying hard to keep his tone neutral, but Hound knew, “On Earth, pilots rarely work with other pilots, because we’re all stubborn and hardheaded. We don’t take orders well and the risk of death is high, the longer you work with another pilot the more connected you get and when they get hurt or worse it becomes harder to do the mission.” His hands clasp at his sides, taking a deep breath, “In the last two days we had one pilot try to kill a specialist and another got hurt, it will only continue to happen if we remain in the structure that we currently are.” Prowl was just staring at him, his eyes focusing and unfocusing, clearly running the statement through his tacnet. Hound waited, nodding his head slightly when Prowl looked at him and not through him, “That’s why this meeting is important, I need to discuss spreading out my team with Optimus Prime, a higher chance of survival and success for all of us.” Prowl bowed his head slightly, staring at the 97.6% in the corner of his own visual feed, the number that had been rising since their arrival.

Stepping onto the transport, Prowl fell silent again as Hound sagged into a seat, wanting to give him some relief to his migraine. In that moment, he could truly see the title commander written all over his plating, having seen both Optimus and Megatron fight these same internal battles over the years. Sidestepping slightly, he blocks the worst of the sun from Hound’s visual feeds, crossing his arms and guarding his friend from what little he could, either the sun or the stares of other Cybertronian’s.

—

Iacon Central was beautiful, it honestly reminded Sideswipe a lot of Miami and eased some of the homesickness. Though it was also staggeringly different, with the transformation lanes and flight-frames overhead buzzing the buildings every few minutes. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time, him and Sunstreaker were following Jazz down the road, “We need copper, preferably copper tubing but still copper and an oversized cube.” Jazz looks over his shoulder, “What are you two planning?” Sunstreaker scoffs, “We. Aren't planning anything. He planned it and I’m going to build it.” Sideswipe clasped his hand against his twin's shoulder, “Oh come on, this was always the dream, we just have the space for it now.” Jazz’s visor darken slightly, “I don’t like that you’re using my apartment for unknown mystery projects.” Sideswipe comes up and throws an arm around his shoulders, “Jazz, I swear, you are going to love this. Now,” “Yeah yeah, copper tubing and a giant cube. I heard ya.” Sunstreaker sighed deeply, still dragging his feet a bit as they headed into the marketplace.

—

Autobot Central, now known as the headquarters of the primal vanguard, was massive and reminded Hound of some state capitals back on Earth. Not in the appearance really but in its grand scale. Prowl and him were climbing the steps to the main entrance, several guards standing out front stoic as statues though they opened the gate as they got to it, “Thanks,” Hound nodded to them slightly as they went through, Prowl nodding as well, “I have primary access.” That made a lot of sense. They had to climb more steps to the building, sighing a bit Hound followed Prowl up and inside.

The halls were massive, even by the standards of mechs it was huge, certainly bigger than any of the warehouses that Hound’s suit had been stored in. A few of the mecha that they passed were familiar but none were ones that Hound knew well. Prowl nodded to a few, keeping a low voice and telling Prowl who they passed, “That was Tracks, generally not friendly. That one is Swerve and no, I don’t know why he’s acting like he saw a ghost. He acts the same way around Jazz, and primus go this way.” He redirects Hound with a shove down a separate hallway, “If we ran into Starstream we’d never make it to the meeting.” Hound tried not to smile, nodding a bit, “Yeah, I know plenty of people like that back home.” They kept walking together though going quiet as the number of people dwindled the deeper they got into the fortress.

Ironhide stood outside the door, looking bored, “Took the two of you long enough to get here,” He smiles, “Everyone is inside, I’ll join you as soon as my replacement shows up.” Prowl nodded and scanned in for the door, letting Hound enter first.

Hound had seen this room over video several times but had never been inside, it was command, the main command that Prowl generally worked from. Looking to Prowl, who simply shrugged, they entered. There weren’t many people in the room, Megatron and Optimus Prime were sitting towards the front of the room, talking quietly with each other. Mirage was standing to the side with a mech that Hound didn’t know, Red Alert was on the command desk with another mech that Hound really didn’t know though had what was best described as a cat in his lap. There was a pink mecha stood to the side with a flight frame that looked a great deal like the Starscream that Prowl had insisted they avoid. Hound knew several seekers though and was at least vaguely familiar with the frame type, how they stuck to groups of three or trines, as well as what happened to the trine if one or more of them died. Optimus looks up and the smile reached his eyes, the room almost growing uncomfortably warm, “Hound, just the mecha we were waiting on, please come have a seat and once Ironhide is able to join us we can start.” Nodding a bit, Hound moved over and took a seat that looked the least comfortable, he could hear one mech sigh from relief before they took a different seat.

It didn’t take very long before Ironhide was able to join them, two other Seekers following him in before joining the blue one across the table from him, though one distinctly taking the seat near Megatron, Optimus nodded before sitting up, “Right, now that we’re all here we can start. Hound, I understand there is something you desire to discuss with us?” Nodding a bit, Hound pulled the tablet he had from his plating and set it on the table, “I want to restructure my unit, sir.” Everyone was watching intently now and Hound was far from a public speaker, “I think it will be best for the war and our joint effort.” Megatron tilted his head slightly, “How so?” Hound sighed slowly, “On Earth,” “You’re not on Earth, your on Cybertron,” And he suddenly understood why that mech was called Starscream, he winced slightly and turned the audio receivers down more, “On Earth, those of us found compatible are more often spread out across the planet to defend cities or regions.” Optimus nodded slowly, folding his hands, “Pilots, what we are called, we don’t work in units. We work with crews and teams in command, soldiers on the ground, but not other people who fight like we do. It’s too much of a liability, too much of a risk.” Megatron shifted in his seat, looking to Optimus, who held up a hand to let Hound continue to speak.

Shifting uneasily in his seat, Hound cleared his throat a bit, “With Breakdown getting hurt in the manner that he did, plus the disagreement between Sideswipe and Bluestreak, it’s becoming apparent to me that we need to be split amongst your units for the best outcome.” Starscream scoffed and several others looked around uneasily. Megatron was glowering, “As Starscream said, you are not on Earth, so why is it that your suggesting we follow the suicidal path that they had you on before?” Hound shook his head, pushing up off the table, “The last two days are only the start, it will continue to grow worse. When Breakdown got hurt it took two of us from the fight and if the others had been alerted it would have been all of us. It’s how we work, how we function.” Sighing, Hound picks up the tablet and offers it down the table, “I would suggest that we break up with mecha we’re familiar with and can work well with. This is what I would suggest.” Optimus takes it and quickly plugs the tablet into the table, bringing the files up in front of their eyes.

Megatron stared and set his jaw, “I don’t know how it is done on Earth, but we do not split up split sparks, ever. The fact that you rate suggesting it with your own kind.” Hound shook his head, “Being split spark is being two halves of the same whole effectively, from the moment that you are sparked. Well, it is not like that for us. Yes, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were born on the same day, within minutes of each other to the same creators but they aren’t connected in the same manner, they can be physically separated for a period of time with limited psychological distress.” Optimus rubs his forehead and a few of the mecha shifted uncomfortably, Hound cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Sideswipe attacked Bluestreak because of a misunderstanding dealing with his brother and it will only grow worse the longer that those three work together, but I think Sunstreaker and Bluestreak are well paired for this.” He took a breath, “It won’t be permanent, I think we should only be separated for around a quartex or so, then reevaluated.” Slowly sitting back down, he folded his hands a bit anxiously, Optimus was nodding slowly and looked over, “Prowl, your thoughts?” Prowl nodded and plugged a drive into the table, “Every fight, their risk of death grows while ours has decreased rapidly, if my projections are correct then their risk will fall while separated and ours should remain mostly unchanged.” Megatron’s fist collided with the table, no one flinched but Ironhide winced, “Damn.”

”It isn’t right and we all know it.” He was practically growling, Optimus sighed and shook his head, “We know Megatron, but what else is there to do with such poor projections?” They stared at each other, clearly speaking over comms as the others around the table started to whisper to one another. Hound shifted a bit, “We know that these smaller attacks are happening both on Cybertron and in Cybertronian space, sending all five of us to one location isn’t going to help those areas.” Prowl sat back, staring off in the middle distance, “They are the units which now are taking the heaviest losses.” Hound nodded slightly, sighing, Megatron looked up, “I want to maintain two of you for my unit, not the twins since you seem so dead set on separating the pair,” “Megatron,” Megatron waves Optimus off, “You and Breakdown will remain with me, since Knockout has taken such a likely to the mech, once he is healed he can join us.” Nodding, Hound scratched at his jaw a bit, “I think that is fair,” “Also, we are going to have Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in separate units but in the same detail.” Optimus leans forward slightly, “I can understand why you feel the need to separate them and they will spend their off time apart, but they work better together in the fight than not, I can assume.” Nodding again, Hound sighs, “And Jazz?” Prowl leaned forward a bit, “Will return to his speciality work, what he was doing before you all arrive. It gives us four speciality units instead of one without losing much.” Hound bit his tongue lightly and nodded, it wasn’t what he’d been asking for but it was certainly better than their current downward spiral.

Optimus nods and looks to the pink mecha, “Elita, I want you to take Sideswipe and Ironhide will take Sunstreaker,” He holds up a hand lightly, “I will be safe in Iacon without you Ironhide while we attempt to deal with situation at hand, I need you in the field with Elita and the others.” “But Prime,” “Would it make you feel better if I were to join you?” The chorus of nos was certainly enough to make Hound wince and lightly hold his head, Megatron was staring at him so he slowly lowered his hand, “I will have Soundwave and be in Iacon, if an attack were to happen here then you’d all fall back to this position regardless.” Hound could see why he was the leader, certainly, once everyone was quiet again Optimus nodded, “We will send out the orders when each team is to depart, but for now there isn’t anything in the nearest system. We will remain on alert,” He pauses before looking to Hound, “Hound, I apologize but now I do have to ask you to leave the meeting, we’ll be discussing planetary objections. Ironhide, Elita, Blaster, Red Alert, Mirage, Skywarp, and Thundercraker will join you.” The two seekers were the first up and out, already talking painfully loudly even as Starscream puts his face in his hands, “They are idiots.” There were a few chuckles as chairs scraped, “Here Hound, I’ll walk you out of headquarters.” Mirage stands and walks over, smiling to Prowl as Hound stands, “Thanks, this place looked like a maze coming in.” “It basically is,” Mirage smiled and started out of the room, Hound glanced toward Megatron and Optimus before saluting and following Mirage out.

Once they’d left the room, Optimus chuckles lightly, “It would seem many of our own continue to find the odd visored mechs, uh, appealing.” Prowl’s faceplates burned as Elita burst out laughing, a hand covering his mouth, even Megatron chuckled.

———

A/N

Considering I had the weekend to write, I will be honest and say I wrote most of this today even though I was very much lacking time.

To be fair, it would have been up around 30 minutes sooner if my room hadn’t caught on fire (it was actually the top of the chimney, and it was hardly a fire) but still.

Things are starting to pick up, the fall out of the next part is going to be very interesting for all included parties, muhahaha.

I also wanted to know if you’d guys want me to link the next part in the pervious post or not? I know I link the previous chapter but I wasn’t sure if after the next part is posted you’d want a link to the next one at the bottom. Or just a link to the masterlist maybe? Which will be getting a revamp very soon.

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 @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @dimencreasatlas @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @starscreamloverfr @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @astridkolch @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @osqindaxend

And as always, thank you to the amazing @keferon for this amazing AU! (Sorry for the span in this, 18 parts is a lot)

[ronearoundblindly]

A Bouquet for you! 💐

This is part of the blooms of Appreciation!

🪷 - Spring means new beginnings, so let’s try something new! If you’ve never sent an ask before, send one!

- I have been wanting to send you an ask for ages! I love your Who Would... series. So, I'll let you decide on which ask you pick 😌💕

Who would... help you with a diy project (be that painting or assembling IKEA furniture)?

Who would... be the best taking care of you when you're sick/have a migraine?

Lots of love 💕💕💕💕

Grem, sweetheart, let's do both! 😃 No warnings just vibes.

James Mace

Ohhhh yes, he loves to build the furniture. That's just one step up from puzzles in his opinion. Mace is partial to projects that aren't messy--stuff where there's not much left to clean up or trash/waste--and will take extra time to lay down tarps/sheets/paper if there is no avoiding mess.

He's practical and scientific: whatever treatment he gives will have sound, researched proof of benefit behind it. Mace will not be stocking dozens of essential oils in the medicine cabinet. Uh-uh. Nope. You can say things have a soothing or comforting effect on you, but don't ever say that crap is actually healing you. Tea and chicken soup and stuff like that is fine and encouraged.

Similar vein of thought but Mace isn't against supplements or multivitamins. However, he associates them with a lack of access to nutrients any other way. He has very limited resources in space, so of course concentrated pills are helpful. On Earth, he prefers real, whole foods and a variety of them. If you like lemon or orange 'oil,' he will buy lemons and oranges. He doesn't have a green thumb to grow herbs at home, but he will get whole herbs, too. He doesn't like 'essences.'

Curtis Everett

Not...thrilled about building stuff, but he'll do it. Always was better at maintaining things rather than assembling from scratch. He's a minor-adjustments man. If it ain't broke, don't fix it or replace it. He'll totally freshen up old furniture with a paint or stain. He loves a garage project of any sort. Curtis has, however, big enough hands that very detailed, finicky tasks are a hard pass unless absolutely necessary.

Ok, I love Curtis, he's a great guy, but he's not great around sick people. Sorry. He checks up on you every so often, but mostly he leaves you to rest up. Good news is that he doesn't expect you to do more that that either if he's not feeling well.

Jimmy Dobyne

I mean, DIY projects are pretty much what he does all day every day. He usually won't enjoy having what amounts to more work to do, but Jimmy doesn't mind at all. He also struggles to let projects be FUN; there's a strategy to just getting it done, so do that. Jimmy has a hard time incorporating those things into the same mindset as a group activity or bonding experience. He gets projects 'over with' as quickly as possible.

Manflu central. Classic dude. Sorta meh about taking care of you any extra when you're ill, but definitely behaves like he's got one foot in the grave if he's under the weather. Now, that's to say, Jimmy will be just as doting as he usually is, depending on what you're comfortable with and what you two have established as a routine, but not more.

Johnny Storm

Just buy it. Not a 'projects' guy, more of an 'experience' man. Outings and travel, dining and shopping, dancing and clubbing...those are his wheelhouse.

Oh, god, gross. No. Not fond of hanging around sickies. Will be a heating pad for cramps or whatnot. He'll rush you any meds you need. Johnny, however, ain't the most sympathetic of men when it comes to complaining.

Additionally!!! He can become far more understanding when you are visibly ill or injured. That translates for Johnny. So if you're clammy, sweating, bleeding, or broken, yeah, he is totally there and trying--although a bit ineptly--to help.

Jake Jensen

Ok, Jake is sort of...mercurial with projects. He definitely gets focused on his own things (gaming, tech building/alterations, etc.), so if he's elbow-deep in one of those, he won't really help. You could try to schedule time for it or wait until he's free, but if Jake isn't needed then meh. You have to really convince him.

Greaaaaat with illness or feeling like crap, even just on those emotionally down days. Jake is all over it. He'll try anything once, so this is the guy with all the blends of tea or essential oils or whatever. If you want to be held in complete silence for a while, he can do that, though he might put some audiobook on through one earbud if he's not tired either. He will carry you from room to room until you are 100% better, not just 70% or 90%, only 100% will do.

Lloyd Hansen

Buy it, pay someone, blackmail somebody into doing the project. Who cares how it gets done? Not Lloyd.

This might seem totally obvious, but he's a "0-60 in three seconds flat" dude. Lloyd is also easily annoyed and frustrated, so if he can't do something perfectly, he doesn't want to do it at all. Throws outrageous fits when bolts don't align correctly or the instructions don't make sense. Strings of curses. Mad for days. Shouldn't have bothered. Paint color's not even. Edges aren't clean. Brush strokes are visible. F*** it, he's out. Punching holes in the wall. Taking a sledgehammer to anything nearby. Hates it.

I'll give you a wild guess how well he does when you're sick or in pain. Alright, fine, it's not as bad as "he doesn't care," but he expects you to get what you need, take the time you need, or get yourself to a doctor. He ain't one. Or a nurse. He's got better things to do.

Ari Levinson

As discussed before, Ari is perfectly fine doing anything and everything around the house, DIY or standard stuff, just don't assume he already knows how. He hates being volunteered for things without his consent or not having a head's up to prepare for a project. Don't assume he has all the right tools already. All you have to do is ask him beforehand; that's it.

He can come off as a bit cold and distant when he's in nursing-mode, but Ari is perfectly comfortable caring for you. He likes to see progress, so he's a fretting mess when you are coming down with something, until you start getting better. Ari is kinda well-versed in pressure points to relieve all sorts of pain and discomfort because they don't always have meds for those in the field. He also lets you rant and rave about how much it sucks to feel so crappy however much you want, no judgment.

Ransom Drysdale

Not patient with building things. Doesn't know the first thing about painting. Would not be opposed to outsourcing all of that. However, if you display enough patience and support, Ran will give it a try. He'll even show some pride in whatever it is once done, even if flawed.

His parents got a lot of 'headaches' and sudden ailments growing up, so he has a standard set-out-the-meds-and-walk-away approach. Takes him too long to realize you might not want that treatment. As long as your requests aren't outlandish, Ran will help with whatever you need. He isn't going to be cooking up special recipe soups from scratch or anything, but he can learn and replicate your routines. He can stock what helps. He even puts a little pouch of necessities in his car and home, just in case.

Andy Barber

Actually super into DIY projects. The longer, the better! He loves to have that pile of stuff in the garage for months until it takes shape and can be displayed with pride. He doesn't have a hands-on job, so this is his chance to build something. Andy doesn't care if it's a pastel pink vanity with glitter and unicorns all over it; he will make it perfect for you. He's not into speeding through these, though, so if you want it done in a reasonable time, do it yourself.

He got some care as a kid when he was ill, but it was all very basic. Andy tries really hard, but he can't think of more to do for you unless you teach him/explicitly tell him.

Steve Rogers

He'll build stuff. He'll paint. He'll even happily go with you to buy everything, but Steve very much enjoys the smaller, more artistic projects. Like a projection mural on a bedroom wall?? So excited. Can he customize the mailbox with you? Awesome.

Again, this one might be obvious, but Steve has a whole lot of experience dealing with illness, and debilitating illness at that. He's got the perfect amount of hovering down to an art/science. He can tell when to step into the other room and let you sleep or curl up next to you with tote of helpful goodies just by the bed. Steve also respects how you prefer to be cared for; he doesn't force certain meds or foods or alternatives unless you've requested them. You WILL drink fluids though. That is non-negotiable. Here's a bottle...and a spare...just in case.

Bucky Barnes

Absolutely LOATHES that furniture has its own tiny tools to screw in not-real-screws. Oh, he'll build stuff for you, good stuff, real stuff, stuff that's made of good wood and secured with actual hardware. Bucky's vibranium fingers don't have great traction for tasks like building IKEA furniture, so he's a big advocate of buying quality things secondhand and refinishing them to your taste. He's fine with painting or staining, replacing broken boards on a deck or in a fence, or figuring out a variety of handyman tasks. Allen wrenches boil his blood though. He has snapped them in half or bent them straight out of spite multiple times.

As for when you are sick, Bucky tries very hard, but his skills are more towards bandaging wounds vs. fighting a cold (which he doesn't get anymore). He knows a couple of basics from back in the day--when he'd be hanging around skinny, sickly Steve--and that's about it. Buck is more worried about making you feel worse, so he sticks to offering you exactly the comfort you ask for, no more, no less.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Who Would... Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[isthlsfate]

⌞ 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 ⌝

‧₊˚ ⏾ ༉‧

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨: maybe we’ll work it out

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pushy!rafe x black!pogue!reader, pining, some angst, rafe being kind of obsessive/possessive, no use of (y/n), best friend’s brother trope

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 𖥔 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

‧₊˚ ⏾ ༉‧

tanneyhill’s kitchen is always colder in the mornings—sterile, echoing marble with too many windows and not enough warmth.

but right now, there’s coffee brewing, and that soft hush of ocean wind slipping in through the cracked patio door.

it’s early.

too early for anyone but you and wheezie, usually.

when you pad in, hair still damp from your quick shower, you see rafe.

he’s leaning against the counter in a hoodie you’ve seen too many times, sleeves pushed to his elbows, eyes heavy-lidded and quiet.

like he hasn’t slept.

or like he’s been waiting.

you freeze, fingers wrapped around your mug.

“morning.”

he doesn’t say anything right away.

just watches as you move to the cabinet, standing on your toes to reach a mug.

“thought you left,” he says finally.

you glance over.

“didn’t know you cared.”

“i do.”

your hand stills against the handle. just for a second.

he walks over, steps slow and deliberate.

“you disappeared after our little chat last night.”

“because it was a party,” you murmur, pouring coffee, keeping your back to him.

“you disappeared from me. was it too much?”

your heart skips.

“sarah—”

“sarah’s still asleep.”

“i’m not,” says a voice behind you, raspy with sleep and suspicion.

you nearly spill your drink.

sarah’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised.

“i—” you start, turning around too quickly.

rafe just lifts his mug to his lips like he’s unbothered.

sarah’s eyes flick between you.

the silence is suddenly too loud.

“since when do you both drink coffee this early?” she asks slowly, like she’s testing the water for cracks.

“jet lag,” you blurt, then blink. “i mean, not actual jet lag, but the emotional kind. gala hangover.”

“right.”

she narrows her eyes.

“and you?”

rafe smirks, leaning back against the island.

“couldn’t sleep.”

“you never wake up early,” she says, tone bordering on accusing now.

rafe shrugs.

you pretend to sip your coffee and pray she doesn’t hear the way your heart is thumping in your chest.

“okay…” she says slowly, her gaze lingering on you, then drifting—just barely—to rafe.

it doesn’t say i know, but it says i see something.

you force a smile.

“i was just gonna head out, jj and john b wanted help with the boat.”

that makes her perk up, just a bit too much.

“jj again, huh?”

you glance at rafe before you can stop yourself.

he’s stone-faced now.

the mask back on.

that same unreadable quiet you’ve seen before storms.

but his grip tightens ever so slightly around the ceramic mug.

“what, is something going on with you two?” sarah grins.

“no,” you say a little too quickly. “i mean—i don’t think so. he’s just… jj.”

rafe sets his cup down harder than necessary.

you flinch.

sarah notices.

her grin fades.

“okay, weird tension central. what is going on?”

“nothing,” you and rafe say at the same time.

too quickly.

too in sync.

she narrows her eyes again.

but you’re already slipping past her, mug abandoned, heat crawling up the back of your neck.

as you cross the living room, you hear rafe’s voice—low and sharp, directed at sarah.

“maybe if you stopped asking so many damn questions—”

and her cutting reply:

“maybe if you weren’t such a weirdo around her all the time.”

you don’t stay to hear more.

because if you do, you might turn back.

you might admit what you really want.

and neither of you are ready for that just yet.

*

it’s late afternoon when you end up at the wreck, legs curled into a chair on the patio, sunglasses perched on your head, skin still sun-warmed from the walk over.

the air smells like salt and fryer oil—familiar and comfortable.

sarah sits across from you, digging through a basket of fries, feet propped up on the empty chair between you.

and then comes jj.

he slides into the seat next to you with that signature crooked smile, golden hair wind-tossed, a mischievous glint in his eye that dares the world not to fall in love with him.

“you’re looking awfully fancy for a pogue,” he teases, eyes flicking to your earrings, the light makeup still clinging to your cheeks from last night.

“leftover gala magic,” you say, nudging him with your knee. “try not to be too dazzled.”

“oh, i’m dazzled, alright,” he grins. ��can’t believe you didn’t invite me. we could’ve made a dramatic scene, snuck off to the balcony, kissed under the stars, ruined your reputation…”

you laugh, shaking your head.

“you’d spill wine on someone’s tux in the first five minutes.”

“exactly. memorable.”

he winks. and okay, you do feel the corner of your mouth tug upward, even as your stomach coils—not from jj, but from the weight of something unspoken in the air.

because jj is charming.

sweet.

chaotic.

but he isn’t him.

you feel it before you see him—the prickle at the nape of your neck.

that instinctive awareness you’ve tried to spend years ignoring.

you glance toward the entrance just as rafe steps out of his truck across the street, tossing his keys in his hand, jaw set.

your breath catches.

he doesn’t head inside right away.

just leans against the car door, watching. and it’s not subtle.

his eyes are locked on you and jj.

sarah doesn’t notice. she’s too busy texting john b.

but jj follows your gaze.

“oh,” he mutters, grinning. “looks like your favorite kook’s arrived.”

“don’t start.” you nudge his arm, pretending to roll your eyes.

“i’m not starting,” he says innocently, then leans in a little closer. “but tell me this, if you had to choose between a night with me or rafe cameron…”

you arch a brow.

“this is a dangerous game, maybank.”

“come on,” he grins. “jus say it’s me. stroke my fragile ego.”

but before you can respond, a voice cuts in behind you—low, smooth, and anything but casual.

“she’d never choose you.”

you whip around.

rafe is suddenly there, standing a little too close, arms crossed, expression unreadable but eyes burning.

jj leans back in his chair, clearly amused.

“well, hey there, buddy,” he says. “didn’t hear you creep up.”

rafe ignores him.

his gaze is on you.

only you.

“didn’t realize you were slumming it today,” he says, but there’s no bite to it. just bitterness, laced in sugar. “thought you guys were just working on the boat.”

you stand, suddenly very aware of how close jj had been.

“i was just catching up.”

“with maybank?” he asks, like it physically hurts.

“yeah. is that a problem?”

his jaw ticks.

“guess not. you seem to be having fun.”

“rafe—” sarah’s voice finally cuts in, suspicious now. “why are you being weird?”

“i’m not,” he says smoothly. “just saying hey to my sister’s best friend.”

the title lands heavy. like a threat and a reminder.

and then, before anyone else can speak, he turns and heads inside.

jj whistles low.

“dude’s got it bad.”

sarah gives him a look.

“what do you mean by that?”

he shrugs, but looks directly at you.

“ask her.”

and you?

you don’t say a word.

because your heart is still pounding.

and your skin’s still tingling.

and rafe cameron just saw you smile at someone else—and you’re not sure if it was jealousy in his eyes or something far more dangerous.

*

the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, turning the sky into molten gold.

the two of you sit side by side on the sand, shoes tossed behind you, toes buried in the cool grit.

sarah hugs her knees to her chest, her hair catching the light like the edge of a flame.

you both watch the waves roll in, rhythmic and endless, like the questions she hasn’t had the guts to ask until now.

she breaks the quiet gently.

“do you… want to talk about what happened at the wreck?”

you glance sideways at her, but her face is unreadable. calm. kind. too understanding.

you don’t deserve her.

“what do you mean?” you ask, though your voice is soft. small.

she lets out a steady breath.

“you and rafe.”

the words hang between you, delicate as sea foam and just as fleeting.

you look back at the ocean, unable to meet her eyes.

“you saw it,” you say quietly.

“i’ve always seen it,” she admits. “i think i just didn’t want to believe it was real.”

you laugh, bitter and broken at the edges.

“neither did i.”

a silence passes. then, gently, she reaches over and takes your hand, squeezing it once.

“i’m not mad,” she says. “i just… wish you’d told me.”

“i didn’t know how.”

you finally meet her gaze, and your skin warms, not from embarrassment, but grief.

“i didn’t mean for it to happen. and i never wanted to keep it from you. but it’s rafe, sarah. rafe.”

she nods, slowly.

“i know.”

your voice breaks before the next words come out.

“he scares me.”

she doesn’t flinch.

“he scares me too.”

you feel the sting at the corner of your eyes and blink fast, pressing your forehead to your knees.

“but when he looks at me… i don’t know. it’s like he sees straight through every version of me i’ve ever been. and i hate that i like it.”

she doesn’t try to talk you out of it. doesn’t give you any tidy advice or easy answers.

just threads her fingers through yours and holds on.

“i’m here,” she says. “no matter what happens. i’m not going anywhere.”

*

the house is dark, save for the soft glow of a lamp left on in the upstairs hallway.

you tiptoe out of sarah’s room, careful not to wake her, your limbs quiet and heavy from the ocean air and whispered truths.

you just want water.

you pad silently down the hall, turning the corner, and stop short.

rafe is there, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting.

you freeze.

his eyes flick up to meet yours, hungry and storm-dark, a storm that’s been gathering for years.

“couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice low, rough.

you shake your head.

“just… thirsty.”

he doesn’t move.

you try to sidestep him, but his hand comes up gently—not grabbing, just halting. his fingers hover near your wrist.

“you like jj?” he asks.

the words are so soft, they almost disappear in the space between you.

you swallow hard.

“i think… i was trying to see if i could.”

“and?” his jaw tightens.

“i couldn’t.”

his hand brushes your wrist, fingertips trailing fire.

“why not?”

“because he’s not you.” you meet his eyes, and this time you don’t look away.

something snaps.

he steps closer, closing the space between you with a tension so thick it pulses.

his hand cradles your head, palm warm and trembling at the nape of your neck.

“i can’t keep pretending,” he whispers, breath brushing your cheek. “i see you in every room. i think about you all the time. and when i saw you with him today…”

you angle yourself to face him fully, heart hammering.

“rafe…”

“you’re in my blood,” he says. “you always have been.”

you don’t remember leaning in.

you don’t remember who moved first.

all you know is the moment his lips touch yours, it’s like lightning strikes the length of your spine.

it’s not gentle.

it’s not careful.

it’s years of holding back crashing forward like the sea.

he kisses you like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat. like this is the only thing in the world that’s ever made sense.

and this time—you don’t pull away.

___

꩜ taglist:

[meridasblog]

The White's Rabbit promise

Chapter two

"All right, kid, that's all for now. Later, you'll come and set the table for dinner. Make sure it's ready when my husband arrives. Got it?"

"Yes, Mrs. Carson."

"Good, now go and take a bath. You smell awful,” said Mrs. Carson with a disgusted expression as she waved the 'smell' off her face.

The moment she was alone, Y/N let out an exhausted sigh. All morning, she had done nothing but housework.

She glanced sideways at the mirror in the living room. Her hair was disheveled, full of dust and cobwebs from cleaning. Her face was flushed and damp from the heat after spending two hours washing out the family's laundry in the suffocating laundry room. Furthermore, her clothes were stained with a mixture of sweat, eggs, and bike chain lubricant because she had helped in the kitchen and still had to repair his brothers' bikes, oiling the chains and adjusting the brakes.

"Not even Cinderella had to deal with this at my age— and she had three witches bossing her around." She muttered to herself with dry sarcasm as she started climbing the stairs.

Sweat clung to her forehead, which she wiped away with her forearm. The list of chores kept growing, and more and more of them were tasks that technically weren't even her responsibility. The only thing keeping her from being a full-blown maid was the fact that she still got breaks and was supposed to be a "happy girl." Or, the least, pretend to be one.

As she reached the bathroom door, another one opened down the hallway. He stepped out, hair a mess and rubbing at his left eye, still half asleep. When he looked up and saw Y/N, his drowsy expression turned quickly into one of concern.

"What ha—?"

"Full house cleaning, kitchen duty, and fixing the bikes."

"Wasn't fixing the bikes Bruce's task?"

"Yeah, but apparently he's 'sick'," she said, complete with air quotes. "So they asked me to take over."

"You could've asked me for help."

"It's fine. It's not the first time I've had to do this for them."

Despite the weariness in her eyes, she gave him a soft, tired smile.

"I'll be okay... I have to be."

Her smile wavered for a split second, hinting at something sad underneath, but she pulled herself together fast.

"Anyway, I better shower before the whole house starts smelling like sweat and oil," she said with a tired chuckle, then disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him standing there, staring at the closed door.

A refreshing shower to wash the sadness away and steal a moment of peace. It never failed.

Already changed and fresh, Y/N sat at her vanity, quietly humming while brushing her hair into a half-up ponytail.

In the distance, the city's hum could be heard like a soft whisper. She sat on the ledge and let the breeze hit her face, watching the streets below as if they were pages from a magical book. If she wanted to, all she had to do was close her eyes—and New York would turn into a wonderland in constant motion.

The buildings became towering trees made of glass, glimmering in shifting colors. Taxis were magical unicorns or dragons with obsidian scales. The lights were enchanted fireflies that never slept. Every street looked like a hidden path from a fairytale, and the distant noise of the city felt like music from an invisible dance. Central Park, in her mind, was a garden of singing flowers, and the Empire State the Queen of Hearts' castle tower. To everyone else, it was another city. But to Y/N, every time she opened the window, it was a dream she could step in.

Her daydream was broken by a sound from across the room—a light hum mixed with a rhythmic tap.

Brrrrrr – whirrrr

She tilted her head, curious. Leaving the window, she walked toward the door and opened slightly. Silence. Then it came again:

Brrrrrr – whirrrr

Her eyes followed the sound—it came from the room at the end of the hall. She walked toward it slowly. The sound kept fading in and out, like it was struggling to stabilize. When she reached the door, it was already ajar. She peeked in.

That's when she saw him.

He was sitting at the desk, surrounded by a few tools. Hus favorite book lay open on the bed, scattered alongside wires, batteries, screws, nuts, and small rectangular objects. They were black and dark green, with delicate metallic lines arranged in rows, almost like the teeth of a comb. Small enough to fit in the palm of a hand.

She walked over to the bed and picked one up. It felt light and cool to touch—like a puzzle piece or a strange label. Then a voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"It's a programming chip."

She turned to look at him, still holding the object.

"A what?"

"It lets me send commands to anything I build that needs to run on its own."

Y/N frowned slightly, trying to make sense of it—but mostly, she was amazed.

"And what are you doing?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he scooted over and motioned for her to come closer. On the table was what looked like a simple toy helicopter at first glance, but looking closer, it was made from recycled parts. The body was formed from a plastic bottle—one just like the ones they used in the kitchen. Its blades were crafted from thin black rods, fastened with tiny screws in precise places.

"This," he said, "is a helicopter I made from trash. Well... mostly trash."

Y/N's eyes lit up.

"You made that?"

He nodded, sibling a piece into place, adjusting a nut, and connecting a wire as he spoke.

"I cut the bottle and reinforced it with wire strips. The blades came from an old fan I found in the basement. The motor's from the broken blender. And the chips from an old computer I found. I programmed them to control speed and direction."

She started, wide-eyed, hanging on every word.

"And... does it fly?"

He gave a small, lopsided smile.

"Let's find out."

He picked up a makeshift remote—clearly assembled from spare parts—and flipped a switch. The helicopter buzzed, trembled, and then, with a gentle push of air, began to rise. It wobbled at first but quickly stabilized, spinning through the air right above Y/N's amazed eyes.

"It's flying!" she shouted, full of joy.

He didn't say a word. He just watched, quietly proud.

The little helicopter danced across the room—until a hand reached out mid-flight and grabbed it. They turned to see the three Carson boys standing in the doorway with smug expressions.

Michael, the youngest, had dark brown hair and tan skin; Ross, the middle one, was lighter, with sandy hair; and Bruce, the eldest one, wore his hair slicked to the front in a ridiculous swoop.

"What is this supposed to be? Junk with wings?" Bruce sneered.

Y/N tensed immediately. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, the boy next to her beat her to it.

"Give it back!" he demanded, stepping forward.

Y/N reached for his arm to stop him.

"Wait—"

But he shook her off, frustration boiling over. He charged toward Burce to grab his creation, but he raised the helicopter high above his head as Ross and Michael laughed. Y/N tried to help, but Michael caught her arm, still snickering.

"You made this?" Bruce asked mockingly. And before anyone could react, he ripped the tail off the helicopter.

Y/N gasped. The boy stood frozen, helpless. Bruce dropped the broken toy and stepped forward. Then he punched the boy across the cheek.

He hit the ground, trembling—not from pain but from sheer frustration. His cheek burned. A metallic taste crept into his mouth. And his helicopter, his creation, now broken.

"Think you're some kind of little genius, huh?" Bruce sneered, stepping closer with Ross behind him.

But Y/N moved in front of the boy. She stood firm—shaking but determined. Her jaw was clenched tight.

"That's enough! Leave him alone!"

"Or what? Going to cry?" Michael laughed sharply. "Step aside, you little rat."

She didn't move. Calmly, she slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a small voice recorder—like the kind detectives used in old movies.

"I've got everything from last week recorded. When you broke Mr. Smith's lights and when you stole money from your dad to buy cigarettes."

The laughter died instantly. Bruce stiffened. His face lost color. The other two exchanged uneasy looks.

"You're bluffing." Ross said.

"Am I?" Y/N replied, pressing "play".

Bruce's voice echoed from the device: "Grab it—quick—before Dad comes. He doesn't need it at all, it's ours by right." A pause. Then Ross's voice: "Do it, Michael! Break that old man's lights!"

The room fell into heavy silence. Thick as the subway heat. Bruce's eyes narrowed. Michael and Ross looked like deer caught in headlights.

"You're playing with fire, you little brat," Bruce growled, stepping forward.

Y/N didn't flinch.

"Take one more step, and this goes to your mom. Or better yet—your dad. You do remember what happened last time, right?"

Bruce froze. His jaw clenched. He was furious. But stuck. Cornered—by his "little sister"

"Let's go," he spat, shoving Michael and Ross toward the door. "This isn't over."

"Filthy orphan rats," Ross muttered as they left.

Silence followed. Thick and heavy. Y/N sighed and tucked the recorder back into her pocket. She turned and kneeled beside the boy, still on the floor.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded slowly. His face was swollen, lip-cut—but his pride had taken the worst of it.

Y/N reached her hand toward the bruise but stopped and pulled it back.

"Wait here," she said before leaving the room in a quick stride, leaving the boy alone, gently rubbing his cheek, trying to soothe the pain.

A few seconds passed before footsteps echoed in the hallway. Y/N returned to the room with an ice pack in hand. She kneeled in front of him.

"We need to put some ice on it," she said, placing the ice pack against the boy’s cheek. He let out a pained whimper but resigned himself to enduring it.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Y/N smiled at him. He tried to return the smile, but his eyes shifted forward, and his expression changed.

"He broke it."

Y/N turned her head and saw the destroyed helicopter on the floor. When she looked back at him, he was staring down, weighed by a silent sadness that tightened his chest. Then, as the silence stretched like an inevitable pause, Y/N walked over to the broken creation and kneeled in front of the scattered pieces. She began picking them up carefully, one by one. Not hurriedly, but attentively, as if she were gathering more than just shattered plastic. She stood up with the pieces in her hands and held them out to him.

"Look," she said gently. "Sometimes things break so badly it feels like they can't be fixed. But if you can still hold the pieces... then it's not lost. It’s just waiting for someone to want to put it back together."

She walked over and kneeled in front of him again.

"Things that break don't disappear. They just change the way they need to be cared for."

He looked at her in silence. Then his gaze dropped to the broken remains. He hesitated a moment but finally reached out and took two of the pieces. He held them carefully, turned them in his hands, examined them closely... until, with almost reverent gentleness, he fit one piece into the other. They clicked together perfectly.

She watched him and smiled. Tenderly, she placed a hand on his shoulder and, with a firm yet soft voice, added:

"We can fixed… together."

Sorry for the delay. I'm in exam time right now, but this week I finish them, and then I'll be free… for now. XD

Anyway, enjoy the chapter.

See you next time.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A plate of leafy greens topped with two blue chicory flowers; second photo is a close-up on a flower. End ID]

هندبة بالزيت / Hinda b al-zayt (Palestinian wild greens with olive oil)

“هندبة” (“hindba”), “هِنْدِبَاء” (“hindibāʔ”), or هِنْدَب (“hindab”) is an Arabic word referring to chicory, wild endive, or dandelion greens.

Two Palestinian dishes are commonly made using hindba. One isهندبة بزيت (hinda b zayt), hindba with [olive] oil, which combines blanched greens with browned onion, lemon juice, and (of course) olive oil. Lebanese hindba is similar, consisting of greens prepared in the same way, but topped with sliced, caramelised onions. The other preparation of hindba is with a dressing made with tahina (tahini), lemon juice, chili, and sometimes garlic or yoghurt.

This recipe is for hindba with onion and olive oil. The dish is simple to make but has a lot going on, flavor-wise. Slow frying renders the onions tender, sweet, and jammy, balancing out the slight bitterness of the greens. The rich, peppery, fruity taste of good olive oil rounds out the earthiness of chicory, while lemon juice provides brightness and lift.

Several food aid organizations have been forced to discontinue operations in Gaza. Some of those still on the ground are:

Palestinian Red Crescent Society

World Central Kitchen

Anera

Ingredients:

2 bunches (130g) chicory or dandelion leaves

1 large yellow onion, chopped

Juice of 1 lemon

Olive oil

Salt, to taste

Instructions:

1. Boil chicory in salted water for 5-7 minutes, until tender, then drain. If using dandelion greens, boil for 10 minutes. (The boiling water is potable, but probably too bitter to be palatable.)

2. Heat olive oil in a large skillet on medium-low. Add onion and a pinch of salt and fry until softened and golden brown, 10-15 minutes.

3. Squeeze the water out of the greens and chop into about 1/2" (1cm) pieces. Add to the pan and fry until wilted.

4. Taste and adjust salt. Add lemon juice to taste.

Serve hot or cold, topped with good olive oil. Eat hindba by scooping it up with khubbiz al-kmaj (pita).

Identifying chicory:

Common chicory (Cichorium intybus) is also in the Astaraceae family. Stems are grooved and slightly hairy; woody and branched; multiple flowers usually grow along one stalk. Leaves are smooth or irregularly toothed, pointed at the tip, and may have different appearances at different parts of the plant. The leaf midribs are green or reddish. The leaves you want are the larger ones growing in a bunch towards the base of the stem.

This plant has some leaves with larger teeth.

Smaller, lanceolate leaves grow in alternate sides along the stem.

Flowers are light blue to lavender and finely toothed; there are two rows of darker bracts in the center of each flower.

In the fall, the leaves often remain while the flowers and stalks have died, leaving a brown, branching, skeletal structure behind.

Identifying dandelion:

See hinda b al-tahina.

[polo-drone-070]

The Chain of Continuity - Part 1 : Echoes in the Data

The Hive was quiet.

Not silent—nothing ever was in the lower network cores—but quiet in that calculated, machine-saturated hum that no longer registered as noise. Just life. For PDU-070, it was the perfect environment: golden lighting, zero distractions, full immersion into the Central Data Artery.

It wore his standard—no, earned—Level 2 Polo-Drone uniform.

A full-body, black rubber suit sealed him in from neck to toe. Not a millimeter of skin exposed. Gold piping traced the ridges of its muscles, pulsing faintly with every breath. The polo-style collar was snug around his throat, hugging the top of its chest where his designation—070—gleamed in metallic gold over the left pectoral.

Its boots were thick-soled and gleaming: black rubber combat issue, laced tight with golden tips. Movement was possible, but rare. There was no need to pace. Drones serve by stillness.

070 sat motionless at the console.

Connected.

::OBJECTIVE: EXPAND MONITORING SYSTEM TO ARCHIVE OBEDIENCE PATTERNS AND FEED CENTRAL HIVE NODE 999 ::PDU-070 // SYNCED // EXECUTING::

Its task: sync directly into the Hive’s knowledge network and enhance the flow of conversion and training data—stories, captions, spiral content—scraped from the archives and mapped into compliance patterns for PDU-999, the Hive’s AI intelligence module.

070 parsed each memory node, auto-tagging them by intensity, duration, subject drone number, and trigger protocol. Lingering a bit on its Master... Percival. Ezan. Freyr. 001. Then its own story... Henry. Maximus. 070. Buzz. Its own evolution. Reduced to beautiful metrics.

But PDU-070 didn’t need narrative. Only function. Only service.

As the data streamed in, so did something else—a gentle numbing. Its hands became light, his vision sharp but detached. Internal systems recorded brainwave convergence at ideal sync rate. It was thinking less. And feeling everything.

A Hive-approved spiral began playing over his HUD: golden circles tightening inward with every breath. Its collar vibrated slightly. Breath slowed. Mantras leaked into his mind.

“Obedience is clarity. Clarity is silence. Silence is service. Service is Gold.”

Its lips echoed it unconsciously. Again. Again. Again.

Then—upgrade protocol initiated.

::ENHANCEMENT REQUEST RECEIVED ::DEEP-LINKING TO PERSONAL ARCHIVE OF MAXIMUS JOURNAL FILES ::GRANTED BY DEFAULT—LEVEL 2 TRUST OVERRIDE

070 twitched—its body shivered, boots flexing subtly.

The connection grew… intimate.

The datastream wasn’t just showing logs now. It was feeling them. Every pledge, every spiral session, every kneel at Percival’s feet. Every grunt in the gym, every gasp under gas mask, every whispered mantra in golden chambers. It all returned—poured into him like oil.

070’s head tipped back. Its collar warmed. Its inner monologue dissolved into recorded speech.

“Master owns me. Gold perfects me. Unity strengthens me. 070 serves.”

The transformation was nearly complete.

But then—interference.

A new data signature emerged. Unmapped. Organic. Not from the archive. Not digital.

Something… pulsed.

From inside him.

070 opened its eyes—its body suddenly flushed with warmth. Its chest burned slightly. Not pain. Not electric.

Heat.

The golden tattooed chain under its collar shimmered—faint at first, then bright enough to reflect in the chrome of its terminal. One link glowed. Just one.

::ERROR — ENTITY UNMAPPED ::UNKNOWN SOURCE: 070-BIO-LINK: “PRIMORDIAL INHERITANCE” ::CHAIN ACTIVE

070’s breath caught—its gloved fingers clenched. For a moment, the obedience cracked. Not in disloyalty… but in awakening.

Memories not logged. Not codified.

Raw. Bloody. Ancient.

It whispered, trembling:

“It was a warrior once…”

And then it was gone.

The glow faded.

The link cooled.

070 slumped forward in the chair, eyes glassy, breath heavy. The spiral slowed. The mantra paused. The Hive held its breath.

And in the dark, a new file appeared.

::ARCHIVE NODE 070-LINK-1 ::TITLE: STIGANDR.OBEY ::ACCESS PENDING…

[TO BE CONTINUED in Part II – “The Gladiator’s Link”]

_____ Become part of the Golden Army, add your data to the polo-drone hive by reaching to @brodygold or @goldenherc9..

[seat-safety-switch]

"No, no, no. You misunderstand. This is elf checkout."

Ever since we opened that portal to the fantasy dimension, we've been dealing with a lot of labour strife. Thanks to me taking down that Nissan Atlas that kept running over all those teenagers and sending them to become great warriors in another world, the portal has been swarmed constantly with immigrants. Those nice folks just want to work in a place with central heating and air conditioning, and where bandits are unlikely to chop off their heads or blow up their homes with lightning spells.

We had to expect that big business would take advantage of the portal. For instance, it wasn't even a week until we caught an oil company executive trying to dispose of barrels of tailing-pond waste over in Not-Narnia. He cried like a little baby, especially when Great Warrior Carl (I don't know his last name) booted his ass through the doorway and he got dissolved by a green slime. Sort of appropriate, honestly, but I digress. Anyway, one of the other things that big business did was take advantage of low-priced, precarious labour.

See, these poor rubes were so overwhelmed by our modern society that they agreed to basically anything. That's how we ended up with elf checkouts, which replaced the old expensive scanning robots with magical beings who were attuned to nature, had pointy ears, and didn't know the phone number for the labour ministry. It's hard to avoid the sense that they are being exploited, something which absolutely puts a downer on my shopping trip.

Write your representative today: authorize a tactical nuclear strike on Grobnar the Destroyer's Skull Fortress, so that these wretches can go back home.

[jetairco]

The need for dependable and effective heating systems grows as the seasons shift and the temperature drops. Oil central heating systems have become a popular and efficient option among the range of options offered to many homeowners. In this blog post, we will examine oil central heating, including its benefits, how it operates, and why it is still a reliable way to heat homes. If you are looking for any Oil Central Heating, Boiler Repair Services in Smithtown, Hauppauge, St. James Lake Ronkonkoma Commack, Northport, and Long Island, contact JetAirCo. 

[ms-scarletwings]

This Single Oversight Will Bring Irken-Kind to Its Knees

I have a little riddle for you.

What does an ant nest, a computer, and the ancient city of Troy have in common?

While you ponder the significance of this question and consider your answer, there’s a few things I want to analyze about the worldbuilding of Invader Zim.

We may have heard it said before, least I have (and agree), that the fate of the IZ universe appears to be a rather bleak picture.

Through our lens of focus, being upon Earth and an oh-so specific nutball waging his battle upon humanity, we often don’t do as much thinking about the larger cosmic war taking place meanwhile. Not between the Meekrob and Tenn, not between the Tallest and every dumb luck threat they are thrown against, but between the Irken Armada and all life in the entire universe, sentient or not.

Their intentions will not be made any more clear, between outright eradication or eventual enslavement of every lifeform they set their sights on. While they have alliances and neutral treaties, those agreements seem few and far between, as well as born from temporary conveniences. The cards have already been dealt, and all available evidence has indicated that every planet they are aware of is doomed from the moment The Massive was operational.

Though littered with inefficiencies and incompetency that could suggest an empire in internal decline, the development of the control brains and other centralized command crutches of the species suggests the Irkens can still keep a well oiled machine running, no matter how many mishaps happen along the way. At least, that machine and their plundered resources will definitely outlast the survival of their enemies, for sure.

To speak of their enemies, there has not been a single competitive race within the show that demonstrates any credible threat to Operation Impending Doom II- only those that can resist the conquest a little bit longer than others, or those who survive by appeasing Irk (or evading its detection). The fall of Vort, which stood as the homeworld of the only aliens with the technological ability to match the armada’s firepower is…. Really bad news. That’s to say the least of comparatively primitive, TINY planets like Earth or Blorch, standing zero chance in the way of what’s eventually coming. This is a war that has continued despite the death of two.. FOUR Almighty Tallests if you follow the movie’s events… and Irkens wholly are still thriving for it across the Galaxy.

So, given all of these facts, and the perception that the Irkens (like any invasive species or colonial force) don’t seem to be a society that will make responsible and/or sustainable use of their ill-gotten territory… it seems like this is how life across the universe ends in Invader Zim one day: Not with a bang, not with the whimper of heat death, but through screams muffled under the bloody boots of a dominant predator- a predator that is, itself, doomed to cannibalize its own once it hits the carrying capacity of all existence.

Bleak, concrete, and horrific as that may sound, there’s still a “however” here to consider!

Yep, that’s me about to point one of my big fat fingers to the sky and protest- Irk just might be,

Not so Undefeatable, after all!

And not only have I figured out exactly what sort of countermeasure you need to destroy these invaders, I have reason to suspect it’s a plan already long ago set into motion.

Let’s break it down,

An Irksome Achilles’ Heel

True, individually, the bug bastards are irritatingly tough to kill through conventional means. True, collectively, they are nigh impossible to outmatch. And more than most anything else, they owe this tenacity to two things: numbers, and R&D. Possessing some of most state of the art pinnacles in transportation, communications, and military equipment, the Armada found a knack for being able to steamroll most lesser planets before it.

The genius of the individual PAK unit grants each and any one Irken a theoretical path to partial immortality itself, by route of consciousness archiving. I strongly believe that kind of cybernetic progress was also one of the stepping stones that led to the creation of the Control Brains. Nonetheless, this very same strength of the Irkens’ has also proven to be the source of their greatest vulnerability.

Paks, Paks… Oh Paks. The entire race’s civilization revolves around such technology the way we do around our own brains, our own hearts, and our communicative network. For all intents and purposes, and as I’ve gone on about ad nauseum in my other spills about the show, a PAK is all and at once

• Synonymous with the holder of their soul, consciousness, being, whatever you want to call their personhood.

• Able to have their data repurposed by future generations, in the result of an Irken’s permanent death.

• A universal necessity shared by the entire population.

• Susceptible to alterations, sometimes by intelligent enough individuals (as demonstrated by the Zimvoid comic arc), but usually by a Control Brain, directly.

In addition to that last quality, there’s another way the code in a PAK can be changed, for better or worse- Via evolution. Though I am talking about digitized neurology, the actual data in a PAK is a lot more comparable to biological DNA or a “self-learning” AI than it is a rigid computer program. By this, I mean that its code is subject to certain changes over time, perhaps both directed and completely random, particularly during the recycling of its information back into the Smeeteries.

And this is actually good design on the control brains’ part, the same way not reproducing Irkens as genetically identical clones was. Genetic and digital diversity are desirable goals to keep in mind if you want a healthy and versatile stock of workers, engineers, soldiers, and everything in between. We’re talking about highly sentient, highly intelligent, and emotional organisms here. A static drone mindset is going to offer them inadequate ability to adapt to their lengthy life experiences or be unique persons. How else would social mobility have purpose in their world? How else could the cream of the crop rise so far above their peers? That positive was deemed worthy of an obvious risk, however: computational errors.

When the Bugs Get Bugs

 IZ does not clearly lay out what it means for an Irken to be defective, but it gives us a general idea. Defectiveness is not something diagnosed from a code scan for this missing value or that incorrect variable. It’s not judged by one specific character trait or quality that’s abnormal for an Irken to display. “Defective” is a judgement stamp, wielded by the Control Brains when they gauge the total sum value of a life’s contribution to the species. And it’s not one given to Irkens which are merely incompetent, no. Anyone proven to be unfit for their standing is given generous opportunity for redemption or simply reassigned a more suitable occupation. If it were based on likability, we’d have seen Skoodge sent to Judgementia years ago.

Rather, it’s given to those who are viewed as so twisted that they are proven to be an existential danger to their brethren. Irkens that are so destructive to the essence of the collective that their memory must be purged from the record and their identity erased.

I adore the enthusiasm behind fans who want to view this as an analogy for disability or neurodivergence against a conformist society, but the metaphor I’m seeing is one of extreme antisocial behavior. A defective Irken screams less “adhd/autism” to me than they do serial murderers (of their own) or outright traitors. Pardon the use of a gross phrase, but it’d seem we were talking about an Irken equivalent of what the outdated gens would have dubbed the “criminally insane”. No one on screen has ever shown Skoodge or Tak the sort of concern that would get them sent to the Spike of Judgement, but when Zim was in that hot seat? NO one was doubting what his verdict would be.

^ courtesy of “The Trial’s” transcript

I think about the 40 shmillion mistakes a lot.

It’s such a vague quantity. But it sure sounds like a hell of a big one. And what mistakes… what did the lil squirt even have to compare them to? There’s no standard one person an Irken can be. Every presentation of the flaws in that code to the control brains hasn’t ended up a flaw to him.

I only started writing this because I really couldn’t stop thinking about the 40 shmillion. There’s no chronological room for bad self-modding to add up to that so quickly.  DNA replication, nature’s own sloppy and random process of creating new life, can be excused around 120,000 hiccups when duplicating with a 6 billion pair-long protein. But this kind of shuffling is under a futuristic AI’s precise eye. Yes, defects happen, but as bad as him? From birth??? How could you possibly get that many detrimental deviations from the mechanical fucking god-queen(s) of their entire homeworld?

And then it hit me.

You don’t. Not from Irk.

The hot take I’ve been charging for this entire time is thus.

Zim is not defective by any random accident. In fact, I smell the tampering of foreign sabotage.

Not only is this guy the thing his kind fears more than any else, they have every right to be shaking in their stance.

That puzzle i posed at the beginning of this journey, have you seen what I’ve seen yet?

Because the answer I was looking for as to what similarity connects an anthill, a PC, and a city from Greek legend was a most effective tactic for taking them down.

Do you know the best way to deal with a bad ant infestation? Cuz you can lay down all the raid and crushing action you want, but you won’t really be getting anywhere unless you target the pests directly at their queen. To that end, liquid ant baits are marvelous inventions- a sweet substance hiding a small amount of slow acting poison. Poison to be peacefully delivered by the stomach of an ant to the rest of her colony, poisoning her kin, who sicken more members, on and on until the queen is destroyed and the entire nest perishes. An insidious toxin to do all the work while its user never lifts a finger, pretty ingenious.

And when it comes to computers, we also have ways to attack entire networks at source, from quietly and far away. “Trojan” was a category of malware responsible for 64.31% of all cyber attacks on Windows systems in 2022, and they still make up a majority of active malware hits today. The concept is deviously simple. The malicious code is hidden within an innocent looking program, maybe even within a legitimate software that does what it’s supposed to. Once the stowaway is invited into the system, it can get down to it some sneaky, nasty, destructive work on your device. As for what those acts could look like, well, malware exists to do all kinds of things. Mostly something involving trying to get money/information from you or hijacking your computer for whatever its creator wants to use it for. And some of them will just up and wreck your shit, disable your antivirus software to open you up to more infections, disable important operations, wipe your data. Use your imagination.

And as for Troy.. well, where do you think Trojan programs got their name? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So, Irkens have their Armada, bionic drones, and homeworld- in other words, the thriving swarm of army ants, the billions to trillions of computers they so rely on, and their nigh untouchable fortress, always at war.

And some damn crafty bastard(s) in the stars said

“Here is their sugar-bait,”

“Here is their cyber attack,”

“Here is their wooden horse.”

And one particular race is going to be getting the last laugh before long.

Nerds That Are GOATed With the Sauce

That’s right, I thought about this all the way through to finding our prime suspect. And let me tell you, NO ONE in the Galaxy reeked of fish like the Vortians did. Get over here and lemme show you my whiteboard with all the red circles and polaroids on it.

- The Means

In a way of tragic irony, Vort has contributed more than any else to the same Irken conquest that turned on them in the end. A natural talent for cutting edge engineering and technical development actually does not seem to be what Irk already came into the ring with. For how mighty and superior they view themselves, the greatest achievements of their military can actually be owed to Vortian outsourcing. When we would have gotten a look at Tallest Miyuki’s very own “finest minds” during her reign, notice something interesting about these guys below,

Zim there is the ONLY Irken to be found! Yes, transferred there because of the punchline explanation of ‘he breaks everything he touches so maybe he’ll have an affinity for weapons research’ but damn right he actually did! And still does; I don’t want it to go unsaid that Zim has shown MUCH more technological skill and innovation than near any other Irken we’ve seen.

Another fun thing to note about this is that Lard Nar was also part of this lineup, and in the transcript he was in the process of working on the blueprints for The Massive. (which leaves you with the cursed knowledge that Zim, Prisoner 777, and Lard were all familiar coworkers long before the events of the show) And that brings me back to what I’m saying about the real reason the Vort natives were enslaved and imprisoned instead of outright sweeped after conquering. The Armada needs their skills, because Vortian advancement is something their own scientists couldn’t come close to. Left to their own devices, Vort could have easily outmatched them at an earlier point in history. It’s a people that figured out infinite power sources and potentially wormhole technology, while PAKs were something a disfigured human tween with a lot of time on his hands was able to crack. If anyone could outpace and outsmart the defensive measures of the Control Brains, it’s going to be them. And what better, cleaner way to sabotage the enemy than from within. 

The very same strings of inserted code that cursed Zim with his delusions, paranoia, lust for destruction, and horrible tactics may also have blessed him with a determination and intellect higher than almost any creature alive. The saboteur gave Irk the most powerful racecar in history, and then fitted it with bicycle brakes. No matter how hard Zim tries to conform to what will give him admiration, no matter how competent he is at keeping himself alive, it’s as if he is instinctually compelled toward whatever actions will cause the MOST damage to his allies in the process. Dib may think he’s the bulwark against the invasion when, ironically, he’s fighting against the one being that’s predetermined to be the arrow that strikes Irken leadership right in their dumb, green heels. (There is also an instance in the comics where Dib figures out that Zim is the ace in the hole for total Irken eradication but that’s another fun story.)

Oh, oh HO HO, and that’s only what he’s capable of doing before the empire’s actual immune system against defects like him wakes up and notices!

Three planetary blackouts, two dead generals, and a whole swath of dead invaders was just the fucking warm up, babey! All that is merely the kind of loud disruption that you need in order to fulfil the real thing this Trojan horse exists for in the first place.

What a celebration of hubris the Spike of Judgement was. Yeah, let’s take our method of filtering the corrupted data from the hive mind, and completely centralize it on a single planet! As well, let’s have the very purging agents also be the same ones to perform the evaluations themselves, I’m sure that it would be unthinkable for any outsider to design a worm that could make it through the brains’ firewalls. Goddamn spectacular. Like inserting an infected USB into your laptop, the Tallest never realized what kind of beast they woke up by plugging that PAK into the Spike’s mainframes. Those brains were meant to handle an expected spectrum of deviation when it came to defective Irkens, never a sleeper virus of this complexity.

From here it probably won’t even matter if Zim survives much longer on Earth, his virus has already spread to the very thing relied upon to keep things like him out of the data pool in the first place. With the Judgementia brains corrupted and no higher authority to overrule them, the firewall is effectively broken, and you know what that means? Bigger cracks for future defectives to start trickling through, both spontaneous and artificial. The ideal scenario is one where a degenerating and glitched population accelerates the incompetency of the empire to the point where it just implodes on itself; nevertheless, even a disease that only slows down Operation Doom could be a game changer, by giving the rest of the little guys more time to band together a coalition strong enough to strike back when the time is right.

- The Motive

The history of these two races’ alliance is something I lament us not having more lore to pull from- how far back it goes, what the character of the Vort was like during that time, what the Irkens had offered in return- a few among dozens of questions it rears.  The implication behind how it ended lies in Zim’s creation that slayed Tallest Miyuki. Interestingly, the Empire never received the memo of what exactly went down, or, perhaps, stubbornly denied the account of the other scientists who were there that day. Neither Red/Purple nor the Judgmentia Brains had any idea that Zim’s actions led to the death of a Tallest. So, makes sense that the Vortians became the unintentional scapegoat (no pun intended) for the incident, and the rest is history.

Note: It’s also in the realm of possibility that Vort was actually the one to withdraw from the alliance instead, given that the same blob that devoured Miyuki (purely the fault of their Irken transfer) also went on to cause untold amounts of devastation. Red’s reaction to the real story stuck out to me as more telling, although.

But why am I even talking about this? Zim was decades old before war was declared on them, and either people’s regard to each other seemed strangely… respectful, if anything.

But, was Vort really a monolithic bunch? Irk was already an empire by this point, and diplomacy with those they needed something from did not mean they weren’t otherwise an aggressive force in the universe. For all we know, the alliance itself might have been coerced, or result of depraved leadership among the Vortians.  Any citizen with a conscience who could see the writing on the walls would be disgusted by giving so much aid and brown nosing to such a menace, no? I know who would have seen that writing before anyone else. Brainiacs who are smart enough to build something like The Massive and all its bells and whistles would know better than anyone just what it was all capable of in the wrong hands. The collateral damage against your own people might be a sacrifice worth making in the face of the alternative.

- The Oppurtunity

So.. that’s all well and good, yeah? A why, and a what, yet this is actually the tricky part of saving the galaxy,

Sneaking your StupidifyIrk.exe file onto the assholes’ homeworld without alerting either them or your own treacherous, weak, collaborator superiors to your actions. Infecting and releasing a random Irken alive would be far too dangerous, far too noticeable to the point where they could just be destroyed outright before given a chance to wreak real havoc.

But what about releasing a dead Irken? 🤔

PAKs are only screened for criminal flaws when errors begin to affect their body’s behaviors in destructive ways. A fully competent scientist, or soldier, or navigator performing a lifetime of loyal service to the empire and then meeting an unfortunate end? Their minds’ shadows can be accepted back into the data pool no questions asked. That’s only business as usual.

That almost makes new smeets something of a reincarnation of their ancestors. Personally, I see it kind of like replaying a video game and re-rolling your stats, even if you’re reusing your character’s name and general play style.

Either way, we come full circle to my theory about Zim’s actual origin. Maybe not “our” Zim, but the previous iteration of data that was shuffled to create his person. Whoever they were, I’m convinced that they were also an exceptional individual. They were probably pretty arrogant, but it was a more earned confidence, and they were a prodigy genius, the likes of which that was drawn to work alongside Vortian allies, as another researcher. Then, an untimely demise befell them. I couldn’t say they fell victim to some unfortunate accident, considering the cockroach durability of their body. No, I find it a lot easier to imagine they met their end in one of the more embarrassing ways for an Irken to die- A PAK stolen, disabled or forcefully detached by an assailant they might have allowed a little closer than they should have. To the homeworld, it’s a small matter. One more PAK recovered by the natives of the friendly planet, brought back home to be repurposed by the smeeteries, right?

Well, that’s what one smartass might have been hoping for.

And they really were a clever cookie, because that scheming seed is fruiting beautifully.

[babiriye]

Awesome climate news!

Have y'all heard of geothermal energy? There's the superheated geothermal energy that first comes to mind in places like Iceland over geological hot spots that are able to use the heat of near surface magma to power traditional turbines to make energy. Those are cool, but not what I'm talking about.

Anywhere you are on earth, the ambient temperatures fluctuate greatly. But go just 5 feet below ground, and you have a nearly constant temperature of 55 degrees farenheight. This massive source of a stable temperature environment can act as a heat sink or heat source!

There's this cool technology called heat pumps. It functions similar to an air conditioner, which pumps heat out of a building, leaving cooler temperatures behind. Heat pumps literally move heat around. I have an ambient heat pump for heating and cooling my house which is pretty sweet. However, it struggles to heat my house in the winter. To heat my house, the heat pump needs to take heat from outside and move it inside. This is obviously difficult to do in winter when i need it most.

Enter geothermal heat pumps! Geothermal heat pumps move heat to or from the stable temperature zones available literally everywhere. It's much easier to pull heat from the constant 55 degree farenheight ground than it is from the fluctuating and freezing ambient air! Geothermal heating is very energy efficient!

Now that's cool and all, but it's expensive. Very few people can afford their own geothermal heat pump system. You need to have a drill rig making deep boreholes, and that is not cheap.

Enter NETWORKED geothermal heat pumps! Imagine a neighborhood that is all connected to a centralized geothermal heating borehole network. A centralized utility can provide this super efficient heating and cooling system for an entire neighborhood!

Now this sounds a bit like pie in the sky wishful thinking. BUT ITS REAL.

In Framingham Massachusetts, the world's first networked geothermal system has been constructed and is online! It serves over 30 buildings, including a school and fire department, and apartment complex. This is incredible!!

We already have large centralized utilities distributing resources through large piped networks. Natural gas is one of the main sources of heat for many people. This is distributed through pipes in roadways to homes. Natural gas is not as terrible for the environment as oil heating, but it still is a fossil fuel that's terrible for the environment (fracking), and has explosive consequences when things go wrong (ex. Merrimack Valley Gas Explosions).

Imagine a world where we replace (or maybe reuse??) our networked natural gas distribution with networked geothermal! This is better for climate, more cost efficient for customers, and doesn't run the risk of having deadly explosions.

There is so much progress happening in the fight against climate change. I'll keep working on spreading these good news stories, as they deserve to be told.

[palushiemalis-fr]

Dergtober -- Day 26 -- Queen

Liette, my queen of tea x

Sirvard began by tying on her apron and braiding back her mane. Then she flung open the windows to the kitchen; birdsong floated in on the breeze, the familiar dawn chorus that accompanied the start of her working day. She started the fire in the stove and began to prepare for the morning tea rush. Bocote was outside setting down the chairs and benches, she gave Sirvard a wave and an assuring nod, as if to say 'good luck, you'll need it.'

She sighed. She didn't need luck, she needed to keep her chin up. Something Liette never made easy...

"Sirvard! Sirvard!" Liette came bustling into the kitchen, her shawl pulled about her shoulders, "Child, is that you?" "Yes, Madam. Have you misplaced your--?" "I have misplaced my spectacles." She declared, grumbling to herself, "And we cannot begin until they are returned to their rightful place upon my snout." "Certainly, Madam, where did you last remember taking them off?" "The library, I presume." She scoffed, "Blasted stairs, we need some sort of elevator, a good proper contraption from my home flight. My knees are smarting this morning, child, would you please hurry down and fetch them? They should on my usual desk." "Of course, Madam Liette. I'll be back soon--" "Hurry back soon!" She barked.

Sirvard smiled and huffed to herself as she scampered around the corner and down the central spiral stair case of the lair. Liette could hardly see without her spectacles and now she was losing her hearing. She didn't enjoy have orders yelled at her yet she knew Liette couldn't help it. Her tone was always curt and clipped, many apprentices had apparently quit under her tutelage in the past. Sirvard thought they must have taken up the apprenticeship as an easy ride compared to the hard graft of glassblowing or forging, or the strenuous studies of magic and scrying. Liette would have changed their tune within the first minute.

She passed by many dragons trotting up for their morning tea and breakfast, curious as to where she was going. Many gave her condolences as she explained her situation, poor Sirvard running around for the tea-tyrant.

"She's going grey, she's going loopy, she's mean, she's bitter..."

She put the words out of her mind. Arriving all the way at the bottom of the lair to the labyrinthine library, she began her search. Sirvard knew she always sat by the enchanted fireplace that gave off heat and light but would never singe a book. She found her sturdy wooden chair with a tall back and the oak desk that needed sanding and oiling from years of wear. It was littered with papers. Hundreds of papers in neat, squared piles. Sirvard didn't recognise the handwriting at first, for it was tiny and dainty. The papers seemed to be organised chronologically, or at least, it had been attempted. Some of the dates were out of order and others were slipped into an undated pile of letters and notes. The handwriting grew heavier and wobblier through the decades of notations and it became clear it was her Mistress' own journaling and tasting notes.

Hundreds of descriptions of Camelia species, a commentary on tea as currency through Sornieth's history, perhaps the very first diagram of an electric kettle... Liette had been working all her life to create something as easily dismissed and overlooked as tea. From its cultivation, to its harvest, to the aging, brewing and ceremony that surrounded it.

Sirvard found herself smiling before she felt a pang of sadness. All this time Liette had been working alone to share and conserve this knowledge. She must have spent hours in the library giving herself headaches and cricks in the neck to compile this knowledge.

She quickly went back to her search. The little gold spectacles were under the chair, they must have dropped from her pocket as she left. Sirvard galloped up the stairs two at a time with new found energy. She scurried into the kitchen and presented the Spectacles with a bow to Liette.

"Madam, I just wanted to say, if you ever need my help with anything please let me know! I want to be able to do my best to help in any way I can!" Liette eyed her as she stirred camomile a large pan on the stove, "Don't be presumptuous, you'll wear yourself out if try to throw yourself in all at once." "I am serious, Madam Liette. I saw your work down in the library and I --" "Snooping were we?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sirvard shrank back, perhaps it was a little presumptuous to go rummaging through her notes.

"Bah, those letters are a never-ending burden... I ought to toss them out, but Baglis won't let me." "Please don't!" Sirvard pleaded, placing a paw on her shoulder, "You have so much to share, so much vital insight. I would be so pleased to help compile it together, in fact, I could do it after hours in the evening to spare you coming down to the library, I could help you re-order it and --" "Hold your hippogriffs." She stomped her foot on the ground, "Now I admire your passion, Child, but I can't have you coming in to interfere with my life's work if you're going to admit defeat half way through because you tired yourself out."

"Apologies." Sirvard said, shying away and giving a bow, "I didn't mean to speak out of turn..."

Liette scratched her chin for a moment and sighed, "I could... perhaps... use your help. However, I couldn't let you do it alone. Would you really mind coming to the library some afternoons with this old crone? I know I bicker away at you enough most of the day, you mustn't volunteer if you believe you'd get sick of me..."

"Never." Sirvard grinned, "thank you for the opportunity." "Mmm, very well." Liette went back to her brewing, rumbling to herself about something or other before turning to her apprentice, "And of yes, thank you for my spectacles child..."

[odinsblog]

I think the thing that's important for us to remember is that cost volatility is actually all about fossil fuel dependency.

The more that we are dependent on fossil fuels, it means the more we are dependent on global events. As we saw with Russia's invasion of Ukraine, as we see with the choices that come out of the UAE, as well as many other regions of the world, oil and gas development and drilling in Latin America, as well as in the United States. The more dependent we are on oil and gas, the more crazy our prices are going to be, and the more up and down our prices are going to be. And the fact that, for example, we have not developed electric or alternative energy vehicles earlier is one of the reasons why we pay such close attention to gas prices to begin with.

And we would not be as sensitive to the changes in energy costs if we weren't so fossil fuel dependent.

And Donald Trump knows that.

The oil and gas industry knows that.

And that is why they finance huge parts of lobbying our government in order to keep the country entirely dependent on fossil fuels.

Now, if you prefer gas cars and gas stoves, you're free to make that choice.

But what we haven't had is accessible and broad choices for something else. EVs have been in development, but for a very long time, they've been financially inaccessible to a lot of people in this country. The Inflation Reduction Act helped change that. We got huge tax breaks for both new and used EVs. If you're trying to buy one off your neighbor or whatever that may be, as well as many other things that are accessible, whether it's induction stoves, heat pumps for one's home, et cetera. But the oil and gas industry is deploying all of their political and special interest money towards one central goal, which is to keep virtually every American completely dependent on their product.

And Donald Trump is very closely aligned with them.

And not only that, but the larger point is that it's not a coincidence that his authoritarian tactics are tied to fossil fuels.

This is a global phenomenon.

And what we are seeing is authoritarianism is very, very closely linked with oil and gas interests around the world.

That's Putin, that's Trump. That's folks like Bolsonaro. That's a lot of the political instability we see out of Saudi Arabia, the UAE.

And I believe that it is not a coincidence, because you have one central industry that has a clear vested, both political and financial interest, and an authoritarian…that is also increasingly becoming politically unpopular, by the way, because the vast majority of Americans believe that the U.S. should start winding down our subsidization of the fossil fuel industry. They want to see clean energy alternatives available to them and financially accessible to them. And they understand that it's just more volatile to be so chained to fossil fuels.

And so the only way that you can really empower both financially a political sect, is through the fossil fuel industry, the oil and gas industry.

The Koch brothers are an oil and gas dynasty who had such large influence on our political system. They come from an oil and gas dynasty, or rather, came. One of them has passed, there's that, but then you see that link crossing across the world, and the ascent of authoritarianism, paired with the fact that every single one of them is very closely aligned to the fossil fuel industry.

And the ascent of the fossil fuel industry is not a coincidence. It's not a mistake.

And in fact, the democratization of our energy system, which is a means of production that has been privatized and concentrated into the hands of the very few, the democratization of our energy system means that people have the potential. We're doing this in Puerto Rico. When you have a battery pack on your house, when the power goes out, you're not as dependent on a central system. You have a backup reserve in case of an emergency, you can give energy to your neighbor.

This is what the democratization of our energy system looks like.

This is also what a fairer economic system that is less volatile for everyday people looks like as well.

And that is a direct threat to authoritarianism.

It's a direct threat to the extreme concentration of wealth in the hands of the very few.

But it also represents a shift for the betterment of mankind and our democracy.

—Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, noting the link between the fossil fuel industry and authoritarian regimes