#Weed Smokescreen

[sgrplmjnxxx]

Intoxicated 🚬 cw// bong,smoking

It will take forever to finish this again so i didn't lined it (stressful af)

Yeee,so,I wanna draw robots vaping,smoking or whatever. The best character choice will be smokecreen ofc,he's hitting dark energon,probably? or more legal substance than dark energon. That good shit probably addictive? contagious? or something >:3

also its been forever since i drew them together. They're also besties bitches <3

[love-ces4r-us]

[thoughtsandfeelings18]

[disgruntled-detectives]

I’m gonna say something that’s been weighing on me a bit lately.

I wish to hell that non-Jews hadn’t learned the word antisemitism. Hear me out.

I just watched a video of an anti-racism content creator. She is Black, but not Jewish. She had a video that was directed at Jewish people about her “concern” about the “misuse, harm, abuse, weaponization of the term “antisemitic” levied by Jews at anyone who is pro-Palestinian. And I just blocked her in disgust.

Because first of all, YES. the charge of antisemitism HAS been used to silence any criticism of Israel by bad faith actors. Do you wanna know who I see this THE MOST from?! RIGHT WING GENTILE POLITICIANS.

Most of the time, when Jews say it, it’s because it’s there. And I’m SICK of non Jews gaslighting us about it. This shit is baked into our culture here in the west. It’s fucking everywhere, and unless you have actively done the work to unlearn your biases and unpack your personal antisemitism, you aren’t qualified to speak about it. And you certainly are not qualified to speak over Jewish voices who are begging you to see it.

Have I seen some Jews reflexively saying pro-Palestine content is antisemitic? Yes. Yes I have. But. Jews are fucking traumatized. I don’t know a single Jewish person that wasn’t in some way personally affected by October 7th. Whether it’s a family member, friend, acquaintance being murdered or kidnapped, or even just knowing that 1300 of our people were murdered and several hundred were kidnapped, and over a hundred remain hostages months later. October 7th 2023 was the single biggest massacre of Jews since the fucking Holocaust. And antisemitism in the diaspora has grown to a frightening degree. My friends synagogue was bomb threatened. Synagogues all across the diaspora have been threatened. I personally have had absolutely disgusting things said to me both IRL and online and I’m thankful it’s only been words. A man was arrested in London for being openly Jewish walking past a protest. A Jewish student was jabbed in the eye by a protester with a Palestinian flag. And so no. I don’t fucking blame Jews for having a traumatized response. I believe Jews have a responsibility to try and see past their trauma. To advocate for the freedom and liberation of all peoples. To repair the world. Tikkun Olam. But I don’t blame them if they can’t.

But the number of Jews levying the charge of antisemitism at something that inherently isn’t utterly pales in comparison to the amount of bad faith right wing gentiles I’ve seen using it as a smokescreen for their Islamophobia.

I’m sick of Jews being accused of making this shit up as a result. Because it IS there. Not all the time. Not in everything. But it still there. Just because YOU don’t see it gentiles, doesn’t mean it’s not fucking there. And it’s YOUR responsibility as non Jews to weed that shit out and keep it out of your pro-Palestinian protests.

[hvsngi]

ㅤ⠀⠀⠀ ⎯⎯ㅤ 煙⠀⠀░░⠀⠀SMOKE n' CHOKE⠀⠀◌⠀⠀m. lee⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ╰⠀⠀✹⠀cw:⠀nsfw ─ ⠀male reader smoker!mark⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ under the influence smut ( both ) praise⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ pwop soloist!reader dacryphilia btm!reader⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ established relationship⠀⠀⠀✿⠀⠀⠀⠀503 words

⠀⠀✹⠀⠀the thick smokescreen around you and mark could almost shield one's eyes from the sinful acts happening behind it. a guttural moan trickled past your kiss-bruised lips as mark slammed his hips against your ass, hitting the bundle of nerves within you at full force. your vision went white, the beginning of euphoria beginning to burn on your skin. the influence of the drug you'd smoked beforehand was amplifying the feeling by 10 times, something your body simply wasn't made to handle.

"so fuckin' tight," mark breathed, his lips by your ear. you could feel his warm breath wrap around your spine, arching your back up away from his chest. tangible and utter bliss plunged itself deep into your bloodstream as you let out another pathetic whine at how deep he was. "you're so good, y/n. so f—fucking good to me." his words were going to your brain, causing you to fall apart in his arms.

it was like that with mark — the brain-melting dirty talk he exuded. especially now, after you had gone off on tour, leaving him all alone whilst you ventured to different countries. he simply couldn't contain himself, even more so when he had a little weed in his system. he was always happy to indulge in you when he got high and horny. you were like a reward he couldn't resist. he ached for you when you were gone, and when he had you, he had to make sure you only craved him.

your face was buried in the cushions of his sofa, muffled cries absorbed by the cotton below. "mark," you choked out, trying to think of anything except the way he was currently molding you to the shape of him. each thrust made you conform to the curve of his body. "too much. it's too — too much."

mark hummed, slowing down a bit. "can you give me one more, baby?" you had already come twice, and he was asking for another one. god, he'd be the death of you. when you nodded, he wrapped his fingers around your dick, stroking it to the same rhythm as his thrusts. tears filled your eyes at the overstimulated feeling you got from it, but it felt far too amazing to stop.

when he noticed the tears in your eyes, he reached up with his other hand to wipe them away. "aw... my poor baby. so fucked out n' crying. so cute." he punctuated his statement with a harsh thrust, making your body jolt forward with the force. your eyes rolled back as he continued on relentlessly, losing any coherence you might've had left to the hands of your boyfriend.

after a few more thrusts, you came again for the third time, tightening around mark hard as stars blurred your vision and your arms gave out. you felt him spill into you moments later — warm and plenty — with a praise of 'so perfect. my perfect boy.' falling from his lips. pulling out, he collapsed next to you, tugging you into his arms.

"so... when's the next tour?"

you felt your eye twitch. "mm. i love you too, mark." he laughed and buried his face into your throat. "i love you, y/n. so much. my perfect, beautiful boy."

[bennett-ametyst]

For the meme, I present:

The self indulgent tf armada AU where everyone lives in Rome, the Daje AU (part 1)

(Translations under the cut)

🟥🟨🟥🟨🟥🟨🟥🟨🟥

Optimus Prime (25 yo)

-Follows the literature course in Sapienza (the BIGgest uni in Rome)

-Popular among this peers for his "Boy Next Door" charm, his idealism, and the lecture notes which offers for free (most of the time students sell their notes), and his good looks

-"Education is the right of all sentient beings"

-Politically engaged, organize protests and events for the faculty

-Despite this, he is extremely shy

-Has a backpack with an embarassing amount of pockets and useful things

-He did judo, but stopped at blue belt

-He's a tutor to high school students for classical subjects

-Few know this, but he attended the ITIS in Tor Sapienza (a zone in east Rome, unrelated to the university) with Megatron, when they often fought (people in ITIS fight a lot)

-Now he moved to Tufello (a chill zone in north Rome)

Red Alert (24 yo)

-He follows and does medicine at Policlinico (famed hospital and also were Sapienza's medicine courses are)

-Childhood friend of Optimus and Jetfire

-No one ever saw him sleep (medicine students have the most insane schedules, even if the degree course lasts 7 years)

-He doesn't accept less than 27/30 (exam votes)

-Miraculously on time with the exams schedule

-"Imagine how cool it must be living near Uni" (he took an apartment, dormitories aren't really a thing here)

-Since he lives near, they always assign him night shifts

-Consuming inhuman amounts of coffee has made him nearly immune to caffeine, so he purposely invented a more powerful distillate to stay awake

-Sometimes he tells about his special internship at Tivoli's hospital, he remembers it like a Vietnam flashback

-Always pissed off 24/7, but under all of that he cares a lot about his friends

-During the exam period, he smokes like a chimney ("I'll stop when I get that degree")

Jetfire (24 yo) (I think I'm in love with this drawing)

-He follows the philosophy course in Sapienza (literature's same faculty, the name is literally called "literature and philosophy")

-Optimus' best friend since forever

-He lives in Tufello since he was born

-Part of the Young Communist Front and the Congregation of Stoners at Uni

-Once he starts talking about the fight against capitalism, no one can stop him

-He always has a few grams of weed hidden somewere, (where the police will never find it)

-Every situation is a good situation to start stadium choirs (stadium choirs don't always have to do with football)

-On campus he dresses colorfully, but he has a battle outfit specific for protests (he's the one who brings fumogens)

-He's always seen on the Pratone (big ass lawn at the campus were students rest) smoking weed or playing SOAD on his acoustic guitar, nobody knows if he actually goes to class.

-Was an AS Roma die-hard fan before the Captain Totti left, now he pretends he doesn't care about the team (holding back tears)

-He attended the Liceo Artistico at Ripetta (art high school in the center), he wanted to do the painter, however the fact that in Italy this work sector it is not taken seriously or protected at all in which you can't do what you want or studied for a living or else you'll end up under a bridge, the other option it's taking orders from a company to make deceptive graphics, was enough to radicalize him.

-He had an accident with his scooter, breaking both his left leg and the muretto* of his house (for some obscure reason the scooter remained intact and I cant find an english word for *low walls we use with fences)

Smokescreen (26 yo)

-He follows engineering in Roma 3 (another big university in Rome but they forgot to change from the default name)

-Always doing internships at construction sites, "It's to gain experience" he says

-He lives in Rione Testaccio, here he spends Saturday evenings in the movida with his friends or the other workers

-"What are those idiots doing? The next rains will destroy everything" (looking at workers trying to fix something the wrong way)

-He did the professional high school, probably the only one in class that was committed to learning

-Gymbro with a almost infinite set of skills as mason, mechanic, and nutritionist

-"How much do you bench press?"

-Despite his rough appearance, he's a cinnamon roll ready for everything for his friends, expressing it in small jobs in his field, personalized training plans and telling them they should have a healthier lifestyle over every single problem they have (especially Red Alert and Jetfire)

-When Jetfire crashed with his scooter, he fixed his muretto, in exchange Jet would quit smoking for at least 6 months (he didn't succeed)

-His daily routine: 5:30 wake up; 6:00 breakfast with an apple and cappuccino; 6:30 jogging around Mount Testaccio; 7:07 bus up to the construction site; 7:45 coffee with the other workers; 8:00 to 12:00 internship work; 12:15 square pizza for lunch from Pinuccio; 13:00-16:00 course lessons at San Paolo; 18:30 gym; 20:00 dinner with 200g of pasta and rotisserie chicken; 21:00 herbal tea and then sleep.

-Bonus: he doesn't have a car, he always prefers public transport, it's "less stressful" (if course, he lives in the center)

[lets-try-some-writing]

Got any fluff pieces for the sparkling kids in there? Taking place after the whole "we consent to using the artifact" thing, though. Maybe Miko snuggling up with Prime and her brothers after a long day?

Heck yeah! Another excuse to write for my favorite AU! Fluff coming right up lovely anon!

Growth and Zoomies

The sparklings are exhausting to handle, but normally manageable. But of course nothing remains static with three very different sparklings in the base. Optimus really should have expected his once human charges to grow like weeds, but with the stress of everything it ended up sneaking up on him.

He woke up one day to Miko going absolutely nuts in base, running and gliding from point A to B, rubbing against everything, screaming for attention, and overall being far more demanding than usual. No bot in base had any clue what was going on, and so Optimus took one for the team and went to the only other semi-reliable mech who might have an answer. And so he called up Starscream with promises of having one on one time with Miko in exchange for his help regarding the issue, as long as the base's location remained secret of course. The seeker happily agreed to the terms and within the hour he was brought to base to take a look at Miko.

His first response at seeing Miko trying to gnaw on Ratchet's finals was to laugh hysterically, much to the displeasure of the medic and most of the team before he finally composed himself and got around to explaining. After a quick lesson from Starscream, Optimus and the team were made aware of the fact that Miko's behavior stemmed from the fact that she was growing. Young flight frames become highly active during phases of growth to burn off excess energy while their frames reformat. They were also warned that she would start shedding and become incredibly clingy for anywhere from a week to a month. Of course they hardly had any time to process what they had been taught before Starscream was off playing Uncle to Miko.

Still the team managed. Optimus dealt with the insanity of Miko's "zoomies" as Smokescreen called them, constantly tolerating her crawling all over his frame and leaping from anything and everything. Meanwhile Ratchet and the team took care of Raf and Jack to the best of their abilities while picking up Miko's shed armor. Miko was tended to with increadible care due to her vulnerable state and Optimus carried her around as best he was able to keep her need for attention sated. Extra energon scouting trips also had to be made but it was all within acceptable parameters... until Jack started showing signs of growth too.

Thankfully there was no need to call another Decepticon for information as Optimus was well acquainted with war frame growth conditions and symptoms. However Optimus did have to end up requisitioning Ultra Magnus's aid to get a very much paranoid and almost feral Jack into a nest before he would calm down. He then stayed curled up around Jack for several hours, humming to him and overall keeping him calm. War frames tend to go a little berserk when growing due to how vulnerable they are during the transition, that with their plating falling off left and right to make way for new armor. As such there was no way Optimus could leave Jack alone, lest he go on a rampage fighting everyone and likely harming himself in the process.

Everything was fine for a while. Jack stayed with Optimus in his berthroom with Rafael while Miko played nearby. But soon enough their growth picked up a notch, leading their already heightened instincts to crawl to a new level of sensitivity. Jack NEEDED Optimus with him at all times, more specifically he needed to feel Optimus physically and through the bond between them. That alone was exhausting to maintain, but combined with Miko's need to play and shed her armor through activity... it led to issues.

Miko needed attention and care, but Jack also needed to feel protected and secure. Miko wanted to move and play, but Jack wanted to remain in a safe location away from prying optics with his Sire. Not to mention Rafael still needed to be kept near Optimus at all times to keep the Caretaker-sparkling bond strong. The team could only do so much for Optimus and the sparklings, with Bumblebee and Smokescreen babysitting Miko as much as they were able to give Optimus time with Jack. Arcee made valiant efforts to give Jack the sense of protection he desired but he would only remain calm in her hold for so long before he needed Optimus again. And Ratchet did try to take on the burden Rafael came with as best he was able, but nothing can beat the care of a Primary Caretaker.

It was not even three days into Miko and Jack's growth spurts that Rafael joined in as well, very nearly causing Optimus to have a nervous breakdown due to stress. He may or may not have had to shove the sparkling onto the team for a while despite the protests of his little ones to go have a silent meltdown by himself for a while, but that is neither confirmed or denied. Whatever the case, Rafael's own requirements soon became evident.

He needed to be exposed to Optimus's spark to properly imprint on him and begin truly undergoing his first major reformat. That alone would have been easy enough to handle if Rafael was Optimus's only sparkling. He could have just taken a week off and hidden away with Rafael taking care to only show his sacred source of life to his sparkling. But no, he also had to handle two other sparklings who needed directly opposing kinds of attention and care. In the end, Optimus ended up just laying around in a makeshift nest with his chassis parted slightly to give Rafael the spark signature he needed to bond. That way Miko could still play and Jack could feel secure with Optimus keeping him protected behind a small mountain of soft metals and fluffy blankets.

It was simply put, hellish for everyone involved. Optimus couldn't move more than two feet away without Jack panicking or stay still for too long lest Miko start screaming. All while having to keep the team at a distance so that he could still maintain some form of privacy with his spark being partially exposed. But by the end of what was dubbed "The Week of Trial" by the team, the sparklings were finally settled, each exhausted and free of most of their armor, leaving their soft protoform visible. Optimus, being practically dead on his pedes, fell into deep recharge as soon as Miko calmed enough to join him. Jack and Rafael had no qualms against this and soon enough the whole family was recharging in one big pile.

The team came by to check on them after it had been quiet for too long and were unable to stop the smiles that grew on their faces as they saw the wholesome scene. Smokescreen and Bumblebee quietly joined the cuddle pile and relished in the comfort of their family as well. Meanwhile Arcee and Ratchet not so subtly took about a thousand pictures to go into their very much secret (or so they like to think) file devoted entirely to capturing wholesome moments like the one playing out before them. Ultra Magnus just nodded at finally seeing the little family resting and moved to guard the door so that they wouldn't be disturbed. Bulkhead and Wheeljack weren't even allowed in the room as they were sure to wake up the slumbering pile of bots. June came in and watched with mixed sorrow and awe at seeing her son be so comfortable with Optimus but also more peaceful than she had ever seen him when he was human.

Despite the ups and downs of raising Jack, Miko, and Rafael, the team and Optimus wouldn't have it any other way.

[a-cat-in-toffee]

do you guys want a mechaninc and wight drabble? i bet you guys want a mechanic and wight drabble. here ive got a mechaninc and wight drabble for you guys.

“I mean, really, is it actually coincidence how the people you’re close to are all powerful? The type who could protect you when it all comes down to it?” Wight lounges lazily on one of the counters, having shoved Mechanic’s projects to the sides. He ignores Wight, focusing on the blueprints w2 had given him.  Wight frowns. “Come on, Mechanic, at least play along a little.”

He sighs, and damn him, he does. “I’m not like you, Wight, I genuinely enjoy being around them.” Mechanic doesn’t look up, but he can hear the cheshire like grin in Wight’s voice.

“But you are. We’ve established that, haven’t we?” the hefty weight of a screwdriver in his hand, familiar, safe. Boiling anger beneath his skin, taunting words. Blood on his newly cleaned floors. “Hacker wouldn’t speak a word of I'll about you socially, would he? And you’ve certainly got Smokescreen wrapped around your finger.”

“And you don’t?” Not like it was hard.

Wight laughs, stabbing into Mechanics brain like a particularly bad headache. “Not the way you do. And Ghost? Constantly looking through his cameras? Hell, even me. People know me, Wisperer listens to me on occasion- oh! And how could I forget w2? Poor paranoid and worried Scales, she’s soo trusting of you.”

“People like me. Boohoo. Are you jealous?” He looks up, unable to focus on the words he’s trying to read. Wight just smiles at him.

“Does Ghost know I had to talk you down from hating Seam?”

“Shut up.”

“Does w2 know you’re the reason there's blood on the floors most of the time?”

“Shut up.” Mechanic sighs, more annoyed than anything. He just wanted to work on his fucking project.

“Does Hacker know about the time you drank just a bit too much, and showed up pounding on my apartment door, mumbling all sorts of things and-”

He picked up a nearby scrap of metal, chucking it at Wight’s head. It's enough to get him to finally stop talking. More laughter. He knew he was playing into the reactions that Wight wanted from him, giving into his need for attention.

“What was it you said? That you can’t let them see you like that? That you were worried Hacker would judge you? You always smell like cigarette smoke, Mechanic, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Mechanic picks up another thing, he doesn’t even care what, and throws it again at Wight. “Fuck off, there are other people for you to go annoy.”

He giggles, sliding off the counter, leaning over closer to Mechanic for one intoxicating second. “I could fix you, y’know? Get in there and weed out everything wrong with you.”

“We have very different definitions of ‘fixed.’”

“Maybe so.” He shrugs, leaning back. “Smokes in his apartment?”

“Yep.” 

Wight walks off without another word.

[x-manson-annotated]

X-Manson Annotated Chapter 5 - Part Four: Adrenochrome.

This chapter delves into some shit that I only thought was within recent conspiracy culture. The cult has been harvesting adrenochrome and making it from cloned pituitary glands.

*Gun sales, human trafficking, outright theft from FBI agents?

**Charlie's selling a line to the general public.

***So the church kind of spawned after Xavier established the school. That accounts for how normal the property looked when the o5 class, the Giant Size staff, and the New Mutants generation of students were there. The actual belief systems began to be established once Cable got on the scene and started collaborating with Xavier.

*The Church of The Mutant Messiah, some kind of mix between X-Force and The Askani cult from the comics?

**When Captain America throws his mighty shield! 🎶All those who oppose the shield mu- Oh sweet merciful Christ, there's a bunch of body parts in here!

*Banner went back to his usual human form. Given the relatively short amount of time between events, does this version of him have more control over the hulk aspect of himself? How old is Bruce Banner? If everyone's ageing in real time, he'd probably be in his sixties or so by 2000, right?

***Here's where we get into the weeds of things. Adrenochrome is a real chemical compound that has been synthesized in some small aspects into a drug. It doesn't work how conspiracy theorists say it does. As far as I can tell it doesn't produce a tangible high.

****The recreational drug aspect of it is an invention of writers who when they first put pen to paper, probably believed that Adrenochrome caused schizophrenia. This is notably shown within the movie and book "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" by Hunter S. Thompson. Some cite this as being where most myths about the compound originate. The then germinates into the conspiracy theories that are just The Blood Libel revamped for the modern age.

People saying "Oh they're harvesting the blood of scared children to retain their youth or to get the greatest high of all" is a myth made up by people broken by capitalism.

Doctor Benway seems to be operating in a similar vein to these conspiracy theories, but I didn't know they existed within the early 2000s. I mostly know it from Qanon and Pizza Gate conspiracy theories, myself.

*I think the technology came from them killing Essex and taking his shit too.

**I wonder if Hank really believes that.

*Possible.

**GRID: Gay Related Immune Deficiency, the early name given to HIV/AIDS, but because Hank cured it, it never progressed to have that name, I suppose.

*Sour Grapes? Are you being serious, Bruce?

**Possibly to act as a smokescreen for his involvement with the cult?

***What sort of lie did Hank spin to Bruce Banner?

*I feel like out of all of the Avengers, Simon is probably not super well equipped to deal with any of this.

**Also, if we're thinking...Simon was turned into a being made of energy by a nazi super scientist...so in addition to all this other alternate-history nonsense, that also probably exists.

Six in the Lake:

Bobby Drake

Sean Cassidy

Rogue

Unknown

Unknown

Unknown

*How did you know she was dead?

*I don't know, wiseass, because she was a body in the lake!

**Organs were intact because of the Kree shift in body makeup?

*Pour one out for a real one.

*Jesus fucking christ, they made it harder to identify bodies.

*Failed attempts at making a messiah.

[booksandchainmail]

Pale 11.1

“More than you’d think.  But it’s like… secrets in a small town type stuff.  Blood in the streets, a struggling defense against invaders.  Killings, gunmen, cannibalism, underage drinking…” “What shows are you watching?” “…But the cannibal types are on the side of the good guys, I think.  When they aren’t too hungry.” “Is this from a game?” “There’s not much game about it.  It’s deathly serious.  But it’s the kind of serious where you have to joke about it and play it off as non-serious to your mom, while she’s all confused, you know?” “I’m definitely confused.  I do like your imagination though.  I wish I could keep up with it.”

Verona really does just tell her parents what's going on, secure in the knowledge that they won't follow up about it. I mean sure, I don't blame Verona's mom for not realizing everything Verona said has happened, but I think saying "There's something dangerous and serious in a way where I have to joke like it's a game to you." should raise some questions

Verona said, deciding it was best not to push things too far, fun as it was. As important as it was to leave a trail of breadcrumbs in case something bad happened.

oh. Well that's grim, but probably a good idea. Though if the girls die suddenly and violently, I think having had a trail of clues indicating that this was an ongoing problem parents didn't notice might make it worse.

“Mom.  Did you pay him?  Or threaten him?  It matters if I’m eventually going back there.  I want to know what’s going on.”

incredibly depressing to be able to put an exact financial value on how much your presence is worth to your father

“No.  No, not bad.  I hope not, anyway.  It seemed easy and streamlined, me leaving you with your dad while I got set up, and then with how bitter you were, and distance?  It felt easier to not force things.”

Verona also often takes an easy route in daily life, but not about things that matter to her. Which means either she's unlike her mother in that, or it implies some bad things about how important Verona is to her mother.

“High school daughters,” Lucy countered.

congratulations!

“Feels shitty.  It’s like, I’ve got this impulse to, I dunno, do stuff.  Like, picking up a broom and sweeping and doing laundry and helping out and-”

I get this when I visit people, and that's under normal circumstance

She drew the symbols necessary and then arranged the papers around the room.  She pressed two against the big window at one side of Lucy’s room. It would obscure any vision of spying eyes and confuse any listening ears. “We good?” Lucy asked. She gave Lucy a nod.

huh, was the disagreement a smokescreen? IIRC they've don that before

She set the pieces of her mask aside, sorted out books, put pens and markers into her left pants pocket, ground up glamour from the flower Guilherme had given her in her right pants pocket with three folded up bits of paper with feathers sticking up out of them, ready to quickly deploy transformations.  Back right pants pocket held a stack of spell cards.

petition to get Verona some cargo pants

Avery wore running shorts and an athletic tee with a pocket, which seemed like an oxymoron when it came to the shirt’s purpose.

does anyone ever use breast pockets on shirts?

Shadows deepened, then the light shone through, as if a cloud had passed over the moon and then let it shine brighter immediately after.  What looked like dense trees and a patch of nature at the corner of this area was opened up like an optical illusion had revealed itself, showing the narrow one-lane street that extended into the trees, and the tall, not-especially-taken-care-of house tucked into the trees.  The skeleton of a for-sale sign was set into the lawn, the top portion with the realtor’s face worn by weather, the lower half that hung from the horizontal part of the post had fallen off and was mostly covered in weeds and tall grass. “City magic is so badass,” Avery said.

Agreed

Possible Demesne for Verona?

“They’re definitely more active, and more sloppy,” Lucy said.  “Edith especially.  But it doesn’t feel scared.”

and getting the cube back wasn't brought up in Edith and Maricica's conversation

Lucy shook her head.  “Which takes us back full circle to the big fat question of why they aren’t freaking out.  And I have this sick little feeling in my stomach that makes no sense, but… what if we have it wrong?”

goddammit. My theories!

“But none of them know for absolute sure who did it, I don’t think,” Lucy replied.  “And this sick feeling in my gut is… what if it’s our soldier friend?  What if we have it wrong and he would get both coup and claim?” “Hasn’t he said he doesn’t want it?” Verona asked.  “But he’ll take it anyway?” “Could be he doesn’t want it but he needs it?” Lucy asked.  “What if our soldier friend isn’t a friend but a major culprit, we screwed up when interviewing him or jumped to conclusions, and the furs are… I dunno.  Secondary?”

huh. I don't think so. I hope not! I don't John was involved with making the Choir out of Yalda, he seemed surprised to find out about that. I suppose he could have been recruited later? But that seems shaky. Maybe becoming the Carmine Judge would let him help Yalda, but I don't see how.

“E was making clothes, right?” Avery asked.

I missed that, can you check the measurements?

“This isn’t going to be one of those situations where we get to gather the information and do a big badass whodunnit moment, huh?” Verona asked.

:(

“When I went to check in with the Judges, I asked if they could give us any kind of protection,” Avery said.  “They kind of said no.  Uhh, as I remember it, the protection we get for taking care of Kennet is what we get, karmically speaking.  We make our own karma.” “I’m finding myself struggling to realize what the point of them is,” Lucy said.

lol. But also yes. Maybe their role is more as arbiters than as criminal judges? Settling property disputes, overseeing contracts, offering a neutral enforcing party for negotiations

“I think they handle the stuff that’s really broken,” Verona said.  “There wasn’t anything super relevant in the books, but there were figures that seemed judge-like who would set quests and point the right people in the right ways to handle anything that was really bad.  In other places you get Lords and committees deciding what needs handling.  The Others who are threatening the seal of Solomon, monsters too big for any one person to defeat, breaches between worlds, stuff.”

or that! Scary to think this doesn't rise to their attention

“That’s the exact kind of moment you should be super cool and confident.  Unflappable, badass Avery,” Verona told her, grinning.

I would like to think that being very flappable and earnest can also work.

“Three times we were wronged,” Verona mused aloud, “That deserves righting.  We can ask for the judges to hand us the ability to right the wrong.  If they can control how karma happens, then let that karma be protection during and immediately after the arrest.  Access to any power that might be held back from us as we try to put it into effect. We need answers from her so we’re not asking for her to be forsworn.”

So like I was saying, arbiters of fairness not of criminal cases

“She was hurting, she was alone, she tried to reach out, and I was busy feeling sorry for myself.  Hurt, Booker gone, having to leave out information for my mom, mostly staying in my room, trying to think of a good way through this whole situation, you know?”

Oof yeah, and Avery gets hurt more by feeling left out, while Lucy reacts strongly to feeling like she has to manage things for other people

“Yeah,” Lucy said, one side of her mouth pulling back hard, disappointed, upset.  “I was scared.” That disappointment and upset gave way to something else, fleeting, deeper, vulnerable.  Lucy looked away a moment later.

and she almost died! And didn't have anyone on hand to talk about it with, and I'm guessing she didn't want to admit to Avery how scared she was

“Really, really close.  And then I was scared too, of what if being in close contact with a ghoul infected me.  Close calls with death, right?”

gods that sounds terrifying.

“I wanted to ask someone for clarification on that but didn’t know who to trust, and didn’t really trust anyone, for a little bit there, and I didn’t even want to go outside.”

And to extend Lucy's fox symbolism, this reminds me of the thing that some wild animals do when injured/sick, of holing up alone and just waiting to see if they die. (Note: I do not know if this applies specifically to foxes). This is mostly not a useful behavior for humans, but man if the urge to just cut down on contact and be terrified and emotional in private isn't relatable (thinking back to Lucy not wanting her mother to see her cry)

“Talk to me?  Send me a frigging mail?  You say you didn’t know who to reach out and talk to?  Me!  Me me me me or Avery or your mom or me!  I can frigging take it, Luce!”

yeah!

“We are cosmically frigging bound together, you jerk!"

I like this line. More frustrated expressions of endless affection please

Worst of both worlds when I can tell something’s wrong and you won’t let me help!

yeah :(

“Avery needs something like this too,” Lucy said.  “The big intense hug.  It’s harder to figure out.”

I'm not sure if the pre-hug scuffling would work on Avery or not

“Okay.  Why don’t we call Avery’s parents and see about her coming over?  Be ready for them to say it’s too late.”

sleepover!

Verona pointed toward the window.  Avery turned, looking, and Verona lunged, rising up out of the bed, and hauled her down, backwards, onto the bed.  Avery lay there, barely on the edge of the bed, Verona holding her from behind, feet still on the ground.  After about ten seconds she tried to get her feet up onto the bed, failed twice, and succeeded on the third try.  They shuffled over so Avery wasn’t constantly on the verge of falling off the bed.

:)

[ask-smokescreen]

"CRISIS? MAKING THIS FOR YOU."

He's got Smokescreen a gift. At first glance, it appears to be some kind of miniaturized cable tree, trimmed and trained to stay in a rather small pot. Upon closer inspection, it's just some weirdly bushy weed, absolutely thriving in there.

YEAH!! It's Cranberry!!! Happy Cranberry!!

And, aww- you made this for me, Dere? All by yourself? Woah.

/He will, in return, put a wreath on Derecho. It's a fake plant, but a plant nonetheless, and even comes with exclusive pinecones and ribbons!/

[love-ces4r-us]

[flipping-the-coin]

Guardsman Recruit - Paradox: Entry #001

[10 Vorns after the restoration of Cybertron]

[Cycle 1 of training]

[Recording begins]

══════════════════

Is this thing on? I think so...

Right, my designation is Paradox! I was told by my Commander that I needed to begin keeping a record of my time in training so that once I finish I can review it. He says its so that when the time comes we can see how much we have changed for the better. I think its a little silly, but I am not going to be the one to tell the mech who served under the last Prime "no".

Anyway, as I said, my designation is Paradox and I was drafted into the ranks of the elite guard after I proved my worth in the trials. My Nurturer is a wonderful femme, but she's always been religious. As soon as she heard the guard were looking for young recruits, she sent me out to go try. I didn't see the harm in making the attempt, I already wanted to join up with the military and the guard are kind of military affiliated right? If nothing else it made my Nurturer happy, so I gave it a shot and somehow succeeded. She very nearly started crying when I came home to pack up my things and head to boot camp! She gave me a holo projector with a picture of us together so I don't forget to come visit her once and a while.

I asked the Commander if I could send her messages, but he said no. He said something about training being a time to step away from mortal attachments to become something greater. I don't mean to be rude or anything, seriously no shade toward Commander Smokescreen, I know he fought in the war and all... but I think he might have a screw loose somewhere. Its just boot camp and he's treating it like we are about to go on some sacred pilgrimage. I know the guard are tied to the Primacy and that's an organization that's religious as scrap, but still, feels a bit over the top.

But enough about that, let me tell you, those trials were no joke! Only mecha under five vorns were allowed to enter them, then we had to go through all sorts of slag to pass!

There was a medical assessment where some Primacy doctors took energon samples, poked at all of my components, scanned every part of me, and made me do a physical fitness test. I thought I was going to die with how many strange poses they made me do and how many laps I had to run. I think I did well though since at least half of the others who joined me were weeded out during the examination. There was even a poor mech who ended up overheating two laps in. It was probably best he didn't get past the trials, I think he would have rolled over and died honestly.

Once we finished that, the head doctor sent us into a separate room where we were given a pretty tough assessment. There was a fully fledged guardsman there and she was armed to the denta. No joke, she looked ready for war. Her entire frame was covered in this intricate armor that I think was magnetized to her plating or something. She had all these super intricate engravings all over her as well, and I couldn't read any of them. I think they were in the old language or something. I'd never seen a guardsman up close until then, and I couldn't help but admire the care that went into her armor and the way the gold and blue meshed. With that said, it still felt a little over the top, although I am sure there is a slag ton of symbolism or something behind it.

Anyway, she lined us up and then stared us all down one by one. I don't know what she was looking for, but three of the others were dismissed after she looked into their optics. That put me on edge I will admit, but not nearly as much as when she sat us down and gave each of us a written test. The questions were very odd. Some were expected, mainly math, reading comprehension, writing, and science. But then as I answered those, there were more and more questions all about topics with no active relation to academic studies. The questions were ones like "What is a Prime?", "What does it mean to be loyal?", "If forced to choose, would you die for the benefit of the people as a whole or flee to survive?", and "How important is individualism?". Super strange stuff, but I answered as best as I could.

The guardsman looked our answers over and graded them way faster than I ever thought possible. It took maybe ten Kliks and that was with nearly fifty different tests! But as soon as she finished another twenty mecha were dismissed and taken away. Those of us that remained were quickly herded into some sort of training ground. There we were each allowed to pick a weapon of our choosing. We weren't told what was going on, so to be safe I chose a spear. I don't mean to brag, but my Nurturer was pretty fragging fine with the spear and I inherited that skillset! I doubt anyone but the most battle hardened could beat me when I've got my weapon on me! And that's even after I got my aft handed to me!

It was literally the most terrifying thing ever when all of us suddenly found ourselves facing off against actual guardsmen! I swear on Primus's name we fought ACTUAL guardsmen! I got pitted against a particularly large guardsman with that same elaborate gold and blue armor. His face was largely covered by a mask, but I could see these super intricate engravings around his optics that were so small I only saw them as he charged at me.

I thought I was going to die as I desperately fended off the guardsman's blade. I looked everywhere, begging for help with my field... but not a spark moved. My fellows were in the same position and the watching guardsman merely stared us down with optics that were... so cold... so very apathetic and calculating. Looking back... I don't think they would have cared if we died...

But that is beside the point. I am unsure how long I struggled for, but I did much better than the others thanks to my Nurturer's training. I was by no means winning or even driving the guardsman back, but I was keeping myself alive. I was covered in small cuts and minor gashes, and honestly I think he was toying with me. The guardsman's field was held close, silent and without emotion. It startled me... but the way he used his blade told me that if he really wanted to, he could have ended me with one simple swing.

Time seemed to blur as I fought with my spear. I stopped paying attention to the others or the guardsman that watched my struggle without a care in the world. I was desperate and I could only keep my optics on where I thought my enemy would strike next. My fans burned and my frame hurt in so many places, but I was scared... I didn't want to die... so I kept fighting. I kept trying to buy myself but a moment longer. Then just as the guardsman finally swept my pedes out from under me, I think I had a bit of a revelation.

I saw the guardsman raise his blade above my helm. I saw his optics as they shone and I saw the cold and simple resolve there. And in that moment... I wasn't afraid anymore. I saw the blade, I knew what it meant, but I found myself unworried. I fought as hard as I could, and that was all there was to it.

Then the blade dug into the ground next to my helm and the guardsman stood, reaching down to help me get back onto my pedes. I was shocked and I could hardly think, but the guardsman watching gave an approving nod and instead of being sent away with the doctors like ten others that made it to the last part of the trials, my shoulders were clasped by the guardsman... and I could have sworn on every possible power in this universe that they smiled. Not with their mouths of course, but I could sense it for the briefest of moments in their fields as they brought me among their number and presented me and the remaining potential recruits to Commander Smokescreen.

Commander Smokescreen was shorter than I expected, but then again, according to the records he is only barely out of younglinghood. He had this look to him that was so very contradictory yet that fit him perfectly at the same time. His face was very youthful and the way he held himself spoke of energy with no place to be poured. If one didn't look all that closely I wouldn't blame them for thinking him just another youngling playing soldier. However his optics were just as cold as the other guardsman and his field firmly clamped tight around him. The way he stood was stiff yet prepared his frame to act at a moment's notice. His voice certainly didn't help the oddity of his identity.

He told us we had passed the trials. He told us that we were going to become part of the chosen, the Prime's honor guard and personal attendants. Commander Smokescreen used many sub-glyphs that I don't know and he spoke in a strange accent that hinted at reverence. But as I said before, I am pretty sure he's missing something upstairs, so I don't blame him for sounding weird. Eventually though he ran through some rules and what to expect, answered a few questions, and then directed us to return home to collect our items. We were told to return to the trial grounds in three cycles, and if we failed to turn up that we would be hunted down and dragged back.

A little scary honestly. But the guard are like the army after all. Gotta make a point to keep trouble makers in line I guess. Anyway I followed orders, got a special meal with my Nurturer, packed up, came to the trial grounds, and now I am here. I thought I was going to have to bunk with someone, but nope. Its just me in a small room in the guard barracks. Its pretty plain with just a simple berth, one shelf for my stuff, and a desk with this recording device. The ceiling is covered in Primacy symbols, but I think its mostly for show.

Well, I think that's enough for this cycle. Tomorrow training starts and I think I will try to record my mental state or whatever once a deca-cycle or so. I hope I can finish up training soon so I can show my Nurturer how far I've come. I think she'll be proud.

Elite Guardsman Paradox signing off!

══════════════════

[Recording ends]

[Recording uploaded to guardsman recruit supervisor for review]

[Training plan in development]

[docholligay]

Boy, not to get into the weeds here but man oh manischewitz am I about to.

So we have Junna chasing Nana all around, spouting off these quotations from people, as she often does, about learning and striving and how you have to crawl before you can walk and all these things that are very wise and all that, but I was looking  *25 minutes later after reading a shitton of Goethe* at the at Goethe quote, and I was like, “That has to be from Faust, but it sounds wrong” Faust is a poem. It is not at all structured in the way she quotes him. So I went on a deep dive. And I found the original German. And also, i found out that this PARTICULAR quotation comes from a book called The Volcano, which is referencing Faust, but there is no translation that I can lay hands on that uses that strangely constructed translation. German, of course, has its own stuff going on, but there is absolutely no indication of that ellipsis in the original, NOR anything being left out that would necessitate such a thing.

So I have two choices here:

A) It’s a translation, not error, maybe, but mild laziness. THey googled “Goethe quote striving” or something and found the one that sounded the most like a poetic quote

B) This is saying something about Junna. Junna is getting so wrapped up in how good those words sound, how they could be a credo, something for her to swear by, that she is missing that actual context and meaning of the words themselves, because...is she working? Is she striving? I mean, this isn’t even going into the decontextualization of all the things she says, this is me weirdly focusing on this one thing and how there is a very specific, odd, translation that was used for its own narrative device, being now used for a second narrative idea. And what does that even mean?

ANYWAY, SORRY ABOUT THAT. Back to our regularly scheduled programming, we see that the word star is surrounding Nana, that Junna is attacking using that, defending herself, but they aren’t REAL stars. At the end of the day, they are just words. You can say all the things you want but they are not action, and Junna is using them as a cage and smokescreen that ultimately proves ineffective.

[kidelune]

TW: Mature themes, death, violence, blood, all that jazz. Read at your own discretion.

(Part 5/?) | Part 4. Part 3. Part 2. Part 1.

[ LOCAL ITAEWON BAR & CLUB Le Sanctuaire, OWNED BY PRESTIGED CHAIN BUSINESSMAN LEE GUN-PYO CAUGHT UNDER FIRE THIS EVENING, LITERALLY. Further investigations by the KNPA are soon to come. ]

/

At this point in his career and idles alike, spilled blood was either akin to spilled milk or merely a holy measure of sacrament. Kijun spends his second full day back in Seoul where only crows flock towards; plucking knives of all variants out of corpses haphazardly strewn at sunset's mercy. Twisted limbs and gaping mouths revere his return and echo his demise all in the same spell, and among their reach he threads, baptized by blood.

Stained digits quiver ever so slightly around the cigarette he collects in his mouth at long last, at the edge of the day's concluding sunset and Le Sanctuaire's polished floor-to-ceiling windows. Light takes him a few tries, with the zippo failing and slipping on a crimson thumbpad and winter's dread in his bones until he finally produces a competent enough flame against patches of blood. A thick smokescreen clouds his short-sight then, as early evening clouds skirt among appearing stars, painting the walls in the back an innocent shade of grey. And that helpful grey, hiding death.

It's a few hours since the club had been sieged and ransacked by three van-fulls of naïve men and boys in wrinkled suits. Many years of effort trashed in broad daylight from top to bottom and all the way around by overconfident lackeys with spiked bats and blades–despite it's already abandoned state. This had been their only stop for the day, likely, and Kijun could instantly tell by the way everything in sight had been severely damaged and shattered to utter smithereens– could still feel the raw malice and hear triumphant screeching bouncing off walls that had been beautiful just hours before, as they destroyed millions upon millions worth of won and earned livelihoods, all under three hours tops. So easily had the sanctuary he once helped build yield to the enemy's carnage, falling apart at the greedy hands of man.

A bleeding suspect writhes and chokes on the brief slit tucked at length in his throat by Kijun's left foot, the blade that'd bled him out abandoned on his right; close enough to be in his reach, but still too far for the bastard to make it to alive. His weakened hand scrambles for the hem of Kijun's pant leg in a desperate attempt anyway, leaving messy red prints on washed denim, like little footnotes. But Kijun remains rooted and caliginous in his gloom as though he's parked amidst a field of weeds in pouring rain, columns of his indulgence plummeting onto a forehead, an arm, a palm. And no trace of compassion hangs in his cold, hooded gaze as he silently listens to life violently swallowing around itself like a serpent in madness, for his smite engulfs all potential feelings of guilt with an echo so overwhelmingly in tune with death he can only be, and embrace it.

This was not his doing, anyway. Notwithstanding him having had the luxury of slowly drawing out the weapon from the neck which could scarcely clench and release around the blade plunged in it before, let alone the answers Kijun had been insisting on all the while, until there was nothing left to keep him but the blunt unforgiving eyes of his inquisitor. One who may as well have been the executioner from the start.

The actual culprit stands across the desolate dancefloor to his left, meticulously wiping caked hands clean with a cotton cloth produced from his pocket. The ever so loyal superintendent, Lee Yunho, who silently clicks his tongue in annoyance with himself.

"Are we finished now?" Kjiun levels through the silence between them as he grows slightly impatient near the irony, blood soaked end of his cigarette. "I only came to talk like you asked, but instead ended up with all this dirty fucking blood on me and still not a single word from you. 's about time you started don't ya' think?"

"And I'm thankful for your participation, Kijun-ah." Yunho responds flatly, flicking away the bloodied cloth in favour of plucking leather gloves he were supposed to be using from his back pocket. His soft eyes land as an unamused pair on the younger, "Brilliant, as always."

Kijun rolls his eyes, and it's only shortly after the hand at his ankle falter and life deserts the room does he finally approach his comrade in peace, shoes crunching loudly on broken glass.

"You know what this—" He gestures with a hand he hadn't bothered to wipe himself at the mess encompassing them, "—means for me and all the rest who'd been workin' here for the past few years, right, hyung? That's why you'd brought me here?"

Yunho sighs profoundly, "I do."

The blackout curtains are gone, violently torn off into opaque pools of velvet that plague each corner of the large room. Though the glasses are tinted, telltale signs of the sun's novel absence could still be found on the horizon from this point of view, and they briefly cast whimsical shadows on Yunho's youthful face. Awe provoking in and of itself, if only circumstances allowed for a more savoury atmosphere. Instead Kijun pauses in front of the elder, half a head taller, and delves an exsanguinated palm into the hyung's jacket pocket to fish out a crushed pack of smokes he knows is always there.

"I have nothing now that this place is gone. Nothing."

"I know, kid. And I'm sorry, but I'd warned you beforehand. Not to count on it."

"Are you fucking shitting me? Do you take me for some kind of fucking idiot? No, I know you're not sorry." Kijun crudely spits between Yunho's feet, his fury causing him to clench his jaw around the fresh cigarette he'd just plucked from the hyung's packet, "The least you can do now is finally explain to me what the fuck has been goin' on all this time, and why the hell I have to be caught in the middle of it."

He completely expects Yunho to strike him for his blatant provocation, something all the elder men in his life have been doing more recently for reasons he can't fathom. But much to his chagrin, or contrarily his relief, Yunho pauses, holding tightly onto silence and only considers his opponent for a calculative moment. No doubt weighing the consequences for whatever urges he quietly forces down, before he lifts a hand to collect a smoke.

"Fine." His expression shifts ever so slightly, losing tension and gaining a hue of indifference in its place, as if to convey his refusal to take up the weight of any faults. With evening between his teeth he lights up the cigarette and finally yields. "If you repeat any of what I'm about to tell you, even to Gun-pyo, I'm afraid you'll never have another chance out of this life once and for all. It'll persist, until it kills you. That's a promise."

Kijun squares broad shoulders and rolls his neck as though preparing for a bloody fist fight. The apprehension which suddenly mounts him then is blamed on the thick, stickiness in his palms, as he refuses to acknowledge it in any other context. He'd waited far too long for this to back out now. "Okay."

Yunho draws out his following drag for as long as it takes him to get to one of the open windows near them, where he speaks nicotine into the passing wind in attempt at erasing secrecy out of existence as soon as he speaks it into it, "This isn't some random issue that'd started in the past year with Kang Dongwook, as Gun-pyo may have otherwise lead you to believe. It's been going on behind the scenes since you've been in the Philippines all those years ago."

Kijun scoffs irritatedly at the mention of his patron's name, "Yeah, no shit..."

"Remember when Gun-pyo 'randomly' brought in that group of guys from prison back then? Caused a huge uproar among you lot, but you could do nothing about it but listen to him—me included. But they weren't just convicts and it wasn't just happenstance. Some were veterans from the military, and it was a sacrifice. He needed them for something else he never told any of you about."

"Why?" Frowns the younger deeply, ball of his shoulder pressing to the window frame as he leans over and succumbs to Yunho forcefully prying open the annals of his memory. "Why didn't he tell us the truth? I thought we just needed more men."

"Because he thought the truth would've distracted you from work. You knew we couldn't afford any distractions, didn't you? I remember you saying it yourself. We were constantly in so many tight spots we hardly had enough wiggle room to slip out of. Business was good, but it was absolute hell for us."

It was. "Mm, I remember."

"He didn't want to lose any more of you boys, so the seasoned lot were brought in for something like a suicide mission, if not that. Back then it'd come to our attention that there was someone else on our tail, a rival on the market who'd been waiting for the opportunity to strike us down and take our place. The normal everyday occurrence, except it wasn't a bluff and they weren't doing everything on their own... They were backed by the Chinese and some Filipino police."

At mention of the Triads, Kijun's usual darkness pales against the moonlight like a flake of snow. The dots in his head begin to connect towards a fate worse than he could've dared to imagine for himself before, and he breaks out in cold sweat because of it. He recalls the day of his arrest like it had been yesterday; the morning sun bouncing off his naked back, bare feet slapping the ground so hard in his heedless sprinting that it burned and bled profusely against concrete and dirt and then concrete again. Hollering at the top of his lungs, so loudly his voice had fled him for many days. All to no avail as in the end, he'd still been caught.

Deep octaves climb a tone as his heartbeat simultaneously takes off with reckless abandon, just like that day. "Holy shit...! So that's how..."

"Mmm.." Yunho hums, a strange, collected contrast of peace, in the same breath flicking the lingering column of ash of his cigarette off on the side. Flecks of blood sully his white dress shirt cuffs, but he doesn't seem to mind. "By the time we got to them back then, it was too late. Our hubris had costed us a fortune– and Gun-pyo's reputation."

"That's how the grand scale of arrests went down... They reported us. None of the shit that happened in Manila was coincidence at all."

"No, the pigs were actually useless and in cahoots with them from the start. They were operating off a good tip and somehow managed to hold the upper-hand, because there weren't that many of us in the Philippines after all. They knew exactly where to strike us, and you were just collateral."

Kijun had spent many lonely nights in confinement blaming himself for what had happened on that day. For failing his team and Gun-pyo simultaneously, in just shy of an hour. All their hard work and sleepless nights gone because of him. Perhaps if he'd done so-and-so earlier, or pushed his colleagues around a bit harder, or took a different turn during the chase–if only twenty year old Kijun had known what twenty eight year old him did now: that none of it was any of his fault. That he'd been just a pawn all along.

"Fucking bastards..." Kijun curses colourfully under his breath, sharp brows under constant tension throughout his attempt at processing all the information all at once. He absentmindedly brushes bloodied fingers through curt black locks, soothing himself out of incredulity, only briefly. "So did you not feel any inch of fucking remorse for us who got caught in your fucking mess? Didn't you think you could at least tell us the truth after we got out?"

"You think that would've changed anything, Kijun?" Yunho grimaces as the earth exhales ice on them through the window, "Guys we sent in never came back, so we had no way of retaliating without getting our asses into more shit. Were too busy swimming in the copious amount of losses already. They took out multiple dens of ours all at once, not just yours. You're lucky you were out and only got arrested. It was nothing short of brutal. They'd been showing the same patterns again recently. It's their strategy, the fuckin' cunts." The elder curses in distaste for the first time tonight, "Their patience makes them dangerous, but luckily we were more than prepared this time around. Managed to fend off most of the attacks here. Come, help me finish."

Yunho abruptly straightens, as though he'd just come to again, abandoning the window and his recollections for the few canisters they'd brought on the way in, earlier. Gasoline canisters, which the elder soon uncaps and begins ceremoniously pouring and splattering all across polished marble flooring, the deceased, and a sea of broken glass. Kijun burns the rest of his smoke from a distance away, then joins him shortly.

"I'm gonna miss this place. Do we really have to put it to the torch, though? I thought all our personal info and shit had already been retrieved beforehand by you lot."

"They have. Both staff and clientele data, gone, to protect all your identities if the stalwarts ever decided they'd dip their toes into this one. Gun-pyo thought we should burn it just to make sure, though, 'specially the bodies. It's his building so I guess he can do whatever the fuck he wants with it, I'm just following orders. Says he doubts anyone will catch whiff of it anyway, except maybe the local news."

Kijun hums, making sense of Yunho's words, though he finds no existing shade of consolation in them, nor in the careless pouring of kindling. The horrors of an eight year old bawl weigh down much too heavily on his shoulders, adding laden to his steps and leaving little room or nor energy left to properly puzzle within himself his nearing fate, even after emptying a third canister within the very room he always served guests in. Dressing precious memoirs in what would be their last breath. In ruin.

The tangy pungency of gasoline begins to permeate the air and congest their throats as it soaks between the club's cracks and fissures, coiling under fingernails, and fallen curtains. Kijun grows equally as speechless as the dead until they finish, and finally, lamentably, Yunho acknowledges his solemn absence with a nudge in the rib as they conclude under the arch of the entrance hallway.

"Listen, kid..." Yunho muffles from behind the constrains of his mask, sounding so painstakingly apologetic at a crime scene that Kijun would have laughed, if he had the heart for it now. Much like a guilty older brother, if he ever had one. "I know you've done a lot of bad shit in your life... Even tonight, you've added to that tally once again. But remember, that does not make you a bad person. Not nearly as bad as you're trying to convince yourself every new day that you are... Try doing the opposite for once, see how that changes you."

Kijun sighs exasperatedly, eyes pirouetting in his skull as he begins to pat his pockets for his lighter, "You don't have to lecture me, hyung. Really. It won't fix anything."

"Oh, but I do, if it's important. You know the story of how I started working for Gun-pyo at the same age as he'd recruited you, already. Now I'm almost forty, yet still belting out the 'Yes, sir''s like an old, obedient dog. I've killed more people than you can ever imagine, for Gun-pyo alone. But I, too, was once in this dilemma you're facing today. 'I can't go, but I can't stay either' and you can guess my choice." The elder says, seemingly sporting a humourless smile in the dark, "I was a fool for choosing comfort over logic in this case, but I'm glad now that I can at least attempt at preventing someone else from making the same mistake... You, although at this point, it may not mean anything." A throttled moment passes between them, one during which Kijun openly displays his discomfort in the from of refusing to look at his steadfast hyung in the face. He who searching for a gaze he never finds from below.

But it still does not deter him. Kijun had never been able to thwart this man once. His determination was really something extraordinary. Gun-pyo would perish would him, Kijun always thought. "Walk away while you still can, Kijun. Like Junseo—"

Alike flickering on red lights in a room, Kijun immediately swells with rage, somehow growing even taller than he already was within the brief distance it takes for him to have Yunho cornered. Everything about him condenses into a taut heap. Much like a ferocious cat raising its back, it's tail fluffed out.

"Don't you fucking talk about my father in a place like this." The younger viciously hisses between the teeth, his eyes as round and dark through the afront as two bulbs with burnt out cores.

But still, unfathomably, Yunho does not falter. The only indication of his annoyance echoes through his lowering verbiage, "You will suffer for all the shit you've done so far once you're dead. That surely comes later, but now, do as he did and I didn't. Be wise and quit while you can. You'll thank yourself for it in a few years."

Kijun realizes a heartbeat too late that he'd merely been baited into meeting Yunho's steely gaze again, when the hyung hooks his mask under his chin and pops a quick, mischievous grin up at him. Embarrassment blasts through the tension gathered in his muscles as an overheated furnace would into remote winter skies, and with sharp, knitted brows he stumbles back, now just inexplicably irritated. Yunho triumphantly straightens his leather jacket, and his spine. "Smile. This is your freedom."

"Whatever..." Kijun rasps at length, pulling down his own mask and plants the last ever cigarette smoked in Le Sanctuaire between chapped lips. "Let's just light this bitch up and never see each other again."

Yunho only raises a simple gesture between them, urging Kijun onwards, like he knows they will. "After you."

To this Kijun responds in kind, by flicking at the zippo only once this time, dried blood catching in the brass creases as the cigarette catches light and burns. He takes a long, healthy drag that bottoms out his lungs with a delicious cloud of warmth. The very last pleasure this place will know for a while. Then, with a flick of a deft wrist, flicks it into the start of a bittersweet bonfire.

"To secrecy, blood and Lee Gun-pyo."

"To gutting oneself, and twisting the blade."

[symphonicdemise]

@ask-smokescreen replied to your post “I send you to prison as an elaborate bit, so we...”:

"Well- No, my hands aren't any more clean on that front. But the torture's still a little bit scary..." He frowns, however, uncertain. Did he really have any room to judge?

​"It's an effective method of getting results. The list would have been ten times longer had we not done what we did." He explained gently. He knew Smokescreen had his reservations about his activities.

"Acts of war are still murder, yes... but acts of justice? Treason is treason. It's a weed that should be ripped out, root and stem."