#classified blueprints

[buttercup-barf]

MISS PAULING X ENGINEER??? IS THAT REAL PLEASE TELL ME ITS REAL... please please please ive been looking for miss pauling/the mercs and so far i haven't found any miss p/engie or miss p/sniper (have found a lil of everything else tho) please please please tell me what you think miss p/engineer is like im on my hands and knees. begging u.

The world is ready!! I have been rotating these two in my head for a while now. Even dubbed their ship name "Classified Blueprints" for shits and giggles.

Here's an unrelated Sniperpauling doodle for you. (Literally punch either that or "Piss Mauling" into the search bar, I guarantee, you'll find some good stuff!)

Elaboration on Classified Blueprints under the cut.

There's a lot of projection involved, but, the general gist of it is that they arguably work for Helen in the most direct way possible, and probably will have to work for her, until either they or Helen die. Miss Pauling could have been twenty at most, when she signed up to work for Helen, and Dell's (yes, Dell Conagher specifically) family is directly tied to all that is happening in the first place. A good half (if not most) of their lives revolves around being nothing but cogs in a machine.

I just think there's some room for a bond, that grows, when they get to dismember enough bodies together. These two are "the normal ones" that hide their gun fetishes and willingness to "dispose" of whoever they have to well enough most of the time. Enough to even fool the community sometimes.

... Also they're probably the shortest characters of the main cast (Miss Pauling is about Pyro height, I believe), and two short people are deadlier than one.

[compacflt]

Your Slider one shot, so frustrated on Slider's behalf! Ugh and Maverick is also a stubborn bastard. I'll have to gather my thoughts but......

My jaw dropped at the Scaled Composites shade! I was not expecting that one. Tell me how you really feel about Burt Rutan LMAO.

i feel so so fine about burt rutan, admire his career, but i have a visceral “do you think god stays in heaven because he too lives in fear of what he’s created here on earth” reaction every time i see a scaled aircraft.

like human beings were not meant to fly machines that look like this for another millennium or so & this big ugly fat fucker has been flying since 1998 for instance:

like what the fuck. this is the hubris of man at this point. scaled composites is approaching tower of babel levels of human arrogance. what are they COOKING.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: Ecto-Specialist

Danny Fenton gets sent by his parents as a Fenton Ecto-Specialist at the request of the Justice League. They would have gone themselves, but unfortunately, every other Fenton had come down with the flu.

Danny was happy about his ghost immune system because this meant he could present Ghosts in a much more favorable light. He left behind all his parents' weapon blueprints and research reports.

He switched them out with his PowerPoint, ghost notes, and interviews he managed to obtain from the friendlier spiris. He arrived to the Hall of Justice, was given a special access pass and was told to set up in a board room.

He nervously plugged everything in, smooth down his suit, and practiced his speech. He's given presentations before, but they have always been school assignments. It was still nerve-wracking, but at least everyone else had to give the exact same topic for the same five to six minutes requirement.

Here, he was going to speak before some of the best heroes of the world to convince them that ghosts were sentiment. To prove they should have rights.

No pressure.

"Hello, I'm Danny Fenton. I'm going to speak about Ecto-beings and their vast culture within the Infinite Realms, " He says to the empty chairs. He pauses for a moment before, as if though he was gathering the attention of a audience before pressing the clicker abd watching his slide move.

"What are Ecto-beings?" He makes a gesture, that he once saw Tim Drake do on TV. It was a smooth wrist roll that he thought look sophisticated. "They can come in all shapes and sizes. Some are naturally formed from their environment, others are born to Ecto-beings and a few or deceased spirits. But they all share a core build from ectoplasm. That's what classifieds them as-"

"Maybe start but explaining what ectoplasm is" a voice cuts him off. Danny is not proud of the high pitch scream that releases from his throat. He is even less proud that he jumps so badly, he ends up tripping over his feet and falling over.

Bell-like laughter, fills the air, and Danny swings his head to the doorway only to further choke on his spit. Standing there looking like a Greek god is Tim Drake.

The very person he was attempting to imitate.

"Are you the Fenton Works representative?" Drake asks, strutting in with a wink. "I'm here on Wayne Enterprises behalf. We may be doing a joint charity effort for Ecto-beings rights. I'm Timothy Drake. And you?"

"I ugh, I'm Danny. Ugh- Danny Fenton. My parents own Fenton Works." He scrambles to his feet, flushing dark red when Drake smiles. "I'm presenting today. I was um practicing?"

"You're doing great" Drake assures. "Just remember to not stand in front of the screen. You want people to ready your bullet points."

"Oh." Danny drags his podium over. He cringes when he realizes that causes it yo scrap against the floor, leaving two long lines.

Drake's grin widens. "It has wheels. You just press the little lever on the right"

Danny wants to die "right. Sorry"

"Nothing a wax machine can't fix." Drake tilts his head, studying his face before asking,"Want to get a quick coffee to calm your nerves? They sell a great brand in the cafeteria"

Danny rubs his hands "Coffee makes me more nervous but thank you"

Drake's smile flatters before it switches back. "Icecream then?"

"No thank you. I run cold naturally and ice cream makes it worse"

".....how about afterwards? We could go watch a moive? Dinner?"

"I would, but I'm supposed to stay in the hotel my parents rented for me. They'll know if I'm not."

The other teen nods and looks a bit disappointed. "Alright, you can't blame a guy for trying . Well, good luck with your practice. I'll be back in an hour for the presentation."

Dannybwaves goodbye, trying to slow his fluttering heart rate. He just spoke to Tim Drake! He can't wait to text Sam and Tucker.

It's only after re-running the presentation once, about thirty minutes later, that Danny jolts in place "HE WAS ASKING ME OUT?!"

"Who was?"

For the second time that day, Danny released a high pitch scream. It's much worse to find Wonder Woman fighting a amused smile standing in the doorway instead of a Teenage Hearttob.

He hasn't even started. Maybe he should have fake being sick, too.

[clareguilty]

Ghost/Soap/Reader | Sex Pollen, Breeding kink

This fic was written for Kinktober 2024! Let me know what you think <3

Ghost/Soap/F!Reader | Sex Pollen, Breeding kink, strength kink, dacryphilia Rating: Explicit | WARNINGS: EXTREMELY DUBIOUS CONSENT Word Count: ~3400

The last thing you expected when you answered the knock on your office door was the sight of two uniformed soldiers, both broad enough to fill the entire doorway each, expressions grave. You ushered them inside your small, cluttered office tucked away in the biochemistry wing of the university building. Being the head of the pharmacology department did not come with a sprawling mahogany desk and glorious window views. You were lucky to have a desk and a window at all.

Still, you were the best in your field, and that had granted you tenure and funding to continue your research as well as a small team of graduate students and postdocs to boss around as you pleased.

One of the soldiers introduced himself as Captain Price, the other a corporal under his command. You cleared off space on your desk as the corporal opened a locked case and pulled out a laptop.

“Anything you are about to see is highly classified information,” the captain warned you. “Our intel pertains to ongoing operations to stop a dangerous organized terrorist group.”

You nodded along, but your focus was on the footage being played on the laptop. The drone shots and shaky handheld cameras, clips of lab workers handling samples while suited head to toe in protective equipment. There was footage of soldiers experiencing a variety of symptoms: aggression, paralysis, psychosis.

The corporal opened a file for you to scroll through. Pages and pages of reports.

“Biochemical weapons,” you murmured to yourself. “Inhalants?”

“Gas,” the captain confirmed. “Your security clearance is still in the system from your field work on that operation in Andorra. Our people are using your research as the blueprint.”

You were the leading expert on biochemical weaponry, much of your research was centered around synthesizing field antidotes. It had been a few years since you were last out in the field, taking samples from warzones and the sites of attacks.

“You need me out there?” You asked. But you already knew the answer. They wouldn’t be here in your office otherwise.

“You’ll be working with our top tactical operations team. The best men we’ve got. Whatever they’re making in these labs, we need to put a stop to it, and then we need to figure out how they’re doing it.”

You looked at the footage again - civilians this time - and felt your stomach turn at the sight.

“When’s the earliest we can leave?” You asked, closing the laptop to hide the horrifying images.

-

The body armor on your last field operation had been simple: a bullet proof vest with a mask and helmet. You had worn your civilian clothes and brought along everything else yourself.

“Alright, Dove, arms up,” the special forces sergeant, Soap, grinned as he dropped a heavy vest over your head. You dutifully raised your arms so he could fasten the tangle of buckles until you were secured.

“Thanks,” you glanced down at the overwhelming amount of gear that was now covering your front.

“You’ve got your radio,” he tapped the top left pocket, “Compass, shears, three mags of extra ammunition, scopes, batteries, and torch.” You watched him point out each item. “On your belt here you’ve got your pistol, knife, and canteen.”

Soap put his own gear on much faster than it had taken to kit you out. He carried even more equipment, but he somehow made it look easier.

You had been staying at the temporary base with Captain Price’s 141 task force for days now. Without access to quality lab equipment, you were working tirelessly to find answers about the biochemical weaponry using whatever was available. As impressive as your makeshift setup was, it wasn’t near precise or thorough enough to save lives.

It felt a little ridiculous. A researcher surrounded by a bunch of special forces giants. They were welcoming and friendly - except for the terrifying lieutenant with the skull mask, but you knew you were out of your depth surrounded by cases full of rifles and grenades. Sleeping on a cot and eating rations cooked off a gas burner.

Captain Price had done whatever he could to make you more comfortable. The encampment was a few secured buildings and several large tents. And while you were accustomed to the conditions after your previous field research, they had afforded you as much privacy as possible. 

Underneath the teasing and jokes, Soap was kind and friendly. He’d nicknamed you their ‘peace dove’ on the first day, and you hadn’t been able to shake the moniker since.

Even Lieutenant Ghost had been considerate as you tried to keep up with the heavy military jargon and unfamiliar protocols. He slipped you candy bars that were definitely against regulations and sat with you after the countless briefings to explain all of the commands that had flown over your head rapid-fire. He was still scary.

The last military squadron you had worked alongside had mostly ignored you, frustrated with your inexperience and occasionally downright cruel. They hadn’t respected your expertise or your research despite your attempts to explain how vital it was to their safety.

There was none of that here.

After several days of monitoring intel and surveillance, Price had finally made the call to infiltrate the terrorist labs. The only way to stop these weapons would be to secure the materials themselves.

Soap and Ghost were assigned to clear out any hostiles, and your mission was to gather anything in the labs that would help to stop production of the weapons and synthesize antidotes.

It was difficult to keep up with them as they closed in on the lab. You had been instructed to hang back a ways while they engaged, but even then you were struggling to match their pace.

You had never known anyone who could make an assault rifle look small until these men. Like they were holding a toy. Despite their size, both the sergeant and the lieutenant were exceptionally fast even with all their gear.

As you approached the location of the terrorists’ labs, Ghost signaled for all of you to halt. He grabbed you by the shoulders and pressed you into a crouch inside a copse of brush where you would be able to keep cover.

“Stay here. We’ll engage the hostiles and bring you in as soon as the site is secure,” he ordered.

Both he and Soap immediately made to move in, but you managed to catch Soap by the hand. “Be careful,” you warned. “We have no clue what kind of shit they’re cooking up in there.”

“Don’t worry, Dove. We’ll do just fine,” Soap promised with a grin.

And then they were gone.

The silence that filled in after their retreating boot steps was excruciating. The sharp cracks of gunfire that rang out in short bursts were somehow even worse. You couldn’t radio in without risking the operation - the noise could give away their position - so you were left waiting until Ghost signaled the all clear. As the minutes dragged on since the last round of shots, you prayed you wouldn’t have to fall back on your contingency extraction: if you didn’t hear from either Soap or Ghost after two hours, you were to make your way to a designated pickup spot.

Your radio crackled.

“You there, Dovie?” Soap’s voice came through. He sounded uninjured.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” That was Ghost this time. “We’ve eliminated all hostiles. Give us ten more minutes to secure the site, and then I’ll send Soap to come get you.”

“Copy that.” An unbelievable amount of tension seemed to melt out of you at that, and you let out a heavy sigh.

Not even a minute later you heard a distant bang. Not gunfire. A small explosion.

“Lieutenant?” You immediately called over the radio. “What was that?”

“Fucking hell!” Soap shouted. “The lab was rigged!”

“Lieutenant?” You were already pushing to your feet, rushing out of the safety of your cover and towards the labs.

“We tripped something,” Ghost finally responded. “They had canisters set to burst if the lab was tampered with.”

“You mean you got dosed?” Your fingers were numb with fear as you fumbled with your radio. “Are you experiencing any symptoms? I’m on my way now!”

The radio was silent for a few moments, but you were sprinting as fast as you could toward the site. If you could get there quick enough, maybe you could find an antidote somewhere in the labs. They wouldn’t know what to look for, but if you could find out what was in those canisters, surely you could fix this.

“Wait, Dovie,” Soap’s voice was rough, breathy. “Stay where you are. Don’t come near here.”

“I’m the only chance you have at finding an antidote,” you shouted into the radio.

“Hold your position. Do not approach. That is an order,” Ghost snarled, but you were already at the entrance, flying through the path of carnage Soap and Ghost had left. The satellite images in the briefing had given you a rough idea of where you needed to go, and the trail of bodies confirmed you were on the right track.

As you came up on the entrance to the labs, someone tackled you into the wall, pinning you in place. You screamed, but a gloved hand covered your mouth.

“It’s just me,” Soap assured you. “But you shouldn’t have run in here without your weapon drawn. Shouldn’t have come in here at all.” He pulled his hand away so you could gulp down a breath.

“Whatever you were hit with, they might have an antidote. If I can get to it before it’s too late-“

Soap cut you off. “You’re worse than me at following orders.”

”Let me go.” You tried to squirm out of his hold.

Soap made a choked off sound in your ear. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s the gas. I swear. We didn’t know the lab was rigged.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Jesus, Dove, you have to forgive me. Promise? I can’t fight it.”

“Whatever it is, you’ll be okay. Just let me go, Soap.”

He was pinning you in place with his entire body weight, panting against the back of your neck as he easily kept you still despite your attempts to break free.

Thankfully, you heard the sound of heavy boots approaching. That had to be Ghost.

He rounded the corner and you cried out. “Lieutenant! Please, sir!”

Ghost snarled when he saw you trapped beneath Soap. He crossed the room in three easy strides and ripped the sergeant off of you. Soap hit the floor with a groan, and you tried to back away.

Except the Ghost was closing in on you, knife drawn. He cornered you easily, and the fear had you freezing in place. You weren't a trained soldier. You weren't equipped to handle these kinds of situations.

You flinched as Ghost grabbed for you, squeezing your eyes shut and preparing for the worst, but there wasn't any pain - just the sound of tearing fabric and the sensation of your body armor falling away to a heap on the floor.

“Gotta get these off you,” he growled, crowding even closer against you. His voice wasn’t nearly as rough or as breathless as Soap’s. When you finally worked up the courage to open your eyes, Ghost was leant over you with his face in your neck taking deep inhales. Was he… smelling you?

They’d both been dosed. You had never seen symptoms like these before, but it wasn’t a typical toxin. Surely you could find an antidote if they just let you go.

And then Soap was back, pawing at the space between your bodies. “Please, Ghost,” he was begging, “feels like I’m about to die. Fuck. Need it so bad.”

Ghost pulled away from your neck, reached out to grab Soap by the jaw, holding him still. There was a moment of quiet save for both yours and Soap’s panicked breathing. “Alright, Johnny.” He finally assented. “You gotta go easy, you hear? Don’t wanna break her.”

You didn’t like the sound of that one bit, but struggling was absolutely useless when Ghost was holding a knife. You knew what he was capable of.

It was too quick for you to even register. Soap was fast. He snatched the knife from Ghost and cut your clothes away, taking you down to the ground with some sort of wrestling maneuver you were never going to escape from.

“I’m so sorry, Dove,” Soap was apologizing again. “Can’t fucking help it.”

He shoved his own gloves and gear away, fumbling to open his trousers before freeing his cock. He was achingly hard, and dripping. He was also fucking huge. His eyes fluttered shut in relief as he wrapped his hands around the length and gave a few lazy strokes, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that would be all it took.

“Please,” you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Don’t fuss,” Soap placed a finger over your lips to quiet you, then he shoved it inside your mouth. You weren’t sure if biting him would end well for you. He grabbed your legs by the knees, raising your hips until your pussy was on display for him. “That’s a good girl.” He spit on his fingertips and began rubbing at your entrance, as if that would be enough lube.

He pressed two fingers inside of you, but you were so terrified that it didn’t feel right at all. It hurt. You screamed, and suddenly Ghost was there.

“This is the only way to help,” he said, and you noticed he had a silver canister in his hands. “I promise this will make it easier.”

You didn’t have enough time to react before he crushed the canister with just his gloved hands. A deafening hiss drowned out the sounds of your own sobs and your vision went white as the contents of the canister filled the air. You couldn’t hold your breath at all, not when you were sobbing with gasps of pain. The gas settled over your skin, inside your mouth and nose. You instinctively swiped your tongue against your teeth and cheeks. It tasted powdery and sour.

“Give her a second, Johnny,” Ghost ordered.

You were almost glad they had cut your clothes away because your skin was suddenly too warm. Too clammy. Your mouth went from bitter and dry to watering with saliva in a matter of seconds. Every sensation felt sharper, and the pain disappeared. Soap was just as warm where you were pressed against him, and his fingers inside you were now drenched in slick wetness.

How were they even able to think like this? They’d been dealing with these symptoms for longer than you and somehow still had control of themselves. You had been exposed to the gas for less than a minute and all rational thought had left you.

“That’s a good girl,” Ghost’s voice reached you through the drunken haze and you whined. “Spread yourself nice and open on Johnny’s fingers.”

Oh. You were fucking your hips against Soaps’ hand. He was watching the sight with his pupils blown wide as he pressed a third finger inside of you. The stretch felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please,” you begged. “More. Please.”

Soap curled his fingers inside you and you cried out. He held your hips still with his free hand so he could fuck you harder on his fingers. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he had you gushing over his wrist in a matter of seconds.

“Gonna fuck you now.” He settled between your thighs. All you could do was beg because his finger hadn’t been enough. “Gonna breed you full, alright, Dove?”

“Yes. Yes, please,” you panted.

You would never have been able to take his cock if Ghost hadn’t dosed you with the gas. Even after the rough fingerfucking you still cried out at the stretch. But it didn’t hurt this time. You loved the way he filled you, the sensation of him sinking deeper inside.

He was too impatient at this point. Had been holding himself back for too long. The moment his cock bottomed out inside you it was like his final thread of control snapped. You were long past him, having never once stood a chance after Ghost crushed that canister.

“Jesus, Dove, you’re so tight. Feel so good on my cock,” Soap was panting against your skin as he fucked you. You were much less coherent beneath him, just a stream of sobbing and begging. You understood what Soap had said earlier: you felt like you were going to die if they didn’t fuck you. If they didn’t ruin you on their cocks. 

“I’m already close.”

You were surprised Soap had lasted this long, considering how quickly you had come on his fingers. It was definitely the toxins in your system, but you needed him to claim you. Needed to be bred full. You must have begged for it, because Soap was soothing you as he picked up the pace.

“You’re okay. I’m gonna give you what you need. Just take it like a good girl, right Dovie?”

He forced his cock as deep as he could when he came, rocking against your hips to make sure it would take. You could feel it, so hot and sticky inside you, dripping out around his cock as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

You barely had a moment to catch your breath before a huge shadow filled your vision. Ghost. He shoved Soap aside, taking in the sight of you beneath him.

“Johnny made a mess of you didn’t he?” A gloved hand trailed over your tear stained cheeks, through the string of drool hanging from your lips. He forced your thighs apart to see Soap’s come dripping out of your used pussy. “Look at you, pretty girl,” he teased.

“Please,” you whined. The strange panic was taking hold of you again. You were scared what would happen if Ghost didn’t fuck you. “Please, sir. I need it.”

“Jesus, fuck,” Ghost swore under his breath. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to fight it off. Poor thing.”

He tossed his gloves aside, running warm, calloused hands over your sticky, sweaty skin. “I’m bigger than Johnny,” he warned. “But something tells me you’ll like that.”

All you could do was beg. How did Ghost have so much control? It was almost like he wasn’t affected at all.

He took mercy on you, dragging his cock against your pussy to slick the length of it before pressing inside. He was slower than Soap, more careful. And even under the effects of the gas, you needed it. Fuck. He was huge.

“You’re fucking noisy,” Ghost grumbled. And then there were two fingers pushing past your lips. You swirled your tongue around the digits to chase the salt and the sweat, and the relative quiet seemed to appease the lieutenant as he finally bottomed out inside you.

You had never been so full in your life, split open on the lieutenant’s cock like this. He groaned beneath the mask as he fucked you, rhythm faltering as you squeezed tight around his cock.

Even with his fingers in your mouth, you must have picked up your whining again because he leaned in to shush you. “Don’t worry, I’ll fill you up again. Breed you just like you need. We won’t let you go until you’re full of us.”

It should have sounded threatening, but all you could focus on was the promise that they would take care of you. That they would leave you dripping with their come.

The initial rush of the toxins had given way to a sort of timeless haze. You couldn’t focus on anything except the feeling of Ghost fucking you and his fingers in your mouth. It could have been hours. You just needed to be full.

“Here it comes, Little Dove,” Ghost warned you. “Better take every last drop.”

He pulled you so far onto his cock that a glance of pain managed to reach you in the haze, but it only left you craving more. You could feel his cock twitching inside you as he came, filling you even more than Soap had.

“Such a good girl.” He only pulled out after he was sure he had fucked his come into you as deep as possible. And when a few drops began to spill out, he swiped them up with the fingers he had just pulled from your mouth and forced them back inside your pussy again.

“Hey, LT,” Soap grinned where he was slowly stroking his cock. “Does this mean it’s my turn again?”

[augustinewrites]

alhaitham used to think that one of the most fascinating aspects of human life was how one chooses a mate.

you’re making it weird. just say lover, the voice at the back of his mind scolds– a voice that sounds eerily similar to kaveh.

but it’s not weird, it’s biology. it’s a selective, compensatory process in which individuals combine scores on several key attributes. such attributes include - but are not limited to - supply and demand, individual circumstance, biology, psychology, religion. it’s an exchange theory of sorts, in which humans pick mates based on who best benefits them. he’d always thought that, should he find ‘a lover,’ it’d be someone like himself.

alhaitham will always be a scholar first and foremost, but every academic thought, fact, and hypothesis disappeared from his mind when he met you. all it took once one glance in your direction and you challenged his every preconceived notion.

you studied under the amurta darshan. he studied under haravatat. you smile and greet every passerby who spares you a glance. he really couldn’t be bothered to lift his nose out of his book. your career in emergency medicine is loud and fast-paced. his job as the scribe (and temporarily the acting grand sage) is largely quiet aside from the occasional research outing or squabble amongst the sages. you voluntarily take extra shifts at the bimarstan all the time, whereas he walks out the akademiya doors at five and never looks back. you like dogs, he prefers cats.

there’s no denying that the two of you are different, and that’s why the outcome rejects his hypothesis. you’re nothing like him and he chose you anyway.

he chose you (even ‘put a ring on it’ as kaveh says) despite the fact that you arrange your books in alphabetical order rather than the dewey decimal system he’s followed since childhood.

which is why he doesn’t understand why you’re suddenly acting like this. if he could swiftly classify your behaviour, it’d be much easier for him to make adjustments to whatever it is he’s doing, but he still hasn’t figured it out.

you’re on the night shift today, which means you’re still asleep as he gets ready for the day. he presses a kiss to your temple, pulling the covers back up around your chin before heading into the kitchen.

kaveh’s already awake too, nursing a mug of coffee as he mulls over the blueprints spread over the dinner table. alhaitham pours himself some coffee, settling into a chair and ignoring his roommate’s protests as he pushes blueprints aside to make room for his mug.

“i was looking at those,” the architect grumbles. “can’t you sit somewhere else?”

alhaitham opens his book, flipping to the page he’d left off on. “it’s my table.”

“that i picked!”

“and i paid for.”

he knows that kaveh can’t argue with that. he smirks, crossing his leg over his knee as kaveh mutters curses, gathering up his blueprints and stomping over to the living room.

when he’s got a good book open, ignoring kaveh’s grumblings is an easy task. his eyes shift toward the clock, and when he sees it’s almost time to head to the akademiya, it’s his turn to grumble.

but then you saunter out of the bedroom, stretching languidly before shuffling over to sit in his lap, pressing various, sleepy kisses to his face. “good morning.”

“ugh,” kaveh scoffs from the couch. “so unbecoming.”

“move out then,” alhaitham suggests, gripping your chin and pulling you in for a proper kiss.

“i can bring you lunch today,” you suggest, hugging him tightly. “or we can go to puspa café and finally have our fortunes read in the coffee grounds!”

“no need,” he tells you. “i’ll just have amani bring me something.”

your face immediately falls, and he doesn’t need to be a scholar to know he’s made some sort of mistake. especially when you slide off his lap, picking up his unfinished cup of coffee and placing it in the sink.

oh it’s so awkward, he hears kaveh say from the living room.

“i wasn’t…” he swallows his protests when you turn around, hands on your hips.

“well, you can just have amani bring you a new one when you get to work.” you turn on your heel, heading off to the bedroom and slamming the shut behind you.

“you handled that terribly,” kaveh informs him. “clearly you’ve never had a woman scream at you with her eyes.”

alhaitham closes his book letting out a breath. “noted.”

after a beat silence, his roommate is the one who sighs, claiming the seat across from him. “alright, i’m going to help you now. because i know that your life has been one grand exercise in romantic self-destruction.”

“romantic self—”

“let me finish. between the job that you have and the one that you somehow got, how often are you home?”

“same hours as always,” he answers easily. just because he had two jobs now did not mean he had to work longer than his standard nine to five.

kaveh shakes his head. “yes, but you always come home too exhausted to do anything, and then she goes to work for the night.”

“that is typically what employed adults who pay rent do.”

he can’t help but chuckle when kaveh rolls his eyes. “okay, smartass. but do yourself a favour and don’t talk about the assistant that obviously has a crush on you. it’s always ‘amani’s this,’ and ‘amani that.’ next time your fiancee offers to bring you lunch, just say yes and absolutely don’t mention that your assistant can bring it to you instead. she’s jealous. you simply have to assure her that she has no reason to be.”

you’re not like that, alhaitham thinks. because he knows you. knows that you’d never be prone to something as cliché as jealousy. and of almani? whose face he couldn’t pick out of a crowd if he tried?

also, kaveh absolutely could not be right. he refused it.

_____

alhaitham’s already at the bimarstan when you arrive, holding two to-go cups of coffee from puspa café. you roll your eyes as your coworkers and patients are whisper amongst themselves, in awe of the akademiya scribe/acting grand sage in their midst.

“you still have approximately ten minutes before your shift,” he tells you. “have coffee with me.”

“i need to get ready,” you huff, speed-walking toward the staff room. “why don’t you drink it with almani instead?”

it’s a low blow, and it’s punctuated by the flash of hurt that flickers across his face. he follows you, though, ignoring the ‘staff only’ sign and shutting the door tightly behind you both.

he opts to stay silent as you put your things away, letting you take the drinks from his hand, “you don’t have to drink it. caffeine intake can affect a person’s fine motor skills. such circumstances are unideal if you’re stitching together a wound or—”

“don’t tell me what to do,” you take the lid off one of the drinks, still glaring at him as you take a sip. “i’m not your assistant.”

if looks could kill, he’d be dead. usually, this is the kind of look you reserve for kaveh when he’s banging around building knick-knacks in the middle of the night.

“i don’t like amani.” alhaitham takes the cup from your hands, placing it on the bench. “i love you, and i don’t say it enough.”

you deflate a little, shaking your head. “no— i— i know. i guess it’s just been a little crazy with everything that’s been going on. you’re the acting grand sage now and you’re busier than ever. i should be more supportive instead of being crazy jealous of—”

“so you were jealous?” damn kaveh.

“well, if i started spending all my time with someone other than you, wouldn’t you be?”

“no,” he answers confidently, reaching out and pulling you in by the waist. “i’m kind of a big deal around here. you certainly can’t do better than me.

“doctor,” one of your medical students interrupts, poking her head into the room. “the general mahamatra is in need of medical attention. he’s asked for you, specifically.”

wait, cyno? asking for you?

this information doesn’t seem to puzzle you the way it does him, and you press a quick kiss to alhaitham’s lips, smiling. “i’ll be right there.”

and if alhaitham hovers a little too closely, shooting daggers over the top of his book while you clean up and stitch the wound on cyno’s unfortunately well-sculpted abdomen, laughing at his every awful joke— you simply smirk, choosing not to say anything.

[ikkosu]

Ikko! Ikko! I've always had a thing for shaterred glass characters.... Have you ever imagined yourself with sg prowl? It could kidnap you for whatever purpose only imagine the optics red and you You have nowhere to run. 😈😈

Sammy!❤️

If SG prowl is the opposite. Then I'd reckon he's one big of a dumbass. Calm scheming asshole. I mean he's still cunning but braincell probably shared with Springer is still in the equation.

I haven't read the SG comics but I'd definitely would 100% want to be kidnapped by him. Not because he's hot as fuck but because his 'security' is so shit everytime you're taken by him finding a way to get out is is as easy as finding Starscream's ego in that confined metal Twinmk body of his.

At this point you know his place like the palm of your hand. Hopping on and off whenever you please, pretending 'oh no!! Prowl's out to get me again!!' and after like a bunch of sticky pounding you waddle away to the deceptions while Prowl is having an aneurysm wondering how in unicron's two ass you got out.

Prowl. You have one door. It's not locked. And the lock — it's also cheap. Why did he even have a door anyway? Don't they use like, idk, gates. Even if he did he wouldn't even remember the fucking password.

And Springer is mommy's boy. Always the one grabbing the human. Always the one running after them when they'd left for the umpteenth time again. And, just as always, has one singular braincell that just explodes when he even tries to form a thought.

He'd be the more saner one. At this point he's not longer holding up his blaster when he sees you again for the hundredth time, on the deception battlefield. the deceptions themselves aren't even concerned anymore.

"They're taken!" Poor new deception barges into the briefing room and everyone rises up with an alarmed look.

"Which human?" One of the cons clarified with a narrow look.

"(Y/n)!"

The new con was expecting everyone to scramble out with a series of shouts, push and shove, but all they get is a blank look, a collective vents, and they all sit back down again, neutral stature. "Give it a few days. They'll be back."

And you did. Like a cat disappearing from the house, coming back home with new food on its maw. Said food is classified blueprints from the autobots. The only person wary though is Megatron. He's not sure how you're able to handle this everytime. But he got used to it, silently watching as you stroll into base with questioning bruises on your neck.

"You're aware you're fraternizing with the enemy?" He approaches you own evening.

You shrug. "A good stress relief. But hey, at least I've got you in intel.."

That shut him up real good.

[silverynight]

Welcome home

<---Previous

Chapter 4

Izuku steps out of his cubicle and stretches for a couple of seconds before sitting back.

It has been a really productive morning, but also a difficult one; a couple of pro heroes have finished three out of ten missions on his list, a few cases have been successfully closed and now Izuku has to deal with the paperwork.

Pro heroes usually send him the reports, but he has to make sure they're in order and save them in the correct file.

Also, Aizawa told him they were going to start searching for the missing students in a new area; Todoroki and Hagakure are going to be in charge of it.

Since they have just one lead, a young girl who saw a "suspicious" person walking outside her school a few days ago, the situation hasn't been classified as a rescue mission. The pro heroes will be sent to locate and assess the situation first.

However, since they have to be ready for anything, Izuku has to be online the whole time, prepared to send more pro heroes if necessary.

At least he'll have time to eat something because the operation will start in a couple of hours.

As soon as he listens a couple of his coworkers sigh and start whispering among themselves he looks up, momentarily distracted.

"It's good to see you again, Midoriya."

"Good morning, Todoroki!"

The pro hero smiles softly at him before leaning over the cubicle a bit to see him better.

"Aizawa told me I can be in contact with you if I need anything during today's mission," he says, prompting Izuku to nod.

"Yes, I think you'll have to pay a visit to the support department so they give you what you need," he explains. "They'll provide you with an earpiece, but that's only in case things don't go as planned."

Izuku is not usually in constant communication with heroes unless the place is completely unknown to them and Izuku has to gide them through it with a blueprint. Sometimes, they need quick information on the villain's quirk and others he has to send assistance.

However, most of the time Izuku remains quiet while working on other cases because pro heroes take care of everything most days.

"Alright, thank you," Todoroki's lips quirk up a little again. Izuku doesn't usually see him smiling in interviews, so he's glad to know he does like to smile every now and then.

Perhaps it's because of what he knows about his family life (two years ago, a reporter found out serious and concerning stuff about Endeavor's behavior towards his wife and children) but sometimes Izuku feels the need to give Todoroki a hug. They're not friends so he knows he can't offer that kind of comfort, but he hopes one day he can.

Todoroki seems like a good person.

"Good luck on your mission!" Izuku beams.

"Thank you," the pro hero nods, looking slightly flustered. "I have to go see Aizawa now."

"I thought you already did!" Izuku mumbles, feeling a little bit mortified. He hopes his boss doesn't scold him for distracting a pro hero. "Sorry for keeping you!"

Todoroki's smile gets slightly wider; he looks amused.

"No, it's fine. I wanted to say 'Hi' to you first. Have a good day, Midoriya!"

"You too!"

***

He logs off before getting his bento box; he just needs to buy something to drink and then head to the break room.

"Great!" Ashido grins, startling him. "We arrived right on time!"

Behind her, Uraraka shows him her own lunch box before both pro heroes take him by the arms and drag him towards the elevator.

Pro heroes have their own break room; Izuku shouldn't be there, but his two friends are very persistent that day.

The room is almost empty anyway, due to their complicated schedules, pro heroes' breaks aren't usually at the same time as their coworkers'.

Ashido and Uraraka got lucky that day.

"Here, we got you something!" Uraraka hands him a can of green tea.

"Thank you!" Izuku beams, happily opening his bento; he's starving.

"Is that Tamagoyaki?" Ashido looks at his lunch with envy. "It looks delicious!"

"Yeah, you have gotten a lot better at cooking lately! I'm so proud!"

"Actually..." Izuku mumbles, scratching his cheek nervously as he looks at the eggs, the perfect cut vegetables and the sausage. His lunch really looks mouthwatering. "Kacchan made it for me. He picked me up this morning and gave me this before dropping me at work."

Ashido's smile morphs into something almost mischievous.

"Interesting."

"Wow," Uraraka blurts out. "Honestly, it's wild to see Bakugo acting like this. I never thought he'd be one of those besotted boyfriends when I was in high-school, in fact, I wasn't sure he was going to get himself a significant other and yet here we are."

Izuku chokes on his tea before staring at the two women sitting in front of him. They look too amused for his liking.

"You're right. I mean, we weren't even sure he was into... anything really because he never showed interest in anyone, but I guess his type is green haired cute beans!" Ashido chuckles, pinching Izuku's cheek affectionately.

"Please, stop," he pouts, turning completely red. "You know we're not dating! We're friends!"

"Of course you are, darling," the pink pro hero pats him on the head, like he's a stubborn kid.

"What's the meaning of this then? I can smell the love from here!" The brown haired woman asks, pointing at Izuku's beautiful bento box.

"He... Kacchan worries about me a lot," Izuku tries to explain. "He did this because he was mad I had noodles for dinner the other day. He says it's trash food."

"Well... Blasty is kinda right, they are certainly not good for you. Although he tends to overreact too," Ashido comments, resting her chin on her palm as she keeps looking at Izuku with amusement.

Flustered, he looks down at his lunch and keeps eating in silence for a while. He wonders why everyone seems to think he's dating Katsuki lately.

"Anyway..." Yellow eyes meet his as she sighs. "I think you should know that you make him really happy."

"He makes me happy too!"

They fall into a comfortable silence for a while, until Uraraka asks:

"Do you know if Todoroki is coming today? It's been a long time since I last saw him and I wanted to talk to him."

"So you were in the same class!" He says, glad to have guessed correctly as he watches both pro heroes nod. "Well, I think he's still in Aizawa's office, although he must be preparing for his mission."

"Have you met him?"

"Yes, he's really nice," he mumbles, after finally leaving his box empty. He needs to thank Katsuki for it again.

Both women nod, Izuku can see in their eyes they're having flashbacks of their time in high-school.

"He was a bit cold at first," Ashido says after a while. "Claiming he wasn't there to make friends, but he eventually warmed up to us!"

"Yeah, he doesn't trust people easily," the other pro hero nods after taking a bite of her mochi. "But he's really kind to those he decides to trust."

He wants to say something about his first meeting with Todoroki, but his phone vibrates then.

"Oh, it's Aizawa!" Izuku jumps from his seat after looking at his notifications. "Sorry, I have to go!"

Todoroki and Hagakure will be heading towards the place earlier than expected.

He needs to be ready.

***

It's been a couple of hours without news; Izuku's leg is bouncing under his desk, but he tries to focus on Kirishima's report.

The truth is, like probably everyone there, he can't stop thinking about those students. It's even worse when a new plan makes them hopeful.

He almost drops his black tea, the one he made before logging back in, when his earpiece makes a sound.

"Hagakure?"

"He keeps them here, Midoriya," the pro hero whispers. "But I think the villain is not alone so we'll probably need back up before proceeding."

"Let me transfer you to Aizawa," he says before checking the other pro heroes profiles. There are two of them on patrol, but they don't have any missions at the moment.

"How many?" Aizawa asks as soon as Izuku answers the call.

"Two available right now."

"Who?"

"Uravity and Dynamight."

"Alright. Send them the location and explain the situation to them briefly. Remember that our priority is to rescue the students."

"Yes, sir."

He decides to send them texts so they can focus better, well... he also does it not to fall into the temptation of wishing Katsuki good luck or ask him to be careful.

Izuku has to be professional.

Now comes the worst part of it: waiting. He knows a couple of his coworkers are monitoring them thanks to the tracker in their hero suits, but Izuku forces himself to stay in his station.

If things get... noisy the reporters will find out, and it'll be on the news in minutes. But Aizawa forbids them to look at the news while they're working because sometimes the reporters don't have all the information on what's going and can lead the people in Izuku's department to give the pro heroes wrong instructions.

They must act based on the data they have and the details the pro heroes themselves provide when they're dealing with the villains.

But it's difficult to stay there without doing anything and not knowing what's going on.

After almost an hour, he gets another call, this time from pro hero Shoto.

"Midoriya?"

"Yes?"

"We have five teenagers here. Can you send us the information on the missing students to make sure they all are here?"

"Of course. Are they alright?"

"Yes, I think they have a few scratches and some of them haven't eaten in hours, but they'll be fine."

As he says that, Izuku can hear a few explosions in the background and a familiar voice cursing at the top of his lungs.

He sighs in relief.

After sending the information to the four pro heroes in the scene, Uraraka texts him back that they are, in fact, the missing students.

***

By the time he has to leave, Izuku is desperate to see Katsuki. His coworkers told him that they took the students to the hospital and they are with their families at the moment.

Also, the villains have been taken into custody and are currently waiting for trial.

Perhaps he can ask Katsuki exactly what happened while they have dinner together.

"Izuku!"

"Kacchan!"

"Come here, I deserve one," the pro hero says with a smirk, spreading his arms in front of him as he steps out of the elevator.

Izuku doesn't know how their little routine started, but he gives Katsuki a hug after a successful mission; what he doesn't tell him is that he does it mostly because he's happy he didn't get hurt.

Since they're still in the building, Izuku is determined to give him just a quick hug, but Katsuki lifts him off his feet easily, prompting Izuku to giggle.

"I want a hug too."

"What the fuck are you doing here, half and half?"

"I came to see Midoriya and thank him for his assistance during the mission."

Izuku tries to get back on his feet, but Katsuki refuses to let him go and even moves him away from Todoroki's reach.

"Can I get a hug?"

"Of course, Todoroki!"

"Fuck off, half and half!"

"Kacchan, be nice!"

In the end Izuku does give the other pro hero a hug, although Katsuki pulls him away by the hood of his jacket rather quickly.

They're in the hallway, but he can see his coworkers trying to get a glimpse of what's going on from the office.

"Do you want to go celebrate with us, Midoriya? Uraraka says we should go out."

"Sure!" Izuku is tired, but Todoroki looks happy about the perspective of hanging out with friends that he can't say no. He has the feeling he doesn't do that often.

Katsuki growls before pulling Izuku aside.

"But I thought we were having dinner at my place! I was going to cook Italian for you!"

"We can do that tomorrow, Kacchan. Let's hang out with our friends!"

He pouts, but Izuku knows he will go anyway.

"Tch! Fine!"

Izuku puts both hands at each side of the pro hero's face and grins at him; the fact that Katsuki has to bend over a little so Izuku can reach him makes him feel warm inside.

Then, Katsuki pulls him into another hug as he flips Todoroki off.

"Kacchan!"

***

Next-->

Patreon

[yellowocaballero]

I admire your commitment to writing tim drake as having spent his formative childhood years on a different awful forum in every universe. it fills a conspicuous void in the fandom ecosystem.

I want to put this ask on my wall. Thank you for understanding me. Thank you so much.

Look, I think there are reasons why characters act the way they do. So often when writing Batfam people put in 0 work into actually establishing why or how a character is Like That, which feels necessary when the character is the most Like That of all time. You end up with a father-son or brotherly soulmates situations and it's bizarre. Why are you adopting this child you saved, you save fifty children a day and there is nothing special about him.

Tim Drake is a fucking freak and there needs to be a reason for that. Child neglect isn't enough. Somebody like Tim needs a very specific thing to happen in their lives to get them to the point of making his decisions. He needs to be obsessive, to spend time in a place that feeds and validates his obsessions, to be in a place where he can easily collect a great deal of data to construct a pathway model, and for all of this to happen without leaving his room. It has to be the internet. Tim is a guy who the internet churns out. I know he's from the 80s but Tim as a person is somebody who is so chronically online in the weirdest way. Not chronically online how WE'RE chronically online. He's on the weird forums. Like those military simulator game forums where military personnel post classified blueprints for future military tanks in order to win an argument. Those kinds.

If you were a domestic terrorist in the early 00s you were probably on Something Awful. All I can say (Actually, technically the SA thing is an anachronism - it didn't actually pick up until the early 00s. But it was the website that worked the best, explained the most, and I fucking needed to make the 'But he wouldn't tell her what the awful thing was' joke, so here we are). This is also the reason for the other anachronism of NW. Homestuck.

[thanathicca]

Pathologic Fest Day 1: From the Other Side

Are AUs allowed on @pathologicfest ? Regardless, we are submitting an illustration of our 22nd century Thanatica AU, "imperare sibi maximum imperium est", anyway (ft. transfem Haruspex) :)

Image description is in alt text. News writing, as well as no text versions of the art, are under the cut.

The text:

(note, the fic itself may or may not have this version of the news - we will definitely edit it later)

Is this the end for Thanatica Labs?

THE CAPITAL, 1 OCTOBER 2165

Daniil Dankovsky, founder of Thanatica Laboratories and lead scientist of the first successful mind-uploading device AVA Project, has once again declined an offer of cooperation from a multinational company. The cooperation deal by Vector Tech, which would have netted Dankovsky a record XXX billion, would have Thanatica Labs give away their exclusive rights to the AVA blueprints and let the company build new AVA units with a tiered subscription program.

"We regret that the deal couldn’t be done," Mr. Telman, CEO of Vector Tech, has gone on record to say. "It’s a shame that Thanatica hoards all their progress under Dankovsky’s influence. Our company would have brought your AVA to the whole world! What kind of scientist are you?"

When requested for an interview, Dr. Dankovsky responded, “Thanatica has, and will always, stand with ethical practices. We are scientists who would not gate one’s life behind paywalls. The deal would have made a version of AVA with proprietary Vector Tech operating system, which has gone on record to sell people’s data to third parties, including intelligence agencies. Would you want data submitted the AVA, which would contain your most vulnerable memories, to be sold to the highest bidder? Would you want targeted advertisements in your brain? Moreover, the deal also mentioned using the subscription programs to access certain memories or even brain functions, which meant you could randomly forget the most important moments in your life, or even forget how to solve a crossword, just because you are a little short on money.”

Vector Tech has not responded to an interview request.

.

Plague “Panacea” safety put into question

While the so-called “panacea” for the plague has been lab-tested for human consumption with 100% efficacy, the contents has so far eluded researchers. A scientist of Thanatica Laboratories has been suspected to be its discoverer.

.

Thanatica founder indicted after siege

THE CAPITAL, 2166

A nation-wide warrant has been released for Thanatica Laboratories founder Daniil Dankovsky, 30, who is wanted by our Nation for unethical experimentation, medical negligence, and leaking classified documents from both governmental bodies and private companies.

Dankovsky has fled his laboratory in the Capital alongside his employees after the month-long siege of Thanatica, where he has been requested to reveal the contents of the so-called “panacea” of the plague. The creators of the “panacea” is also wanted for medical fraud and negligence, as well as rejecting government mandate to explain themselves in court, the Ministry of Health, and Ministry of Research and Development.

[deathsbestgirl]

Idk why but I feel like asking you a slightly challenging X-Files question. Why do you think Scully asks to be alone at the end of "Emily"? Would she not want Mulder there to help her through her grief? Is she shutting down? Do you think Emily changed how Mulder saw himself?

literally i think about this every time i watch emily!! this is going to be a long one so under the cut

i think scully asks to be alone for a lot of reasons. she's not easily vulnerable, even with mulder who she trusts more than anyone. she's usually the protector in this relationship (even if he often shields her bodily and goes to great lengths to save her). but this is her daughter, she's barely had time to process emily's existence before she's losing her. scully tells mulder he's right and she doesn't want it to be true but it's also the only thing allowing scully to let emily go, to not keep fighting.

while scully chooses her battles, she never gives up on the people who are important to her. sometimes it really shocks me that she lets emily die, that she doesn't question mulder when he asks the question about a cure for her. but emily pleaded with scully, telling scully her mom said no more tests. she's already been through so much and she couldn't bear to see emily in pain (that air pressure chamber — literally the moment emily showed slight discomfort she tells the man to turn it off, and gets more urgent about it when she sees emily's veins). putting her through more experimental treatments that would mostly just hurt her, she couldn't bear it.

failure is something scully struggles with deeply. and even though she barely had any time with emily, this is a failure to her. she wasn't going to be allowed to adopt emily, and she couldn't even save her. plus the connection to her abduction here is making her even more vulnerable, especially after the harrowing experience of her cancer and being forced to face it. mulder essentially asks the same question after her diagnosis and upon the discovery of emily.

so much happened to scully in these two episodes and it's ending with her daughter's death, which at the moment, she's likely thinking this is her only chance. and it's her profession and lack of serious relationships that was hurting her chance. and then even trying to save emily was making it worse.

i also think she takes mulder's concerns *very* seriously. and it's hard to reconcile all of this with what she knows is right, the only choice to her. it's hard to imagine scully abandoning any child, but a little girl who looks just like melissa as a child? her daughter? unthinkable.

there's something here, too, i think about mulder keeping the information about her ova from her and turning away when the doctor asks if they're the parents. while she absolutely understands and will forgive him, these are not small things. they always tell each other the truth, no matter how hard it is because it's what they both value above most things. and while mulder isn't emily's father biologically or through marriage, i don't think there's any question of what his role would have been. regardless of how mulder & scully classify their relationship.

all this to say, there's a lot at play and it's who scully is. it takes her long time to be voluntarily vulnerable with him. she's always trying to hide her pain & her weakness. she's the strong one. and any time she believes or is vulnerable, when their roles reverse, they are off kilter. they are almost too comfortable in their assigned roles, the parts they play for each other. it takes a long time for them to find the balance in the ways they've changed each other, the space they give each other to be exactly who they are & everything they are (even though it comes slowly because it's scary & uncomfortable and they have to make a new blueprint & roadmap).

(side note, this is another reason i love fight club. after all things, they're clearly so much more comfortable stepping out of their typical role. scully can play paranormal believer and it isn't scary when she sounds like him.)

and just to answer the other two parts: i don't think she's shutting down, and i do think she would want the comfort. but two things: first, i'm not sure scully knows how to accept comfort just yet. she rarely opens up until she's at a point where she can't, even with her mom. second, this is after small potatoes & detour & mulder turning away at being assumed the father...scully understands mulder isn't ready. and now they have some more to work through. season five is actually one of the toughest. it's the season where they're most in limbo — to me, even more than season six. it's just emotional landmine after emotional landmine. so, i think maybe she thinks she can't let him comfort her. she's aware of her feelings & what she wants, and she respects every choice of his so deeply. not even so much because of him, but because there's a new awareness that's difficult for her to navigate.

i might need to you to explain this question about mulder a little more. i think emily is terrifying for him, for many reasons. i don't know if it changes anything for him quickly, but it feels the start of something (as so many endings are).

[twizzyburger]

Redemption

caught..

part 1!

tags!❀

Captor!König x Engineer!F/NB!Reader

In a digital cataclysm, documents erupted like an insidious storm across the vast expanse of the web, their clandestine contents laying bare the identities of thousands—soldiers, scientists, and amongst them, you were exposed to the unforgiving scrutiny of the virtual tempest.

“We got them…”

Amidst the orchestrated messiness, the room unfolded akin to an engineer's inner sanctum. Commanding the space was a substantial desk, its gleaming surface marred solely by the scattered remnants of papers strewn across both the desk and floor in a harmonious symphony of unbridled inspiration. A glass whiteboard, embellished with a maze of equations and intricate models, stood guard against one wall, bearing witness to the perpetual cerebral ballet that unfolded within. Blueprints graced the encompassing walls like revered manuscripts, revealing the chronicles of meticulously devised weaponry. Delicately crafted miniature weapon models, elegant yet potent, adorned the shelves, murmuring stories of functionality and design.

You sighed, the weight of frustration heavy in the air, as you furiously scribbled on your pad, attempting to rectify a flaw in one of the prototypes you had been diligently working on. The room echoed with the rhythmic dance of your pen against the paper, a silent symphony of dedication. Suddenly, a disruptive banging shattered the cocoon of concentration around you. Annoyed, you tossed the pad onto the desk, irritated that anyone would dare to interrupt your solitary focus. The door swung open, revealing a soldier who entered in haste, speaking at an accelerated pace, leaving you bracing for the unexpected intrusion.

“Everything!Everythingwasleaked!Wecan’tgetaholdofDr.Leon!Everythingwasleaked!Soldiers,scientists,everyone!”

You stared at the soldier in confusion, the rapid stream of words leaving you struggling to grasp the urgency in their message. Frowning, you held up a hand, a silent plea for them to slow down and articulate their message more clearly. "Take a breath and start from the beginning," you urged, a mix of irritation and genuine curiosity flickering in your eyes as you waited for the soldier to unravel the reason behind their sudden intrusion.

“They leaked everything! Dr. Leon is in another country, he can’t take deal with it and our signals have been cut off!”

Your inquiry about the leak causes your mind to race with the sudden revelation. The soldier swiftly details that all classified information, including yours, has been compromised. A surge of concern tightens your chest, prompting both of you to hurriedly head to your computer. With a flash drive from Dr. Leon, you deftly maneuver through the digital maze, inputting a protective code to shield the exposed information from prying eyes.

A sense of triumph illuminates your face as the safeguard activates, preventing unauthorized access to your sensitive data. "Dr. Leon provided this for emergencies," you share, your voice tinged with a blend of relief and gratitude. The once chaotic room now stands as a fortified defense against the digital intrusion that loomed, threatening to unveil your identity to the world.

With a nod of gratitude, the soldier acknowledges your efforts and swiftly exits the room, leaving you to reclaim the sanctuary of your workshop. As the door closes behind them, you return to your desk, picking up your notepad with a renewed focus. The urgency of the situation lingers in the air, but you find solace in the familiar dance of pen against paper as you continue to modify and refine your designs.

…A sudden bang startles you, and your eyes dart towards the door. A fleeting thought suggests it might just be routine shooting practice, but before you can dismiss it, another loud bang echoes through the air. Alarmed, you yell, uncertainty gripping your senses. The unmistakable thud of boots pounding in the hallway draws your attention, the cacophony growing louder and more chaotic. A tense realization settles in, shattering the illusion of routine, as you brace yourself for the unexpected tumult that now encircles your once-quiet workspace.

"Where are they?!" a voice with a distinct German accent echoes, a hint of urgency cutting through the air. The voice, slightly high-pitched yet carrying a rough edge, raises your concern. A series of more bangs and a thud against your door intensify the chaos. Reacting swiftly, you stand and make your way to a nearby closet in your room, seeking refuge and concealment amidst the unfolding uncertainty. The echoes of commotion linger in the air as you brace yourself for the unknown presence outside your door.

Another resounding bang reverberates through the room, and with a sickening crack, the hinges of your door surrender to the relentless force. The door bursts open, hanging precariously from the damaged frame. Panic courses through your veins, and you instinctively hold your breath, pressed against the back of the closet in fear.

As the intruder strides into the room, you catch a glimpse through the crack in the closet door. The man is tall, towering over the space with an intimidating presence. A hood shrouds his features, casting a veil over his intentions. Your limited military training pulses through your veins, a meager defense against this imposing adversary, knowing that you could not beat this mammoth of a man. The closet becomes a fragile sanctuary as you silently pray that the looming threat passes without unveiling your hiding place.

[typingatlightspeed]

Metal Gear Fanfic - Thunder

Hal discovers another metal gear leak, in perhaps the most obvious of places. A very stupid fic with a very stupid joke. Ao3 Link! @tarisbackyard made a joke about this months ago and I knew then I needed to write a silly lil ficlet of it, lol.

---------

The frantic clicking of Hal's laptop mouse and absence of any other active sound was what alerted Snake to the fact that something was amiss.

Typically, even when deeply engrossed in work, a flurry of sound tended to accompany Hal's computer activity. He usually listened to something, background noise to help him focus in the form of some 80s city pop or an episode of a mecha OVA, rarely actually paid attention to. When Snake was doing something in the same room, he'd wear headphones, but when he was alone, he didn't bother.

So when Snake walked out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower and toweling off his hair, it immediately set off alarm bells to find such relative silence, doubly so as he walked into the living room to find Hal sitting cross-legged on the couch, hunched over his laptop like a shrimp in near-complete silence, save for the sounds of his own busy typing and clicking.

"Everything okay?" Snake asked, digging in his ear with his towel. Rounding on the couch, he caught sight of Hal's face and stopped, his guts clenching tight. The man looked like someone had just shot his dog.

"Not even slightly," Hal murmured. A few clicks, and he sat back to let Snake see the screen, upon which were a set of metal gear blueprints. "This was just posted. Publicly, on the War Thunder forums."

Snake came up alongside Hal, peering at the screen, eyes wide. "War Thunder forums?"

"War Thunder's an online military vehicle combat game. It's whole gimmick is that it tries to be as realistic as possible with its portrayal of the vehicles it features."

"And they've added a metal gear?"

"Yes, but this isn't their post. Their public forums have a reputation. People get really passionate about their favourite vehicles, their specs, the verisimilitude, and a bunch of times over the years, there have been players with access to classified design and specification documents who've posted those documents on the forums in order to win arguments about the vehicles they're discussing."

"You're serious?"

"Never underestimate a military nerd with an axe to grind. Some people get so deep into it that they forget that winning an argument on the internet isn't the be-all end-all," Hal said, shaking his head ruefully. "It's happened enough times to become an internet meme known outside of the player base of the game. People who have no interest in the military, vehicles, or the game know about the War Thunder forums and people leaking classified information on it."

"And someone leaked metal gear plans."

"Yeah. Recently, they added TX-55 to the game, and it's caused a bit of an uproar on the forums. Some people are mad earlier iterations of metal gears weren't added first, others are angry that something that powerful was added before the infantry models like Metal Gear G, but for the most part there's been a lot of back and forth about the actual specs of TX-55 itself, how it compares to other metal gears, and modern innovations. And then someone leaked these plans."

Snake squinted at the schematics onscreen, scanning the information as quickly as he could. There was no mistaking the shape of it. "That's REX."

"It is," Hal confirmed, the weight of it making him sink in his seat, slouching over again.

"Who posted it?"

"That's what I've been working on," Hal replied, taking his mouse back in hand. "The username is a jumble of letters and numbers. It looks like a bot username, honestly, but the poster uses enough slang and has enough grammar errors in their post history that I'm reasonably sure it's a human user. They're here to argue about tanks and planes and metal gears, no doubt about it. So I've been working on figuring out how to hack into the forums' database and get their IP info. Once I do, I can work on finding them."

"You can do that." It wasn't a question, it wasn't a statement. The words left Snake's mouth bereft of tonal indicator, himself unsure which direction they should go.

"Of course I can." Hal smirked, and began typing something out.

"Alright. While you get on that, I'll go get dressed. Once you've got a bead on them we can make our plan from there," Snake said matter-of-factly.

"You gotta get dressed?" Hal lamented, reaching out and giving Snake's ass an appreciative squeeze.

"If I don't, you'll get too distracted to work," Snake chuckled, grabbing Hal's hand and removing it from his butt.

Hal pouted. "Now I really hate this leaker," he grumbled, turning to watch all the same as Snake chuckled and sauntered out of the room, swaying his hips for Hal's benefit.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Oliver Willis at Daily Kos:

Project 2025, the blueprint for an extremist government crafted by more than 140 of Donald Trump’s current and former staffers, calls for dismantling the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration Agency, which is currently providing information and assistance to help local communities recover from the deadly Hurricane Helene. Commonly known as NOAA, the federal agency provided a constant stream of information on the hurricane as it developed, including details on its formation and predicted path generated by the related National Weather Service. The data helped to inform officials as they announced evacuation orders and has assisted them in planning rescue and recovery efforts.

Hurricane Helene was classified as Category 4 with a maximum measured wind speed of 140 miles per hour, impacting multiple states. The current death toll is at 121 people, according to The Associated Press. Meanwhile, conservatives have begun circulating misinformation about the hurricane, including conspiracy claims about “weather modification.” Page 664 of Project 2025’s “Mandate for Leadership” states, “The National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) should be dismantled and many of its functions eliminated, sent to other agencies, privatized, or placed under the control of states and territories.” The manifesto also calls for gutting or privatizing the Federal Emergency Management Agency, the National Flood Insurance Program, and federal disaster funding.

[...] Trump has attempted to distance himself from Project 2025, which was conceived and developed by The Heritage Foundation, a conservative think tank. But his ties run deep, from the many staffers involved in drafting it to key architect Russell Vought’s hidden-camera admission that “There are people like me that have his trust that will be able to get it to him in whatever position we’re at. The relationships will be there. The trust level will be there.”

Project 2025 and a possible 2nd Trump administration would be a disaster for hurricane recovery efforts.

See Also:

MMFA: Right-wing media falsely insist there is no federal response to Hurricane Helene, while praising Trump for visiting victims in Georgia

[pokkin]

I just got banned from the Renaissance Fair discord for posting classified Trebuchet blueprints

[drift-phonk]

Starscream Week Day 2 Prompt: Relationships / Trine / Love - (Very) briefly touches on Starscream's relationship with the rest of his Trine, before he develops something stronger with Punk. ( OC x Canon, sort of.)

---

Love. A concept that had never been something he would even entertain. The war was too important - the cause was too important - to worry about anything else. Skywarp and Thundercracker were the only two mechs he would even consider himself close with in any regard; they were the Elite Trine, three of the strongest Decepticons to grace the battlefield. A battlefield that was ever moving, ever shifting, as the remainder of energon left on Cybertron dwindled into nothing.

Harmonex was an unimpressive city, made even less so by the war. Where tall buildings once stood, there was only ruin. Where lithic crystals used to sing, there was only silence. And where he expected desolation, he saw a sign of life.

It wasn’t much, and at first he thought it was just a figment of his imagination. Harmonex had been destroyed half a million years ago; who in the world could remain, to dig through the rubble for any scraps of energon that may remain? The only bots that had been here had been the Decepticons, scrounging for any leftover fuel that may have been hidden in the remnants of a once beautiful city.

Still, his curiosity gets the best of him, and he heads in for a closer look.

It’s a single, lone mech, with a handful of small energon cubes in their arms. And, really, it was more a case of them finding him, instead of the other way around. He’d found where they’d been hiding, and he’d been looking through their things when they arrived. The workshop was a nightmare; half-finished blueprints scattered about on anything that could be classified as a table, projects barely out of conception that were abandoned. Paintings, works in progress that had been sitting around for so long that the colors had started to dull and dust had begun to collect on their surfaces.

When he locked eyes with them, their expression grew to one of surprise. The stranger puts their energon cubes on a small pile of blueprints and kneels, trying to clean up some of the mess in their hidden space underneath the city.

Instead of walking away, or killing them, he stayed to talk. To figure out their story. Their name was Daft Punk - a name that, he muses, sounds typical of a bot that grew up in a city like Harmonex. “Punk” was what they usually went by, they told him, before they asked for his name in turn. “Starscream,” he replied. “Commander Starscream.” And he told them of the Decepticon cause, of how they sought to free all of Cybertron from the corruption that the Senate had put in place. How they fought for the ability to choose one’s path in life, instead of it being dictated by one’s function.

Punk already seemed sold on the idea well before he’d finished telling them about it. He couldn’t help but smile to himself; always an opportunist, he offered them a place among the Decepticon ranks. Their skills could be invaluable to the cause, he told them, and they were short on scouts. They’d agreed without hesitation, taking his offered hand and getting to their feet. Anything was better than staying here and wasting away, they reasoned.

Punk was the third mech he let himself get close to. But they were different than his brothers; they were far more loyal. They rarely questioned the orders he gave to them. They put their trust in him, and only him; and Starscream knew that they would never betray him. For a time, he reasoned that they were good to have around. They were an asset, a tool for him to use in his quest for power. An extra set of eyes and ears, that could report Megatron’s every move to him.

But as years turned to decades, decades to centuries, centuries to millennia… he found himself closer to them than to the rest of his Trine. There was something special about them, he just couldn’t place what it was. Their devotion had never wavered; whenever he had a plan, they were there to help. Whenever Megatron had one of his tantrums, Punk would wordlessly help patch up his wounds. They buff out his dents, and fix his paint, without ever complaining. He’d started to notice a quiet fury in their eyes whenever it happened, but he knew it wasn’t directed at him. Never at him.

Something began to stir in his spark, near the end of the war. Something unfamiliar, something that made his circuits feel like they were about to catch fire. It was a feeling that he kept hidden under his carefully crafted facade; he couldn’t allow himself to get attached. Attachment meant weakness, and weaknesses could be exploited. So he would keep Punk at a safe distance, never letting them too close.

But he couldn’t deny that, perhaps, this was what love felt like.

[kallie-den]

hi! warhound broke my brain and now I have questions. you've mentioned plans before of wanting to write more in the universe, and the handlers as a role really intrigue me. do you think we'll ever see others and their individual methods/relationships to their pilots? as well, is there an in universe reason we never catch the name of sartha's handler?

(cannot thank you enough for your writings btw!!!! they have brought me so much joy)

Hi! That's maybe the best opening line to an ask I've ever received, haha. I really couldn't hope for more! And, you're so welcome. Bringing readers joy is truly the greatest feeling ever

As for the handlers, none of this has really made it onto the page yet, but I've always kind of imagined that yes, there are others. Sartha's Handler is the blueprint - the original, and the best - but owing to her success, I think the military she's a part of has tried to cultivate other handlers to brainwash even more rebel pilots. Which, naturally, involves finding and recruiting some very twisted women who probably have their own takes on the handler/hound relationship

I can't promise you'll see it, just because I have a lot on my plate and no firm plans for that right now, but I definitely think it would be fun to write about in the future!

I don't think there's a specific in-universe reason we never catch Handler's name. She does have one (presumably) and it's not classified or anything. However, the fact that we don't catch it definitely reflects how the other people on the base think and talk about her. To them, she's a distant figure. She's not really one of them, she's very distinctive and they're very, very afraid of her. In their minds, she's an icon more than a woman. The Handler

Hope that answers your questions!!