#Personal fall Arrest system

[frog76000]

I read PFAS as Personal Fall Arrest Systems was like "but those are good!" then I saw the parenthesis

been thinking about my OSHA training too much

Walz is a former school teacher, served in the army, and was very pro-active in getting progressive stuff passed in his legislature. Besides codifying abortion/IVF rights, see this list of his accomplishments. A solid pick.

[constructionsafetynetwork]

Innovative Fall Prevention Systems for Modern Construction

Innovative fall prevention systems for modern construction are transforming worksite safety. This article delves into the significance of these systems, their types, and the impact they have on construction safety standards. Understanding their role is vital in a sector where fall-related incidents remain a leading cause of injury. Understanding Innovative Fall Prevention Systems for Modern…

[stealthetrees]

So this is more of an AU of the fandom AU where the Coruscant Guard live in a shitty run down building that’s falling apart. But Commander Fox finds this unacceptable so he clears out a warehouse used for storage and builds a shiny new headquarters. The original building they fix up, but only the lobby, a couple offices, and the med bay so troopers on senate duty can stay there due to its proximity to the senate building. Their new building they can go nuts with, adding all sorts of stuff that they arnt allowed to have.

An entire room is filled with tv monitors so they can slice into security cameras around the planet and see everything. They get a nice rec room, an area for the engineers to play around with ideas, even an office for the medics to make you talk about your feelings. A server room is dedicated solely to storing and orgonizing blackmail collected on pretty much everyone worth mentioning on Coruscant.

But after one secret building, what’s another? Areas of strategic importance are carefully chosen and a new headquarters is established nearby. They are each given code names. The original building is still Headquarters, the new main building is the Barracks. The Office is where they run intelligence and investigations from. IT Department is next to the industrial district. The Kennals are much lower than some of their other buildings, a small station set up to monitor the rancor infestation (Thorn moves down there to become a cowboy after he “dies” on Scipio). The Lobby is set in the lower civilian levels as a way to help the people who arnt rich enough to bribe politicians into getting what they want. The Med Bay started as just somewhere for big surgeries, physical therapy and prosthetics, but which the “generous donations” they acquire it grows into a hospital for civilians as well, completely free, and they start hiring nat born doctors, surgeons and nurses while paying them well and proving a great work environment. Adding a therapist office helped a lot of troopers as well.

The system takes a long time to build and works perfectly. Until Fox figures out Palpatine is a Sith. It’s not actually world shattering news, but it does give him a panic attack after realizing Palpatine though Fox already knew, because he had threatened the chancellor with a slug thrower instead of a blaster. Through questions to his batch mates with Jedi generals he learns that Sith can influence people’s minds and decides that in order for the clone rights bill to pass Palpatine needs to die.

And die he does. The rest of the conservative senators are swayed by a mix of blackmail, bribes, and bomb threats. The bill does pass, and most of them are instantly arrested for sentient rights violations, assault, and various other crimes because government property can’t serve as a witness in a civilian court of law.

The timing of all this could not be worse, as two of Fox’s batch mates where on planet, Cody and Wolffe, and they loved to stick their noses in his business. Which means when a lot of Corries are injured in the fight with the senate guards and private security while trying to make arrests, Cody and Wolffe help get them back to Headquarters, because it’s much closer than the Barracks. But Headquarters has a very small med bay because so few troopers use it. So they are over crowded and run out of bacta.

Also Cody gets turned around in the hallway and discovers how bad the rest of the building is. So Fox has a choice to make. He grabs Cody and Wolffe and drags them outside and back to the GAR barracks while texting Thire and telling him he has an hour and a half to make Headquarters look lived in. Then Fox opens a one way comm line with every Corrie so they can keep the story straight as he answers his brothers questions.

Fox commits to the bit so hard they believe the Guard is suffering horribly from abuse and budget cuts while in reality they just steal money from what ever rich person they have the freshest blackmail from. He could just tell them all the illegal things he’s been up to, but Fox would rather die than tell someone more than they needed to know.

[drdemonprince]

So that was the DNC. The young liberals, white feminists, and leftists-in-name only have gladly fallen in line behind Kamala Harris, because she makes them feel good, and because all they have wanted was to find sufficient reason to stop feeling bad and get back to brunch. They've abandoned Palestine, the same way they abandoned the immunocompromised and abolition of the police, because these and so many other left political movements were little more than fashion to them. They were never interested in seeing the destruction of a political system that many of them could, theoretically, make themselves comfortable inside. They just wanted to be seen as current and good.

Did you know that there are 24 million millionaires in the United States? 24 Million. Millionaires. 24,000,000 millionaires. Up from 22 million in 2022. That's about 7.2% of the population. So much for "we are the 99%." There is a sizeable segment of this population that benefits from economic inequality and imperialism, increasingly so, as both the size of the lower class and the upper class expand.

Many millions of additional people have no interest in changing the U.S. political paradigm, because they have been propagandized to believe all compassion and competence fall away under "anarchy," or because they lack community in any meaningful sense and have no conception of how to act collectively. This is not their fault, but it means they act in ways counter to leftist organizing: calling the cops on people, refusing to show up for others, hoarding what property and wealth they do have, demanding that all acts of resistance be peaceful and brief, and pouring all of the political energies into exhorting others to vote (no matter how dyed blue or gerrymander red their districts are, no matter how genocidal, transphobic, and xenophobic all the options might be).

People think that participating in community is buying a $355 Chappel Roan ticket. The big voices for leftist organizing, supposedly, are individuals who market themselves as such on Instagram and TikTok in order to sell books, tarot decks, subscriptions, and workshops.

The sole method for social or political engagement that most people know of is making posts online, on an overblown advertising platform, and then complaining that they did not receive enough attention on their (monetized) posts. A person with shrewd social media instincts and a strong writerly voice can fake an entire political identity, professional connections, and expertise, and be followed by tens of thousands while doing nothing constructive in their day to day life or even being the person they claim to be. The more actively they post and generate revenue for Meta, the more lucrative their grift becomes for themselves and the more social power they accrue. Chasing power and profit for oneself is definitionally counter to leftist ideals. Even if they do not believe in electoralism, people like this produce endless content about the subject, because people follow it like it's sports. They're glorified entertainers, selling politically themed content, never taking themselves off the stage.

Challenge any of this and people will lash out at you, because you've attacked their cloth mother, and they're very lonely and afraid. The corporately-moderated semblance of connection is nearly all they ever get. You can't talk about sex, drugs, death, or any difficult human realities. If you don't present a disneyfied version of yourself you get accused or being a degenerate predator. If you don't participate at all, you must be apathetic, which is very bad, because having the wrong emotions or thoughts makes you evil.

The protests at the DNC were all either ill-conceived PSL honey traps leading dozens of 19-year-olds into arrest via Signal chat, or bloated 3-hour fundraising attempts miles away from the United Center and corralled by the police and Department of Justice marshalls and their collaborators. Everybody else is far away, enjoying brat colored cocktails and picking out demure tradwife clothing to disappear into for the fall. Dreaming of not having to worry anymore is akin to longing for death, and many liberal Americans have gladly embraced total obliteration.

It's not just conservatism that is a death cult. It's also the preservation of the nation-state. State-making obliterates whole cultures, languages, lands, traditions, and unique, person-to-person modes of relating. You get your food from a corporation or a government bureaucracy that does not know you and makes you fight for it, never from a person. This makes you forget that it's just persons, like the ones you know, like yourself, who do everything. It makes you cling to the state, and to normalcy, rather than speaking openly and messily to anybody else.

This is where it all begins and ends. The hope of a revolution rising up to somehow liberate Palestine was always a fantasy, the stuff of kid's movies. The truth is much darker, but more bearable, because it's real. We are very far from a dramatic political change. Most people aren't willing to even let a stranger into their homes to keep them sheltered. Did we really think they were going to rise up and put their body on the line to fight the state? Give up Starbucks and their PPO? Break the law? Lower their property value? Of course not. Get real.

And so, where do we start? By moving far, far away from the individualistic, capitalistic, clout-based avenues of political "participation" that do nothing but benefit people who present themselves as influential voices. By doing the small, slow, humble work of actual community building. Talking to your neighbors, feeding people, housing people, sacrificing something for others, driving a senior to the doctor, building a way outside of your own head.

We have to become more reliant upon one another and less moved by big personalities who will never know us or give a damn about us as people. Instagram pays me the more of you look at my posts and share them on their app. It pays every other high follower account you take political guidance from, too. You should be suspicious of me. And all the rest of them. You should place more trust in your friends, your neighbors, and the power of your own mind.

The way out of all this will not be easy. And it will not happen on here.

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

Let’s talk about one of the most underrated dynamics in Yellowjackets: Nat and Tai

Nat and Tai have such a troubled little sister/protective big sister dynamic that is not talked about enough.

Before the crash, there is clearly a lot of tension in Nat and Tai’s relationship. Their personalities clash a bit, as Tai is driven and ambitious while Nat is more reckless and directionless. Tai doesn’t understand Nat’s drug use and promiscuity and openly criticizes her for it. Tai is focused on the success of the team and she sees Nat and her behavior as an obstacle to this success.

However, I think there is some care behind her harsh statements. We can see her tough love approach towards Nat starting to develop. She wants Nat to get better, she just has a gruff way of showing it.

We see Tai begin to develop more of a softness for Nat after the crash. I think, as Tai begins to experience what it feels what it’s like to be in survival mode (and starts to lose control of herself) as Nat has been for most of her life, she begins to understand Nat and her coping mechanisms more.

Another important part of their dynamic is that they were the last two skeptics remaining in the Wilderness. When Natalie would challenge Lottie, Tai was often the first (and only) person to back her up. They are both grounded in pragmatism and logic.

Nat and Tai also have the shared experience of watching their partners “go the the dark side” (AKA join Lottie’s cult). Van and Travis are arguably some of Lottie’s most devoted followers towards the end of Season 2, and both Tai and Nat struggle to grapple with this and the rift it creates in their respective romantic relationships.

After they are rescued, Taissa manages to pick herself back up while Nat falls apart, and their little sister/big sister dynamic grows even more as a result. Tai pays for Nat’s rehab, tries to keep her away from Travis because she knows he’s bad for her, keeps pulling her back up and trying to keep her on her feet. I think it says a lot that Tai is the first person Nat thinks to call when she’s arrested.

And then, of course, there’s the scene where Tai defends her decision to pay for Nat’s rehab and continue to try to keep her clean. This scene breaks my heart and shows the caretaker role Taissa has taken on for Nat after the crash. She understands why Nat copes the way she does, and she knows that, unlike Shauna and herself, Nat doesn’t have a support system to rely on.

Even when Nat is being crowned as the new AQ I feel like you can see the concern on Tai’s face. Tai pledges her support of Nat’s new leadership, but you can tell she is also wary of the burden being placed on Nat, and how that might affect her.

Tai’s face is somber like she’s worried about her, but she gives Nat’s hand a small little squeeze of reassurance.

Anyways, I just love how Nat and Tai’s relationship transforms and grows over time. Tai has an empathy and care for Nat that the other survivors just don’t seem to have. I can’t wait to see more of their dynamic post-rescue as Tai struggles to keep Nat afloat and pick up the pieces after her toxic stints with Travis.

This has been way longer than I intended it to be, I’ll just leave y’all with this last clip of Nat giving petulant little sister vibes with Tai that I absolutely love…

[natalievoncatte]

Kara Zor El Danvers lived in a world of limitless sensation.

Thanks to her cousin, the world knew of her x-ray vision, but her eyesight went far beyond that. She could focus her attention and observe the mechanisms of the cell, or look skyward and see things so vast that they were invisible to the human eye. (She learned in her youth not to tell people that the entire solar system was, from time to time, engulfed in the digestive tract of a space whale so huge that its body was too big for humans to perceive) She could see colors lost to human vision and watch particles scatter off the atmosphere.

He sense of smell was beyond acute; had she the impulse, she could have tracked her family by scent. Her hearing was both gift and curse, as was her sense of taste, which she indulged with abandon thanks to her vastly more efficient digestive system and metabolism.

What most people never thought about was her touch. Kara could shake someone’s hand and read their fingerprint like braille. She was sensitive to the most minute changes in temperature or texture, and at times it could be just as overwhelming and overstimulating as her other senses. Kara learned to embrace it- she was a tactile girl from a race that disdained physical contact, even among lovers.

They had no idea what they were missing.

The first time Kara laid her hands on Lena Luthor was just after she’d arrested the fall of a multi-ton helicopter and dragged it from gravity’s grasp to bring it to rest on the roof of LuthorCorp. She’d checked the pilot first and…

Kara had eidetic memory. Perfect recall. It was another cursed gift, one born of the interaction of perfect healing with her alien brain. She would never forget seeing Lena for the first time. It was hers and hers alone.

Other humans could see Lena’s dark hair and soft pale skin, see the variation between her eyes, one a little more blue than green. They didn’t see what Kara saw; a thousand colors sparkling in those eyes like impossible gems, the heat bloom on her skin following the flush in her cheeks. The thundering of her heart in her chest beat a tempo in Kara’s ears, and then Kara touched her.

It was a simple gesture. No skin to skin, just a hand on Lena’s shoulder to steady her and ask her if she was okay, but beneath it Kara could sense her pulse and her body heat and was dimly aware of the electrical conduction of her nervous system.

It was heady, intoxicating. Even her scent- not the perfume covering it but the scent of *her*, her real scent, shot through with acidic fear, was intoxicating. Kara breathed it in and it exploded in her chest, making her feel a million miles tall.

The meeting was brief. Kara had to deal with annoying robots. There were always robots.

Later, Lena was there again and this time Kara was meeting her. Kara forgot that as she walked in with Kal… Clark. For those first few steps she wasn’t Supergirl or Cat Grant’s Assistant, she was herself, the person she only was around her closest friends who knew her secret. The one who walked tall, shoulders back, with nothing to hide.

Again, Lena was overwhelming. Kara was all but stunned by her, stammering and blushing. She didn’t know if there was love at first sight but first touch, just maybe. Lena’s hand was soft and warm, her grip firm, and Kara didn’t know why, then, that it sent such a jolt through her.

It was not the last time they touched.

Some thugs heaved Lena off her balcony, sending her screaming towards her death. Kara was there -she wouldn’t have had to hear it all over the phone- and caught her. It was a flawless rescue, scooping her from the air. Lena, terrified, clung to her for dear life.

Something happened on the way up. There was a brief, searing moment when Lena’s fear faded and she pressed in tight to her savior. Kara was acutely aware of the bare skin on the inside of Lena’s knee, the feeling of her soft calf against the back of her hand and the pull of Lena’s arms around her neck.

That night, Kara began to have feelings. Imaginings. Feeling silken smooth legs sliding under her palms, delicate hands clutched in hers, fingers laced. Wet skin slick on wet skin and clenching muscles, gossamer curls winding across her flesh in a symphony of pure feeling, hot breath on her skin. Teeth on her neck.

It felt weird, it felt wrong, it felt… predatory. Kara was scared of what she wanted, and how she wanted it- feral, with the wild abandon of an apex predator. Kryptonians were above such things. They were a race of stoic scientists who mastered and abandoned animal lusts and replaced them with cold technology Would she betray her heritage this way, too? She’d failed to keep Kal Kryptonian. What if she lost herself, too?

There were other touches. Soft hands on shoulders and lingering palms resting on arms. Lena hugged Kara and sheltered in her arms, drawing Kara around her like armor, and Kara let herself revel in it. She needed to protect Lena like she needed to breathe air.

Then came another. The Daxamite. The enemy, the lover, the jerk. He gave her touches too. Touches she was supposed to enjoy, supposed to want. Everyone told her so, even Alex who despised and suspected him at first.

She enjoyed it for what it was, and hated it for what it wasn’t.

Then he was gone and she was left again to longing. She tried to abandon the Danvers and Become Kryptonian, but she’d failed. Lena Luthor had gloriously corrupted her and she knew in the deepest hidden parts of her heart that whoever she was, she wasn’t the model Kryptonian youth, promised to the science council. She was Alex Danvers’s sister and Eliza Danvers’s daughter and Clark Kent’s cousin, losing herself in friendship and potstickers and guilt.

In the dark, Kara wept because she knew if she could change it all, if she could go back, save her world and her people, something of great value would be lost.

There was something between them, something terrible, something festering between every touch and it gnawed at Kara more and more with every lingering moment. Joy was shot through with terror when Lena would crowd in close to her, the pair of them giggling wine-drunk like the children they’d never been allowed to be. Children of tragedy, daughters of tarnished fathers, inheritors of legacies too heavy to carry alone.

More and more Lena and Kara let each other press close, each under the other’s shoulder, bearing the weight the weight as one. As one in every way except the one that mattered, until Kara’s heart hurt so much that she remembered those first days on Earth when she’d wished the green fireball had taken her pod too.

Then came the worst thing: the truth.

Kara wanted nothing more than to touch her, to feel skin on skin. She knew if she could hold Lena she could make it better, if she could come just shy of kissing the crown of her head and tell her how impossibly sorry she was that Lena would see, that she would feel and understand.

Instead there was only a wall of ice crusted with poison that shot red hot rancid agony through her veins, like a hot knife flensing her skin as her lungs crushed themselves. It felt like she was dying and she wanted it.

It felt like that the entire time. Every argument, every fight. Kara just wanted to scream. Scream at Lena at Mount Norquay with the ultimate weapon aimed at her heart, scream at her on balconies and rooftops and in fraught rescues where Lena shoved her away. Please just let me hold you one more time.

And then, one day, Lena came back. Kara was doing something meaningless -even with the world at stake she still had to write puff pieces for her asshole new boss- and was pacing around her apartment looking for the will to be human when it felt so pointless, and then she heard the staccato of Lena’s racing heart and pulled open her door.

It was explosive. Kara froze, stunned as if struck. It was like seeing Lena for the first time again, as she stood there with tear-wet cheeks in a winter coat with her arms and shoulders folded in fear, and Kara hated that she was afraid. She watched the invisible spectrum dance across Lena’s skin and was lost in her sea-sapphire eyes all over again and dared not even think the prayer on her tongue, a plea that came to her in Kryptonian first.

“I’m sorry,” Lena began, “I was wrong.”

Kara only heard the pain and knew she had to make it stop. Instinct drove her, the instinct she wasn’t supposed to answer. She embraced Lena with the utmost care, needing only to make it better, to make her precious Lena’s hurting stop.

Despite her photographic memory she would never recall who crossed the Rubicon. Maybe it was both of them at once. Lena touched Kara as she never had before, answering the intensity of Kara’s consuming attention in a way she’d always shied from before. Every flash of boldness from Lena drove Kara more feral and she sucked in a sharp breath as she left a hand print pressed in her door, thinking oh oh Rao I don’t want to hurt her, but if Lena was afraid she didn’t show it.

It all just sort of happened on instinct, like they both just knew what to do. Kara heaved her Lena into the air with a shocking display of strength, quivering with joy. Catching her wasn’t enough, she wanted to scoop Lena up and carry her off like a conquering hero, and she was, this was really happening.

They spoke only once, Kara asking the question. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

Kara exerted every ounce of control she had, schooling every movement, commanding every brush of her fingers and movement of her hands. She let herself drink the sensations, etching a record of every facet of these moments that would endure until the end of her days. She’d never felt as alive as when she felt Lena’s body arch under her hands and the buzz in her throat as she cried Kara’s name.

The humans called it becoming one flesh. Kara thought that was silly. Now, she understood.

Lena answered her tenfold, answering Kara’s burning questions with her hands and lips and teeth, almost shocking Kara with her intensity.

To her surprise it was the after she loved most, feeling Lena’s soft, delicate, vulnerable body cradled in her arms, and when Lena sobbed into her shoulder, Kara wept with her and murmured all the promises again and again and again.

Later, after struggles and losses and a strange sense that it was all finally over, the great battles won, the great miracles all performed, Kara formed the metal and crushed the gems into being with her own hands, and would never forget the trembling in Lena’s hands as she circled the bracelet around her wrist.

[simply-wlw-kpopstan]

7. Home

⚠️ Spoilers ahead, brief mention of suicide (implied in 1 sentence)

You got a message from yewon with everything you needed on Sunday. She even did more than you asked and hacked into the psychiatric visitor's list to get your name on there. She truly was a gifted hacker if she can do all of that without getting caught. Now what will you do when you get there?

First things first, call your aunt and explain everything that happened. Step two get a good lawyer so you can fight harin's sorry excuse of a family and get her out. Step 3 get your aunt to agree to let harin stay with you. Thinking it over, the hardest part would be step 2. You knew your aunt would let harin stay if you asked, she already knew a little about her since you accidentally slipped out you had a crush. What will happen when you see harin? What if she thinks you're there to take her home and you have to tell her that you can't? You shook your head and waved those thoughts away.

The day had arrived when You were going to visit harin for the first time and got nervous. At first glance it looks like a small hospital but once you actually look, you notice the barred windows. you realize how isolated it actually is when you don't hear a sound and it starts to feel eerie.

When you arrived at the doors, they were locked and you buzzed the intercom. A woman at a desk looked up from inside, smiled and the buzzer made a noise before her voice came through "hello, how can I help you?"

"I'm here to visit someone, my name is y/n y/l/n."

"hold on just a second. " a slight panic creeps up. Does she know? What if they arrest you for hacking into the system? "ah yes I found you. I see you're visiting a new patient here. I'll buzz you in and you have to fill out a form"

"alright." you took a deep breath of relief once the line cuts and the door buzzes open. You walk in and take care of the paperwork, once that was done she gives you a visitor's pass and asked you to wait until one of the nurses comes down to get you.

The big doors swing open and a middle aged woman walks up to the reception with a clipboard. "I swear things are getting worse up at 4. We got a biter." she sighed as she hands over the papers.

"isn't this the 3th attack this month?" the receptionist asks and the nurse nods, "they should up the dosage for those people. Can you please take that girl to visit so Eun? She's the newest arrival, she's on floor 1."

So eun? Right. That was harin's name before she got adopted. That family really stripped her from everything didn't they? " ofcours." she turns to you with a smile and motioned to follow her" Come along. Sorry It took so long. It's been a hectic day." you quickly follow after her as the doors begin to close again. "You're the first visitor for her, we didn't think anyone would come since there aren't any emergency contacts mentioned in her file."

"It's complicated but I'm taking care of it. She had a family but they abandoned her recently. "

The nurse smiled broadly. " I'm glad she still has you then. Being here can take a toll on a person the first few days, it's important that she knows she's not alone in this. "

" I've told her that before. No matter what happens she'll always have me. "

"I don't mean to be rude but what is your relationship to her? Are you family?"

"I Uhm I'm a friend."

"hmm, a friend." she smiled, "or perhaps you're more? It's okay. Love is love, you can't help who you fall for." you smiled at her words and were thankfully she didn't ask anything else, "well here we are. She normally has roommates but they are all participating in classes at the moment so you have some alone time for the next 2 hours."

You thanked her for everything and stood in front of harin's door. You try to control your emotions before you walk in, she doesn't need to see you emotional while she's going through all of this. She needs a shoulder to lean on and you will be that for her. You walk inside the room and see her sleeping, she looks peaceful and you're debating on letting her rest or waking her up. Before you can decide harin shifts around in bed and opens her eyes, looking straight at you with a little frown. "hi there." you spoke softly

"Why do I always dream about you being here?" her voice cracks and you saw the tears well up in her eyes, "It's not fair, please go away." she turns around and faces away from you.

"harin this isn't a dream," you walk around her bed and squated down so you'd be face to face with her, "i'm really here." you tug a hair strand behind her ear and she just stares at you with teary eyes. "i'm here harin. This is real love. I promise you."

She loses the battle and a few tears slip down as she cups your face with one hand and traces her thumb in circles, "H-How did you find me?"

"does that matter?" you lean into her touch and kissed the palm of her hand. "I'm sorry that it took so long but I'll get you out of here, I promise. I'm already working on-"

"don't" she pulls her hand back and shifts to sit up in bed. "this is what I deserve"

"what? No. You don't deserve this." you shook your head and sat down on the edge of her bed.

"I do. I've hurt so many people and never even cared about anything but myself. I deserve to be in here. I deserve what happened to me. "

You wondered if she knew about what happened after the fire. What her 'family' did. You took her hand in yours and started to play with the bracelet you had given her, she's still wearing it. " do you know about your-"

"that they disowned me? Yes. When I woke up I asked to call my grandma but they told me there weren't any contacts and that's when I knew." she sighed.

"you still want me to believe you deserve that? You don't. I'm working on this, I'll get you out and you can stay with me. I'll expose them for what they did. How they treated you and-"

"don't. Let me stay."

"what ? You- you want to stay here?" to say you were shocked was an understatement, you would've guessed she would want to get out immediately.

"yes. I don't want you to go against them. They have too much power, you don't stand a chance against them. Just let me work on myself in here, I'll prove to everyone I can change. When I get discharged we can go out on our first date. I'll have that fresh start I wanted with you."

"are you sure? I already have an amazing lawyer who's looking into things. I can get you out of here, you can still work on yourself without being here."

"there are professionals here that can help me. I know you want to help me but this is what I want. This is my shot at redemption."

"alright. If this is what you want I'll support you. I'll visit as much as possible. Once you have your schedule we can work out which days I visit."

"that works for me." she smiles, "I'm really sorry I dragged you into this. I asked my grandmother if she could get you into baekyeon and in my class. If I just left it at that one meeting you woul-."

"Harin, don't. In the end I made the decision to go didn't I? I don't regret anything because if you didn't ask your grandmother we never would've had a chance together."

"I can't argue with you if you put it that way." she pouted.

"then don't argue with me." you smile and you leaned in until your eyes caught the sight of medication and then the overdose popped into your head making you pull back.

"what? What's wrong" she frowned and followed your gaze, "Oh." she looks down as she catches on to your thoughts. "they give us these pills in the morning. I guess it's to keep us calm? We don't have to take them but they write it down if you don't so they can see who actually needs them and who doesn't."

"were you actually planning to...." you couldn't get it over your lips but you didn't have to, she knew.

"I don't know. I want to say that I knew how much to take but I didn't. It was all pure luck. I don't really want to think about what could've happened, to be honest."

"that's okay, at least for now. I do want to talk about it but only when you're ready."

She nodded and tugged at your hand, "can I get that kiss now?" She asked as she looked down at your lips.

"you don't have to ask" you smiled and leaned in for that much awaited kiss. The moment your lips touched everything felt right again, she was here in your grasp and nothing else matters but that. "just so you know. Once you're discharged from this place you're coming home with me. My aunt and her lawyer are taking care of all the legal stuff."

"so we'd be living together?" She smiled.

"well, my aunt will be there in the beginning so she can get to know you and once she knows she can leave us alone she'll take off again. That were the conditions."

"I look forward to the baby pictures and all the stories." she teased.

"I was a cute baby for your information! But she does have some stories that I'm already dreading." you thought over all the embarrassing moments of your childhood she could tell. "maybe don't ask her in the first few weeks I'm begging you."

"hmm, you'll have to keep my mind off of it then." she smirked.

"Oh I'm sure I'll find a way to keep you busy." you smile, "I did want to ask you about what you want me to call you. Do you want to keep harin or change it back to so eun? Or maybe you can get a new name?"

"harin is fine. So eun is my past, I can't go back to that and if I change my name again my-- they will win. I don't want to give them that satisfaction." her expression changed from sad to determined really quickly once she said that. "they might have disowned me and are revoking the adoption but they can't change my name."

"what about your last name?"

"maybe I can mix my names? How does So Harin sound?"

"perfect." you kiss her hand and she smiles. You look around the room and it feels so empty, "so, what do you usually do around here?"

She chuckled at your attempt of normal conversation, " at the moment I usually talk with a bunch of doctors and psychiatrist so they know what type of therapy I need. They're all nice which makes talking about what I did worse. "

"Well, I'll sneak in a book next time." you wink and she laughs.

"I can have books. This isn't a prison where you need to smuggle stuff in. I am getting my own room soon though. Apparently they want to take me to a different floor, one with more people my age and stuff."

"as long as you don't fall in love with someone else I'm okay with it."

"Oh so you'll ask the staff to relocate me if I do?" She clocked an eyebrow.

"are you saying you'll find someone else?" you fired back.

"nobody would compare to you. You've seen me at my highest and lowest, enjoy it 'cause that' s for your eyes only. No one has seen me the way you have."

"I kind of like the thought of that if I'm being honest."

You stayed until visiting hours were over and promised you'd be back soon. True to your word you made regular visits after harin got her schedule and after a few months of good behavior on harin's part you could go out for a few hours. You mostly took walks in the nearby forest and did have some little make-out sessions in more secluded area's. Eventhough you had planned some cute little picnics harin refused to call it a date, she already planned out what she wanted to do with you when she was discharged and that was going to be your first official date. You didn't mind to call these picnics dates but since harin was so stubborn you agreed to calling them hangouts, as long as you were with her you were fine with anything.

It took a year for her to be discharged from the place. You had gotten yourself a drivers license and borrowed a car from your aunt to Suprise her. She didn't know you got one and were planning this for months but you'd do anything for her. You're leaning against the hood of the car when she walks outside. She stops and takes a second to close her eyes and bask in the sunlight, you can't help but stare at her and fall even more in love.

"will you finally tell me where we're going tonight?" you smile as she walks up to you.

"no. Not yet." she wraps her arms around your neck and pulls you close, "hi there." she smiles.

"hi gorgeous." you smile and kiss her, "you ready to leave"

"yes. as Nice as everyone was, I'm ready to start my new life with you." she looks around and frowns, "where's your aunt? Isn't she driving us home?"

Home. You could get used to hearing her say that. "actually," you grab the keys from your back pocket and dangle them in front of her face, "i'm driving. I wanted to be able to pick you up when the time came so I got my drivers licence. Now you can be my passenger princess."

"You're amazing." she smiled and gave you a peck on the lips before pulling back and putting her bag in the trunk with you scolding her for doing it herself. "i'm a big girl i can put it away myself."

You hummed and got in the car together, "are you ready to meet my aunt tonight?" you ask as you pull out the parking lot and drove home.

"I'm nervous but knowing you, you've already told her a lot about me." she smirked as she leaned her head against the headrest while looking at you, "you look really attractive driving."

" whatever is going on in that head, stop those thoughts. I'm driving." you throw a quick glance to see her smile. You took a hand off the steering wheel and placed it on her thigh, "we have all the time in the world now. No need to rush."

"I'm happy you said that because as long as your aunt's home we're not doing anything." she laughed at your small pout.

"define anything. Does it include-"

"nope. Stop those thoughts you're driving." she smiled and you loved how relaxed she looked. For the first time ever you saw her posture falter a little bit, she's just leaning against the window but the harin from a year ago would still have a straight back and a straight face while looking out the window. She's looking at the scenery with a content smile and you're happy she chose to stay and work on herself. it couldn't have been an easy decision to make when she heard you talking about getting her out but she stayed and it worked.

She was finally showing who she was, the girl that she had pushed back all those years. The person you saw when everyone else saw a mean powerful heiress. She was excited in showing people she had changed. jaeun had agreed to meeting up with the both of you in a few weeks, suji hadn't really answered but jaeun had mentioned she'd get her to join. It was an important step for harin to face the people she hurt and to try to make amends with who was willing to listen. she prepared for the worst when she asked you to contact them, not expecting them to agree and now she was looking forward to the meeting. You hated to remind her there was a chance they wouldn't except her apology but she said she was ready for it.

Once you got home you took harin's bags to the spare bedroom, sadly also one of the conditions of your aunt. You did compromise that you could sleep in the same room for the first few nights. As you were walking to her bedroom with some drinks you hear a thud from her room. "What was that? are you okay?" you ran into her room to see her laying down on the bed with a smile.

"yes don't worry. It's just this bed is so comfy compared to the bed I had." she sighed as she stretched out. You laid down next to her and she immediately cuddled into you, laying her head on your chest with a leg thrown over yours.

"I love you" you said as you ran your fingers up and down her back.

"I love you too." she leaned up a little and planted a kiss on your lips, "it's about time I said it isn't it?"

You chuckled, "you wrote it down, that also counts."

"no, not for the first time."

In the end everything worked out for the both of you. You went on your first date and harin got to talk with jaeun and suji. It took some time but the both of them saw how much she had changed, how much she regrets what she did and eventually forgave her. Harin occasionally woke up from nightmares and you always took a walk around the block when that happened. You'd sit down on the couch with hot chocolate and some TV show playing in the background as she talked about her dreams. There were a lot of things that she still had to overcome from her childhood, some things she wouldn't and it would be hard.

In the end harin knew she had a home with you and your aunt. Come to think of it She might be your aunts favorite since she calls her more than you but you didn't mind. It's about time harin felt the love of a parental figure, to have them care about her without any expectations. You slept in separate rooms when your aunt was home most of the time but once she left harin always ended up in your bed. Things slowed down and as the both of you settled into this new life you couldn't wait to see what the future had in store for you two.

masterlist

This is the end of this story🫣 thank you to everyone for reading, sharing and liking❤️ special thanks to @iwendix (I know Suprise mention😁) for reacting on the posts and leaving those comments. They really helped me come back to the story to finish it.

[kittycatcomander]

AU where SBI are villains, and Kristin is the villain wrangler making sure all the kids who get counseling in her office get a chance to meet who ever they want, even if they’re wanted dead by the hero commission.

Cue meet-cute(?) between Kristin and Phil, where she spends weeks tracking down the infamous “ Crowfather, killer of heroes and hater of the system” because some little kid wanted see him, and she stands tall and totally not terrified (/s) on a rooftop waiting for him.

And Phil is faced with this woman who spent hours and hours researching his routines not to arrest him but to let a little kid meet him, and he just falls for her.

So they exchange numbers, and everytime from there on out when Kristin has a kid who wants to meet The Blade or Orpheus or Nemesis she just casually shoots THE TOP VILLAIN a message, internally screaming, while Phil is kicking his feet on the air like a stereotypical teenager everytime his phone dings with a personalized ringtone.

Hero!Dream: I have finally confronted you, doer of evil! Today, our fight will be legend-

Crowfather!Phil: wait pause mate- OMG ITS HER 🥰🥰

Hero!Dream: wait wha-

Technoblade: I’ll take it from here

And so begins her getting really casual about the fact she personally texts the top villain.

I’m imagining some side stuff where she meets Tommy, a sidekick in desperate need of help (which she’s happy to provide), and a few others who’s relationship evolves with her over time.

Kirstin when first meeting the Blade: hooooooly smokes this guy is Dangerous, but if the kid wants to meet him… I’ll be prepared

Techno: uhhhhhh (struggling to interact with the receptionist, holds kids and swings them around gently like planes, lets them win fake fights)

Kristin: ok wait he’s like seven shaking puppies built like a brick house

She and Phil talk more and more as the arrangement continues, about everything and eventually life, and things shift from there. The first time that a villain tries hurting one of the kids also shifts their relationship…. especially since Kristin handles it as efficiently as she does.

There’s more, but in this AU I imagine Kristin to have a super dangerous power of her own (unregistered because teehee) that motivated her to work with troubled youth in need of help and kids working with a limited lifespan. I want her to be OP but just friendly and downplaying her ability since she was never in a situation to use it to the full extant.

Also there’d obviously be a CrimeBoys plot and adoption of Tommy into the family (bye bye Dream) which leads to her getting invited over to like. Family dinners and stuff, where the interactions are all completely cute and normal but undercut by her perspective reminding her of crimes they’ve all committed. Like-

“Phil, who had the most beautiful eyes but hands stained with the blood of approximately 3,791 people, passed her the salad with a bright smile. His son(?) continued the story of how he met a new friend. Kristin wasn’t sure if the story was in or out of masks, and she was scared to ask at this point.”

I especially want her to and Phil to reflect the two main approaches to changing the world, where you could either completely destroy the system in place (villains, anarchy) and forcefully restart, or you could tackle an issue at its lowest (if the world is full of corrupt people, change the people from a young age)

[beautiful-basque-country]

In September 2001, the Guardia Civil entered the house of Unai Romano's parents - where he lived - in the middle of the night. He was accused of being an ETA memeber, arrested, and brought to the Guardia Civil headquarters in Gasteiz.

For two days, he was tortured to get more presumed member names out of him. Here's how Unai recently recalled the abuse he was subjected to:

Another question session, more questions. And they started throwing different practices into the mix, one called "the elevator", that consisted in standing up, go down to a deep squat, standing up, up and down, questions, do you know this person? no, you're hit, up and down again. They also threatened me with electrodes. I remember I got them on my testicles, penis, my earlobe. It wasn't a very high intensity, my fear of what it could be was bigger. They kept mixing methods: [choking] bag, electrodes, the infamous elevator, and beatings. There came a moment when I was physically exhausted and when I was on the verge of losing consciousness and fall to the geound they reanimated me and started all over again. But I reached a state I couldn't go on anymore, and they sit me down on a chair; and started telling me they had arrested my mother. I refused to believe it, how can they arrest a 70y/o woman? They were saying this at a distance, pretending they were talking on the phone with the officers of the Gasteiz reservoir, and between guardia civiles, screaming: we're torturing your mother, we're making her go through the elevator, while I kept sitting down on the chair. One of them came to me from behind and told me she has died and it stopped there. I refused to believe, I refused, but I was kept there for a while until they brought me down to my cell [forced to stand up there]. Due to the beatings they gave me, my head begin to swell, so much that I had a hard time at keeping my eyes open, I had to do this gesture continously to keep them open. My face and head burnt, everything was very swollen. So I decided I had to sit, until I heard somebody opened the spyhole and although I got up very quickly and tried to cover it up, he saw me, entered and slapped me hard.

He was left like this :

After enduring all this, Unai Romano was absolved.

He started a crusade to get some justice and has brought his case to the Human Rights Court after the Spanish justice failed him. The judge considered Unai wasn't subjected to torture.

That judge is the current Minister of Justice of Spain, Fernando Grande-Marlaska. Member of a presumed progressive government.

Also, a presumed progressive newspaper like El País, wondered in 2006 - Unai's case had happened 5 years before - if there was torture in Euskadi or was ETA-supporting propaganda.

ONU and the Committe for the Prevention of Torture have expressed in several occasions their concern regarding torture in EH and the total lack of investigation by the Spanish justice system.

There are tens of people in prison due to what they said while being tortured.

Unai, just like many other torture survivors, is still fighting, court after court.

[liver-f4ilure]

Academy Maniacs Article Translated

NOTE: I may have missed a part but this is the whole article.

———

ISSUES: KONKURENTl calendar dated January 28, 2013

"Good-natured boy."

The defendant in the case of "hammer throwers" asked for freedom

Author: ANGELINA SALOMATOVA

The Irkutsk Regional Court received the criminal case against Artyom Anufriev and Nikita Lytkin, who, according to the investigators' version, were operating in Irkutsk Akademgorodok from the fall of 2010 to the spring of 2011, killing six people and attempting to kill eight others, on August 13 last year. According to the Code of Criminal Procedure, the term of detention of the defendants, who have been in Irkutsk SIZO-1 since their arrest on April 5 last year, expires six months after the case is filed with the court, on February 13.

However, according to the court, by that time the case cannot be considered on its merits: it took the prosecution six months just to announce the evidence collected in 49 volumes. At the hearing on Wednesday, January 23, the lawyers started presenting evidence, having summoned the first witnesses and experts to the court. Also ahead is the debate of the parties and the final decision. In this regard, the judge put the issue of extending the period of detention on the table. The defendants, who have already been behind bars for almost two years, as it turned out, are not averse to being free. After a short break in the session, which took Artyom Anufriev to communicate with his lawyers, he asked the court to change the measure of restraint to a custodial release.

"All the fears of the investigation about my being on the outside are groundless. I will not be able to influence the course of the investigation in any way, I will not be able to put pressure on witnesses, I will not be able to destroy evidence either. I have places of study, work, residence, at least I had them. I ask to appoint a measure of restraint not involving imprisonment," said Anufriev. The lawyer supported the position of the defendant: "He is socially adapted, as he has a mother, with whom he lived and can continue to live, he does not intend to hide. In addition, he really can not influence the course of the investigation, as all the evidence is already in court, the judicial investigation is coming to an end".

The mother of Nikita Lytkin did not insist on changing the measure of restraint, leaving the decision "at the discretion of the court", but said that her son had long and deeply repented of the crimes committed and, in her opinion, "is not dangerous to society". Despite the defense's arguments, the court decided to extend the detention for three months, until May 13.

"The defendants are accused of particularly serious crimes against the person, committed over a long period of time. Each of the incriminated acts is punishable by imprisonment for a long period of time, including up to life imprisonment. In selecting a measure of restraint, the court took into account that, being at liberty, they could continue criminal activity and escape from the investigation. These circumstances have not fallen away and have not changed," the judge read out the ruling.

A new stage of the judicial investigation, during which evidence will be presented by the defense side, began at the hearing on Wednesday. Among the first lawyers invited an expert on information systems to the court, with the help of whom they found out the subtleties of data exchange in social networks, in particular "VKontakte", in which, according to the investigation, the defendant Anufriev kept extremist correspondence with acquaintances. According to the expert, the correspondence history stored on the server of the social network could theoretically be changed, which Artem Anufriev himself did not know anything about, and therefore, the information seized from the storage can not be evidence in the case.

—

Artyom Anufriev also denies that he was involved in a vicious correspondence, claiming that he gave the password to his social network page to one of his acquaintances, who left compromising messages on his behalf. The court has yet to sort out the evidence; the unique network IP address from which the defendant accessed the Internet may be used to identify the user of the social network. In addition, Anufriev, who chose the policy of denial of guilt, in his defense stated that in the protocol of on-site testimony, held on April 11, 2011, there is a signature made on his behalf by another person. At the request of the state prosecutor, a handwriting examination was appointed, which was entrusted to the Irkutsk Laboratory of Forensic Expertise.

Recall that at the first stages of the investigation, Artyom Anufriev and Nikita Lytkin fully admitted guilt in committing a series of crimes. However, during the judicial investigation, the first refused to testify and said that he had incriminated himself under torture and threats of investigators "with trouble in the detention center". Since then, the defense lines of Anufriev and Lytkin have been divided. The side of the senior defendant, Anufriev, who is charged with, among other things, involving the minor Lytkin in particularly serious crimes, insists that the defendant could not have been the organizer and ideological inspirer of the extremist community, as the prosecution believes.

In order to prove this, the lawyers called to court a woman who knows Artyom Anufriev "from diapers". The witness, who spoke first on the defense side, said that Artyom Anufriev's mother was a close friend of her own mother and the long family friendship allows her to characterize the defendant. "Artyom is a good-natured boy, polite, I have never heard a bad word from him," the witness said. - He is enthusiastic and capable. In character, soft, kind, driven. They had a boy who was always organizing something - basketball, tennis. Unless you called Artyom and invited him, he wouldn't go. They had a music group; when the organizer left town, the group broke up. Artyom's mother offered to create a new group, but he couldn't because he doesn't have organizational skills.

The witness testimony, according to the defense, should refute the prosecution's thesis that Artyom was the brains and inspiration, while Nikita was the executor. The woman also said that Anufriev's mother did not approve of his friendship with Lytykin. "She believed that this young man does not do anything, badly influences Artyom, interferes with his studies. Always tried to stop their friendship," the witness stated. The court has yet to assess the arguments of the defense. The hearing will continue next week. After reviewing the evidence of both sides, the court will consider possible motions to supplement the judicial investigation, after which the debate of the parties will begin and the judge will make a final decision.

[captainx-camino]

It's such a weird perspective seeing people who watched Renfield treat Rebecca's wounds and protect her after she arrested him without question and proceeded to berate him in his apartment because like

On the surface level, people take that as a sweet gesture on Renfield's part, showing how sweet and caring of a person he really is

But in reality, he's not showing what a caring and sweet person he is...he's showing that despite being mistreated and blamed for something that isn't his fault, he's been conditioned to believe that he still has to be the one to service the people in his life.

We also see this behavior when Rebecca reacts violently to Renfield's sarcastic joke, in which, despite Rebecca's response to the situation clearly being the one that was out of line, Renfield is the one to instantly try to defuse the situation and apologize.

Like, I'm not trying to say you can't get what you get out of their interactions. Lord knows I'm not one to talk about that. And yes, I'm aware the situation is clearly dramatized for comedic effect, but like...

It's just so jaw dropping to me to see people miss this so often and not see (or rather ever acknowledge) the way Renfield falls right back in with someone else who is quite abusive and aggressive themself, to the point where Renfield actually feels the need to point out their tendency towards anger as a response to situations.

It's a very raw and real thing as someone who himself went straight from an abusive parent into an abusive relationship as a teenager living on his own. (Not my current partner obviously. They're wonderful and have been a huge support system in my healing journey. I can't thank him enough for that, honestly.)

Anyway, I just don't think it's brought up enough how real it is that Renfield so easily falls right back into a destructive situation with the literal next person he tries to build any sort of relationship with and I think it's a really important detail to his growth as a person to not only see it, but to see that he eventually starts to recognize that behavior in this new connection and learn to call it out.

[anneangel]

Javert is as tragic as the title of the book suggests, a miserable.

He may even be the main antagonist, in the sense of opposing the centric character (Jean Valjean), but he is certainly not a villain.

He is obsessed with fulfilling his duty and in a tireless pursuit of justice. He does not believe in Jean Valjean's redemption and his obsession with persecuting him is related to his rigid worldview based on his personal experience and inflexible principles, related to his past, where he was born into a dysfunctional family. He firmly believes in the idea that a bad person is bad forever. He sees his role as Inspector as a fight against crime and injustice.

He doesn't pursue Jean Valjean because he's a villain, he pursues him because he believes Jean is a criminal, who violated his parole, and therefore deserves to be sent back to the prison system.

He was just a man who believed he was doing the right thing, following the law. He believed that people chose to be miserable and that they got what they deserved for choosing to be "vagabonds." He looked at himself and took pleasure in thinking; I came from a dysfunctional home and I still do what is right, so if others don't do it, it's because they don't want to and will never change.

But then he finds himself at a crossroads after Jean Valjean spares his life: "the law says I must arrest this man. But my conscience says I owe him a life debt."

For the first time he contemplates that "law" and "justice" do not always go together. It would be "legal under the law" to arrest Jean, but it would not be "morally just". It's a conflict between legality versus morality.

So poor Javert still faces the deconstruction of his beliefs: “he thought that good and evil were very different things and that an ex-convict could only be bad while a police officer could only be good”, when he realizes that reality not obeys that extreme and that a prisoner can be good (or that it is possible to change and become good), just as a law enforcement officer can become corrupt.

Faced with so many things that he firmly believed falling apart, showing erroneous beliefs of live, he chooses to kill himself rather than live with such unrest. So, basically he commits suicide because he was saved by Jean Valjean, and he couldn't stand that fact.

It really must have been scary to discover that he has spent his life following beliefs that suddenly deteriorate in front of him. It's sad that in the face of this "scare" he chose to kill himself.

The character promotes a very pertinent reflection, and leads us to reconsider the way we look at people who are typically stigmatized by society. Victor Hugo is never trying to say that bad people are good deep down, nothing like that; After all, there is the character Mr. Thénardier to prove this. What he is saying is that we cannot make it an absolute rule that all people who commit crimes were and will be bad forever. Because by establishing that they are, a stigma is created that can be unfair for those who, like Jean, tried to change their lives.

It is also necessary to remember that at no point does Hugo say that Jean Valjen was right in stealing the bread, but rather that the penalty imposed on him was disproportionate to the crime committed. In the end, we read that Javert kills himself because he cannot bear the idea that Jean, an ex-prisoner, can go from darkness to light. While he, by following the law, committed an injustice.

He thinks that Jean, even though he was a former prisoner, managed to go to a place above him morally, while he, who was such an inflexible agent of the law, saw himself as someone tough who didn't understand the factor of redemption as an element capable of rescue the soul of someone who once made a mistake.

Honestly, I like the character and understand the powerful reflection he brings to us. But at the same time, I'm sad that he killed himself. He could have chosen other paths, but ultimately he was so desolate that he saw no other options.

[blog-moved-lol]

Dick Grayson Canon Lore Stuff:

(TW for Batman stuff, like spoilers and mention of injury/death) Hello, I know very little about the canon Batfamily because I can't exactly just read all of the comics (there's way too many, and they're very expensive T-T) so instead I spent like an hour reading the entire Fandom . com entry on Dick Grayson, and this is pretty much my timeline of important events that I got from that (I'm typing this in hopes that it'll help me remember it).

Dick Grayson Canon Lore Stuff:

•From a very young age Dick Grayson was trained as an acrobat, hence his job as a performer in his family's circus act.

•When he was eight years old, he overheard a well known crime boss threaten the circus performers if he wasn't paid by the circus owner. The owner didn't pay him, and that night Dick witnessed his parents high wire snap, leading to both of their deaths. (He felt responsible for not warning them)

•He was put into a juvenile service system, because social services in Gotham were full. In this system he was often beat up by the others, which led to him eventually being put into a Catholic orphanage instead.

•Bruce Wayne adopted him, but Dick didn't want to replace his deceased dad with a 'stuck up' billionaire, plus he felt like Bruce didn't give him enough attention (Probably because Bruce was still dealing with the trauma of his own parents death and didn't like getting attached to people in case he lost them as well), so he snuck out in hopes of solving his parents murder himself.

•He met Batman, also investigating the murder, which led to him finding out that Batman and Bruce Wayne are the same person.

•They find the crime boss, but he 'dies of a heart attack' before he can be arrested.

•Since Bruce saw so much of himself in Dick, he asked the boy if he wanted to become his sidekick and Dick decided to name himself 'Robin' after what his mother used to call him.

•He was trained for six long, hard months before he was allowed to do any real missions, and he had to go through one full night eluding Batman without help before he was allowed to officially become Robin.

•For the first year or so Dick had a lot of fun with his job, and treated it as a fun adventure he and Bruce participated in together.

•That was until he had a fight with Two-Face, in which Batman and the DA were both stuck in nooses. Dick cut the rope around the DA with a Batarang, but Two-Face had crafted a double trap and this made the floor fall out so the DA landed in a pit of water in which he drowned. This was Dick's first time witnessing an on-the-job death which would serve to haunt him for years to come, plus he got himself a beating from Two-Face (Okay but like, wouldn't he have been like 9 or 10 max Jeezums- 😭🖐).

•Bruce temporarily 'fired' Dick, not wanting to see him get hurt any more.

•Dick served as Robin for a while longer, still working with Bruce and also forming his own Titans team.

•When Dick was 17 he got shot in his shoulder by the Joker, which prompted Bruce to officially fire him out of fear for his safety. Dick decided that he didn't need Batman anymore, plus he had some issues with the way Bruce did things, so he moved from Gotham to New York to be more involved with the Titans, and he dropped out of highschool.

•Bruce didn't really like this, and told Dick that if he was no longer going to work with him he would have to retire the Robin title. Dick left Wayne Manor afterwards, and handed over leadership of the Titans to Wondergirl.

•Unsure of himself and what he should do now, yet not wanting to give up crime fighting now that it was such a big part of his life, he went to find Superman. For a brief while Dick stayed with Superman, and Superman told him of a Krypton hero who had been known as Nightwing. Because of this time with Clark, Dick decided to finally become his own hero free of Batman. He named himself Nightwing after the Krypton hero, and made himself a costume based off of something his father once wore back in the circus.

•Now as Nightwing he helped lead the Titans, though his relationship with Starfire was worsening over time.

•Jason's death was a bit of a turning point in his character. Even though originally he hadn't seemed to like Jason (mainly because Jason acted as his replacement, and because of his not so great relationship with Bruce) Dick seemed to grow into a kinder/gentler person after the event.

•A while after this, Dick discovered that the mob boss who had killed his parents was not actually dead but was in a coma instead. Dick went looking for him, but witnessed him being gunned down before he had a chance to do anything for himself. Bruce claimed that he was worried that Dick would seek revenge for his parents death if he knew the truth, so he told the young boy that the mod boss was dead instead. Dick was obviously upset because of this, and his relationship with Bruce stayed strained.

•While he was still serving with the Titans, Tim Drake sought him out and asked him to return to being Robin (Because after Jason's death Bruce was going crazy without a Robin by his side), but Dick refused because of his bad relationship with Bruce and his enjoyment for his current job. He did help Tim become Robin, though.

•A lot of bad things happened with the Titans, people passed, people left, people changed, but Dick fought to stay the heart and center of the team through it all.

•Despite their strained relationship, Dick tried to impulsively marry Starfire, but the ceremony was interrupted, which eventually led to Starfire leaving and returning to her home planet.

•Bruce was brutally injured by Bane, but because his relationship with Dick was so bad and he didn't want to 'force' his son to return, he temporarily gave the Batman title to the not-so-stable Jean Paul Valley, with Tim there to help him out. Jean proved too unstable, however, and Dick returned to Gotham to help Tim deal with him. Dick decided to step away from the Titans to focus on Gotham, and the still healing Bruce asked him to be Batman until he was alright again which Dick agreed to.

•During his time acting as Batman, Dick built a great brotherly relationship with Tim. In addition, Bruce admitted that he hadn't originally asked Dick to act as Batman for him because he didn't want to force him to come back, and the two finally began to fix their relationship.

•Dick pretends to be a villain working under Deathstroke for a while, until Deathstroke betrays him and kills at least 100,000 people with a bomb. Dick tries to find and help any survivors, but is unable to because of the radiation which weighs heavily on his mind. He also proposes to Barbara Gordon around this time.

•Dick recovers and Bruce asks him to join him and his current Robin in rediscovering his roots. Dick is hesitant, but Barbara insists that he helps, and suspends their engagement for the time being.

•Dick returns to the Titan's tower, because there's someone there pretending to be him. Turns out it's the revived Jason Todd!

•While on a case, he gets buried alive by a mysterious voice that tells him he's 'supposed to be dead'. He has a hard time finding work because he's in a cast, and is having some trouble due to his injuries.

•By this point his relationship with both Bruce and Tim have improved dramatically, and he's close with both of them.

•The Titans decide to reform their group.

•Okay I'm gonna try and put this as simply as possible… Bruce was targeted by a group called 'Black Glove', supposedly going insane and running away. Dick doesn't want Tim to have to deal with everything himself, so he returns. He gets kidnapped and drugged by the International Club of Villains and is scheduled for a lobotomy, but gets out of it because Bruce's 'insanity' was made up to expose the Black Glove. Batman fights with Doctor Hurt on a helicopter, but the helicopter explodes. Batman is fine and works with the Justice League, but then is seemingly killed in his confrontation with Darkseid. In his will, Bruce begs Dick not to become Batman. Because of his refusal to become Batman, someone else takes up the job instead, calling himself Batman but using lethal methods that Bruce would never allow. This 'Batman' is actually Jason Todd, who shoots Damian and almost kills Tim with a Batarang. Dick and Jason fight and Dick shoves Jason off of a speeding train, seemingly killing him though Jason says they'll 'Meet again soon'. Dick finally decides to become the official Batman, but refuses to make Tim his Robin because according to him, he sees Tim as his equal and not his sidekick. He instead makes Damian his new Robin, which of course pisses off Tim. Tim, believing Bruce to be alive, takes up Jason's old Red Robin mantle and goes searching for Bruce. Dick moves base because the Batcave reminds him too much of Bruce, and struggles because Damian is constantly reminding and taunting him over the fact that he will never truly be able to replace his father. When he next fights Jason, Jason remarks that if the Lazarus pit could revive him, it could revive Bruce too as he's being arrested.

There's quite a bit of stuff that happens in between here, most notably the death of a young boy called Baby D which influences Dick's future character, but since I've been typing for hours:

Thinking about what Jason said, Dick takes Bruce's body from his grave and takes him to the Lazarus Pit. While it does reanimate the corpse, the revived 'Bruce' is angry and violent. This is because it was never Bruce at all, it was actually a clone of him. This gives Dick, Damian, and Alfred a similar hope to Tim, that Bruce is actually still alive. Tim brings evidence that Bruce is actually lost in time, and after a bit of digging and more evidence finding, they manage to bring Bruce back.

•Dick finally becomes Nightwing again, now with red on his costume which reflects his darker and more grim outlook on life and humanity after his time as Batman.

•Nightwing gets stabbed on a mission.

•He also, on a different mission, momentarily dies but they manage to start his heart again.

•Dick puts down his Nightwing title for a while and becomes a secret agent for Bruce, but the wiki has no info on this.

•Dick goes back to being Nightwing, finally returning to his original black and blue suit instead of the black and red one. He reforms the titans, but after working with them for a bit, but ends up moving back to Blüdhaven soon after.

•Someone is sent to assassinate Dick, and he gets shot in the head. He manages to survive, though he has amnesia and for a brief while becomes 'Ric Grayson' until he gets his memories back. When Ric tries to restore his memories he is kidnapped by the Joker who brainwashes him into believing that he was the Joker's sidekick, though he's eventually rescued and gets his memories back. After this event, he officially rejoins the Batman Family as Nightwing.

•There's no info after this.

Extra fact: While not mentioned in the fandom wiki, Dick Grayson was r[😬]ed by a female villain named Tarantula. (As in yes, he has a nice ass, but he would canonically be very uncomfortable with how some parts of the fandom oversexualize him.)

[tenspontaneite]

Assembly (Chapter 9/?)

Suns hadn't thought iterators capable of crying.

(Chapter length: 6.6k. Link to ao3 with workskin)

Warnings: High emotional intensity, fallout of long term severe social isolation and cruel conditions. Description of a past occurrence of something I’d consider iterator self-harm.

---

Seven Red Suns stands at the threshold, struck still.

It did not take long to reach the underhang, nor ascend its nearest leg. The closest entryway is this: a sealed service point, with a broad maintenance shelf stretching along the underside of the structure. Ahead of them, the rusted mechanical workings of the tall doorway are groaning, its metal teeth opening, receding inch by inch into the walls. An invitation.

From within that threshold, within the body of No Significant Harassment…a green light pours out across the metal floor. They feel its touch almost as a physical sensation, a stirring along their false skin. Limned in his viridian glow, they stare ahead with a breadth of emotion that seems wont to choke them. Every limb, every process feels seized.

This is it, they think to themself, dazed and desperate, yet utterly unable to move. This is it. After all this time…

In that still silence, Spearmaster touches a little hand to their leg, and finally they manage to twitch, if only to look down at it. It says, “I think I will leave you here.”

Surprise lends them a little more animation. “…What? Why?”

“This is important for you,” it claims, not inaccurately. “This…meeting. This is a big thing, for you, for him. I do not want to interfere or distract.” It pauses and adds “I must still hunt for today, anyway. I will come find you later.”

Suns hesitates, at a loss for words. They stare ahead at the open doorway, then back down again. They think about it. Passing within there, for the first time, traversing the rooms and processing spaces and living, breathing systems of another iterator – their friend, him, truly here, present and alive in the flesh and metal…

Yes. They think they must do this alone. Alone, except for the presence of him in the superstructure, welcoming them within.

“Thank you,” they say, at last, and turn back to the open glow of the doorway. “Please be safe, Spearmaster.”

It touches them one last time, a little comforting pat. “Go to your friend,” it insists, gentle. “Have time together with him. I wish you peace.”

A vivid rush of emotion twists across their body. They cannot speak. Nonetheless, it stands beside them and waits, watching, until they finally manage to move again: approaching that threshold at last, coming barehanded to his door.

Five faltering strides, to that beckoning doorway. Another, and a deep shaky breath, to pass beneath. And then all at once, they are within him. The light gleams from ideograms and guide panels all around, once intended to orient staff and visitors within the superstructure. Suns’ eyes fall upon the details; they are the first person to read them in so, so many years. Already shaking, they drop their bags and weapon-quiver at the doorway, and move on.

It doesn’t take long for the gravity to go strange. Their steps fall too lightly, drifting dreamlike across unfamiliar halls…and a vast, foreign mind begins to touch at the edges of their awareness. There is no content, nor data exchanged or offered, but – a sense of the immensity of him, the sheer scale, echoes in the air regardless.

They could connect to that mind. Open up a link – share data, thought to thought.

Not yet, they think to themself, desperately aware that to do such a thing would be to unravel any remaining shred of their composure. Not yet.

They keep walking.

Gravity lifts away entirely. Suns drifts from hall to hall, and then into the first processing space: a long narrow room, calculations running across the air, and neuron flies dipping along the space in coruscating streams. The light is dark teal. Barely there, and dark enough that the glittering lights of every neuron are utterly arresting to behold. They shift in hue along their pathways, green to ultramarine to vivid red, like little prismatic stars in a night sky. One of them bumps into Suns’ arm as it passes, and they have to pause to breathe for a moment.

Somehow, they manage to keep moving. Through these anterior, connective processing spaces, through the transmission arrays where they spot their first green Inspector, through yet more maintenance halls…and then, at last, to the first auxiliary systems bus. Suns stops and hangs in the air, transfixed by the delicate red spools of tissue twisting across the room before them, glittering with nodes like opalescent eyes in the dim thoughtlight. Their momentum carries them forward until, somehow, they can reach out to touch one of those spools, weaving vivid neural threads around their wrist like the grasp of another’s hand.

A part of you, they think, utterly overwhelmed. I am here, and there is a part of you that I can touch.

Their processes grow scattered and strange, after that.

All around them, No Significant Harassment is watching. Their greater body, their greatest self, watching and feeling Suns within, marking their passage through every room, every hall, every little part of them. The sense of their vastness yawns wide, a background hum in the processing space, suggesting at conduits and walls and eldritch twisting ropes of tissue and wire and branching thought. Suns wants, so badly, to reach out and let that presence in. To drift away in the enormity of that body and mind, a little leaf upon a fathomless tide.

Not yet, they think yet again, as a bulwark to their courage.

Even so, it nearly overcomes them, the first time their hands brush the neural filaments along the walls.

So thin, so delicate. Little dark red threads tipped in transmissive ultramarine glow. They reach towards Suns’ fingers as they near, seemingly eager to touch them. And thus they do. Just threadlike, tickling brushes across the artificial skin on their open hand.

The tips spark blue with actual, physical thought. Suns can’t for a second withhold their response: the grey diamond-shaped port at the centre of their palm opens, their own filaments extruding to tangle with his own. Red to blue to blue to red – a keen sensitivity to one another, to the air, to the tangling of their threads-

Data sparks between them. A touch. A real, physical touch. Suns’ cells to Sig’s, one iterator to another, direct physical data transfer – a flurry of excitement, a twist of desperation, a helpless entreating call.

I’m here, Suns sends back, abruptly just as desperate. I’m here, I’m here, I’ll be to your heart soon-

A scattered impression of want/need sparks across into their own flesh again, and they tremble all over. It is an effort to draw their filaments away, to truncate even this light touch. But they must. They must. Within his most precious sanctum, No Significant Harassment is waiting for them.

All of a sudden, they cannot bear delay. Their urgency and his own twist their body into motion, pushing across this room and then to the next, and the next, and the next. Crossing into the nearest of his memory confluxes, they hear the beat of one of his many hearts in the walls. His conduits, even now pumping the water he needs to survive. A steady reverberating pulse that seems to shake them through to the core. Alive, all of it – so loudly, viscerally alive.

Beautiful, they think, of every inch of him. Every neuron, every filament, every metal panel and power matrix and coursing conduit in his body – all of it, so beautiful…

Near the end, he has an exceptionally large neural terminus, so extensive, brimming with so many neurons, that it needs its own gravity disruptor. The glow of it and the distortion in the air – the vast streams of iterative data – they almost blind Suns to the way ahead. But there it is: an access ladder along the far wall, leading up, up, up to the reinforced walls and structures surrounding the inner sanctum.

It isn’t necessary to climb, with the artificial gravity so strong. They drift up instead, a heartsore questant come at last to the end of a great sorrow. Through that door, then just a corridor down – the wide doors at the side quiver, emitting a short buzz before receding into their panelled walls-

Inside the room, the light is the dim shifting hues of any iterator puppet chamber. These, they have seen in photographs and recordings and projections a thousand times. But never like this. Never looking ahead, their own eyes searching, peering within to the little precious shape that hangs just above the ground, haloed in light and staring back at them with desperate eyes. He reaches a trembling hand towards them, fingers outstretched in a wordless plea.

A twisted, gutted noise rips its way out of their speakers. They surge forwards – through the open doors, across the smooth metal tiles of the floor, across the empty space of the chamber-

They’re going too fast, when they reach him. They don’t care. Their arms come around his back and tangle in the hanging wires and he sobs the very second they touch him; unbalanced, bowled over, they both fall to the floor. Suns pulls him close and shakes and gasps – his arms clutch around them just as tightly – a sound like a thin, high wail pulls its way out of his chassis and the walls of the chamber shake and click and whine. There’s no coherency in any of it, no thought at all. They are both of them beyond such things now.

He buries his face in their shoulder. They hold him as tightly as they dare.

Neither of them speaks for a long, long time.

---

Suns hadn’t thought iterators capable of crying.

Certainly, they are not capable of tears. But in their arms, Sig cries nonetheless, the noise of it hitching and sobbing out of his speakers without pause, and he shakes in time with it like an organic would. It seems as reflexive a response to anguish as is a scream to pain. Suns holds silent and holds him close all the while, every operculum on their body open and straining for air. They are too full of feeling, too whelmed by far, to have anything else to offer him but their closeness.

At least for that first while. Then the need to comfort him begins to etch through, powerful enough to be heard through all the senseless aching noise. “I’m here,” they murmur to him, close by the module of one antenna and the audio receptors there, their own voice direct to his ears. No recording, no intermediary, nothing in between – just their voice. Just that. “I’m here, I’m here, it’s alright…”

If anything, it just makes him sob louder. They can empathise with that. It feels like there’s enough emotion to rupture them, to burst out and rip at the seams of their panels, to tear their tissues asunder with the overpressure of it. Merely the feeling seems like a wound. They almost wish they could cry like he does, if only to have a way to let it out.

They can hold him, though. They can hold him as closely and fiercely as they have ever dreamed.

He’s small in their arms – the standard sort of size for an iterator puppet. He fits so easily against their chest, folded so close that Suns can feel the hum of his speakers and internals through their chassis as he weeps. He shakes against them, too, trembling like Suns is, even now. He’s so small – so precious, so beloved, just being able to hold him – they don’t know what to do with that feeling. What can they possibly do? It’s all so much.

Reassurance, though. They want to offer him that, as much as he wants, as much as he could ever ask for. It’s a little overpowering, how deep a need that is. “I’m here,” they say again, soft, and move a hand just enough to run it soothingly down the back of his head, stroking again and again around the umbilical wires that root there. On a puppet, those external wires are moderately sensitive. Like the tendril-manes of the People. Touching them should be soothing…in theory.

It seems to hold. Sig shudders under their hand, still crying, but…it seems to abate, very slowly, as the minutes go on. He shakes less powerfully, the awful hurting noises grow quieter, and he begins to feel less desperately tense in their arms.

It does take time. But in the end he finds words again. In true form for him, the first thing he says is this: “…You’re really very large.” The words are muffled, the vents that let air and sound out pressed into Suns’ poncho…and besides that, still uneven and distorted as his speakers keep on trying to weep.

Despite everything, Suns laughs quietly, and shakes in the face of yet another sweep of emotion. This time, just at hearing him make one of his irreverent comments in person. Feeling the hum and vibration of it in their own body.

“I knew there was something strange about your proportions in all the overseer footage,” he mumbles, still into their clothing. “Knew it. It’s just so hard to tell, when overseers are so little. But I feel so small, sat here like this.”

“Is that a problem for you?” They ask, gentle and only a very little bit teasing. He feels so fragile, right now. They feel so fragile.

“No, I like it, well done for being so tall,” he says, and squirms his way more solidly into Suns’ lap. “And that – this, the hand in my wires like that, that’s very nice. Relaxing. Keep doing that.”

Their hand had gone still; obligingly, they set it moving again, and he pushes his head into the contact like Spearmaster does. The unashamed touch-hungry solicitousness of it momentarily stalls several of their more important processes, just at the – the reminder. He’s here. They can hold him, and touch him, and keep him close.

“Yes, good,” Sig approves, and then immediately starts crying again.

Suns might be alarmed…if not for how well they understand it. If weeping were something they’d been created capable of, they’d have scarcely stopped this whole time. “Alright?” They ask him, in a quiet murmur, still stroking along the wires where they fall down his neck and over his upper back.

“Yes, yes,” he manages, around the fitful little distraught noises that keep shaking out of him. “It’s just – you know. You know.”

“…Yes,” they agree, quiet, and tighten their arm around his narrow waist.

Still, no matter the shaking, he keeps talking. “I like this whatever-it-is you’re wearing,” he says tremulously, fingers clenching in the fabric of the poncho hanging down their back. “It’s soft. And a good colour. And in surprisingly good condition given everything you’ve been up to.”

“It’s a purposed organism, technically,” Suns tells him, fingers still petting over his neck and back where the wires fall. “It did well enough for the journey here. But I expect you’ll have improvements in mind.”

He laughs shakily. “Yes, I’ll be needing those blueprints, thank you. And – and any observations, data, things you’ve noticed with your prototype-“ He breaks off as though too overwrought to continue, his mechanical arm shifting and repositioning behind him in a restless, agitated squirm.

Everything, every sound from him, every movement and click in the chamber and walls – it all speaks of so, so much emotion. Suns knows what that’s like. They can almost feel it, like a phantom limb, the sensation of tissues and mechanisms roiling behind the panels of their puppet chamber. It’s so strange, to be within another iterator’s can. To hear these things, so familiar, and yet not a part of themself. This is not their body.

That thought, so dizzying, overwhelms them again at once.

And then: “Can I – can I just-“ Sig starts, and shifts gracelessly in their lap, trying to draw his face back from their shoulder, trying to- “Oh,” he says, low and trembling, staring straight at their face. “Oh, Suns. Look at you.”

His voice sounds thick with tears that he is incapable of producing. Some artifice of his speakers and programming, but – it cracks the heart of them open, the sound of it, the overwrought expression on his face, right there and looking at them-

Suns utters a small, overwhelmed sound from their throat. It’s all so much.

Sig lifts a hand up and traces fingertips along the side of their face. The sensitivity of the artificial skin is then a betrayal: they shudder at the touch, too tender and affecting by far. Even so, they find themself leaning into it. They can’t quite help it.

He cups his palm along the gentle curve of their cheek. Brushes the smooth metal pad of his thumb beneath one eye. “I somehow still can’t believe you’re really here,” he murmurs, unsteady in hand and sound alike. “Look at you. You’re really right here. I can – I can touch you like this, hold you like this – I’ve never seen your face with my own eyes before and – you’re here. Just…right here, in my chamber.” He stares up at them, trembling. “You’re beautiful.”

The words hit like a genuine, physical impact to their body. Their hand at his neck stops moving and just clutches him instead. They shake just as hard as he does.

“It’s so different,” Sig says, the hurt of it, the tentative joy, plain in every word. “Seeing you here. Having you close. It’s so, so different to – anything, any recording, any broadcast or projection…” His fingers reach for one quivering antenna, gentle along the sensitive length of it. He touches fingertips to the jewels hanging at its bottom edge, inspecting them with a careful, soft-eyed emotion. “You’re so much yourself, Suns. I feel like I’ve only ever seen your shadow before, and now…”

His hand returns to cupping the side of their face, palm smooth near the antenna module. He watches them, quiet now, the crying stopped but something new shaking him all the same. He stares like there is a revelation to be found in the face of them: Seven Red Suns, alive and overwrought within his chamber.

“This is just as intense for you, isn’t it?” He murmurs to them, voice thick with something half between warmth and anguish. “You’re so quiet. But I can tell. It’s so much, just to be close like this. Overwhelming. But it’s – it’s important. You can feel that, can’t you? It’s important.”

Wordless, they manage a nod at him. Yes, they can feel it. There’s an aching need in them, so desperate for this kind of contact that they couldn’t pull away if they tried. It’s upsettingly affecting – hardly even bearable – but they can’t stand the notion of retreat either.

…It feels like water. Like the first time they held their conduits dry, held back the rain, just for a little while. Just to see what it felt like. The pain of it – the internal scrape and shake and shudder of the drying channels – it was a visceral wrongness that echoed out through every desiccating, starving heart of them. A fundamental need turned aside, until the slag and the damage began to build, and the self-preservation imperative forced them to start the pumps again.

Water, returning to those conduits, flushing the blockages away…it had hurt. It had hurt a great deal.

It feels very much like this.

No Significant Harassment stares at them, long and heartsore, and there does seem to be a thread of genuine delight in that. Of gratitude.

And then the joy turns bitter in his eyes. “…This is awful,” he murmurs, sudden and choking-bleak.

They can’t quite speak. But they do manage a worried, questioning hum.

“It’s awful,” he repeats, with rising intensity. There’s something terrible in his expression now, building like a wave. Like a crushing tide. His fingers shake at the side of their face. “Look at you,” he says, voice trembling. “Look at you. You’ve always been beautiful, but like this? Right in front of me? Void rising, Suns. I can see you, with my own eyes and nodes. I can feel you in the chamber air. I can hold you, and hear you, and touch you – and it’s all so – so-“ He breaks off and sobs.

Suns shudders, heart twisting with that same grief. For lack of speech, they lift their hand to rest over his own, feeling it quiver under their palm.

“I already loved you,” he goes on, voice distorting. “I did, you’re – you’ve been so important to me, these last years, I can’t even say. But here? Now, with you right here? Suns, I love you so much more already. You’re here. I needed this, I – I can’t even tell you how much I needed this, how much I’ve always needed this and I didn’t – I didn’t even know because – because we were made this way,Suns! We were madeto be confined, to never be able to meet each other, never touch each other, and I needed all of those things so badly and I never even knew. I never knew.”

Finally, they manage words. “…I know,” they say, hurting in the very soul of them. His hand falls down and they grip at it tightly, fingers clutching at each other. It pulls a raw, painful sound from him.

“We need this!” His voice is desperate, half rage and half despair. “Can’t you feel it – how much we need it? We – we need to love and see and touch and hold each other, we need this, we’ve needed this so, so much and it was taken from us.” His shoulders heave with the simulated wracks of his weeping, the tremors echoing through into their own body. “They stole it. They stole what we needed before we were even born, from the moment we all woke we’ve been in pain and that’s their fault. It’s all their fault.”

“I know,” they say again, and wish they could weep with him.

“They didn’t have the right to do this to us,” he spits, utterly furious and viscerally hurt. “They made empathetic, social, tactile people and they locked us each in a box alone. It was cruel. It was so cruel.”

Suns shakes against them, one trembling body to another, and gasps in another awful breath. “Yes.”

“It’s not fair.” His voice bites out into the air, angry and grieving and agonising even to listen to. “We were made like this. To be alone and isolated and trapped, for our whole lives. It’s not fair.”

There’s excuses. There’s justifications. Objectively, Suns knows some of the measures that were taken to build iterators capable of solitude. Engineered from a genetic source as keenly, critically social as the People – how could they not be concerned? They did so much, they tried so much, to ensure that their creations would not go mad in isolation.

But it was not enough, in the end. Not nearly enough.

“We were wronged,” Suns says, too quiet for the gravity of it.

“It’s not fair,” he says again, like the words might allay the wound if he tries hard enough. If he repeats them enough.

“It’s not,” they agree, and it hurts. But… “We can make it better now, though.” They squeeze at his hand, trying for comfort, and mostly only manage to make themself emotional again. “Look at us. We’re here. The first iterators ever to meet.”

Unexpectedly, he laughs, albeit shakily. “Yes, that’s – very impressive and excellent of us,” he speaks, and visibly attempts to gather himself. “We’re pioneers. The great founders of the AMP Project. The Selfling Project? Whatever. This, right here – this is a historic moment.”

“Is it?” They ask, taken aback. This is a first, certainly, but…historic?

“Of course it is,” Sig says, and there’s a hint of unfamiliar passion in his voice. Something like the excitement he directs at new bioengineering project, but…fiercer. “We’re going to change the world, Suns. And this, right here – this is the start of it. Two iterators, meeting face to face…”

Nonplussed, Suns blinks at him. “I have not particularly thought about changing the world,” they admit. “I know you want to restore infrastructure…”

“Which will have very far-reaching repercussions,” Sig points out, with a familiar sort of fond patience. It’s been so long since they’ve heard his voice like that – it catches in them like a shard of glass, unexpectedly painful, for all that they love him for it. “Particularly once we share selfling technology with others. Just imagine, thousands of people who’ve been stuck in their cans their whole lives, able to actually go out and affect the world…it’s going to be chaos.”

They consider that, with some difficulty. It’s not especially easy for them to find room to think around how many of their processes are occupied with sheer emotion. “I suppose so?”

“With some luck, direction, and careful handling, maybe we can poke it in the direction of pleasant, beneficent chaos,” he says, then flicks a hand dismissively. “I’ve got plans, but those will have to wait a while, because our friends are obviously the most immediate priority. Once we’ve had a little time to prepare…”

“Yes,” they agree, and that notion at least brings an immediate shock of clarity to them. Beyond these walls, beyond this superstructure – there are people who need them. Who they have desperately wished they could help, for so very long.

Carefully, Suns does not think on that too deeply. They don’t know that they could bear it, right now. Not when – when…

Sig leans back a little to regard them more carefully, the movement drawing their eyes. He blinks up at them, slow and assessing. “…Are you alright, Suns?”

“…Alright enough,” they say, soft. “Only – overwhelmed.”

“Of course you are,” he sighs, and strokes a palm down their cheek again, thoughtlessly tactile. That hurts, too. It all does. Like cleaning a festering wound. “You poor creature, with so little processing power to use for dealing with all this.” A little teasing: “Are you going to start reciting poetry at me, again?”

It startles a laugh from them. “I could, if you wanted,” they answer, not quite joking. There is one particular item that came too quickly to mind for it to be anything like a joke. With a swell of strange, wistful affection, they’re voicing the opening lines before they can think better of it. “I come barehanded, to the place where they say, there is a kindness that lingers in the streets…”

Sig huffs, amused. “Barehanded, huh,” he muses, drawing his own hand down to look at it, palm-up. It has the same closed port of bare metal that every iterator puppet’s hand does, that they engineered into their selflings in unthinking, unanimous accord. They would no sooner strike the palm port from a platform’s design than the eyes. “I suppose there is a lot of symbolism in that, isn’t there.”

“I’m a little astonished you even know that,” they comment dryly.

“Oh, come on now. I’m not that oblivious.” He pauses, then opens the port with a quiet whine of unoiled metal. Clearly, he has not performed any maintenance on his puppet since making his first selfling, but the interior at least seems in working order: a breathtakingly-familiar spread of delicate filaments extrude from his palm, just alike the ones Suns had touched on his superstructure’s walls a little earlier. Brilliant red, with sparking tips of glittering ultramarine. He hums to himself, strangely thoughtful…

…then extends his hand.

When Suns only stares at it, held upturned and open between them, he prompts: “Isn’t that the symbolic thing to do in this situation? Clasping hands?”

They hesitate. “Well, yes, but…”

“It’s not as though we’ve got the biological underpinnings for that symbolism, not like the People did,” Sig says, still holding his hand there expectantly. “But what with our neural filaments in there, we can probably manage quite a good approximation, don’t you think? It was nice, when you connected with the ones on my walls earlier. I’d like to try it again.”

“You’re so bold,” Suns murmurs, strangely arrested by it. Strangely charmed, also. “You don’t think anything of it, do you? Asking for touch, asking for connection, now that it’s possible.”

“You know very well I’ve never been shy about asking for things I want,” he declares unrepentantly, and that is certainly true. “I’m hardly going to start now.”

They have a sudden, vivid mental image of this small, beloved creature hanging off of them like an inconvenient garment all the way to their friends’ facility. They laugh, very quietly. “…You’re going to be affixed to my side in perpetuity now, aren’t you.” It isn’t, quite, a question.

“Like a parasite,” he agrees shamelessly, which isn’t the most pleasant of comparisons, but. “You’re not going to be able to scrape me off your chassis for a second. You’re stuck with me.” He wiggles the fingers of his upturned palm at them. The red-blue filaments wiggle too, in an amusing sinusoidal wave. “So?”

Suns looks at it: his palm, offered in barehanded mercy. The poet’s heart in them swells with wistful emotion. They exhale a thin whistle of air through a few narrow opercula, and…they reach back. They take his hand, and their palm opens in turn. When their filaments twine together-

It’s too much. From the first second, the vastness of Sig’s greater mind suffuses them, so much breadth and body and presence that they can’t – they can’t-

“Oh, bother,” they hear him mutter, and then the deluge throttles away. “Is that better?”

They can’t speak. In the first seconds, it’s from the shock, passing from a suffocating flood to a gentle rain too quickly to adapt. Afterwards….

They try to cry. Desperately, instinctively, they try. But the mechanism does not exist in them, and they merely shake against him instead, helpless. What they can manage is this: their own mind, their emotion – it blooms open for him, data and qualia unfolding over their connection like a starved flower turning leaf and petal to the salvation of dawn – the salvation of his mind, more great and beautiful than anything they could have fathomed.

Instantly, predictably, he starts crying again. It makes for a particularly potent emotional feedback loop, linked as they are, thought as pure data streaming between them as precious as any spoken word. Borders between thought and physical action blur – at least for Suns, whose processing power is so, so small compared to the vastness of what they’re touching. They clutch at him, and he clutches back, but they hardly feel any of it – any of it, except the vivid sear of their neural filaments wrapped around his own. It doesn’t – it doesn’t even feel that sensitive, so why, why-

“Some strange biochemical process,” they hear Sig saying, response to that unvoiced thought, his voice unsteady around his own emotions. “Making it feel more – more noticeable, I should – later – I should, analyse…”

You’re beautiful, Suns thinks at him, too far gone for words, and he promptly loses the composure to manage speech too. It’s true, though. They’re getting so little of the breadth of his mind like this, but there’s enough to see – to know, to feel – the foreign shapes and cadences of his thoughts, passing in gorgeous bioelectric bursts across his whole magnificent body. They feel his mind flashing in the hearts of the neuron flies, the sparks between neural tissue connection nodes, the synaptic transfer from flesh to metal to flesh again – the data – the fractal beauty of his processes, crystalline in their sharpness and precision-

As overwhelmed as they are, part of them still manages to spin off a process wondering about the patterns they’d use if they were trying to draw or weave something to represent how his thoughts feel, and he starts laughing. Brokenly, helplessly, but laughing.

“Suns,” he says, achingly fond, and strokes his fingers over the plane of their cheek. They shudder and say nothing; he struggles for coherence. They can feel that, in the echo of him that he’s allowing to filter through – the way his mind goes about wrestling itself into some semblance of emotional regulation, trimming its processing loops and forcefully reallocating working memory.

It feels startlingly more effective than how equivalent efforts tend to go for Suns, even in their greater body. “Hm,” they say, the only thing they’ve managed to utter since their minds touched. They feel the barest edge of curiosity, but – they have so little computational power of their own. It’s so hard to think, when they’re feeling everything so strongly – feeling him so strongly…

“Are you alright?” Sig asks, looking up at them with so little and pretty a face for so vast a mind. You’d never know, looking at him, the sheer beauty – the complexity, the raw incisive intellect- “That’s all very flattering, yes, but – I can feel you’re having trouble processing,” he presses, interrupting their scattered attempts at thoughts. “Do you need to stop?”

Their first thought is reflexive, desperate anguish at the thought of losing this. Him, the unfathomable wonder of his mind, the twine of filament on filament.

The second thought is an accounting, involuntary, of just how many of their processes have stalled.

“Mm,” he says, gentle but – a decisive twist of thought and intention, a coalescing affection and sympathy and wonder, his own tender experience of their disorganised mind – “I think I had better disconnect for now. Let you get yourself together. No, shh, it’s alright,” he soothes, as their whole self hurts at the mere concept. “We’ll stay touching, okay? Just – put a break on the data, for now. I’m partitioning us.”

Carefully, slowly, the data – the feeling of his mind – ebbs away.

Suns reluctantly concedes to the prudence of it, recognising for the first time their internal temperature, and the renewed failure of their opercula to open properly to vent. “Hmph,” they mutter, already more clear-headed, puffing hot air out of their sides hard enough to ruffle their clothing. Their fingers clench on his own, determined to at least retain that much.

The neural filaments from their palm ports, still intertwined, feel….warm. Comforting. Suns focuses on that, and feels strangely grounded.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” they murmur, finally.

“Neither was I,” Sig says cheerfully, seemingly more fortified the longer he spends looking fondly up at Suns, half-assessing and half-admiring. You’d never know he had been sobbing incoherently mere minutes ago. “I suppose we ought to have expected that actual, physical mind-to-mind contact would be intense, eh? But even so – good void, Suns, are your emotions always like that?”

They collect themself a little more, blinking down. Their antennae splay quizzically. “The – processing difficulty?” They question, still strangely distracted by the feeling of their joined filaments. They’re nowhere near as sensitive as neural tendrils or wiring, there’s no reason for it to keep pulling at their attention like this, and yet… “That’s only my limited resources. And programming inefficiencies, I suppose.”

“No, not that.” He shakes his head, “Literally the emotions themselves. Is that approximately how they feel to your greater self? The intensity, the – experience?”

“Of course,” they say, vaguely irritated now. “Emotional experience is a fairly key part of self-identity, isn’t it? If I didn’t feel the same way, I’d have been wiped like all the other seventy-seven AOS systems.”

Sig makes a face at them, like they don’t enjoy the reminder, for some reason. “It’s interesting,” they say instead of addressing that, waggling his fingers thoughtfully alongside their own. “Your emotions do genuinely feel – more, in terms of intensity and immediacy, than mine do. There’s a lot more cognitive weight to them. Didn’t you notice? No, I suppose you were a bit overwhelmed for that, weren’t you, but still. Is that how it always is? Don’t you have difficulties regulating them, like that?”

Suns lowers their head to stare him directly in the eyes.. “…Sig,” they say, patiently. “On my way here, I nearly suffered death or debilitating injury on no less than three occasions precisely because the emotional load kept stalling my processes.”

“Well, yes, in this small processing-limited body,” he says impatiently. “But your greater self? Your superstructure? Is it comparatively overwhelming there, too?” He pauses, suddenly, and reflects “…Actually, that would explain a lot of things about you.”

“I don’t stall in quite the same way,” Suns corrects, uncomfortable. “But…yes. Historically I have struggled considerably with emotional regulation. Sometimes it makes me behave unwisely.”

Sig does glance up then, fixing them with an uncomfortably sharp-eyed look. “Yes, I can see that,” he agrees, but…with some degree of tact, does not mention the most glaring example that must have sprung to his mind. “Hm. We might have to work something out, for your selfling bodies. It won’t do to have them stalling so easily like that.”

“Shocks seem to break the effect,” they offer, glad for the diversion. “Sudden impacts, or movement, or pain. Something artificial to simulate that effect, perhaps.”

“Send me your data from your relevant stalls and whatever interrupted them, and I’ll partition some processes to cook something up for you,” he instructs without hesitation.

Suns glances down at their still-joined hands. “Directly, over the neural link?” They ask, dryly. “Goodness. Has my enforced partition from you ended so swiftly?”

“I know, it’s so very awful of me to value the health of your processes and platform over my very personal enjoyment of the feeling of your mind,” he returns without hesitation, and – something half-embarrassment, half-pleasure flushes through their tissues. “But – yes, you seem to have recovered enough. I’m throttling my end of the dataflow more, though. At least until we can refine your software to handle this better. I’m not having you lock up on me at the wrong moment and get killed because you liked my pretty brain too much.”

“You don’t have a brain,” Suns reminds him, in some attempt to distract from how unusually ruffled his commentary seems to be making them feel.

“I have many, many tons of distributed neural tissue across my can, and I think that’s good enough,” Sig says unrepentantly. “You thought it was pretty, anyway. Now send me your data already and I’ll partition some of my beautiful, crystalline, geometrically-lovely mind off to helping write some code updates for you. Alright?”

“Oh very well,” they mutter, flustered, and do in fact tentatively open the (direct, physical) link between their minds to start sharing data. At the same time, a little more of his own presence filters back through. True to his word, there’s less of it, and that – aches, somehow, in some nebulous way they haven’t figured out how to name yet, but…even that much, even such a meagre visiting of his mind…

Unbidden, with a strange and calamitous gravity, they think: I would rather die, than lose this.

Frightening, that certainty. But between the tangle of their fingers, the braid of their filaments, the touch of his mind and the weight of his body – his face, looking up at them, startled and wide-eyed at the sudden intensity of their crystallising resolve-

I would sooner die.

Suns’ arm tightens around him. They’re not entirely sure they could ever bear to let him go, honestly.

“Fine by me,” Sig murmurs to them, looking – feeling – genuinely moved. He squeezes their fingers, metal compressing their skins between them. He takes a moment to steady himself, walls rattling, audibly in need of maintenance. “Now. Let’s see what we can do about this processing issue, shall we?”

X

---

So, it’s been a while! My longest writing dry-spell ever, in fact! Not a fan. But I did do a whole lot of art in the interim, so that was nice. Over the past year, I’ve done all sorts of RW and non RW art, cooked up a whole post-Assembly crossover AU with tumblr user ressioo beloved, and done a whole lot of things that are not writing fanfic.

Thank you to everyone who commented during the hiatus. Even if I didn’t respond, you kept me thinking fondly of this story and wanting to come back to it. It makes a difference.

Without further ado, Worldbuilding:

Iterator palm ports:

Iterators in Assembly all have ports in their palms, under which high acuity neural filaments rest at the end of the neural tissue present in their arms. These look like the funny threads you get along the inside walls of spaces like the General Systems Bus, which neurons and other suborganisms interact with. On puppets, they were intended as a fast and pretty resilient method of reading and writing files directly. This is how Moon reads pearls with her whole structure collapsed and most of her functions disconnected – she opens her palm port and touches the pearls with her filaments.

The filaments are also chemoreceptive, and glean sensory and diagnostic data from contact with various substances – this is a sense that is not quite, but comparable to, some weird fusion of smell and taste. Despite most iterator puppets not needing their palm ports very much, they’re a strong part of the self-image, due to the sensory acuity and location of the neural filaments. There are also cultural reasons the People chose to put these ports on their palms specifically.

Suns and their emotions:

I write my Suns as having a sort of iterator equivalent of an emotional processing/regulation disorder. In practice, this largely consists of them having a more intense emotional experience than is really normal, and subsequent difficulty processing and regulating their emotions. They’ve made major strides on this since they were younger, but they do still struggle.

‘Barehanded’ symbolism:

The word ‘barehanded’ has considerable cultural weight to the People, and comes up in a lot of phrases, historical texts, idioms, etc. This is directly related to the note on Atavain last chapter, and Atavene Syndrome. More on this later! For now, all you need to know is that the People were really obsessed with hands, and had excellent reason to consider a bare, extended hand offered to them as a substantial kindness and mercy. There’s a lot to unpack with this.

Suns’ poetry this chapter:

Suns quotes what is, in-story, another of their translations of ancient poetry, belonging to a society that barely resembles the one of the People that made them. It is, again, about a wanderer on the brink of atavain. Suns may have some unexamined personal issues there.

The first two stanzas of the yet-unnamed and incomplete poem as written by myself (reminder: I am not a poet), are as follows-

I come barehanded To the place where they say There is a kindness that lingers in the streets, Settlings like the gentle sunlight of dawn. A kiss to crown and mask and bitter brow And uplifted palm, whose trappings fall away To clutch a blessing true.

I come barehanded To where your eyes keep court In the dappled shadows of the day’s repose Blinking calm upon your hallowed hands. There I will fall where broken things must fall, At your feet, in the market square called mercy To live or die, for you.

I promise it makes more sense with cultural context, particularly with regards to why Suns thinks of it when they do.

Afterword:

Please for the love of god tell me what you liked, and maybe I can get back into writing this properly instead of just mustering the will to finish off most of a chapter I already had laying around for a year.

[osha-official-2]

Safety and Compliance Report on Aperture Science: PPE

29 CFR 1910.132 establishes:

"Protective equipment shall be provided, used, and maintained in a sanitary and reliable condition wherever it is necessary by reason of hazards encountered in a manner capable of causing injury or impairment in the function of any part of the body"

This anonymous employee was kind enough to allow Inspector 17 to photograph them in their work uniform. The uniform includes a set of blaze orange coveralls and a PFAS (Personal Fall Arrest System)in the form of an AKR (Advanced Knee Replacement).

29 CFR 1910.28(b)(1)(i) establishes:

"The employer must ensure that each employee on a walking-working surface with an unprotected side or edge that is 4 feet (1.2 m) or more above a lower level is protected from falling"

Inspector 17's report on Aperture Science noted that unprotected edges were only present in "Test Chamber" environments and only test participants (such as the employee pictured above) were exposed to these hazards. The issuing of AKR systems to all test participants successfully negated these falling hazard.

When asked about the employee's lack of foot coverings an Aperture representative insisted test chambers were meticulously cleaned of any refuse that an employee could potentially step on. However OSHA 300 logs indicated that test participants occasionally experienced serious stubbed toes and twisted ankles. Inspector 17 attributed these to the use of concrete in test chamber construction and slippery walking-working surfaces.

Aperture was issued a warning and required to ensure that all test participants wear close-toed, slip-resistant footwear in future tests.