#he was not expecting us to explode this one particular building

[toastiecakes]

Unrelated to the current world building I've been doing and just a completely unhinged thing that I feel seems relevant and on brand:

In a dnd session I had on Monday, I successfully fell down a flight of stairs, climbed back up witha molotov, and exploded an entire storeroom (which also happened to be the bar) of alcohol. As a tiefling being resistant to fire, I spent the rest of that combat on fore and happily traumatizing the guys we were fighting

[alastorsshade]

Alastor’s ear pricked up, feeling eyes on him. He wasn’t a stranger to being the center of attention, he was the radio demon after all! But he had grown intimately familiar with this particular stare over the course of the past week.

Already spying his shadow’s petulant expression from the corner of his eye, he knows they’re expecting him to ask the same question he's been asking them for the past week, but he’s in no mood to receive the same evasive answer in return. 

So, instead he refuses his roles and continues to hum an old tune he once heard during his heyday while fixing up himself an early dinner. Usually he preferred his meals to be more raw, but tonight he was in the mood for some comfort food, and what could possibly be more comforting than his own mother’s jambalaya recipe! Why to think of anything else would simply be blasphemous. His mother’s cooking was to die for, and a sinner did indeed die for it! 

He lets out a chuckle at his joke, and almost tells it to his shadow out of habit, but remembers their current staring problem and decides against it. They didn’t deserve to hear his phenomenal humor if they weren’t even going to use their words with him in the first place.

He stubbornly returns to humming. Although the static filter overlaying his voice, flickers with interference even more now, and continues to build up the longer his shadow simply stares at him. 

He was used to staring. However, he wasn’t used to the one staring at him being his own shadow. Not without them at least saying something or making some type of noise. It was starting to grate on his nerves more than he cared to admit.

“i don’t like him.” 

The sudden hiss gives Alastor pause before he slowly resumes stirring the pot.

Letting out a soft hum of feedback. “Don’t like who?” He had an inkling of who they were talking about, but after being forced to endure them dancing around the subject for a whole entire week, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit petty. Sue him.

“you know who” they growl out this time, having caught onto his game.

He only vaguely smiles at that, feeling as threatened as he would if faced with an angry kitten. “How could I possibly know when you refuse to tell me. Now use your words, darling.”

The harsh cry of a radio interference rings out before exploding into a fit of animalistic hisses. His shadow unafraid to show off their outrage and displeasure, but slowly and surely- just as he was counting on- the hisses turn into a singular screech. “that blasted noisy picture box!”

His eyes widened in surprise by the sheer animosity that one screeched held . He was pleased to finally have his suspicions confirmed, but he couldn’t say he was sure as to why they seemed so worked up over his newest acquaintance, Box. 

Sure he was a rather peculiar fella. What with his head being a picture box as his shadow pointed out, but Alastor and thus his shadow could easily squash him. He didn’t pose a threat and likely never would, not with Alastor keeping a close eye on him.

"Oh dear, what could Box have possibly done to get you in such a tizzy." His words were meant to placate, but the shadows around him only grew darker. An indicator of his shadow's mood was merely worsening.

They fume in anger before projecting their image up on the entire wall in front of him. Expanding their form to come off as more threatening.

He could tell they were dangerously close to trashing his bedroom and that simply wouldn't do.

"his name is vox!" They fume out, the shadows farther away from them beginning to whip around in tendrils that possessed a smoke-like quality.

Thinking quickly, Alastor forces himself to appear nonchalant with his arms crossed behind his back. Staff carefully grasped in his right hand should he need to use it. "Is it now?"

For a split second, he watches his shadow carefully. His words seem to throw them off. He's unsure whether that's a good thing but carries on. "Hmm well you can hardly blame me. The most rememorable thing about him is his head."

The darkness slowly recedes from the room, his shadow holding a perplexed expression. "do you not like him?"

Now it's his turn to look perplexed, blinking slowly. "Well I like him enough to not eat him. He can be very amusing." Skilled at bending the truth as he may be, he answered their question honestly. Curious to see where this whole conversation was leading.

"so you like me more?" they slowly ask before quickly tacking on. "i'm more entertaining than him, aren't i?" They inch closer as their form is reduced to the same height as his once more.

Sensing the danger has passed, Alastor relaxes enough to let out a genuine laugh. "Why of course mon rire. No one could ever come close" He can't help but look at them oddly, unsure where all this was coming from now or what this all had to do with Vox. Perhaps a visit to Rosie was due.

In the midst of his musing, his shadow deflates completely from his previous posturing and instead wraps around Alastor like an excitable puppy. Purring pleasantly as his form twists and turns over every curve and angle that makes up Alastor making cooking rather difficult.

Alastor for his part resigns himself to the embrace momentarily. Patting his shadow on his back. "If that's all you needed. We could have had this whole thing taken care of ages ago."

His shadow for his part looks at him strangely before shaking its head and slowly unwrapping himself from him. Although he doesn't stray far from him and instead seems content to watch Alastor continue cooking. Putting on a record for them to listen to and helping where they can.

[georg-prime]

AaA finale wishes

Things I'm expecting to happen in no particular order:

Next trial is the last one, it's the earth trial but here it doesn't necessarily need a green witch to solve it

Agatha helps both Jen and Billy to regain the memories they lost after their own near death experience

Jen and Billy get out of the road without Agatha but not because they wanted to (either she push them out somehow for some reason, or Rio separate them on purpose then tries and keeps Agatha trapped so that she dies or something)

Timey wimey stuff happen because 'time is an illusion'

we see how Agatha was born/why her mother decided she was evil from birth

We see how Agatha and 'Rio' met and fell in love

How Agatha aquiered the darkhold

Some twist about Nick Scratch

Billy getting his full Wiccan appearance with a blueish suit and a red cape

Jen begins to teach other people, spreading good important witchy knowledge

Things I hope we'll get:

Part of the timey wimey stuff is that Wanda's kids were created from preexisting souls (at least pieces of them) who then went back to the body they were meant to be, hense Wanda's "thank you for choosing me to be your mother". Billy's reunion won't be with Tommy yet, nor Wanda, but with himself: he always has been Billy Kaplan he just also was Billy Maximoff for a bit too

We learn that an other teenager had a near death experience near Westview when the hex went down, but his powers suddenly manifested in a more violent way while he also had no idea who he was anymore. Tommy's souls might still be broken in two which could be why Billy can feel him in a way without really being able to know where he is. Or Tommy really is in a certain institution after he accidentally made things explode, and it's a place build to block all kinds of powers

Explanations about 'Rio', her origins and powers, and purpose. Is she really big cosmic entity Death, or a temporary limited to Earth jurisdiction, nerfed avatar of Death? Is she solidifying people's soul into flowers to transport them? Where does she take them, is it Mephisto's Hell dimension or Dormmamu's or an other - frustratingly - unspecified afterlife place. Would be nice if it was Battleworld for some of them so that we get a chance to see at least Alice again.

Speaking about Alice, if she isn't taken to Battleworld, a version of her from an alternate reality appears at the end.

Implied that Agatha starts or think of starting a magic academy like the MCU's version of Strange Academy

Someone drops the word 'mutant' - like they did in Miss Marvel - for Agatha, and possibly Billy.

Rather than 'Rio' getting Agatha to die in one way or an other, Agatha (maybe with Billy's help) 'frees' her from this Death job, and she just stays/goes back to being a green witch. She's very pissed and might try to/swears that she will directly kill Agatha but it is implied that they might now be more likely to reconcile one day - especially after also having here talked (screamed at each other) about Nicolas.

Billy goes home to his parents and tells them he remembers everything

America Chavez (and/or Kamala Khan and/or Kate Bishop) shows up in the credits

Somehow we learn Sharon "Ms Hart" Devis was using magic so that her flowers look perfect

The Bohner family reunion t-shirt was foreshadowing hilariously, and Ralph is actually Nick - is set up to be an antagonist in a sequel/spin off or something, it introduce Mephisto to the MCU like Thanos was before he appears in Ironheart

Just hopefully it's really as satisfying as they say it is, and not super depressing. In my honest opinion superhero fatigue isn't a thing, people just kept getting disappointed that those movies/shows rather than being cool and fun and safe entertainment, where the protagonist save the day and get the girl/guy, where now almost systematically full of tragedies or at best bitter-sweet.

Just give us some Halloween themed fun please haha 😅

[callahanisms]

manners maketh man

i think everyone knows which pedro pascal edit went viral on tik tok. and consequently, i got kingsman edits. and then i rewatched the movies. so in the end, we get this post.

have fun with these headcanons! we can even call this a spy au since the kingsman franchise falls under that genre of films.

ser criston cole

a man on an exchange assignment from the dornish red wine company, criston is a suave man that you get paired with for the assignment. your goal is to show him the ropes. but the dornish tend to do things a little differently and the two of you clash heads because of your different way of doing things. despite the differences, you have immense respect for criston. he even saves your life when you let your guard down.

“it wouldn’t do me any good if my partner was dead. i would be an awful dornishman if you died on my watch.”

daemon targaryen

a more senior member of the seven kings trading company, the man has been out of the game for quite some time. he’s very particular about his safety due to his work experience. and daemon is very shocked to find you at his doorstep, a new member of the seven kings trading company. something has happened to his brother and viserys told you to go to daemon in case anything went wrong. of course his brother was able to figure out how to locate him long ago. begrudingly, he becomes your partner to teach you his own tricks. and maybe he even learns a few from you.

“now (y/n), the secret here is to- no! please do not do that! not unless you want us to get caught and for the whole building to explode! geez. what do they even teach you guys now?”

rhaenyra targaryen

it was expected of rhaenyra to step up as a member of the seven kings trading company. after all, her father had led them and she must prove her worth as a trainee. she had no issues completing it and becoming a formidable spy. but the woman lacked...restraint. she was impulsive and went into things head on. you were assigned as her partner to get her to stop being impulsive and think about decisions. you both did not mesh well and it wasn’t until you get kidnapped did rhaenyra finally learn to think things through first. and you? you learned to blow shit up more.

“listen the reason why you suck at talking to people is because you are more concerned with how you are perceived and the way you look. here, look at me. loosen your posture. unbutton the top buttons of your shirt for gods’ sake!”

alicent hightower

alicent hightower is a notable member of tech support. she’s created a variety of new weapons for the seven kings trading company and you just happen to be her favorite agent to work with. you’re quite oblivious to the looks of longing she has towards you, how she always keeps a stash of gadgets and parts for you specifically that no one else can touch, the fact that she clears her schedule just for you. she’s a busy woman after all. however, you’re too caught up in fieldwork to notice her affections. or even pick up on them.

“oh nyra what do i do?! i have done everything and (y/n) still does not notice me!....what? no! i can’t just loosen up and tell them! it’s a lot more complicated than that and you know it! i’m not you or (y/n). i’m just...alicent!”

aegon targaryen

you loved your boyfriend. you really did! were you a little frustrated that he never really talked about his family and you knew nothing of his background? yes. but you decided not to pry. you both were happy and content. that was all that mattered. but when aegon came home after grocery shopping, he found the apartment in disarray and a single message: (y/n) for sunfyre. he hated seeing that name and it led him back to the seven kings trading company. aegon left the life of espionage when he was able to. it was too much pressure to perform. but now you were on the line and he had no choice but to go back in.

“why don’t we just give them the goddamn usb! i don’t have to do anything, (y/n) is safe and unharmed, and we all go about our lives! i don’t even want to be here but i have to be because of you guys. and my partner was kidnapped because of me!”

aemond targaryen

when you were younger, you were a trainee alongside aemond targaryen. he showed a lot of promise and he beat you out of becoming a field agent. but you were approached by his father for something else. your skills could serve off the field. so you became a medic and a researcher. aemond came to you often since the two of you were relatively close during your training days. plus you had to measure his eye so you can make him a new prosthetic that fits accordingly. what you don’t notice is how he comes in with small injuries just to see you or even his flirtations. he’s pretty obvious about it but you brush it aside, thinking you were just imagining things.

“(y/n)! talk to me for a little bit. ignore your work. i’m sure the files can wait....okay maybe not, but this is important because i was wondering if you and i could go get dinner sometime? you rarely leave this place and your home. it would do you some good to get some fresh air.”

helaena targaryen

you loved using a variety of poisons and nonlethal weapons in the field. it made getting information out so much easier, as well as sneaking around. of course, you always took a visit to your favorite toxicologist: helaena. she tended to work in isolation as one of the very few toxicologists at the seven kings trading company but she was the best. her mother was alicent hightower after all, so brilliance ran in the family. you have been enamored with helaena since you first met her after completing training. but you’ve never had the courage to make a move and helaena doesn’t seem to notice how you’re always flustered around her whether it’s awkwardly laughing, your cheeks feeling hot, or your very specific compliments about her outfits, hair, or the product she’s giving you.

“(y/n), have you met dayron? i hear he’s an interesting fellow. i’m mostly asking because he put in a request for something. oh and i got this for you. it’s nonlethal. in case you want to get high after a job.”

jacaerys velaryon

the job interview took a long time and was very vigorous. you were excited to be a new member of the seven kings trading company’s tech team. one of the more experienced members of the group that you started working with was jacaerys. a lot of people were surprised he went into tech considering his parents’ reputation as field agents. but he enjoyed a life that was a little more peaceful and meant he wouldn’t die getting shot at. you liked jace but you failed to notice how his feelings grew stronger than friendship. and after working in tech for so long, you began to ask him if he wanted to do more than tech. jace loved you. he was ready to support you in whatever endeavor you wanted.

“i never really wanted to go into the field. most people found it stranger that i became tech support instead since my mother is a skillful field agent. but if you want to go into fieldwork, know i am behind you one hundred percent.”

[mariacallous]

On the top floor of a building somewhere in Ukraine is a drone workshop.

Inside is a chaotic workbench covered in logic boards, antennas, batteries, augmented reality headsets, and rotor blades. On one end of the room is a makeshift photo studio—a jet-black quadcopter drone sits on a long white sheet, waiting for its close-up.

This particular workshop’s Geppetto is Yvan. He grins as he shows off his creations, flittering around with a lit cigarette in his mouth, dangling ash, grabbing different models. (Yvan is a pseudonym; WIRED granted some of the people in this story anonymity due to the security risk.)

Yvan holds up a mid-size drone: This model successfully hit a target from 11 kilometers away, he says, but it should be capable of traveling at least 20. He’s trying different batteries and controllers to try to extend the range. He screws on a stabilizer tailpiece to a hard plastic shell—Yvan 3D-prints these himself—and holds up the assembled bomb. It’s capable of carrying a 3.5-kilogram explosive payload, enough to take out a Russian tank.

He uses his index finger and thumb to pick up a nondescript beige chip: This, he says, is what he’s really proud of.

One big problem with these drones—which are based on commercially available first-person-view (FPV) or photography drones—is that their explosive payload is jimmy-rigged on. It requires the drone to crash in order to close the circuit and trigger the explosion.

This chip, Yvan says, allows for remote detonation from a significant distance, meaning the operator can park their drone and lay in wait for hours, even days, before it goes off. He expects this technology could, eventually, be connected to AI—exploding only if it registers a nearby tank, for example. He has created a long-range smart land mine, I note. After the idea is passed through our translator, he nods enthusiastically.

There are many of these FPV drone workshops around Ukraine—Kyiv estimates there are about 200 Ukrainian companies producing aerial drones, with others producing land- and sea-based uncrewed vehicles. But Yvan, grinning proudly, insists that the manufacturer which he represents, VERBA, is the best.

Ukraine is facing increasingly tough odds in its defensive war against a better-resourced, better-equipped enemy. Thanks to delayed aid from Washington and shortages in other NATO warehouses, Ukraine has lacked artillery shells, long-range missiles, and even air defense munitions.

These drones, however, represent a bright spot for the Ukrainians. Entrepreneurship and innovation is scaling up a sizable drone industry in the country, and it’s making new technological leaps that would make the Pentagon envious.

The age of drone warfare is here, and Ukraine wants to be a superpower.

After Yvan showed off his workshop, we loaded into the car to visit one of his factories.

Behind a steel door is a room filled with racks, where 30 3D printers are working simultaneously, printing various drone components in unison. The twentysomething employees seem accustomed to the screeching alarm—some are soldering the drones together, others are tinkering with designs in AutoCAD, one is lounging on a sofa.

Strung across one shelf of 3D printers is a black flag, a take on Blackbeard’s (apocryphal) pirate flag. It shows a horned skeleton wearing an AR headset and holding a controller, thrusting his spear toward a bleeding heart as a quadcopter flies above.

In the first year of the war, when FPV drones were providing extraordinary footage of the front lines and viral video of unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs) dropping grenades on Russian tanks captivated the world, Ukraine was snatching up every consumer drone it could find. Chinese technology giant DJI became a household name in Ukraine, thanks to its drones’ ubiquity on the front lines. Ukraine’s early advantage was quickly lost, however, as Russia scrambled to snatch up these Chinese-made UAVs.

“When Russia sees, from Instagram, my product, Russia starts buying all these components in China,” a VERBA executive says. The new demand from Moscow can often cause either shortages or inflation, squeezing out the Ukrainian companies. So entrepreneurs like Yvan began building their own.

When Yvan began his operation in the early months of the war following Russia’s February 2022 full-scale invasion, he was creating a handful of frankendrones to send to the Ukrainian Armed Forces. Now, Yvan says, his operation is producing 5,000 FPV drones per month. He offers a range of systems, from a mammoth 12-inch model to a 4-inch prototype.

At first, these entrepreneurs were pursuing this project on their own—scrambling, like most of the country, to be useful in helping Ukraine defend itself. Kyiv was initially cool to the idea that a domestic drone industry was worth the money and attention, especially given the demand for more conventional arms. Some in the military, one executive says, dismissed the utility of these innovative weapons and surveillance platforms as merely “wedding photography drones.” (One executive said Oleksandr Syrskyi, Ukraine’s new commander in chief, had been an early adopter inside the military, directly contracting 10 firms in early 2023 to begin assembling new technology for his forces.)

That attitude changed in 2023, when Ukraine set up Brave1, a government-run technology agency and incubator that helps connect private enterprise to the Ukrainian Armed Forces.

Since its creation, Brave1 has worked to streamline design, development, and procurement of new defense technology, while helping companies navigate government and military bureaucracy. Brave1 has already awarded more than $3 million in research and development grants and connected more than 750 companies to the Ukrainian Armed Forces.

When United24, the Ukrainian government’s in-house crowdfunding platform, first pitched an “army of drones” to its donors in 2022, it aimed to buy just 200 units. Today, Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelensky projected late last year that his country would produce over 1 million drones in 2024.

“I would say that we can even double this number,” Natalia Kushnerska, head of Brave1’s defense technology cluster, tells WIRED.

“We have the responsibility and the motivation to do it today and to do it very fast,” she says. “Because we don't have any other choice.”

This is a war, one executive told me, “where the economy matters.”

Even hampered by sanctions, Russia has a $2 trillion economy—about 6 percent of that is geared toward its wartime production. Ukraine’s entire GDP, by contrast, is less than $200 billion.

While Kyiv has received substantial support from its NATO partners, it faces constant pressure to find efficiencies. The economics of these drones are looking better and better.

Yvan’s drones are, compared to conventional munitions, cheap. His most expensive unit runs about $2,500, but the cheapest is only $400.

Early in the war, the Ukrainians could reasonably expect—depending on weather, the mission, and Russian jamming efforts—that about 30 percent of their drones would connect with the target. Today, good Ukrainian-made systems are approaching a 70 percent success rate.

It can often take four or five artillery shells to successfully destroy a medium-range target, such as a tank. At $8,000 per shell—which are in short supply and high demand—that is an expensive proposition. Even if it takes two of Yvan’s most expensive drones to achieve the same objective, that’s thousands of dollars in savings. The proliferation of these drones reduces the “cost-per-kill,” as one executive phrased it, and reduces the strain on those dwindling ammunition stockpiles.

Even if Yvan and other producers are making more and more of their systems in Ukraine, they still rely on Chinese suppliers for critical onboard components. That comes with a trade-off—Chinese suppliers are cheaper, but they tend to be of lower quality and are happy to do business with Russia as well. Other options, such as companies in Taiwan, the United States, Canada, or Europe, are better quality but can be several times more expensive.

These supply chains, Yvan says, are “complicated.” Drone manufacturers who spoke to WIRED say anywhere between 40 percent and 80 percent of their drone components are made in Ukraine. Asked how long it would take before Ukraine manufactures nearly everything in these drones, from the rotor blades to the onboard components, Yvan provides a bullish estimate: “six months.”

It’s not an entirely unrealistic dream. Mykhailo Fedorov, Ukraine’s deputy prime minister and also minister responsible for digital transformation, said late last year that Kyiv hopes to break ground on a semiconductor factory, capable of producing 50,000 chips a year, by 2025. Ukraine produces about half the world’s supply of neon, necessary for the lasers used to make the chips.

There are already companies in Ukraine that have developed electronic design automation software—a necessary tool for producing chips—and that do electronic assembly inside the country itself. An industry source tells WIRED that a working group was formed in late 2023 to chart out how Ukraine could be a player in the semiconductor industry.

Another defense technology executive, Igor, manufactures considerably more-sensitive drones. “We definitely don’t buy anything from China,” he says. His products are more expensive, he says, “but we are looking for something that would differentiate us from the Russians.” At the moment, he says, “Russia is ahead.” He’s hoping to close that gap.

For any of this to work, however, there needs to be demand for these drones. The more they can sell, the more they can invest. “The things that they need,” Kushnerska says: “contracts and money.” Demand has certainly grown—fundraising platform United24 helped finance a fleet of naval drones and raised funds to purchase 5,000 surveillance UAVs. Other organizations have led similar purchases. The drone-makers, however, say it’s just not enough.

In early 2023, Ukraine’s parliament passed new laws to regulate how drone manufacturers can contract with the state; while profiteering is generally discouraged in the wartime economy, the law specifically allows the companies to charge up to 25 percent profit.

Yvan says he charges just a 10 percent premium for his drones and reinvests all that profit back into his operation. Representatives from other drone companies who spoke to WIRED say they operate on a similar basis.

More orders will mean more investment. Thus far, NATO countries have preferred to purchase locally-made equipment and ship it to Ukraine. That may be changing.

Bill Blair, Canada’s minister of defense, visited Kyiv shortly before I was there. While there, he announced that Ottawa would donate 800 Canadian-made drones to Ukraine. While the donation was lauded, a senior official asked the minister, “Why didn't you buy our drones?” After being briefed on the various innovations taking place in the Ukrainian drone industry, Blair was convinced. “We're also going to find ways to invest in Ukrainian industry,” he tells WIRED. “The point of the [Ukraine Defense Contact Group drone coalition] is to create capability, not only in the countries that are in the coalition but also capability in Ukraine.”

Even still, bureaucracy moves slowly. What’s more, startups—some of which are helmed by technologists or special effects gurus with no experience in procurement, let alone war—are often learning as they go. One executive, covering his eyes with his hand, says: “It’s like going completely blind.”

Not every company has been able to hack it. One executive says he’s aware of five defense technology startups that have shut down since the war began.

Much attention has been paid to FPV drones. They reinforce the idea that Ukraine’s defense is a scrappy, homespun effort. But even as the country has professionalized production of these light, agile drones, it has rapidly spun up production of other, more complicated systems.

One of Ukraine’s biggest disadvantages, from the start of the war, has been its difficulty in hitting targets inside Russia. Because Moscow has so effectively dominated the skies, Ukraine has been left playing defense.

That equation has changed substantially in recent weeks. Ukraine has had enormous success in attacking Russian oil refineries—knocking out as much as 15 percent of the country’s total refining capacity—and bombing Russian air bases. This has all been made possible by Ukrainian-made long-range attack drones.

Igor, who represents a company responsible for producing those long-range bombers, says they have developed a unit capable of flying 1,000 kilometers and carrying a 25-kilogram payload and has produced “several hundred” units for the Ukrainian Armed Forces. And they are actively working on a new model, capable of flying up to 2,500 kilometers. (It will pack a smaller punch, he said: “The longer you go, the lighter the payload.”)

These systems are more expensive: from $35,000 to $100,000. But if they can destroy millions of dollars worth of Russian equipment, that’s a bargain.

“These are no simple drones,” Igor says. “We don’t have the luxury, like the Western guys, to spend years in development.”

They’re not stopping with drones, either. They’re using the same technology to develop Ukrainian-made missiles, capable of flying farther and doing more damage to Russian military infrastructure, tucked well behind the front lines, which is regularly used to attack Ukrainian cities.

Igor’s goal is to “bring the war to Russia.” FPV drones have broadcast the realities of the front lines in high definition—long-range bombers could successfully make it feel real, he says. “They don’t suffer like we suffer.”

The effort to bring the war to Russia is advancing on multiple fronts. One of the most famous uncrewed systems of the war has been Kyiv’s Sea Baby drones. Videos have gone viral of these sleek ships clipping along the waters of the Black Sea.

According to Kyiv, they can carry 850 kilograms of explosives, go 90 kilometers per hour, travel some 1,000 kilometers—and they are invisible to radar. This is the kind of capability that the Pentagon, and other defense departments, has spent years trying to develop. “We like to joke that everything we do now, in Ukraine, takes three days—globally, it takes three years,” Brave1’s Kushnerska says.

Ask around Kyiv about these drones, however, and everyone is mum. Even otherwise talkative defense sources go quiet when asked about the Sea Babys. Asked about the vehicles, one defense executive smiled and said simply, “That’s classified.”

Kushnerska is equally evasive: “We need to keep silent about new solutions and new surprises that we are preparing for the enemy.”

The skullduggery is understandable. These uncrewed vehicles have been responsible for doing massive damage to Russia’s prized Black Sea fleet and spearheading the first major attack on the Kerch Bridge, in Crimea, in 2022.

Developing naval drones, however, is relatively easy compared to uncrewed land systems.

Over tea with Stepan, another defense entrepreneur, he lists the litany of difficulties of trying to build uncrewed land systems: They don’t travel well over tough terrain, they don’t operate well in inclement weather, and they don’t tend to go very far.

And yet, Stepan says, his company has overcome all those obstacles—which the Pentagon is still wrestling with—and has put these land systems in the field. Plus, Stepan says he’s “pleasantly surprised by how they’re being used.” He says their smallest unit, which has generally been used to deliver food and equipment, recently rescued and evacuated a wounded soldier from the front line.

Ukraine is not the only side deploying these land systems, however. In late March, pro-Kremlin channels celebrated what they said was the successful deployment of Russian-made uncrewed land systems, outfitted with an AGS-17 grenade launcher.

Ukraine believes its advantage will come from how it dispatches these systems. “You need a mesh system,” Stepan says. And that’s one of the single hardest things to do. Ukraine has started dispatching repeater UAVs, which are used to extend the base station signal, allowing the drones to fly farther and defend better against Russian jamming.

One ground drone, basically a mobile machine-gun turret, boasts an 800-meter range. What’s more impressive, however, is what happens when the land system is paired with a surveillance drone. Rather than them firing directly ahead, Stepan’s team has been training Ukrainian soldiers how to raise the weapon's trajectory, firing in a parabolic pattern and using the drone’s camera to adjust its aim. This tactic, he says, extends the drone’s firing range to 2.4 kilometers.

Doing combined operations with a couple of drones is hard enough. If Ukraine wants to really take advantage of these autonomous systems, it will need to figure out how to command multiple systems across land and air—and that’s where artificial intelligence comes in.

Stepan walks through the four levels of how AI can augment warfare: One is reconnaissance, where machine learning can be used to collate large volumes of footage and satellite imagery. Two is “copiloting,” as he calls it, where AI can analyze that intelligence and help draw insights. Third is planning, where AI can help develop “interlinked, complex orders” for multiple systems across land and air; he likens that to having AI develop football plays. Finally, step four is full autonomy, where AI collects intelligence, analyzes it, develops orders based on the intelligence, and dispatches and commands autonomous units based on that information—although humans review and approve each step of the process.

There are steps beyond this, Stepan notes, that remove human involvement entirely, but he isn’t interested in going there. Another executive recounted a story of how one company designed an autonomous machine gun, capable of conducting object detection and opening fire on its own—that was a “big, big problem,” he says, after the weapon’s radio signals were jammed and it began firing wildly. “I think we can do this slowly,” he adds.

Stepan’s systems are capable of operating at step four, he says. It means his systems have the “ability to take in variables” in real time—it allows his drones to change tactics depending on the environment. He provides examples: “What if our team is close? What if there is [electronic warfare]? What if one system loses connection?”

Kushnerska says Ukraine, alive to the concerns about and risks of AI on the battlefield, is mostly interested in using artificial intelligence only in the “last mile.”

It’s not enough to build drones. Ukrainians also have to know how to pilot them.

The last stop on Yvan’s tour is at a strip mall some distance away. Outside, a group of fresh-faced young men smoke cigarettes and enthusiastically greet him as he walks past.

Inside is a sterile classroom, with a dozen desks laid out—each featuring a tablet, a workstation, and an array of tools. In the back corner are pallets of FPV drones waiting to be unloaded.

This is Yvan’s drone school. Here, students learn not just the ins and outs of piloting these quadcopters but also how the machines work and how to repair them. Down the hallway is a large conference room where the students first test their skills—flags and checkpoints are propped up on cardboard boxes taped together into platforms of different levels. Once students can successfully navigate this makeshift course, they graduate to piloting the drones outside.

Yvan’s drones are normally painted jet black, designed to look as nondescript as possible. One drone, sitting on a desk in the training school, is spray-painted a bright orange. Yvan grins: “We’re sick of losing them in the grass.”

As Kyiv mobilized tens of thousands of ordinary Ukrainian men to fight, training has been a critical necessity. Particularly as ammunition supplies have dwindled, virtual training has been especially attractive. High-tech combat simulators have allowed Ukrainian troops to simulate real combat scenarios with rifles, rocket-propelled grenades, even anti-tank missiles. Ukrainian entrepreneurs are hoping to have dozens of these simulators online in the near future, with the goal of training 100,000 troops.

An industry source tells WIRED that a drone combat simulator went online last month, allowing trainees to simulate the entire process of launching a long-range drone strike. Version 2.0 is being rolled out now, they say, adding that it is likely the first immersive offensive drone simulator in operation. The simulator is also intended to help Ukrainian pilots practice integrating their drones with land systems, which is notoriously difficult for even experienced soldiers.

While Yvan’s drone school offers hands-on experience for users of the FPV drones, this new drone simulator allows pilots to practice long-range targeting, flying in adverse weather conditions, and countering electronic warfare.

All of this—the FPV drones, the long-range bombers, the flight simulators—is Ukrainian innovation at work. And it is moving remarkably fast. Some day, after the war is over, Yvan may well be on the front lines of a Ukrainian technology renaissance, fulfilling orders for the Pentagon. First, both he—and Ukraine—need to survive.

In recent weeks, Russian forces have made modest but steady advances along the front lines. Defense executives, meanwhile, see sabotage and industrial espionage as constant problems. Even more acute is the threat of Russian air strikes. One executive recently recounted how one of his company’s main facilities was nearly hit by two Russian cruise missiles. The risk is very real.

Leaving the school, Yvan opens up the back of his car. He rummages around and hands me two patches: One features a cartoonish and scantily clad woman wearing an FPV headset with the Ukrainian flag on the side, piloting one of Yvan’s rotocopters. The other, an army-green Canadian flag, carries the words “ALWAYS BE READY.”

[sunny6677]

Hideaway.

A Shitpost Tom x Kevin fic (OC X Canon).

(A/N: ...oh boy./lh)

Summary: During February, Cupid decides to use an alternative method of making people fall in love this year since he ran out of bow and arrows, and he ends up sort of using it on Kevin—not knowing Kevin already is in love with one woman in particular.

————

It was an ordinary night in the town of Sedonah, as the clouds hung above the various buildings and blocked the stars from seeing in on the view. The moon, as always, hung within the dark cyan sky. And the various vehicles from below moved quickly—rapidly along the stretches of gray road from beneath.

A chill hung in the air. The town did seem normal as always. With the occasional people passing by, and a certain pair of children in Halloween costumes running around. However.. there was one common theme around the town.

On various buildings and signs, there were different themes of pink or red. Different symbols of hearts, chocolates, bow and arrows. Yet—this was sort of to be expected. Along with the chill, there was the tint of romance in the air. For as of now, the month of February hung over the town, and on this current day, it was the fourteenth.

Restaurants were clearly open, fairly lights strung either inside or outside of the buildings, with candles on different tables in the center of different couples. Various flowers of different types were on sale within floral shops. And all kinds of heart-shaped boxes containing chocolates were to be sold within local stores. Along with little cards containing silly messages.

And on this night—in the various sets of clouds hanging over the town, there was.. something. A small patch of cyan. No—in fact, it was an opening. A small, circular one revealing the few specks of stars within the sky.

For a few moments.. there was nothing. The opening just simply laying there in the lumps of dark clouds. And then—a dark shape suddenly forced itself within the view of the opening. A round, but large shape. Almost.. the shape of a head. Well—no. It actually was a head.

Round, blue eyes poked out from the head. Specks of freckles were splattered across its plump, reddened cheeks. A grin was spread across its lips. Curly, ginger hair was sprouted from it's head. And.. ah. Of course.

"Eheheh.. looks like it's my time again!"

Who wouldn't recognize this face? It was merely Cupid, the little cherub who would always appear during this time of year. For each time on this month and on this very day, he would fly around—bearing his bow. And anytime he'd lay his eye upon any sort of lonely person, or any person who seemed in need of love—he'd throw his arm back with his arrow wrapped in the line of his arrow. And once he'd let go, the arrow would shoot, piercing into whatever part of the person he aimed at—and inducing the effects of the romantic magic on the arrow into the person like a syringe.

Of course.. this wouldn't work if he went after people who were already in love. For love arrows didn't work that way. In fact, they were the only thing to do with romantic magic that wouldn't cause any effect on a person in a relationship already. Which is why he so often used it. Yet.. he found himself into a little bit of trouble lately, so, the only thing he could use this year was..

A round, neon-pink ball—which would explode like a bomb once it hit the target and induce the effects. But, because of the possible risks, he had to be completely sure that whoever he was aiming at wasn't in love already.

He shifted on the lumps of clouds where he sat, letting his eyes glance and squint over the bright beams of light from the buildings.

"Okay, Cupid. You're.. probably gonna end up making your boss mad if you throw this at someone who doesn't need it. There's.. lots of things that could go wrong! Hahah! Ha—mm—"

He shook his head.

"No! No. Don't panic. You got this! Just.. just ignore the possibility of getting smited! Let's just try finding someone who needs some loving. Heh.. let's seeeeee..."

He squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the various rays of light that were practically blinding him. And once he did, he let himself look down at the people within the town.

There was a blonde woman sitting by herself, chattering happily on her phone. She was alone, but she could have easily been talking to someone she was in a relationship with. Though she also could have been talking to her crush. Perhaps he could maybe try listening in.

"—And that's why I think bathrooms are just a scam created by the government! Hahaha!"

Yeah. It definitely wasn't her crush.

He let his eyes scan over an elder woman, who was accompanied by an older man. A pair of women who were obviously a couple. And..

He blinked. In front of a bright pink store which was most likely one that sold candy judging by its sign—and also it's name ('Candy Club')—just simply holding up a trashbag in his hands, was a slim but tall looking man with black hair. Judging by the pink, blue and white uniform he wore—he most likely worked there.

Yet.. his face. There was something about his face that gave Cupid a certain.. feeling within his chest. The circles beneath the man's slim eyes, the rough way he proceeded to drop the trash bag into the can, the frown on his lips. The way he turned and walked with his shoulders slumped. It was sort of a pitiful sight, even if Cupid didn't know what was going on or if he had someone to love.

..but.. someone with that kind of sweaty, awkward-looking, 'used-to-have-dreams-in-high-school-but-is-now-completely-miserable' kind of look couldn't possibly have someone to love right?

..well, he could at least maybe take a shot at it. And hope to God his boss wouldn't get mad at him if he were to be found out.

He inhaled slowly. Reaching his hand back, he grasps the pink ball in his hands. For a moment as the man kept walking, his grasp tightened. Should he have been doing this? He should probably at least spy on him to ensure that whoever this man is doesn't have a loved one already. Otherwise, the bomb might..

..he.. didn't feel like possibly getting caught by a mortal again.

Launching his arm backward, he finally aimed it foward, and the ball fell from his grasp.

...

Kevin was exhausted out of his mind, to be completely honest. The usual work shift had been somewhat of a nightmare. And not only because those damn kids brought him trouble again (this time—somehow managing to knock a whole shelf over despite their small size)—but because of the customers in general. And he hadn't even seen Tom at all today! It.. wasn't like she had to visit him or anything, but not seeing her during a work shift felt kind of unusual.

To be honest.. everything about this particular day of his sucked. He made it late to work this morning, his boss was planning some other stupid event for the store, and.. ugh.. it was just awful.

For a moment, he thought of Tom's round face. She always came to visit him, right? Maybe he'd be able to tell her about everything like he usually did anytime something went wrong.

He then shivered. The chill of the night was practically drowning him with how unbearable it was. Though he didn't want to really have to get to the task of restocking the shelves that hadn't been knocked down, he hated standing out when it was cold like this.

He began to let his feet guide him to the automatic doors, when—

He.. wasn't sure how to describe it. It was like the automatic doors were there just a moment ago. But the next, he found something clouding his vision. A pink, cloudy haze of smoke. Completely surrounding him.

As it surrounded him, he felt something flow through his nostrils. At once, he opened his mouth and began to cough—feeling the smoke slowly come in through his mouth. It tasted like.. something he couldn't describe. Just like a rush of air at first, then an overwhelmingly chocolate-like taste.

He shut his eyes forcibly—grunting and coughing out. Had someone thrown a smoke-bomb at him or something? Was this some kind of prank? The smoke didn't fade for a few more seconds. But the more it eventually faded as he slumped over, there was a strange feeling in his head. A gentle, somewhat euphoric feeling that he wasn't sure how to describe either.

He began to feel a fierce thumping in his chest, so firm it felt like he'd hear his heartbeat in his ears. And a warm flush began to wash over him like a wave. He thought it might have been the smoke, but even after it faded, and he found his vision met with the automatic doors again, it was still there. Despite the chill, he felt as if he were sweating.

"Wh—What the.."

Coughed he, placing a hand over his mouth. He began to nearly tumble foward, his feet stumbling and firmly stepping on the stone ground. He struggled to catch himself so much he nearly went stumbling foward, and he heard the automatic doors come open.

He felt the chill from inside the store brush against him. But no matter how much it did, it did nothing to rid of the chill.

What was this? He tried to glance back toward the doors which were now closed, yet there was nothing in sight from behind the translucent yellow besides barely visible splatters of pink on the ground.

Had it been poisonous gas? Did someone just try to kill him in some odd way? Thoughts of whatever this was at all filled his head, trying to think of what all that just was.

And.. yet, his brain didn't come to any sort of thought that was similar to what he was about to experience.

[backjustforberena]

Do you have any headcanons about how Corlys and Rhaenys received the news of Laena's death and their first reaction?

I do! And I've sort of spoken a little bit about it before, in terms of the mechanics. For me, it would be a letter sent from Pentos to High Tide and it goes straight to Corlys. And so Corlys knows before Rhaenys and he is the one that has to tell Rhaenys, privately.

I think this would work for the power structure within the world, and amp up the "normality" or status quo of the time prior to them knowing. I think a word from Pentos would be frequent, especially with a baby being expected any day, and Daemon would observe the formality of informing Corlys rather than addressing it to them both. I just think that's probably in character.

When building headcanons, I sort of like to build them up from what we know and with this, specifically, a lot of it is about working backwards from what we are presented in the episode; both in terms of facts but also in terms of story. So there are a few things that seem pretty important to me:

Laenor's death is the crushing blow to the marriage. And so what I take from this isn't that Laena's death was unimportant but rather that, prior to Laenor's death being the straw that broke the camel's back in terms of the distance between us, things were salvageable. They were horrible and emotional and things just kept getting worse, but Rhaenys and Corlys would have come together and moved on together, rather than what we got, which is a separation of six years wherein Corlys believed he'd lost everything. It means that, working backwards, I think that they probably came together and were comforted by one another.

I think the distance starts setting in when it comes to the funeral. When Daemon come with the girls, when they have a royal visit threatening things the refuge that Driftmark is. Essentially, a lot of the tension between these two comes from that connection to the throne, to these outside factors and to seeing the consequences of their actions. We see Rhaenys turn towards her granddaughters and Corlys continues to choose blind ignorance to the price for pride. The clarity Rhaenys has after Laena's death and the stubbornness of Corlys is slow-growing throughout the episode, so I figure that it's slow-growing from when they find out, meaning that when Rhaenys and Corlys are simply together and encircled within the domestic and without the political, they are much closer.

We have two reactions to really gather information: the reaction to the reasoning behind Laena's death, at the top of the scene they have together in front of the fire, and then their gut reactions at the shock discovery of their "son's" body burning. Whilst the two reactions are very different (Rhaenys in one is bitter and blaming whilst Corlys says nothing could be done, vs Rhaenys falling apart and Corlys being shocked and angry and violent) - the heart of them could be said to be similar. Rhaenys acts with emotion, Corlys with practicality. Rhaenys feels truths in her heart, whether that's their culpability in Laena's life/death, or the pain from seeing Laenor, whilst Corlys immediately jumps towards action and an attempt to understand.

The dynamic between them is distinctly masculine and feminine. And this is something that Steve and Eve have spoken about a lot and I absolutely adore it. So if we were to look and consider particular stereotypes, I think we can then use those to inform what Rhaenys and Corlys's private reactions to Laena's death would be. Rhaenys would weep and Corlys would hold her. They would lean against one another. Corlys would try and be strong and take care of the practicalities, and Rhaenys, perhaps, would take care of the more emotional and familial parts of things. Rhaenys would let it all out and then be strong enough to face the mourners. Corlys would hold it all tight so that it explodes a little, as we see with his treatment of Laenor. I think that's easily seen in the wake as Corlys is essentially playing host to the King whilst Rhaenys's sole focus is on Baela and Rhaena.

Daemon. Just, all of it, to do with Daemon. But especially Rhaenys's view of Daemon. I don't think Daemon gave her what she expected/wanted/needed from a mourning son-in-law. And whether that's to do with the initial arrival, whether it's to do with his involvement or lack of in the funeral, whether it's to do with the girls or to do with Daemon's personal interaction with Rhaenys, I couldn't say. I just have an idea that Rhaenys not only knows about Laena's life from her letters but that Daemon's behaviour only confirms that to her. It's why I think Daemon only sent a message to Corlys and Rhaenys had no direct communication with him (despite her position, not only as Laena's mother and Lady of Driftmark, but as Daemon's cousin). It's just a subtle way of feeding that in to get to a place where she's saying he only does what is best for him.

Anyway, sorry for the rambling and I'm not sure how much of that makes sense, but it's what I keep in mind when crafting headcanons surrounding this event.

[theportaltoau]

9L— Chapter 3: Convince

A shadow glided across the pavement and darted into the dim space between a certain group of buildings. After a tentative scan around, it melted into the darkest corner available. A hiss emerged as it spread its tendrils and wedged them into the cracks of one building. 

Many minutes later, another wary character tiptoed into the area. The new guy was young, and he was quite evidently fearful. His gaze traveled around, returning repeatedly to the entrance. 

“She said she would be here.” He grumbled, fidgeting with apprehension. 

In response to his complaint, the shadow peeled itself off the wall with a rather terrifying crackle. It unfurled. It wisped like smoke. It faded and darkened. It stretched and compacted. The lad trembled in his shoes as he watched it shift. 

Finally, it turned nearly invisible for a second. When it reappeared, it had reached its final form. 

“Hello, Chester.” The Being said. Its polyphonic, robotic voice echoed lightly off the walls. The voice was almost taunting in its self-assurance. It unnerved Chester more than he already was, but he didn’t dare to flee. 

“Cat got your tongue, Ches? You don’t mind if I call you Ches, right?” 

“N-No.” He stuttered. 

“Good.” The Being smiled, drawing out the syllables. It grew slightly larger and leaned forward to loom over Chester. 

“I trust you’ve brought me what we agreed on?” Her smile grew wider, showing off her sharp teeth. 

“Y-Yes. I can confirm the facility is definitely not dormant anymore.” 

The Being shrank to its normal size— still taller than Chester but not as horrifying. Her expression turned thoughtful. 

“Is it being used, or is it merely being repurposed?” She asked. 

“I don’t know for certain—” 

Chester cringed in terror when the Being exploded in size above him. 

“We agreed that you would bring me good information, Chester. Don’t make me waste my end of the deal!” Her voice turned into a monstrous roar. 

“I’m sorry! I really couldn’t get any closer! The facility looked like it was heavily guarded. I don’t know; it just had that vibe!” 

In a flash, the Being grabbed Chester and hurled him towards the wall. Chester slumped limply to the ground. Moments later, several shots fired. 

9️⃣🕘

Once upon a time, there was a legend. He fought those who were evil to protect and care for the innocent. People said he was as big and strong as a mountain. He could rip apart monsters with his bare hands. He was faster than light and as malleable but powerful as water. Story was that he had nine lives and was currently on his eighth. All throughout the Eleventh Sector, whispers spread that his enemies were desperate to kill him and finish him once and for all, to put a stop to his heroism. Yet, like a genius, like the legend he was, he outwitted or outpowered them each time.

Meanwhile, said legend— all of five feet, five inches (so much for being as big and strong as a mountain)— curled up in a fuzzy blanket on his couch, hissing because it was raining that particular day and he “hated the wet.” 

The doorbell rang. 

“Nine, can you get that? I’m ironing my hair.” Eunjo called out. 

Nine grumbled in protest. 

“NINE!” 

At her yell, Nine shot off the couch right away. 

Outside, a shadow ominously paced the doorstep. Its tentacles wafted in loose but controlled motions. Occasionally, the Being paused and grinned several times. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, displaying teeth that were large, pointy, and sharp enough to tear through flesh. Her eyes thinned into slits that were all the more intimidating for being hidden. The Being cocked her head like a lioness eyeing its prey.  

When the door rattled as it was being opened, the Being enlarged herself to a terrifying height and width. She drew her mouth into a large smile and poised all her tendrils in the direction of the door. 

The door opened, and a tiny man with fluffy cat ears leaned approximately half his body into view. Rather than the scream or perhaps attack she expected, the man merely blinked in sleepy surprise. 

“Hi.” He greeted simply and politely. “How may I help you?” 

The Being’s eyes softened when she realized he didn’t perceive her as a threat, nor was he one; she relaxed into a more human-like height and form. 

“9Lives?” She inquired. 

Nine drew up, a bit cautious on hearing his street name. 

“Yes. That’s me.” 

The Being smiled— rather sweetly, Nine thought. Nervously fidgeting, she introduced herself. 

“Hello, 9Lives— Sir. My name is Dante.” She paused. When she spoke again, her eyes were full of guilt. “I need your help to do something terrible.” 

9️⃣🕘 

“Here, you poor dear. You must be freezing. It’s so cold and rainy outside. How long did you say it took you to get here?” Eunjo fussed over Dante, offering her a blanket and hot chocolate. 

“Thank you. Erm, but I really shouldn’t be sitting here.” 

“Of course you are! It’s fine!”

“Bu—”

“Hey. We know, and it’s completely fine.” Eunjo interrupted to reassure Dante. 

Nine glanced at both females, confused. 

“I, um, usually leave black stains when I am in prolonged contact with something. It can be really hard to wash off of fabrics especially. I can’t really control it much. I’m sorry.” Dante explained. She stared at the floor in embarrassment.

Nine’s expression turned blank. In a completely normal voice, he echoed Eunjo. 

“I see. It’s completely fine.” 

Dante seemed to melt with relief. She leaned back, sitting comfortably and enjoying what was offered her. 

After Eunjo excused herself, Nine started a conversation with Dante. “You said you wanted my help doing something terrible. Excuse me, but you don’t seem like the type to be doing something terrible.”

Dante chuckled in disbelief. “Very few humans or even Non-Standards would agree with you. There’s a reason people call us ‘soot mongrels’.”

“You don’t deserve that.” He replied in a very gentle voice. 

Dante’s face was stony, but the corners of her eyes and lips twitched the slightest bit. 

“It is what it is. And I don’t deny that our kind has been a blight to humanity. We’ve taken their resources, displaced their society, and some of us have even been the means of killing and maiming them.”

Nine struggled within his chest. Since birth, he had been well aware of the complicated dynamic between humans and Non-Standards. The divide between the kinds had been so deeply embedded in his psyche that, though Dante spoke generally, it was difficult for him to not take as personal a statement that seemed to attack his very worth and being. So he said nothing. 

“And that is why I have come to you. I have reason to believe WeldCorp is resurrecting its operations– not to simply produce medicines or other aids to improve quality of life but to resume experimentation for Non-Standards!”

Nine’s eyes bulged. 

“I want to shut down the project. We have to bring WeldCore to its knees and completely obliterate it.”

That jerked Nine to his feet. 

“No way!” He half yelled. “WeldCore is responsible for a lot of development to improve Non-Standards’ lives.”

Dante stood up to argue as well. 

“WeldCorp is also responsible for creating us in the first place! The Twenties’ Massacre wouldn’t have occurred and hundreds of thousands of people wouldn’t have lost their lives if it wasn’t for WeldCorp!”

“That wasn’t our fault! And it certainly doesn’t mean destroying entire species because of something that was out of our control!” 

“Ending WeldCore does not mean destroying anyone. We wouldn’t be killing any being already existing; and there wouldn’t be any reason to stop procreation. WeldCore has long been a symbol of bloodshed and underhandedness. We need to nip it in the bud and end it once and for all as a unanimous consensus against such experiments and actions.” 

“Bring it up to the government.” He shrugged. “Do this openly instead of with the same secrecy you condemn, and let the public decide whether to demolish WeldCorp.” 

“The government already banned WeldCorp! This is not a matter of legality anymore. Also, governments all over the world are in shambles right now. And if the government were of any worthwhile capacity, you wouldn’t do what earned you your reputation. You know everything I’m saying as well as I.” Dante spoke in a quick, precise manner; but her earnestness exuded from each word.   

Nine fell silent, very thoughtful. Then, he spoke up. 

“You’ll never be able to convince anyone. As much as we’d love for this to be a black and white issue, it’s grown too complicated. Non-Standards won’t take it too kindly.” 

“That’s why I need you. I convince you; you convince everyone. If I can persuade you, my point is strong enough to be an argument; after,— you have enough sway to turn the tide.” 

[imyourliquor-youremypoison]

Trainwreck (OC fiction) - Part 4

MASTERLIST

3.7 words

>>> Part 5

It was a nightmare. It had to be.

Her throat felt weird, closed up. Joyce wasn’t too sure she would be able to speak. The shame, the embarrassment at having been fooled didn’t leave her. It upset her empty stomach, but she tried her best to show a confident front. She doubted she was successful.

“Flirting never hurt anyone, huh?” Roman said, tilting his head to the left, his big blue eye never once leaving hers. It was the first thing he said after what felt like an interminable silence between them.

They had both decided to skip their next period to talk about what just happened after the blond – Alma – left them alone, Roman had begged Jo to let him explain, and she’d been too dumb-struck to refuse. She followed him inside their building, walking towards a free bench. It was the last place on earth where she wanted to be right now. She felt ready to explode, and the surrounding noise, and hustle, and the stifling heat made it worse. If she was going to cry, she wanted it to be in private, not in the middle of a university hall.

It had been a dangerous game to go and flirt with this boy, because despite his shy acting, Jo knew he wasn't even half as much so as he tried to make her think. He had always met her teasing head on, there was no denying he knew how to talk to girls. God, had had eyes, he knew what he looked like, droopy eyelid or not, he was a catch – and he was aware.

He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and there was no doubt to her that he had done it before - the crippling feeling of being used and thrown aside like a tissue weighed on her small shoulders, and crushed to dust the impression of being special to him.

But the worst thing wasn’t even that she was played by this guy. The worst part was that she felt cheated on, but in reality, she was the other woman. Alma should have been mad, not her.

Had he… done this on purpose? Did he want to humiliate her? Was it a game to him? Did it amuse him to lead her on, knowing it was never going to amount to anything? Jo just didn’t know anymore, she couldn’t think straight with him staring at her so intently.

            Eventually, she realized he had asked her a question. She cleared her throat before speaking.

“Sure, no harm done,” she croaked out pitifully. She smiled as her fingers mindlessly played with the fraying edge of her wool sweater. She wanted to scream. She ground her teeth together and breathed slowly. She might not walk out of here with her heart in one piece, but she would walk out with whatever dignity she had left.

Sounding like she believed what she just said was a lot more difficult than expected. To some extent he was right - flirt was an art to practice at will with whoever consented and played along. But in this particular case, somebody had been hurt and that was her. She hadn’t known the details of their contract, hadn’t realized it was all there would ever be between them.

Finding out about his girlfriend was like being hit by a truck at full speed and then getting stomped over by an angry mob. The feeling was an overall unpleasant one to say the least. Joyce’s eyes were glued to her lap. She could not look up. She could not meet his eyes and keep it together.

“You don't sound convinced,” he noticed, sighing deeply.

“Oh, don’t I?!” she couldn’t help but snap. Good. Better to be angry than sad. She could deal with anger.

He regretted lying, he didn't know what possessed him when he forgot to mention that he already was in a relationship. But to his defense, it genuinely took him aback when a cute girl like her sat down next to him on the train and so straightforwardly hit on him.

“I'm sorry, I should have told you, I just-“ he started, feeling the sudden urge to justify his action but finding none. “Förlåt. I'm just sorry, Jo. I don't know what else to say, scream at me if you want or throw your coffee in my face,” he suggested.

She honestly hated the fact that it made her smile but she couldn't suppress the treacherous grin before it spread her lips. Her coffee was cold, what would be the point in throwing it in his face?

“Don't tempt me, you fool.” She shushed him by a gesture of her hand. “And yeah, it would have been nice to mention that. Would have spared me from looking like an idiot when she came to say hello.”

It was a huge understatement and he was perfectly aware. His smile dropped at the bitterness in her tone. At least he had the decency to be embarrassed of his behavior. Of course, she had blushed too when this all-legs and gorgeous blond-haired girl came up and started kissing him like she wanted to suck out his soul. Jo puked a little in her mouth.

“Jo...” The tips of his fingers brushed over her knuckles and she immediately let go of her sweater and pulled her hand into a fist. He stopped touching her right away. “I was in a bad place that day and you were- you are so nice and easy-going that I just couldn't bring myself to say it, it felt a little too good to be true that the beautiful girl I saw at the train station every week for a year now came and talked to me.”

Sucking in her cheeks, Jo tried very hard not to show that he got to her. If there actually was a manual explaining how to properly apologize to a girl even though you lied about being single and flirted with her for four months, Roman must have read it. A year. That thought gave her vertigo. She hadn’t noticed him up until that day their gazes caught.

“I know I shouldn't have done it and I sincerely regret it. I hope you can forgive me.”

And if there was anything to add, now it was done. For a split second she seriously considered throwing her coffee to his annoying, flawless face. Swallowing down her fit of anger, offered him her most convincing smile and told him she would get there eventually. Being angry at someone because they behaved badly was something but staying mad at them because she was stubborn and hurt in her pride was idiotic. Roman must have had his reasons, she had learned to know him and had come to the conclusion that he was a pretty decent guy. He was only human, and as far as she recalled, she didn't remember asking if he had a girlfriend.

God, she was disgusted by how badly she wanted to forgive him and realize it was all one big misunderstanding. She needed to leave now before she did something she would regret later – really regret, not just write a fucking poem.

“If it's any comfort to you, just know that I'll probably get lectured tonight and most definitely also get punched,” he attempted to joke, rubbing his cheek as if in anticipation, but Jo’s jaw remained tense and the lump in her throat grew two sizes bigger. What kind of spell was she under? “I know you want to punch my teeth out right now - I can see it in your eyes. Please don't look at me like that,” he practically begged, sounding pitiful.

“How am I supposed to look at you Roman?” she asked. It wasn’t rhetorical either, she wanted an answer.

The question was a simple one yet she honestly didn't have a clue. She switched from angry to sad to forgiving and then mad again. Jo needed to leave and have a good night of sleep - or at least a good night of staying awake and staring at the ceiling - to think it through.

“Like before?” he suggested, unconvincingly. He pushed his beanie back and combed his hair with his fingers in unease.

It wasn't every day that he found himself stuck between two girls who both liked him. At least, Jo did like him before finding out about his major screw up. He found himself hoping she still did, even after that. She made him feel so alive, he had forgotten she was also her own person, with her own feelings. Of course this would hurt her, it was inexcusable.

“And how is that?” she asked, an edge of hysteria in her voice. “Like you’re a handsome stranger I finally worked up the courage to talk to? Like I’m looking forward to seeing you every day because I never get tired of your company? Like I’m hoping you’ll ask me out soon?” Her voice cracked a little at the last sentence but she kept a hushed tone. “I can’t Roman, I-“ She closed her mouth, thinking about what she was going to say next. “Just- why didn't you say it? Do you think I would have stopped talking to you?”

“I don't know!” Roman burst out, not knowing what to say that hasn't already been said. “I wish I could take it back, Joyce. I do. If I could make it right, I would do it in a heartbeat. I swear, I never meant to do you dirty.”

“I believe you.” She bit down on her lips. “God, this is so awkward!” She hid her face behind her hands.

She had been flirting with him shamelessly for the past months and now that she knew he was taken and that she looked back on the events, she felt completely and utterly embarrassed of her behavior. No matter how much of a bitch his girlfriend might turn out to be, it was gross of her and inexcusable to hit on some other girl's man.

“It's petty to think that but I do hope she is not as nice as she looks because it would make me feel a lot less guilty if I knew she was a bitch,” Joyce confessed.

Roman couldn't help the smirk stretching his face at her words, his glorious face suddenly lighting up. She cursed herself for looking up right as he looked at her like that. “I won’t venture on this territory,” he admitted. “Come and meet her if you want to judge for yourself.” Jo’s eyes practically popped out of her head and he noticed. “You say you feel guilty,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Well, why don't you meet her and explain that you didn't know?”

Suddenly, the air around them was electrical, almost sizzling with tension. That was the single most awful idea she had ever heard. Yet somehow, she agreed.

*

                Every minute between the moment she agreed to this disastrous idea and the day of had been spent in dread and regret. Joyce’s stomach filled with acid at the sheet thought of spending an entire evening with Roman and Alma. She had no idea what to expect – she only knew they would go for drinks.

            She didn’t usually go out on week-ends since she lived out of town, but apparently if Alma was to believe, the bar they were going to was the greatest in the city. Jo didn’t care one bit what they did or where they went, she just wanted it to end quickly. She was more of a cocktails and pumpkin spiced latte girl, not really a beer and black coffee person. Luckily, the bar provided a large choice of drinks she would choose from.

            She would need alcohol in her blood tonight.

            From the moment they stepped through the door, it was clear to her that Alma was not happy about being here either tonight. Whatever this thing was, it was not her idea of fun. She wondered how Roman had brought up the idea to her, if she’d reacted as badly as she had. If given the chance, Jo would have crawled into a hole and died.

            After an hour of awkward, sparse conversation, she was ready to throw herself under a car. Never in her life, had someone made her feel so inadequate. Compared to Alma, who is just so blond and so beautiful, she felt like the snottiest of brats. Jo didn’t often compare herself to other girls, she was mostly secure with the way she looked, but this was just ridiculous. Was she supposed to compete with Barbie? Alma was tall, and fit, and had big doe eyes.

            Big doe eyes that sparkled and smiled when she looked at Roman, but narrowed at her whenever he had his back turned. Joyce was no dummy, she knew this meeting was happening solely for his sake, that they had both agreed to humor him and not because there was a single chance they’d get along. Hell would probably freeze over before they became friends.

            Jo crossed her legs and closed her sweater over her chest, holding it tight. Their conversation was background noise in her head, she just smiled a little and nodded every now and then to hold up appearances, but she’d get up and out of here as soon as possible. This is the dumbest idea Roman had ever had.

            What did he expect? That she would forgive and forget if it turned out his girlfriend – just thinking the word made her cringe – was a decent person? She could be an angel and Jo would still hate her guts. She was screwing the guy she liked. She was kissing him, quite intimately, right in front of her, in a gross display of ownership. Jo got the message. He was taken, he wasn’t up for grabs and whatever was going on between them had been nothing more than friendship.

            Even that was in jeopardy. Joyce didn’t know how long she could pretend it didn’t affect her. She had let herself fall for a guy that turned out to be unavailable. Would she keep on torturing herself if she knew it was a dead end? She liked talking to Roman, she liked getting lost in his bluest of blue eye. She wanted to see for herself if his lips were as soft as they seemed, and she wanted to gently stroke his face and lightly run her thumb over his bad eye. She wanted to kiss him there and in other places. She wanted him to write more poems about her.

            Looking up at the couple in front of her, Joyce wanted to run away. She had nothing to do here, she was just third-wheeling and wasting a week-end night. Roman glanced her way every now and then to check on her, and she had to work up a tight-lipped smile to show she was doing OK, but she wasn’t. She hated him a little for what he was hid from her and for bringing her here tonight.

            She hated him but she didn’t. She liked him – a lot more than she would have liked in the end. A lot more than she should at this point. The sheer fact that he checked up on her made her heart swell, even if he did it with Alma practically sitting on his lap.

“I’m gonna get us another round,” Roman offered. Joyce didn’t contradict him this time – he had made her come here despite her better judgment, tonight he was paying for her drinks and tomorrow maybe she would make him pay for her shrink appointment. “Same as before?”

            The two girls nodded and smiled as he walked away, only to drop all pretenses as soon as he was out of sight. Joyce was ready to wait in silence for him to come back, not bothering to make conversation to someone who so clearly had nothing nice to say to her, but Alma seemed to have other plans.

“Just so we’re clear, this little game of yours is over,” the beautiful blond said in a clipped tone. “I don’t care what’s going on, but you better nip it in the bud right now.”

            Joyce was an accommodating, amicable person, but she didn’t take too well to being threatened. She sat a little straighter and raised her chin, letting her mouth twist into a snarl.

“Do you think I want to be here? By all means, put an end to this if you so despise my presence. I’m here only because Roman asked me, and I’ll stay until the end – for him.”

            It was bluff – she run at the first chance, and he would hear from her about his stupid ideas – but Alma didn’t know that. She sneered, the hateful expression distorting her otherwise perfect features. It should be illegal to her skin this clear.

“Don’t overplay your hand, Jo,” she spat her name. “You don’t stand a chance.”

            God, she knew that.

“Don’t get too comfortable up on that high horse of yours,” Jo snapped back. “We wouldn’t be here in the first place if I didn’t have a chance. You ever think about why Roman spent more time with me than you in the past few months?”

            Why did he? That was a good question – one that Alma would hopefully take as rhetorical, because she did not have an answer. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part, maybe she was only projecting. Maybe she didn’t want to admit that she had been playing a losing hand from the beginning.

            Alma’s frown smoothed out and the ugliest smile Joyce had ever smile appeared on her lips.

“Oh, boo hoo- poor little Joyce has a crush,” she began, laughing cruelly. “Get over it, bitch. Roman is mine, do you hear me? I say sit, he sits. I say jump, he jumps. Do you think I’ll allow him to keep seeing you?” She snapped her fingers. “Poof, you’re gone. I’ll look at him with big, wet eyes and he’ll apologize, take me against a wall, and delete your number.”

“Yeah, sound like a good, healthy relationship you guys have. Did you also pee on his leg to mark your territory or does Frenching him in front of other girls do the trick?”

            Jo was all bark no bite at this point, but she couldn’t let her win. She had to stand her ground, defend herself. After all, she was a victim in all of this, she hadn’t known Roman was already taken. She looked over at the bar, but it was crowded, Roman wasn’t even in the front yet.

“Don’t look at him for help,” Alma said sharply, raising her tone. “He’ll never return your silly little feelings. Do you know why?”

            Joyce swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Please do tell me.”

            She was confident that whatever Alma was going to say wouldn’t hurt more than her conversation with Roman earlier this week. She had replayed it in her head over and over again, cried over it almost every day. She already felt lower than low, this hateful girl did not know her well-enough to push her buttons. She could spew her poison if she pleased, it wouldn’t reach her.

            Joyce could take it all, she could look this Barbie in the eyes and not bat an eyelash at the venom in her voice. She didn’t have the weapons to hurt her.

But then, something sparked in her eyes.

“The universe took its time on you,” she began, looking Joyce dead in the eye.

            No.

“-crafted you precisely,” Alma continued, her awful smile still stretching her lips.

“Stop.”

“-so you could offer the world something distinct from everyone else,” she kept going on, repeating back Jo’s own words to her.

            She closed her eyes, trying for all the world to tune her out. Praying Roman would return now.

“I’d go on if it wasn’t so pathetic,” Alma said, finally stopping enunciating Joyce’s poem. She leaned back and laughed, sipping the last of her drink.

            Joyce was going to be sick – physically sick. She stood up and grabbed her coat. Alma was still snickering in that horrendous self-satisfied manner when she walked away, making a bee-line for the front door. She never should have come here. She never should have talked to Roman. This is what she got for getting her hopes up.

“Wow! Where are you going?” Roman exclaimed when she almost bumped into him, nearly spilling the glasses he was holding.

            Joyce stopped in her tracks just long enough to really, truly look into Roman’s soulful eyes one last time.

“Jag är ledsen,” she said in a clumsy attempt to speak Swedish. The way his face lit up and fell almost simultaneously broke her heart. “I tried, but I can’t do this. I have to leave.”

            She elbowed past him and walked to the door. He didn’t try to stop her, but before she left, she turned around, and saw him standing over their table, visibly angry, and shouting over the music.

“What did you say to her?!”

*

            Roman didn’t even care what Alma said, he just left her there, with all three of their drinks and went back outside to see if he could catch up with Joyce, but she was already out of sight. Angry with himself and at the world, he kicked into a road sign, sending a shockwave through his leg.

“Helvete!” he cursed, gritting his teeth at the pain in his foot.

            He’d realized from the moment they arrived here that tonight had been a huge mistake – and it was his fault too, neither of the girls would have agreed to come if not for him. He had messed up big time now.

            He pulled out his phone and tried to call Jo.

“C’mon, answer your phone,” he whispered, listening to the tone ring.

            She didn’t pick up. He tried again, also to no avail.

“You must be kidding,” came Alma’s voice behind him. “Did you seriously just leave me alone in there to run after that bitch?” She made it sound like he was the bad guy here.

“You made her run away,” he accused her. “I don’t even care what kind of lies you told her to make her leave, I can’t look at you right now. You should go home.”

            Jaw hanging open in astonishment, Alma watched him stomp away without another word.

[wisemins]

paris and glitch for you and armin please!

TYSM FOR THE ASK AMIRAA MY LOVE <3333

Paris: Is there somewhere you and your F/O go to forget the rest of the world exists? If not, would you like to?

Yes! In mainline canon, it's almost always the library or next to a secluded pond/river near HQ. Armin and I have spent many nights in the library alone, since many of our comrades, nearly all of them in fact, don't like reading in the library. It's our safe space indoors, and we've spent a lot of days and nights in there just decompressing, napping, and sometimes just nothing, just staring out the windows.

The pond we found together when on a walk, it's very serene and is right next to a river, we usually sit under a huge tree (oop trauma) that's beside it and feel the air around us when we both get overwhelmed. When it feels like there's not enough air in the world to fill our lungs. After a while our friends found out that's where we would go, so sometimes they join us, but they join in for all the same reasons. Jean in particular joins us a lot, as he can brood pretty hard. Eren too, that guy is a master brooder!

Glitch: Are you and your F/O compatible or are you polar opposites? How does this affect your relationship?

Oh, this question is actually hysterical all things considered 😭😭SORRY FOR THE WALL OF TEXT COMING UP THIS IS A LOADED QUESTION <3

When I first showed my girlfriend A.oT, i warned her that Armin and I are "kinda similar". Alas, we are not kinda similar, we're nearly copy pasted 😭😭

The only small difference between us really is our personal interests, but even those tend to align too. He made me love the ocean and traveling and seeing and learning new things about the world. And I've made him love the arts even more, and allowed him to express himself creatively. He's sculpted me into always trying to find another reason or way to live, to not see everything as so black and white. We tend to inspire each other in most ways! We also both have very similar reasoning skills, always trying to be an optimist despite knowing everything has gone to the shittiest shit it could have ever gone. Everyone is surprised to know that we're actually very traumatized and mentally ill! Also the fact that we're both extremely self-hating, that's a huge one. And everyone around us seems to think we're not what we think we are, which is another common theme. We're also both very selfless, we tend to put others before ourselves. It's all very interesting to see how this plays out in our relationship, it's taken a lot of adjustment, but we're both also stubborn in a not overt way so we never give up on each other.

We also both are expected to never be angry or upset. People see us trying to be our best and happy at all times and to do everything for everyone else, and then they rely on us and end up disappointed when we eventually explode with frustration or anger. It's very rare, but it happens after a build up, naturally. We're both a little scary when we're mad, that's why when we are actually mad, our friends get a little concerned because that usually means a breaking point. Not surprisingly enough, the only people that have been able to help us through our anger properly and without lashing out at us in turn, as been each other. But trust me Jean has tried! He regrets trying. So does Eren. Mikasa gets pretty close, but she struggles a bit.

The only other person who can properly snap us out of anger or help us, is Levi! He's an angry little shit by default, he understands misery more than anyone else. He's good at giving both of us pep talks, and justifying our feelings without letting us lash out needlessly. Kudos to that gremlin!

Our biggest differences though?

Armin relies a lot on logic (as well as emotions of course, we're both emotional messes) and academics, he's very very intelligent and smart. He has a knack for learning and adapting academically, he's a literal genius!

I'm not academically inclined, at least, traditionally speaking. I'm a drop out, I have more street smarts than smart smarts, and any knowledge and intelligence I do have I got on my own because I do love learning, just whatever I want to learn about. I know my brain will always want to say otherwise, but I'm not stupid. I just function differently (learning disabilities said hiiii) so, we're very different in that respect. When it comes to academics, I have to use a lot of intuition to get by if that makes sense? But it works out for me, usually. But sometimes you can tell I never got passed the 6th grade 😭😭 It's subtle, but it's there. Armin is thankfully very patient with me about that, and teaches me a lot in turn! We both have pretty good critical thinking and deduction skills. We're both smart, just in our own ways, but they're VERY different ways.

I also joke around A LOT more than Armin (Armin gets one canonical joke in, one that I'm pretty sure didn't make it into the anime?? last I checked?? Maybe.) I cope a lot with humor and I like making people laugh, it's one of my favorite things to do! Armin is more of a person to laugh and enjoy someone's humor and wit than actively act out on it. He has his moments, but they're usually either really dark, or deep cut jabs that nobody is expecting. His wit is very sharp, he just never shows it. Meanwhile I'm joking at literally any chance I can get (Unless it's a super serious situation), especially if it helps make someone feel better.

There's more to say but I've said enough!! We're both so similar, but also very different. Perhaps we love each other for what we see in each other that we can't see for ourselves?

[saintsenara]

a very happy birthday to the weasley twins!

here's a one-shot i wrote about sound, colour, and one of you being dead.

there i will stay with you, whirling angelina johnson/george weasley teen | 7.5k words

fred was acid-green and electric-blue and fuchsia-pink. fred was scarlet and gold, in the sunlight after practice when we’d sneak down to the kitchens to eat our body weight in crumpets. he was purple and mustard and chartreuse and teal, when we were testing new products and they’d explode in his face, and i could never work out if he made the prototypes dodgy on purpose to make me laugh. he was opal-white and silver when we cast our patronuses together, with you-know-who’s voice echoing around us. he was emerald green when he died, covered with pale pink and apricot roses when he was buried, and under the orange flame of a dogwood now he’s in the earth. 

george claws his way desperately through the beige world of the first year without fred, and finds a shining, blinding flash of colour in angelina, where he least expected it to be.

authors notes under the cut

how george and angelina get together is a question which preoccupies me a surprising amount, in particular because - when the facts are put down on paper - it doesn't sound like a particularly healthy relationship... [which is, in fact, something jkr has said about it herself.]

but love takes all sorts, after all. i wanted to give george and ang the chance to be a good couple, and to meaningfully build a life together which wouldn't just be a half-life because fred's not in it.

i also wanted to think about grief and healing. i adore fic which focuses on how grief is big and paralysing and traumatic - but i also like something which looks at how grief is usually quite boring, which is what's hard about it.

and so sometimes the most healing thing you can do is sit and eat oven chips with your brother's ex, and realise slowly that you can still feel something other than that boredom.

[barid-bel-medar]

Some time after Hosu.

Hosu as an arc, and in particular how important Tenya is to the arc doesn't make sense if he wasn't originally intended to be part of the main trio. Hosu is a major aspect of the building of future events, such as causing a lot of the members of the LOV to join up, introduction of Stain's type of philosophy, etc. If Bakugou was supposed to be the other part of the trio at that point he would have held a comparable role there rather than be a complete non-entity. But if it was supposed to be Tenya, his sheer importance makes a lot more sense.

The reality of it is, you can pluck Bakugou out of a *lot* of the early major arcs without really effecting shit, and for someone who's supposed to be as important as he is that shouldn't be the case. Look at Naruto for example; you can't yank Sasuke out of, well, any arc he appears in. He's too important to things starting from the Bell Test on. I'm literally able to remove Katsuki in Failure to Explode without hampering Izuku's character development in any major fashion. Even in context of the training camp arc, you can swap Bakugou out for another kid the LOV deems a possible future villain, like say maybe targeting one of the heteromorphic kids due to prejudice they'd likely faced, or hell had Shinso be involved in get grabbed due to the 'villainous' nature of Brainwash. Bakugou even in that arc is more a plot device then he really is a character.

But the entire situation I think was, Bakugou got dramatically more popular than Hori was expecting (and I think Tenya for example much less). So after a certain point he decides 'okay, I'll make him the other lead/part of the lead trio', which leads to (heh) weird shoehorning (there is literally no good reason for Bakugou to be the OFA secret-keeper beyond Hori realizing he needed to give him some form of importance beyond generic shonen rival). Bakugou is the only major-major without a LOV counterpart; compare Shouto versus Dabi, or Uraraka versus Toga. Hell, Spinner was perfectly set up to be used as a possible Tenya counterpart due to Spinner's obsession/devotion to Stain versus Tenya's justified loathing of Stain and devotion to his older brother, one of Stain's victims.

But also yes to go back to the Nedzu point, there is not a chance in hell he was going to allow Izuku to go elsewhere, and I think that effects things like Izuku's very high rescue point score (guaranteed acceptance at that level) and explains why Aizawa is suddenly not doing his expulsion thing even though there's literally no reason for this year to be a 'logical ruse' when it wasn't prior years.

I’ve been squeezing up brains to find Bakugou actual plot relevance… there’s so little that he may perfectly be absent. At least in the early stages. In the late late stages there’s some but for then the divergence may have fixed up.

Anyway, i kind of found a couple and here are as aks:

Will Kamimari and Mina be affected in their academic progress by Bakugou not being there tutoring them?

Aizawa showed a huge bias towards Bakugou since the beginning. Is there any other student occupying that spot? Is he still salty about the top scorer being rejected for the new rule? Given Izuku early progress in handling OFA, is he less biased against him?

Thank you for giving me brainrot with your story. I kind of started a pilot fic with this trope thanks yo you!

Yeah it was the realization I had a number of months back that you can pull Bakugou out of basically all the early plotlines and it doesn't really effect things (hence FtE's entire existence). Even in context of the training camp attack they could have just as easily made a different student a target, like Izuku or Shouto. In contrast if Izuku isn't there, things change dramatically (which yes obviously he's the protagonist so that should be the case), including for Bakugou's own character evolution. If he succeeds when Izuku does not, his worst traits would have definitely gotten amplified and problems would have spiraled.

Like if Izuku wasn't at UA I think it's perfectly reasonable to write it that Bakugou wouldn't make it to graduation. He'd either get himself killed or expelled.

But to answer your other questions!

No, because I feel they would have found other students to help tutor them even if he wasn't there. It's just in-series it's a good means of explaining him succeeding in making friends/a social group that isn't followers ala Aldera.

There's presently not entirely a student holding that role though I would describe Aizawa as being grudgingly fond of Izuku and Neito despite himself. He actually wasn't really too salty over Bakugou's failure because he did get the point the Commission was making and it wasn't that unreasonable. His salt more related to him feeling Izuku got too many rescue points than anything else. I will say that in context of that, Izuku *wasn't* entirely wrong to suspect there was some fuckery going on with his practical score because Nedzu did want to make sure he got in and his rescuing of Uraraka made for the opening he needed. To some extent though it is also a different form of red flag the rescue points only since it does raise questions of potential martyrdom issues/lack of care of Izuku's own life versus the person he's trying to save.

Yeah Izuku's sense of heroism is utterly disconnected from Bakugou when it comes down to it. Even in the case of Bakugou his own desire to be a hero is disconnected from Izuku's existence, there's other issues specifically there (like the seriously concerning detail of how many of Endeavor's more toxic trait he happens to have when he's a kid; at least with Endeavor it's pretty clear those issues were more ones that started when he was older)

[s-che]

“you are a good nurse” (knives out and great men)

***(this is extremely spoilery for both knives out and glass onion. read with caution)***

In quarantine, in a smaller apartment than you might expect, Benoit Blanc is playing Among Us. This is a game—like Clue—which the celebrity detective hates. It’s too simple, too obvious, and too easy to resolve. Although he holds himself to be better than these “stupid things,” they are also a weakness—later, we will be told that he nearly failed to solve a case because it was too simple all along. For now, the gentleman sleuth is doing poorly in isolation, suffering from an all-consuming boredom which descends between cases (a trait he shares with his literary antecedents in Hercule Poirot and Sherlock Holmes). This is, all in all, a tremendous reintroduction to Blanc, the detective who, in 2019’s Knives Out, solved the murder of James PattersoHarlan Thrombey and who—in 2022’s Glass Onion—will attend a murder-mystery themed weekend getaway of the innermost circle of tech billionaire Elon MusMiles Bron. Blanc shares DNA with the classic sleuths—but he is both more and less of a hero than they were. Much of that has to do with the communities he finds himself in. Murder mysteries have always run on high-energy casts of colorful characters—most especially in the works of Agatha Christie, whose Mousetrap, Murder on the Orient Express, and And Then There Were None feel like important steps on the road to Knives Out. Working with big tropes and cliches makes sense in a genre which is, in many ways, about developing and subverting reader expectations, and the two Knives Out films certainly build on that mold, establishing a set of stock characters drawn from the here and the now. Whether we’re dealing with a wealthy college student who sets her political beliefs aside to bow to the demands of her family (Katherine Langford as Meg Thrombey, Knives Out) or an internet micro-influencer about to explode into the mainstream screaming about the downfall of western masculinity (Dave Bautista as Duke Cody, Glass Onion), the supporting casts of both Benoit Blanc murder-flicks are fresh tropes for a fresh culture. They’re also—critically—all drawn from a particular world. Children of wealthy families, publishing executives, influencers, lifestyle models—these are people given a huge privilege, not only in the quality of their lifestyles but in the degree of their control over the direction of their lives. Although Knives Out and Glass Onion both  depict circles dependent on the charity of individual, powerful men—Harlan Thrombey and Miles Bron, respectively��they are also circles made up of people who society grants decision-making power, imbuing them with the belief that they are the protagonists of life granted the god-given right to personhood in contrast to those in sidelined roles—the help, medical staff, and “Derol.” The heroes of both films, however, are the odd ones out. They are neither the suspects (the colorful ensembles of those who “could have done it”) nor the celebrity sleuth himself (on whom everyone depends to solve the mystery and straighten things out), but rather those who are pushed to the side—assumed to be objects, not actors. Marta and Helen are the Watsons of both movies—the characters through whom we view the story, whose experiences frame and color our own (Helen takes on this role predominantly in the second half of the movie, once her true identity has been revealed to the audience). Unlike Holmes’s Watson or Poirot’s Arthur Hastings, however, these two characters are not neutral “straight characters” but individuals who suffer an active isolation, people who—however “normal” they might be in comparison to the cast—are marginalized and assumed to occupy a passive space. This positioning impacts their perspective, skewing things for viewers, reminding us that there is no apolitical way to view these events—and not to normalize the antics of the elite. In both cases—as Marta is Harlan’s long-term nurse and Helen is dedicated to seeking justice for her sister—they are presumed to, and in many cases do, act without ego, functioning solely as objects and in the ecosystem which surrounds the powerful decision makers (Harlan Thrombey and Miles Bron) and support systems on which the protagonists of life can lean. Although the films work to counteract this assumption—reminding us of the fundamental personhood of both Helen and Marta—it is also partially through their dedication to serving others that both Helen and Marta succeed. Blanc puts this clearly in Knives Out when he reveals that he knew Marta was involved in the murder from the start: “I want you to remember something very important:” he says “You won not by playing the game Harlan's way, but yours.” The heroes of these films do not succeed by using their invisible status to their advantage in playing “the game Harlan’s way,” getting one up on everybody by being the cleverest person in the room. Rather, they succeed by staying true to their values and doing what they know is right—even if that means sacrificing themself to the cause of another because it is right. For Marta this is attempting to save Fran—for Helen it is running out of clever ways to seek justice for her sister, and setting fire to theb building instead. By working against their own self-interest in the “game” or “puzzle” of a murder mystery, both Helen and Marta defeat their antagonists. In Knives Out, the Thrombey family spends much of their time bickering over who really deserves to inherit Harlan’s legacy—and the film is clear that none of them can truly claim to have built success themselves, as each was granted the privilege and security of their family’s wealth. None are truly as independent—we might say, “protagonal” —as they believe. Glass Onion takes this a step further, attacking the “source” of the cycle of  wealth. While Harlan Thrombey seems to have been a generally good man, a skilled storyteller, and a strong judge of character—it was his decision to reward Marta, and not his kin, with the inheritance—Glass Onion’s counterpart in Miles Bron is explicitly framed as lacking substance (being a “Glass Onion,” which appears deep but is in fact easy to see through) and having simply been in the right place in the right time to steal someone else’s work. There is no “self-made man” or “good billionaire” in Glass Onion—only people who were lucky enough to be given the opportunity to step on someone else on their way up the ladder. This developed critique of “great men” plays directly into the events of Glass Onion’s climax. Unlike Knives Out, where the police are presented as broadly interested in justice and glad to work alongside Blanc although their investigation has already ended, Glass Onion demonstrates explicitly how systems of power—the courts and the police, but also social dynamics and community pressures—can be bent to the defense of those assumed to be powerful decision makers (like Miles Bron or Ransom Thrombey). There were allusions to this in Knives—where Ransom claims that Benoit solving the murder means nothing, since he has good lawyers and will avoid a significant sentence—but they are eventually unsubstantial, as Marta tricks Ransom into confessing in front of two officers and he is arrested as a result. When, in Glass Onion, when the only evidence to Bron’s crime is burned, Blanc himself seems to surrender, claiming that “This is where my jurisdiction ends” before leaving the room (though not before handing Helen the physical and emotional material she needs to literally burn Miles Bron’s island home to the ground). Although Helen eventually manages to set fire to the Mona Lisa—defeating Bron by ruining his public image, not through criminal prosecution—this does not seem to be her intention when she begins destroying the mansion. In this, Glass Onion seems to develop a second critique of Knives Out—not only do we come to question the validity of the narrative of “good” billionaires, we are shown that, faced with hostile powers insulating  themselves within systems of law and order, the only path to justice may be working outside the law and our basic (i.e. carceral) assumptions of what “justice” is. As the emergency  services arrive to pick up a body, Benoit sits on the beach, smoking a cigar. His hands are clean, and he has inspired Helen to the heroic action that she must take. He is as smart as any Holmes, but he did not do his part in this adventure in the way Holmes would, by playing the game, solving the puzzle, and handing things over to the police. Rather, Benoit has himself taken on a supportive role—supportive to Helen, who has, in turn, taken action and found justice for her sister. He understands the limits of his jurisdiction—in other words, he knows when it is actually his turn to be the protagonist, and when it is his role to inspire others. In a world full of people who claim to have risen to power by their skill and focus, Blanc actually has remarkable skill—but he uses them, ultimately, to ends of uplifting the meek, not simply restoration of order.

[mmmmalo]

For anyone still under the impression that June Egbert is just a product of the Toblerone wishes with no particular relevance to Homestuck proper, here's an argument to the contrary: that June (or whatever you like to call her) was already here, woven into John's relationship with the idea of Dad.

Act 1 has a certain preoccupation with the ideal forms of things, John having multiple instances of saying X isn't a REAL X unless it has this or that characteristic. "A fire BELONGS in a fireplace, categorically." One of those outbursts touches upon masculinity, with John saying a gentleman without a monocle is a piss-poor excuse for such. Along such a paradigm, you might gather that something like John saying the beaglepuss sucks as a disguise or trying (and failing) to integrate Dad's pipe into the façade communicates that John is kind of grasping at this ideal of masculinity exemplified by Dad and getting frustrated that he can't seem to measure up to it (or that masculinity feels "fake" on him).

This sort of dynamic is more blatant with Dave, who talks openly about how he isn't a "hero", not really, measuring himself against the impossible standards set by his Bro. But as much was already implicit in Act 1.

Later it gets established that John has some kind of fear of heights: the first ogres appear after John experiences vertigo from almost falling off the stairs, and again after getting launched by the pogo hammer. (Just as Karkat suspected he was given a planet covered in his own blood as a form of harassment, Sburb placed John's house on that needle plateau because of this fear of heights; the game generally manifests adversaries in response to fear). The phobia becomes relevant to Dad stuff after the ogre fight is over, when John is hesitating to jump down into Dad's room: it isn't just that John's nervous about entering the room for the first time, the descent itself makes John anxious. Furthermore, this juxtaposition serves to establish that the fear of heights and anxieties around Dad are related somehow, if not outright synonymous. The two are associated again at the beginning of Act 5 Act 2, when dream!John tries to jump over a canyon to reach Dad, but awakens mid-leap. The formal reason John awakens is Vriska of course, but if we ignore her we're left with John approaching Dad and immediately experiencing vertigo. (The name "June" comes from Vriska contacting John shortly after this dream, incidentally)

This comes up again when John finds Dad's wallet and gets overwhelmed by the prospect of Manhood and the responsibilities it entails -- next thing you know John is flying around in Dad's car, having fun... and after the scene is interrupted by Seek the Highblood, we return to find John crashing the car (another fall from the sky!) and talking with Vriska about dread surrounding societal expectations, and the possibility of rejecting them to pursue something different for yourself. John came into the scene worried (if quietly) about the expectations surrounding manhood, so the Vriska conversation serves to makes those kind of concerns more vivid.

The car crash is itself kind of a metaphor for that conversation's trajectory... in Act 6 we see something analogous play out among the Dersites who have gotten into dapper-wear: one Dersite sits on a hat, panics about ruining it, and then begins to wonder if perhaps a crumpled hat could have a value of its own, aesthetically. (Dirk expresses this sort of counter-assessment more bombastically: "...the next best thing. By which you mean, the vastly superior thing.") Dad Crocker swoops in to condemn the crumpled hat, but the Dersite's tentative revaluation of an apparent failure mode is something the scene shares with Vriska, who initially regards her ambivalence towards murder as a symptom of personal failure, unbefitting her caste. John enters that conversation with a crumpled car, and from context we can guess John's revaluation concerns "failing" to be a man in the way Dad is, and how maybe that doesn't need to be considered a failure.

As laid out so far, I guess none of this quite necessitates trans-Egbert, since people can come at "anxiety and reservations at the prospect of embodying masculine ideals" from a number of angles... but there are other considerations which make me think wrestling with self-deprecating thoughts like "I'm a failed man" are maybe comorbid with a budding sense of being a girl, in Egbert's case.

Foremost, I think it helps to recognize that Dad's car can function as a symbol of John's body. To sketch a case for that:

1a. Death often means transformation: the trolls die in questcocoons to reach the godtiers, suggesting that death stands between the caterpillar and the butterfly, their too solid flesh dissolved into a goo.

1b. A command in Act 1 implores John to "retrieve arms from MAGIC CHEST". John complies twofold: we see some fake arms retrieved from the toy chest, held up by John's real arms which have been "retrieved" from John's ostensibly armless torso.

2. This dual usage of chest is deployed in part 3 of Openbound, in service of building a dysphoria metaphor (among other things). The segment reintroduces us to Fiduspawn, a game in which one creature hatches from another, a host creature, killing the host in the process (fans of the Alien films may recognize this as derivative of the "chestburster", fans of Homestuck may recognize this as analogous to godtiering). Damara (who Rufioh refers to as "doll") becomes the host plush, who is accused of locking away Rufioh's "happy thought" (Tinkerbull) in her "chest". Rufioh's beef with Damara serves to illustrate an adversarial relationship with one's own body, the ways in which the body itself seems to function as a barrier to some happiness. The carnal imprisonment of euphoria (the "happy thought") represents dysphoria. The conversation between Kanaya and Porrim which follows has analogous content and offers a potential resolution to such a conflict, with Kanaya coming to distinguish her body from the reproductive duties assigned to her body by her caste's place in society, and knowing that she is not "bound" to the Matriorb by any will but her own...

3. But the paradigm of Fiduspawn reminds us that the act of actually ripping the happy thought out of your chest has suicidal overtones, when taken literally. And Aradiabot notwithstanding, the inner ghosts the kids give up are often green: Dirkbot tears out his uranium heart and explodes, Rose peels pink bricks off the green core of an island and wonders aloud if her existence is a mistake, and (returning to our main topic!) John tries to retrieve the green package from Dad's car. The retrieval of the box comes to represents the birth of the self from its shell, the now broken body, a gesture which overlaps with the pursuit of death.

So we can infer that Dad is akin to Damara here, having locked the desired object (the box, the "happy thought") within a container that we can identify with John's own body. Thus Vriska's talk of perhaps rejecting her assigned role in society proceeds naturally from the wreckage of Dad's car: insofar as the car functions as an emblem of the masculine expectations imposed upon John, the car's wreckage suggests the possibility of liberation from those expectations, liberation from your own body. John is "sick to death of cake" -- cake is a Life symbol imposed by Dad, in visceral excess, accumulating as every birthday marches John towards Manhood. The possibility of living as a girl does not seem to have occurred to John yet, life and masculinity seem inextricable and absolute. The first time John sees Dad's car totaled (after Rose drops it), the symbol of self-as-corpse is surrounded by yellow bands of caution tape. The Authority Regulator who placed the tape will later declare himself to be THE LAW, and we should take his word for it: the scene's function is to declare that the crumpled car, the "dead" and therefore feminized body, is forbidden to John. No surprise then that as John marches to her death, in defiance of the Law's prohibition, she-whose-name-does-not-yet-suit-her is met with impressions of several maps that actually align with their territories: troll movies whose titles are their contents in full, a rocket encoded by the sound PCHOOOOO. John wants that for herself, I think. And as @lscholar once pointed out, it’s worth noting that John's pursuit of this unity (this pursuit of "death") is interrupted by Dave, who in saving John's life repeatedly emphasizes their status as "bros" -- masculinity being, again, inextricable from life within John’s symbol system.

...and that's the short of it. A more detailed account might get into the association of Vriska and other blue girls with the feminized corpse, or read into Equius self-consciously roleplaying as a cat girl between John’s joyride and crash, or perhaps try to apply this car-body framework to the appearances of Dad's car in the Epilogues. And I haven’t even touched upon clowns...but I'll call it here for now.

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(The Bad Batch) Camping: Crosshair’s Ending

  Intro

    “I guess I’ll follow Crosshair,” you said.  The sharpshooter hadn’t heard your statement.  He was already on his way toward the edge of the clearing, crossing over into the woods.  

   Omega nudged you with her elbow.  “You’d better hurry, or you’ll miss him!”

   You hesitated.  “I don’t know.  He didn’t wait around for anyone to go with.  Maybe he wants to be alone.”

   “No,” she insisted with a shake of her head, blonde locks waving.  “Trust me, he won’t mind you going.  He likes your company.”

   You had to admit that he wasn’t as abrasive with you as he once had been.  Over time, the sudden snaps and sarcastic comments had died down.  He even showed subtle signs that he cared for you as a member of the team and family in his own little way.  Your feelings for him had grown beyond what you could have imagined in that time.  You didn’t expect for them to be returned, but at the very least, Crosshair didn’t seem to mind you.

   “Hurry!”  Omega urged again, giving you another nudge.  Crosshair had already disappeared into the forest, but he most likely hadn’t gotten far.  You shrugged at Omega before taking off for the edge of the clearing.

   “Here goes nothing,” you muttered to yourself.  A twig snapped beneath your shoe as you stepped out of the bright open clearing and into the shady, cool woods.  It was beautiful.  The trees above created a sort of canopy, only allowing for smaller patches of sunlight to shine through.  Everything was so green, and the air smelled so sweet.  The brush was thick and difficult to get through even though you were following Crosshair’s trail.

   You looked straight ahead to see him standing there several feet away, twisted around to peer at you over his shoulder.  You offered a smile and waved despite the fact that your leg was caught in a bush.  If he was surprised to see you, he didn’t show it.  His gaze swept over you for a moment before he approached.

   “Hey,” you greeted.

   Crosshair’s eyes met yours briefly.  “Hey.”  He extended his hand and pulled you forward so that you could remove your leg from the brush.  It was done swiftly and with ease.  Once you were free, you dusted yourself off and looked up at him.

   “Thanks.  Do you mind if I walk with you?”

   Crosshair turned his body in the direction he’d been walking in before, peering at you over his shoulder once more.  “Do what you want.”  It was well known that he wasn’t the most wordy or expressive.  That phrase was his way of an open invitation.

   You were watching where you walked, but your gaze was also drawn to the one who led the way through the dense woods.  You studied him as if somehow it would give you insight to what was going on in that mind of his.  He didn’t speak for some time.  Your eyes rested on the back of his head of silver hair, traveling down his form and pausing at his arms.  They were left exposed by his sleeveless blue shirt that faded into darker blue further down the torso.  He definitely wasn’t built like Wrecker, but his arms weren’t noodles either.  His lean form held an impressive strength.  You’d witnessed it on the battlefield many times, and even more recently, he demonstrated it when he had snapped the tent pieces back into place in front of you and handed them back.  It had been done swiftly and with ease, whereas it had taken you and Omega both to do it the first time.

   “What?”

   You snapped out of your train of thought at his question.  “Uh, what?”

   “You were staring.”

   Of course, those keen eyes of his didn’t miss a thing.  It was handy when it came to taking out droids, but at that moment, it was unfortunate.

   “Sorry.  I was just thinking.”

   He stepped over a bush and paused, turning to hold out an open hand towards you.  You hesitantly took it, and he helped you over the plant.  “About what?” he asked.  It wasn’t meant to be nosy or demanding.  It seemed he was trying to start a conversation, which was a rare but not entirely unheard of occurrence for him.  At least, not with you these days.

   Your heart was thumping erratically at that point, racking your brain for something to say other than “I was thinking about you.”  Although, you didn’t want to lie either.  “I was just thinking how nice the sights are here.”  It was true.  Crosshair just happened to be one of the sights that you admired.

   “It is nice,” he agreed, pausing to cast an admiring glance at the canopy of trees above.  The leaves created lovely patterned shadows on his face.  You followed his gaze and sighed at how your chest swelled with happiness.  The air was warm, but not quite as blistering hot as it was in the sunny clearing.  The shade held a different kind of quiet intensity, a tension that was still so beautiful to you.

   Your eyes fell back to Crosshair.  The corner of his mouth was turned up in a half-smile at the view.  He noticed then that you were watching him, and he turned his head to look back at you fully.

   “Have you and the squad done this before?” you asked.  “Gone camping?”

   “We’ve camped out for missions,” he replied.  “Never did it for fun.”

  “Technically, Hunter originally told us that this was for team-building.”

   “Funny, he’s the one who let everyone wander off in separate directions.”

   You chuckled at the realization.  “That’s true.  Well, maybe this is part of team-building in the end.  We negotiated an effective way for everyone to do what they want.  I’d say that was a good problem-solving exercise.”

   Crosshair shook his head.  “Good one.”

   The two of you continued through the forest, talking a little along the way.  It wasn’t exactly a chatter-filled walk, but it was probably the most you and Crosshair had opened up to each other.  He told you a few stories about the squad’s past experiences camping out.  There was one in particular about how Wrecker heaved a rock and accidentally knocked over a hive of bees that Crosshair even smirked at.  Fortunately, Wrecker had escaped without getting stung, but he had run off yelling and swatting his hands around.

   You weren’t sure how long you and Crosshair had been out, but it was definitely past lunchtime.  You hardly noticed.  You were having such a nice time with him that the time flew.

   “We should turn around,” you spoke up.  “The others are probably having lunch now.”  Crosshair paused and nodded before turning straight around and heading back the way you came.

   Even as late as it was, It still seemed a little too early for the sky behind the trees to be darkening as much as it did.  The air had grown humid, and the bird chirping had ceased.  The woods had gone from delightfully shady to nearly sunless and dreary.  You walked closer to the sharpshooter, though not so close that you’d step on his heels by accident.

   Then, you heard the pitter-patter of rain beginning to fall on the greenery around you.  It started off as a trickle before gradually morphing into a downpour.  It was so heavy that even the trees didn’t shield you from the drops that soaked your clothes.

   You felt a hand take yours, and you squinted through the rain to see Crosshair urging you to follow.  You let him lead you toward a large tree that had been uprooted.  It leaned against another tree, creating a spot beneath it untouched by the rainfall.

   You rested your back against the upright trunk, panting from the sudden dash.  Crosshair ran a hand through his damp hair and shook some drops from his face.

   “When it lets up, we’ll keep going,” he said.  Both of you stared out into the rainy haze in silence.  You wondered how long it would be before it would subside.  You were glad to have a shelter of sorts, but you were starting to shiver in your soaked clothes.  Crosshair’s eyes locked on you.  He gazed at you, and despite your chill, your face grew warm under his quiet scrutiny.  Finally, he walked over to stand right in front of you.

   “Cold?” he drawled.

   Your words abandoned you at the proximity, so you merely gave a short nod.  Crosshair was just as soaked as you were, but the arm that slipped around you still provided some comfort.  You automatically leaned into him, pressing your face against his bare shoulder which was already warming back up.  His other arm wrapped around your form, and you breathed a sigh as you sank into the contact even more.

   You lost yourself in the rise and fall of his chest as well as the steady thrum of his heart.  It was a melody that you were sure would play itself over and over in your mind after the encounter.  You didn’t even want to think about the after.  You didn’t want this to end.  Your arms had slipped around his waist, and his breath hitched.  You lifted your head to meet his gaze, concerned that perhaps you’d overstepped, but then his eyes locked on yours.

   It was like the bug caught in a spider’s web that caught your eye earlier as you passed through the forest.  You were trapped by those piercing eyes as his face grew closer, though you didn’t feel like the prey you’d seen before.  You weren’t struggling to escape.  You were drawn in.

   And suddenly, his warm lips were pressed to your own.  His grip on you tightened, and you felt like you’d melt into a puddle if it weren’t for his arms holding you.  All at once, something exploded in your chest, and your lips pulled away only to unite again in a more heated dance.  Your back hit the tree trunk behind you, and Crosshair grunted an apology.  His lips met yours again before he pulled away altogether, eyes glinting.

   “Rain stopped,” he said, running a thumb along your jaw.  You didn’t tear your eyes from his to confirm, only noted that the sound had subsided.

   “We’d better head back then,” you replied.

   Neither of you moved for several seconds.  Eventually, both of you were able to pull away, though his hand didn’t let go of yours, and continued your trek back to the campsite.  The walk back was quiet, though you found yourself meeting Crosshair’s gaze many times.  There wasn’t room for embarrassment because he was almost always staring at you first.  Even though there was a bit of a hurry to get back to the campsite before it rained again, you enjoyed every second.