#international sojourning

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

It’s been entirely too rarely that the programme has shown how the BOOTH can alter her internal dimensions to fit the Inspector’s needs.

Such as in ‘Sojourn to the Heart of the BOOTH’, where she blocked potential burglars from accessing her ‘necessities’.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

oh shit, tequila!reader feels everything, not just sees it?? i’d keep all of my own stuff under lock and key

Even her own stuff can suck sometimes- it's just easier to block out if she's touched it before.

"Oh good," you grouse. "The annual sojourn into hell." You look up at the entrance of the "Historical Recreation" and take a deep breath.

"Relax," Logan huffed, rolling his eyes, "It's not that bad-"

"I'm not touching anything. I always leave this fucking place with a migraine and the urge to put my head through a wall... Half the shit they tell you happened here is just bullshit." You flip your sunglasses down and flounce off the bus, Forcing Logan to follow after you, smirking a little.

He watches you ignore the overly friendly reenactor and dodge shaking his hand, taking a note of the "Authentic" costuming and internally cringe. Then make a mental note to force Charles to put something else on the curriculum.

"Cheer up, bub," Logan said, trailing after the kids, "it's not that bad."

You give him a sour look and put your hands firmly into your pockets, focusing hard on "present" details that make it easier to pick out what you're looking at properly. Despite your best efforts to not touch anything, every door handle, table, and person working there was intent on making you blend.

The period dress didn't help.

Past and present kept blurring and trying to focus on it was already giving you a headache.

Logan stepped closer to you, tucking you against his side carefully, "You good, kid?"

"Readjusting," you mumble. "Takes a minute. Stuff gets confused."

He nodded, pulled your water bottle from the net pocket on your bag, and handed it to you. "Take a drink," he said. "Looks like you're gonna puke."

You take it but don't take a drink. The metal is cold and it's new. Something you touched before so it helps. "I'll be fine I just-"

"Hey," Logan stopped you and gripped your shoulders, "focus. Need someone to laugh about how stupid some of this is with me."

"There's a butter-churning competition after lunch," you snort, glancing up at him.

"You're fucking kidding-"

"It used to be a taffy pull but some kid ate all their candy and puked in the display at the general store."

[scrumpster]

LGBTQ+ Jewish Resources and Organizations

Happy Pride! Here's a few links I've collected to hopefully reach whoever in the Jewish community may need them. If you're considering donating a bit of money or volunteer time this Pride, please consider looking into these efforts (at your own discretion, as many of these may be local to specific areas). Please feel free to add on to this list, and any queer Jews reading are welcome to link their personal donation posts in the comments.

The SMQN, an organization for LGBTQ+ Sephardic and Mizrahi Jews

Keshet, a group for LGBTQ+ Jews

JQY, a group for LGBTQ+ Jews with a focus on those in Orthodox communities

Queer Jews of Color Resource List (note: this list is way more than just resources, there’s a LOT of helpful stuff in here) JQ International: In their own words, "JQ celebrates the lives of LGBTQ+ Jews and their allies by transforming Jewish communities and ensuring inclusion through community building, educational programs, and support and wellness services, promoting the healthy integration of LGBTQ+ and Jewish identities."

Ritualwell (check out their blessings related to gender identity!) 

Guimel, an LGBTQ+ support group for the Jewish Community in Mexico. The site is in Spanish. I’m not a native speaker, but I was still able to read a little bit of it. 

SVARA: In their own words, “SVARA’s mission is to empower queer and trans people to expand Torah and tradition through the spiritual practice of Talmud study.”

TransTorah is definitely an older website, but there are still some miscellaneous pdfs and resources up on the “Resources” page.

SOJOURN: In their own words, "The Southern Jewish Resource Network for Gender & Sexual Diversity (SOJOURN) is the American South's resource for Jewish & LGBTQ+ programming, education, support, and advocacy."

[darling-answers]

It’s for your fluff month

But maybe a nervous partner on their first mission with Cassidy? :))

Day 2

First Mission

“ Cole Cassidy and — you both will be taking over the mission of stacking out a Talon Shipping facility. We have gotten some news that there would be major product there for Talon use. From our insource tonight the products if talon gets there hand on it there new weapons there manufacturing will become even more powerful. We need to stop them from getting it and stop the production of more dangerous weapons.”

Sojourn explains what the mission was, all Overwatch agents stood around a table that showed a big explained digital picture of the manufactured weapon and the parts the product needs to be fully complete, another side of the map showed the full shipping container layout. Details on how to get inside had been littered all over the screen as sojourn made sure to point at the valid checkpoints.

Standing there was awakes everyone looked so excited for the mission so happy to be there and worked for there dream job of being in Overwatch. There situation and your situation was on polar opposite while most joined to help the community and also to prove Overwatch could still be in it glory days helping people as much as possible the circumstances was different.

Living in a small town the Omnic crisis hit hard for you and your family. Food market prices went up with the house, bills were higher than ever and barely living could be expected. It was to much for your family so for the sake of your family you had joined Overwatch a small international group to help defeat the bull sectors but also the on growing assault of talon. Because just living isn’t enough to survive you had to you myst fight for your family.

When sojourn looked at you for confirmation on wanting to do the mission it was not just an ask it was more of a request from her, do the mission to help out more people. Sojourn had put you with one of her most trusted and best agents. With the connection of her friendship with The old Gabriel Reyes she had buried a lot on the cowboy and his ideals. When she saw you nodded your head she gave a relief sigh satisfied that you had agreed to do the mission.

After each mission from small missions to big missions each and everyone had there own part that they had expected to get completed wanting a successful but also understanding if the mission didn’t come out well was assign you were left in the mission brief room, staring at what you were asked to do. Your brain nagged on you.

‘why did you even accept this mission, what were you even doing in Overwatch, there were many things that could go wrong many people who could be such more better.’

You let out a small huff rolling your eyes as someone who hadn’t walked out and watched you silently gave a slight cough. He had a cigarette in the left side of his mouth taking a few deep breath before blowing out the smoke from his lip. He gently push the bud into an ash tray as he slowly walked over to you. Bowing his hat he gave you a cowboy curtsy.

“ You must be the new Agent, My name is Cole, you can just call me Cassidy whatever fits your role.”

How could you not know the infamous cowboy not only was he a severe problem and vigilante back when he formed a deadlock gang with one of the most wanted criminal in the west. But he was also in Blackwatch a side group of Overwatch that worked in secret that Did stuff that Overwatch couldn’t do publicly. It played by it own rules. He seemed to have a genuine kindness unlike how he was portrayed among Media and his dark persona. 

He grins as he saw you reach your hand out for a shake. Grabbing your hand in a firm grip he shook it, he felt the small trembles in your arm as his head tilt as he looks at the mission brief.

“ don’t worry, these missions are more simple even if they seem more severe, it important but easy so don’t worry.”

He gave another small cheeky smiled as his eyebrow raised a little. He had notice the anxious expression you had even if you tried to hide it, your body language proved his point in every other way, his hat came over his forehead as he followed your body language. Placing a hand on the hilt of his belt he tried to sooth the worries.

“ if your that worry about it sugar, stay by my side and i will make sure not a finger is touch on you’re head take your time. I have heard from Vivian your skills are almost unmatched so let me see those to use when your on the battlefield. While I protect you from any actual harm”

He gave a firm pat on your shoulders warm hands instantly engulfing your shoulder as he soothed all your worries. His smile was that of a morning sunshine. A promise was one he knew he couldn’t break not after the anxious smile you had shown. He intended to keep that small promise he had made to you.

“ Thanks.. I appreciate your comfort and I will try to do my best.”

He nodded at the more postive aspects of your words. What was there to worry about when you had such a good looking cowboy in your team and one that was so kind to remind you why you were decided to join Overwatch and how you contribute to the team. Your skill was something to look forward to, he was excited to see your skills on the battlefield.

How could anything go wrong?

As you were sent off to bed to get a goodnight rest for the mission tomorrow thoughts scrambled in your brain, of not only failing among the mission but not being good enough or making high expectations for Overwatch. Your heart tighten and the hours rolled by either faster or slower, it was all such a blur.

Stumbling among the aircraft. The aircraft was one used by many agents but this time as most agents were going on this mission it left you and Cassidy in your assigned spots. Pictures on eachother seats of either family and friends you made along the way. setting your stuff down on the seat next to you, it almost seemed to be you caught up in a daze on why you even accepted this mission again. You didn’t know what to say or do or how to act. How could you truly get through nightmare that you put yourself in.

But when the cowboy who sits across from you flashes you an infamous grin and gives you a look of such confidence of your ability.

A relax expression came upon your face. Your brain instantly flooded with words of affirmation.

‘You got this, you have worked to hard to quit now, there nothing to stop you so push yourself forward.’

[annagaw]

I’m back! Oops! Sorry! (A brief life update - with a handful of recs at the end)

AUTUMNAL GREETINGS TO THE DRAM FAM!

Apologies for the extended radio silence. Life just got a little bit too fucking hectic for a moment back there: exciting (slightly scary) new work opportunities and creative projects, a spot of wonderful but intense international travel, a brief sojourn into exposing a serial harasser (relaxing!), and then enjoying the inevitable chronic illness flare up and devastating burnout that these things naturally precede. Just your standard hot girl summer, really!

I blinked and suddenly it’s been over two months since I even worked on any personal (read "fan”) art, and I have a stack of ao3 emails gathering dust in my inbox, telling me all my favourite WIPs are updating while I do… what? Touch grass?! No thank you, sir, not any longer. The year is drawing in, we’re on the home stretch, and I am OVER being an outdoor kid.

Anyway, I’ve missed this gorgeous fandom, and am desperately trying to claw back some personal time over the next few months. Let’s see how I do! I have a disgruntled file of WIPs of my own that are longing to see the light of screen, and god damn it I shall give them what they deserve.

I did manage, while I was away, to finally read a few sensational fics that had been on my radar for a while (did I buy a secondhand kindle just for fanfiction, just so I could read my little fics while travelling? It is entirely possible) and would like to shout out in particular: Bad Omens by onebedtorulethemall, Time and Place by GingerBaggins, Mutual, I’m Sure by LadyUrsa (ao3 needed), and Beam Me Up, Swotty! by Molivier. Thanks for the immeasurable joy and devastation you caused me.

[coopigeoncoo]

The Cardinal Rule

Pairing: Hawks/Gender Neutral Reader

Rating: Teen+

Tags: Romantic Comedy, Bird Puns, Ritual Blood Letting, Blood and Injury, Descriptions of Surgical Procedures, Vomit, The Teachings of Karl Marx

---

A story where Hawks learns that while humans might be awed by his flying skills, the bird population is decidedly less impressed.

---

"The birds are refusing to work until their demands are met," you explained, trying to subtly slide your body between Hawks and the birds who were quite literally calling for bloodshed.

"Which are?" Hawks asked as he lifted the bottle of water to his mouth and took a long sip.

"They, ah, want you held accountable for your numerous bird crimes."

Hawks abruptly choked, water spurting from the corner of his lips as he attempted to swallow the remaining liquid as he sputtered helplessly.

"My what?" He coughed, thumping solidly on his chest with a closed fist.

---

Continue Reading below or follow the link to Ao3!

The air inside the studio was stifling; hot from the numerous bodies crammed into one room and the too-bright spotlights shining down onto the immaculately styled set pieces.  The entire thing looked like something your Art History Professor would have gushed over, the words ‘Brutalistic’ and ‘Industrial’ echoing through your head in their booming voice.  And you understood this set design just about as much as you understood that entire unit in school- pretty much not at all.  

But it wasn’t your job to understand the aesthetic appeal of the bone white pillars jutting out from the concrete floor at harsh angles.  Your job was to mind the birds.  

You liked your job at the bird rehabilitation center well enough and found it soothing most days.  Getting to spend your days caring for sick and infirmed birds was emotionally rewarding as well as lucrative.  It turns out that Ornithologists were very willing to shell out the big bucks to have someone with an Avian Communication Quirk on their payroll.  You had cemented yourself as an irreplaceable employee when you single handedly turned a failing breeding program around by informing the lead scientist that the female bird wasn’t receptive to the male’s advances because she thought he didn’t groom himself well enough.  One emergency bath later and the courtship proceeded without a hitch.  Last you heard the endangered pair was happily raising their forth successful brood.     

The only part of your work you didn’t like was what you were forced into doing today; accompanying the birds on sojourns outside of the rescue facility.  Schools loved to have the birds visit as they were a good distraction for the children that allowed the harried teachers to catch their breaths and chug a cup of coffee while your feathered companions dazzled the students with their aerial acrobatics.  And even though those bouts of public speaking absolutely wracked your nerves, you would happily subject yourself to a dozen school assemblies if it meant escaping the hell that was waiting stand-by at a Pro Hero photo shoot.

Pro Heroes, by the nature of their work, had unpredictable schedules at best and were unreachable at worst, leaving the support and PR people who orbited around them in a perpetual state of limbo.  In general, you found lateness to be deeply inconsiderate of everybody’s time and energy, but it was a social faux paus to call Heroes out on their tardiness.  They were usually late due to being called out for emergencies and rescues, so chiding them for missing appointments was a surefire way to come off looking like an absolute jerk to the public at large.  

But internally you can, and often do, curse them for keeping you waiting in a sweltering studio for hours as your birds grew increasingly agitated and your stock of treats ran low.  

“Hot," a brilliant red cardinal complained, hopping into the bowl of water you had placed at the bottom of his cage. 

“I know, buddy.  Hold on just a little longer, okay?”

“Too many suns,” one of the hawks complained, ducking her head beneath her wing to block out the blinding glow of the stand lights.  

“There sure are.  Do you want me to put a blanket over your cage?”

“Yes,” she agreed readily, shifting her weight from foot to foot in irritation as pulled out a dark blue blanket and draped it over the side of her cage that faced the lights.

A frazzled looking assistant darted your way, hand pressed to the earpiece of their headset as she took in the newest bout of information being relayed.

"Hawks is on-site now.  He's just about done in wardrobe and then he'll make his way here," the assistant said, her eyes frantically scanning over the clipboard in her hands.

"Thank goodness," you sighed, turning to the cages that housed the birds.  "Are you all ready?"

"Leave?  Leave now?" The cardinal chirped, bouncing excitedly in his bath.

"Unfortunately, no.  We still have work to do."

"Not ready then," the cardinal huffed petulantly, puffing up his bright red body as he sank down into his pool. 

"C'mon, it won't be too bad!  If you all follow directions I bet the photos will go really fast and we'll be out of here in no time!" You assured the tiny red bird, crouching down to give him your full attention as he flapped his wings too fast and sent water sloshing out of his pool.  

"Treat would make me ready," the cardinal said slyly, tilting his head to the side in an attempt to distract you from his manipulations by reminding you of how cute he was.

"Treat?" The overwhelmed hawk inquired, peeping her head from around her shroud.

"Treat?" A dove cooed, nudging its friends awake who immediately joined in with the call for snacks.

"Treat! Treat!" The birds chirped and squawked, hitting their wings against the side of their cage and creating a loud enough ruckus that people were beginning to send irritated glances your way.

"Okay!," you hissed in capitulation, pulling a handful of dried crickets out of a paper bag.  "But this is the last of the treats I brought with me, so you all need to behave and make it through the rest of the photoshoot.  Got it?"

"Yes, yes," the cardinal readily agreed, bouncing along the bottom of his cage and picking up the grasshopper in its beak, chomping happily.  "Be good.  Promise."

The cardinal was a dirty rotten liar.  

Snacks had bought you a tentative peace that lasted until the moment Hawks arrived on set.  The birds took one look at the Hero and promptly began screeching, startling everyone in the studio and causing more than one person to drop their cup of coffee in surprise.  Hawks took to air, landing on top of one of the pillars and artfully arranged himself according to the Photographer's instructions while your birds went wild; hurling insults his way.

"Rude!  Rude bird!" The cockatoo called, flairing his crest in displeasure.

"Bad flier!" The doves chastised together with sharp clicks of their beaks.

"Miscreant!" The cardinal called, easily the most wound up of the bunch, fluffing up his feathers to look threatening.  "Criminal!"

"Hey, guys!  Shhhh, you have to quiet down!" You begged, aware of all the judgemental glares settling onto your back like a physical weight.  "You promised you'd behave!"

"No behave!  Need justice!" The cardinal called, hopping up onto his perch and opening his bright orange beak to let out a high pitched chirp. " JUSTICE!"

"Justice!" The rest of the birds echoed. Justice!  Justice!  Justice!"

"We're ready for the birds on set!" The assistant informed you as she motioned over her shoulder to where the photographer circled around Hawks, snapping a few last minute test shots.

"Right," you coughed nervously. "About that."

"What do you mean the birds refuse to work?!" The photographer roared in your face, his cheeks colored a splotchy red.  "They're birds! "

"Yes, they are.  And they refuse to take pictures with Hawks."

"All of them?" The photographer scrubbed a frustrated hand down his face, a vein at his temple pulsating in time with his thundering heartbeat.  

"Seems like," you admit with a sheepish shrug. "It's pretty unusual for them to agree on anything like this.  The raptors and the songbirds are almost always at odds with each other."

"I'm so glad they've managed to achieve bird peace instead of doing, oh, I don't know;  WHAT I'VE PAID FOR THEM TO DO!" The photographer bellowed through gritted teeth, pulling out fistfuls of his already thinning hair in frustration.  

"No price on honor!" The cardinal chirped boldly, the other birds supporting their tweeted proclamation with chirps of their own.  

"What's going in here?" A passing member of the crew asked, hoisting a coiled extension cord up onto his shoulder.

"The birds are uh- unionizing, apparently?  And have decided to go on strike," you explain.

"Really?" The man said, eyes wide in astonishment as he gave the birds a thumbs up and a wide smile. "Right on, little dudes!  Fight the power!"

"Yes!  Fight!  Fight!" The cardinal called.

"Fight!" The birds chorused.

"Bite!  Bite!" The cardinal screeched as he snapped his beak in demonstration.  

"You uh, might want to get away from the cages," you warn the photographer.  "They're starting to call for violence."

The photographer turned away from the cages and appeared to take cleansing breaths before he noticed the crew orderly filing out of the studio.

"Wait!" The photographer called out to the workers. "Where are you going?"

"Sorry man, but we don't cross picket lines," the man holding the extension cord explained as he grabbed a soggy donut from  craft services table on his way out the door.  The crew's act of solidarity seemed to please the birds, who let out  joyous calls in return.  

"We are flock!" The cardinal cheered.  "The flock is strong!"

"I'm so going to get fired for this," you mutter despondently as the birds began flipping over their feeders, spilling seeds and slices of fresh fruit across the studio floor.  

"So what's the excitement over here all about?" Hawks asked, finally curious enough about the disruption your birds were causing to come over and investigate.  

"So, um.  The birds are upset, " you begin warily, hyper aware that the birds were screeching louder and louder with every step Hawks took towards their cages.  

"I can see that," he smirked as he twisted the lid off of a bottle of water, the lopsided grin perfectly at home on his scruffy face.

"And they're refusing to work until their demands are met," you explained, trying to subtly slide your body between Hawks and the birds who were quite literally calling for bloodshed.  

"Which are?" Hawks asked as he lifted the bottle of water to his mouth and took a long sip.

"They, ah, want you held accountable for your numerous bird crimes."

Hawks abruptly choked, water spurting from the corner of his lips as he attempted to swallow the remaining liquid as he sputtered helplessly.

"My what? " He coughed, thumping solidly on his chest with a closed fist.

"Crimes!  So many crimes!" The cardinal squawked.  "Criminal!"

"Villain!  Bad Hawk!" The hawk supplied, eager to distance herself from this other hawk's misdeeds.  

"You seem to have acquired a terrible reputation amongst the bird population in the city.  They're calling you a Villain," you explain ruefully, desperately wishing that you had woken up dead this morning so you could have avoided this entire mortifying ordeal.  

"Tell me- tell me everything, " Hawks sputtered, staring intensely at the rioting birds with wide golden eyes.

Since you were the only person who could understand both human and avians, you were selected to mediate by default.  The birds, unsurprisingly, chose the rabble-rousing cardinal as their representative.  

"I'm going to let you out of the cage now," you told the cardinal, unlocking the door to his enclosure.  "No funny business or you're going right back in, understood?"

"Yes," the cardinal groused, hopping up and down to psych himself up for confronting the number one bird-sona non grata.  

"That means no biting."

"..."

"Agree not to bite or I'm leaving you in the cage."

"Fine," the cardinal agreed, puffing his feathers up in irritation.  "No bite."

"Took him a while to agree to that rule," Hawks murmured uneasily, eyeing the cardinal's sharp orange beak.  

"Yeah, they made up a song about biting you earlier and I think it got him really excited about the prospect."

"Oh, wow," Hawks said, a genuine thread of amazement lacing through his words.  "They've really put a lot of effort into hating me."

"Yeah, they really have.  It's super impressive, right?"

"No chatting!" The cardinal admonished, squeezing your finger with his tiny feet; talons prickling your skin.  "List his crimes!  Prepare for judgment!"

"Right, okay.  So, their biggest complaint is that you're an inconsiderate flier," you begin, keeping an eye on the cardinal perched on your finger as he nods along to your words.

"Inconsiderate how?"

"For starters, you often fly through a flock.  That makes them consider you a predator and unnecessarily stresses them out.  It's an especially big deal during the spring when the females are incubating."

"I see," Hawks murmured, scratching his chin thoughtfully.  

You listened closely to the clarifying chirp of the cardinal before addressing Hawks once more.  "He says that you will also position yourself at the front of a flock, putting yourself in charge of navigation and end up leading them wildly off course."

"I had no idea," Hawks admitted with a sigh, grimacing under the beady glare of the cockatoo. "I was just enjoying their company while I flew."

"And that's kind of the underlying issue here," you point out, running a calming finger over the fluffy crest of feathers atop his head.  "You're playing on their field but totally ignoring the rules of the game and just sowing chaos everywhere you fly."

"I feel like a complete jerk," Hawks admitted, moving his head so he was face to face with the feisty cardinal.  "I'm sorry for causing trouble and making such a mess of things.  I'll be much more conscious about how I fly in the future."

The cardinal was quiet on your finger, mulling over Hawk's words thoughtfully.

"Tell him more."

"Really?" You groan.  "Can't you just accept his apology and move on?"

"Hear all crimes!  Then retribution!"

"Okay, so are you ready to hear the rest?"

"There's more? " Hawks asked incredulously, staring at the cardinal with wide eyes.  

"You better grab a seat," you advise him with a sigh.  "It's a long list of complaints."

To his immense credit, Hawks sat through the translated tongue lashing with rapt attention, taking in each and every criticism with a solemn nod of his head.  He was accused of everything from taking up all the best perches to not sharing the snacks he brought up onto rooftops with him.  That one seemed especially egregious in the eyes of the birds, as the mere mention of unshared snacks past sent them into a wild screeching fit it took you minutes to calm them down from.

"Last crime," the cardinal proclaimed grandiosely, as though he was delivering a sermon from a pulpit and not yelling at an increasingly despondent man while perched on your finger.  "Duck got head stuck in fence.  Hawks took picture and laughed!"

"You laughed and took a picture of a duck that got its head stuck in a fence?"

"Yeah," Hawks winced, fingers running across the grooves in his water bottle nervously.  "I freed them afterwards though!"

"After you laughed at them and took a picture, you mean?" You huffed, completely siding with the birds in this particular instance.  

"Crimes done.  Retribution now!"   The cardinal chirped, sending the rest of the birds into an uproar of wildly flapping wings and agreeing squeaks.  

"What's he saying?"

"He's, uh, calling for retribution."

"Feathers and blood!" The cardinal demanded.

"Feathers and blood!" The doves warbled in agreement.

"They're calling for your feathers and blood," you informed the Hero.   

"And snacks!" The hawk added, the rest of the birds silent as they considered the added request.

"Yes, snacks!" The cardinal chirped in triumph as the rest of the birds joined him in his chant. "Snacks!  Snacks!  Snacks!"

"Feathers, blood…and snacks," you clarify, watching anxiously as Hawks' brow furrowed deeply in thought.

"I agree to your terms," Hawks said, holding out his extended index finger in front of the cardinal.  "Blood and feathers now, with snacks to be delivered later.  Deal?"

The cardinal, being a legitimately good representative for his species, turned to briefly confer with the rest of the birds before hopping from your finger onto Hawks'; the closest approximation to a handshake as they could get.  

"It's a deal," you smiled brightly to Hawks, who returned your brilliant grin with one of his own that set off sharp pangs of nervousness in your belly.  It had been easy to ignore how handsome he was while you were busy trying to quell a feathery uprising; but now that the panic that had been crashing through your body was abating, your brain had apparently decided you had more than enough brain cells free to contemplate how pleasing Hawks' appearance was.  

He was a bit more disheveled than he was at the start of this entire debacle, hair tousled from where he had run his hands through it in bouts of sheepishness; but he still looked put together and expertly coiffed.  You, on the other hand, could tell that an entire day spent in a sweltering room hadn't done you any favors by the way your uniform polo clung to your sweat-dampened skin.  Suddenly self conscious and desperate for a shower, you puff your chest out in a false show of bravado and do your best to move things along.  

"Alright, which do you want to do first?  The blood or the feathers?"

The birds, by and large, considered giving up feathers to be the most important act of contrition and agreed that the request for blood was mostly just a ceremonial inclusion for traditions sake.  But Hawks, determined to repent, ran one of his sharpened feathers across his forearm with no complaint; dulling the blood tipped feather and presenting it to the cardinal with a deep bow.  

The cardinal accepted the offering with a pleased chirp, taking the feather in his beak and carefully tucking it in amongst his tail feathers.  Hawks' plume, being about twice the length of the entire cardinal, trailed out comically from his tail and made him look like a far more exotic bird than he actually was.  

"Atonement!" The cardinal cried, shaking his new tail feather for his comrades to see.  

"So red!" A dove praised.

"Very shiny," the cockatoo nodded.

"Well, that's one down," Hawks said as he curled his left wing in front of his body, hands already running through his feathers as he carefully selected his next offering.  "Who's next?"

"Me! Me! Me!" The birds chirped in unison, a great many hopping up and down in their excitement to possess a colorful new treasure.  

"You don't have to give them all feathers, Hawks," you assured him as you frantically calculated how many birds you'd brought with you versus how many feathers he could probably surrender while still retaining his ability to fly.  "I know you need them for your job."

"That's true," Hawks nodded as he plucked out another feather and presented it to a brown-headed thrush.  "But I also need to hold myself accountable for my mistakes.  The birds have very generously offered me a way to make things right, and I won't take this opportunity for granted."

You didn't know what to say so you opted instead for silence, watching intently as he methodically worked his way through the collected cages; respectful and solemn as he repeated the feather presentation for each and every bird.  

The photographer had been thrilled when he returned to set and found Hawks in place on set, lounging bonelessly across the pillars with a collection of raptors perched around him.  That excitement faded quickly when he saw the bare patches in Hawks' normally full wings, a far cry from the picture perfect style he'd be envisioning.

Hawks had simply run an admiring finger across the bright red feather tucked into an eagle's wing and proclaimed that 'He liked it better this way' and that was that.  The photographer began barking orders and the crew jumped into action, adjusting light positioning and turning on a wind machine to ruffle everyone's feathers just so.  

The rest of the shoot went by smoothly, and in no time at all you were refilling water dishes and loading up the cages into the back of the large box truck with the bird rescues' name and phone number stenciled onto the back.  You cranked the AC up to the highest setting and sank down into the faux leather driver's seat, enjoying the merciless onslaught of frigid air on your overheated skin as you buckled up.  

Peering into your side mirror, you were startled by the presence of the Number Two Hero illuminated in the red glow of your taillights.  He was leaning out of the studio exit, a small smile tugging at his lips and a hand held up in farewell while you shifted the truck into drive and rolled out of the parking lot.  The sharp shrill of birds complaining as you hit a pothole pulled your attention back to the road and away from Hawks' golden eyes; glowing brightly from the shadows.     

It was hard not to think about Hawks as you cruised along on the empty highway, so you allowed yourself a brief flight of fancy; reminiscing about the scant distance between your bodies and the tangy redolence of his cologne.  

It would be a good story to regale your coworkers with over drinks and to pull out at parties when you needed to impress someone; the tale of a bird rebellion and how Hawks managed to both literally and figuratively soothe the birds' ruffled feathers.  A once in a lifetime meeting that you would think back fondly on, made ever more precious by the knowledge that such a thing would never occur again.

It wasn't like you to answer your personal phone at work, but it also wasn't something that had honestly ever happened before.  Your family knew your work schedule and your friends all belonged to the very reasonable school of thought where they would rather drink poison than talk on the phone, so any communication from them would arrive in text form.  Curious, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket and swiped to answer; stomach plummeting to your feet when your camera booted up and you belatedly realized you'd accepted a request to video chat.  

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit, " you swore, reaching to press the disconnect button as Hawks' beaming face appeared on screen.

"Hey there!," he greeted cheerily, face disappearing from view as he momentarily fumbled with his phone.  

"Hawks? " You croak in disbelief, quickly examining your appearance in the small facecam and hurriedly knocking a chunk of dried mealworm out of your hair. 

"That's what they call me!"

"Are you- is everything okay?" You manage to stammer out, impressed that you managed to say actual words and not a series of confused grunts.  

"Everything is fine!  I was just calling to thank you for all your help a few weeks back," he explained, the camera drifting off to the side to show off the sprawling city skyline.  Wherever Hawks was, he was up high.  "Word has been getting around to all the birds around the city and I've noticed a definite shift in their demeanor."

"Oh?  How so?"

"Well, for starters, they've stopped dive bombing me mid-flight.  And they aren't pooping on that statue of me downtown nearly as much as they used to.  Oh!  And a couple days ago a crow brought me a couple of soda tabs," Hawks said proudly as he reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a leather cord with some aluminum pieces tied into the middle.  "So I turned them into a necklace!"

"Very stylish," you complimented sincerely, thinking about the box of bird gifted trinkets you had at home and how much each of those shiny bits of metal meant to you.  

"And I've taken to carrying around some food for them- bird seed and raisins, mostly; so we can all hang out and eat together!"

"It really sounds like things have turned around for you.  I'm glad."

"They really have," Hawks nodded eagerly, phone tilting off-kilter once again as a particularly strong gust blew by.  "And it's all because of you."

"I think you're definitely downplaying that cardinal's excellent negotiation tactics," you reminded him as you shuffled a few papers across the top of a nearby desk, trying to distract yourself from the sense of unease you felt under the weight of both his attention and gratitude.

"Speaking of negotiations, did the treats I sent arrive safely?  I would hate for this tentative peace we've achieved to crumble due to shipping errors."

"They did!" You assured him, spinning your phone around to point the camera at the large stack of express shipped boxes in the corner.  "The birds were very excited when they arrived, but now that they know we have such a huge backlog they just keep bugging me about getting snacks all the time."

"Sorry about that.  But sacrifices must be made in the name of peace," Hawks shook his head sadly.  

"I think you're a bit more knowledgeable about sacrifices than I am.  Are your replacement feathers coming in alright?"

"They've already fully grown back in, see?" He tilted his camera to landscape and extended one wing out to the side, fluffing his feathers to show off how nicely they'd filled in.

"Woah," you whistled in appreciation, cutting off the sound abruptly when you saw his cheeks flush, realizing how inappropriately he had taken your display of awe.  "That's ah- really fast for full regrowth."

"That's sort of my thing, you know.  Being fast," he smirked proudly before he suddenly froze, cheeks reddening even further as he seemed to sink his face down into the collar of his coat. "Well, uh- most of the time at least.  Sometimes I'm slow though.  When I want to be.  I can be reeeeally slow."

Deciding to ignore his floundering since he had so graciously let your own bout of verbal idiocy pass unmentioned, you frantically gazed around the room and found the perfect segue to shift your conversation back into neutral waters.

"Do you want to see what they did with your feathers?"

"They kept them?" Hawks asked, voice hitching in excitement.

"More than that; they made art with them," you cheerfully explained, flipping the phone around to show off the wreath hanging in the window a handful of weaver birds had worked together to craft; Hawk's brilliant red feathers tucked and woven amongst reedy pieces of grass and straw.  "Since there weren't enough feathers for every bird here at the rescue, they thought that displaying them publicly was more fair."

"Wow," Hawks breathed, impressed by both their craft skills and sense of equitability.  "They're really taking this union thing seriously."

"You have no idea," you laughed dryly. "They're starting to talk about collecting dues. "

It was strange how quickly you became accustomed to communicating with Hawks.  Calls were a rare occurrence due to how overwhelmingly busy he was pretty much every moment of the day.  There were multiple instances where you would be texting, sending funny memes back and forth to each other, and then mere moments after his last message was sent you would see him flash across the screen in a live news broadcast.  A blur of red and beige swooping in to pull civilians out of harm's way or expertly apprehend Villains without breaking a sweat.  

Knowing how full Hawks' schedule was made you even more appreciative of that evening he'd spent with you and the birds all those weeks ago.  You had thought that the feathers were the most valuable thing he had given up that day, but you now knew that his time was an infinitely more precious commodity.  

So you treasured each moment that he chose to share with you, regardless of the form it took.  Snapshots of cute birds he'd seen on patrol, lengthy personal reviews of what had to be every fried chicken restaurant in the city, and picking up the phone whenever he was free to chat. 

Even when that call came in at four in the morning, like today.  

"You should try to eat breakfast before you crash for the night," you reminded him, tone a touch scolding because this was not the first time you'd had to remind him to make time for a meal.  

"I don't like breakfast foods," Hawks grumbled, lip stuck out in a deep pout as he trudged towards his kitchen.  

"You don't have to eat breakfast foods, you just have to eat, " you huff in exasperation, grabbing a box of cereal from your pantry, hoping that a healthy dose of peer pressure might tip the scales in your favor.  "Cold pizza was invented for pretty much this exact purpose."

"I don't think I have any pizza," Hawks muttered, prying open the double doors of his fridge and examining the contents critically.  "I think I have the stuff for a sandwich though."

"Sandwiches are good.  They meet all the necessary desperation meal requirements."

"Which are?" Hawks asked as he shoved a packet of lunch meat into the crook of his arm and sent a couple of feathers in to grab condiments so he wouldn't have to set down his phone.

"They contain calories and don't dirty up too many dishes," you explain, hip checking your own fridge closed as you grab a carton of milk.  "Handfuls of cheese you eat over the sink are also a classic choice."

"What are you eating?"

"Cereal," you say, holding up your bowl of puffed grains next to your face for his inspection.

"Ugh, gross," he says, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"I'm going to toss some berries on top."

"That doesn't make the cereal better, that just makes the berries worse, " he complained as he squirted a generous serving of mayonnaise across a slice of bread, paused, and then squeezed on some more.

"Hey, now!  If I wanted this level of judgment before the sun came up I would talk to my Grandma instead," you huffed, shoving a spoonful of cereal into your mouth and bringing the microphone closer to your jaw to subject Hawks to the loudest crunching sounds you could manage.  

"I- sorry," he sighed, shoulders drooping in exhaustion.  "I didn't mean to be so prickly.  Today was…really rough."

"I know," you said soothingly.  "I saw the News.  Even went to bed early because I thought you might call."

"Thank you," he says, voice small so it could slip past the emotions welling in his throat.  "For picking up." 

"Anytime, Hawks," you assured him, eyes darting to the time displayed in the upper corner of your phone screen.  "Literally."

You, 11:45am

"Hey, Hawks?  I have a question."

Hawks, 11:52am

"Of course!  What's up?"

You, 11:53am

"I've been wondering for a while now- how did you get my phone number?"

Hawks, 1:15pm

"I saw the rescue logo on the back of the truck when you were leaving the photo shoot."

"Called them up and told them how impressed I was with your professionalism and how I wanted to thank you personally."

You, 1:18pm

"And they just gave you my number?!"

Hawks, 1:20pm

"Yep.  Major breach of confidentiality.  You might want to look into that, actually.  

"They didn't ask me to verify my identity or anything!"

You, 1:22

"Gotta go.  I need to send a strongly worded letter to HR."

Hawks, 1:25

"Make sure to start it with a 'To Whom It May Concern'; let them know you really mean business!"

The familiar jingle of Hawk's custom ringtone only sounded for a moment before you were able to swap which hand was holding onto your grocery basket and fish your phone out of your back pocket. 

"Hey, there!" Hawks greeted, smile strained as he waved his arm around frantically at something off screen.  "Can I- Ugh!  Ask for a favor in a- argh!  Professional capacity?"

"Uh, sure?" You agreed, re-shelving a can of soup you were having second thoughts about.

"Great!" Hawks shouted in relief, pulling a flailing pigeon into frame, reeling back momentarily as he took a wing straight to the face.  "This little cutie has been following me for hours , trying to- oof!  Get my attention and I'm starting to get very curious as to their underlying motivation."

"Maybe she just wants an autograph?" You joke, snorting in amusement as Hawks dodged another hit from the distressed bird.

"I'll give her whatever she wants if she just- ugh ! Stops hitting me!"

You whistled shrilly, gaining the attention of nearby shoppers and the pigeon on Hawks' end; the bird stilling in his hands at your call.  "Hey, little pigeon.  What's going on?"

The pigeon launched into a series of urgent coos, head bobbing along frantically with her cries. 

"Are you sure?" You asked, eyes wide as she cooed in confirmation, heaving a relieved sigh that her message had been successfully conveyed.  

"What?  What is it?" Hawks asked anxiously, cradling the bird snugly to his chest now that she wasn't a thrashing mass of beak and talons.  

"She says, ah-," you pause, looking around at all the shoppers lingering about you with prying eyes.  Flashing them a wobbly smile, you quickly shuffle off towards the other end of the store, dropping your voice to a whisper in a bid for some level of confidentiality.  "She says that she knows where they're hiding all the drugs?" 

It's quiet for a moment as Hawks peers down at the pigeon in his hands with comically wide eyes before he shifts into a more professional demeanor; shooting a too-bright smile at you through his phone.  

"I've gotta' go now!  Bye!"

Your phone kicks you back to your home screen as he hangs up, leaving you staring at your phone; dumbfounded by the abrupt turn of events.  

A few days passed before you heard from Hawks again, and when the next call came in he wasn't alone.

"This is Cookie," he beamed as he proudly introduced the familiar pigeon perched on his shoulder.  "Get it?  Because you can't spell 'Cookie' without 'coo'?  And she's a pigeon? And pigeons-"

"-pigeons say 'coo'. Yeah, I get it," you groan miserably.  After years working at the rescue you had limited patience for bird jokes and were pretty sure you had heard them all hundreds of times by this point.  Unfortunately for you, Hawks seemed to have acquired puns as a second language and was determined to impress you with his fluency.  

"Anyway, it turns out Cookie has a real knack for surveillance.  She led me right to a massive distribution center that was operating right under our noses."

"Is it okay for you to be telling me all of this?"

"Probably not!" Hawks laughed, bringing a finger up to give Cookie an affectionate scratch at the side of her head.  "Anyway, I hope you weren't too attached to that dim sum place downtown.  It was totally a drug front."

"Wait- the one with the little ginger dumplings?" You gasped in dawning horror.

"The very same."

"And the chef-?"

"The ringleader of the entire operation, I'm afraid."

"God dammit!"

"So they pack me up, ship me across the country to some far flung zoo to talk to their penguin in person because he's, and I quote, 'camera shy'.   And do you know how that little gremlin thanked me?" You ranted into your phone, freshly clad in an old pair of pajamas with your skin still dewy from your flesh-searingly hot shower.  

"He threw up on you, didn't he?" Hawks said, poorly disguising his restrained laughter with a forced cough.

"He threw up on me !" You screeched, throwing your hands up into the air as you fell backwards onto the couch, accidentally smacking yourself in the face with the corner or your phone during your uncontrolled plummet. "Ouch!"

"You alright?" Hawks asked, voice muffled from your speaker being pressed into the couch cushions.

"Yes.  And no?" you sigh, rubbing a fist across the rising welt on your temple while you propped your phone up on your stomach, providing Hawks with the most unflattering viewing angle of your face as possible. "Just wishing things were different, I guess?"

"What sorts of things?" Hawks asked quietly, the distant beacons on airplane wings blinking methodically in the night sky behind him; false stars in a pollution filled sky.  

"I don't know.  Everything?  I wish I had a different job, one where penguins didn't vomit on me.  Or a different Quirk.  Just- an entirely different life, sometimes."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I thought," Hawks paused, allowing himself to carefully select his words.  "I thought you liked your job?"  

"I do.  Most of the time, at least.  But it also feels like I never really have a choice, you know?  Like, what else could I really do with a Quirk like mine?"

"You could always not use your Quirk," he said, gaze intensely focused away from his phone on some distant point on the horizon you couldn't see.  "Get a job doing something entirely different."

"I didn't want to when I was a kid- use my Quirk, I mean.  I wanted to be a doctor.  And a best-selling author.  And a ninja."

"Quite the triple threat."

"Yeah," you chuckled, thinking back on all the crayon drawings you had made, scribbles of a distant future that would never come to pass.  "But everyone said it would be a waste to not use my natural-born talent, especially since it's a moderately useful one."

"I've always wanted to be Hero.  For as long as I can remember, that's always been my dream," Hawks stated flatly, with the same lackluster affect of someone discussing the weather; an automatic response honed through years of systematic repetition.  "But I get it."

"You do?"

"Yeah," he swallowed thickly, focusing his attention back onto you; eyes glistening strangely with reflections of the city lights.

"It's hard being… pigeonholed into a profession."  

"Hawks, noooooo," you groan piteously.  "We were having a moment!  And you ruined it!"

"I'm sorry!" He lied, head thrown back as he cackled.  

"I'm hanging up now," you grumbled, more amused than you were irritated but determined not to let Hawks know that.  

"Don't go!  I'll be lonely without you!"

"Cookie will keep you company.  Won't you, girl?" 

At the mention of her name, the pigeon poked her head out from where she was nestled inside of Hawks' collar, cooing her agreement.

"I still can't believe you commissioned a tiny visor for her," you snorted in delight at the miniature replica of Hawks' headset perched on top of Cookie's beak.  

"What?  She needed it!" Hawks defended, drawing his collar shut and pulling Cookie in more snugly towards his chest.  "Her eyes were drying out when I flew too fast!"

"Uh-huh.  Sure they were."

"They were!  And besides, she likes wearing it," he insists petulantly before he is carried away by a sudden wave of uncertainty.  "Right?"

"She does," you assure him. "Cookie really loves being with you, Hawks."

"Really?" He whispered, staring down at the bird in awe, who cooed happily and nuzzled her head into his chin.  

A quiet moment stretched on between you, silent except for the sound of your breathing and the distant wail of a car alarm.  

"For the record, I think your Quirk is amazing," Hawks said sincerely.  "You have this entire extra world you get to communicate with.  That's pretty special."

"I guess," you say with a sigh, pushing up into a sitting position with the naive aspirations of mustering up the energy to make it to bed in the next hour or two.  "But it's not like they're particularly great conversationalists.  Once Spring rolls around I just have to deal with listening to hundreds of voices outside my window screaming about how horny they are for weeks on end."

"You prefer a more subtle seduction method then?" Hawks asked, tone playful and also somehow entirely inappropriate.  

"Just a smidgen," you laugh nervously, steadfastly ignoring the frantic beating of your heart.  

"I'll make a note of that."

You had grown so used to looking at Hawks through your phone screen that seeing him in person, bursting through the doors of the rescue, was as startling as having ice shoved down the back of your shirt.  And that feeling of alarm was quickly upgraded to absolute panic by the fact that he was covered in blood splatter and cradling Cookie's limp and twisted body in his hands.  

"HELP!" Hawks yelled, eyes darting wildly around the room as he searched for assistance.  There wasn't even time for a single breath between Hawks spotting you and then him suddenly being at your side; a gust of air heralding his arrival before your eyes could even begin to try to focus on where he had been.    

"Please!  You have to help!  Cookie she- she's hurt," Hawks pleaded, his eyes wild as he cradled his injured friend to his chest.   

"Let me see," you ordered firmly, prying open Hawks' shaking hands to get a better look at the bird.  

"Cold," Cookie warbled weakly when Hawks' hands were pulled away from her body.

"Shh, I know sweet girl," you said soothingly, lifting her as carefully as you could into your own grasp.  

"Hawks hurt?  Hawks okay?"

"What is it?" Hawks asked anxiously.  "What's she saying?"

"She wants to know if you're hurt."

"No," Hawks assured her, voice cracking as he ran soothing fingers across a patch of disheveled feathers between her eyes.  "I'm just fine, thanks to you."

"I need to take Cookie now, Hawks," you informed him gently, "I'll take good care of her.  I promise."

"I know," he sniffed, wiping damp cheeks onto the sleeve of his coat. "I trust you."

It was hard witnessing Hawks' desperation; seeing someone who was normally a paragon of strength so visibly shaken.  It made you scared, having to be strong and brave; to help when a Hero couldn't.  

But you could be brave, just this once.  

For Hawks' sake.  

Just like you, the rest of the staff at the bird rescue had been cherry picked to provide the highest level of Avian care possible.  So while Cookie had been grievously injured with an absolutely staggering number of blunt force fractures, there was likely no better place in the city she could have been brought to for treatment. 

Cookie had made it through numerous scans and a long operation, but you knew that was only the beginning of her struggle.  Her road to recovery would be a long one, and she would likely never be able to fly as well as she did before after having the bones in her left wing nearly ground to dust.  But you couldn't bring yourself to feel too discouraged by that bit of bad news in the face of Cookie's near miraculous survival.  

There hadn't been anything for you to do during the surgery since you didn’t possess any sort of veterinary license, but Hawks had entrusted Cookie to you and it felt wrong to just leave her.  You knew your coworkers well and had the utmost faith in their capabilities, but you'd been determined to stay there beside her should the worst have come to pass.  

So you'd tucked yourself into a corner, already overwhelmed and ready to leave before the scalpel had even made its first incision. You’d watched as they cut and tugged and stitched; blood running and bones popping and Quirks glowing.  And dear lord, the smells-  

It was the absolute worst thing you’d ever witnessed in your life.

But Hawks had trusted you with this; to be where he couldn’t.  

And you wouldn't let him down.  

Hawks sprang up from his stolen chair behind the reception desk as you stumbled back to the front of the building, heartbeat thundering as images from the surgery clung to the inside of your eyelids; replaying with gruesome clarity every time you blinked.

"How is she?" He asked breathlessly, eager to hear the news but dreading the likely outcome.  

“Cookie made it through surgery,” you said, voice too loud as you attempted to make yourself heard over the ringing in your ears.  “She’ll survive.”  

“Oh, thank God,” Hawks gasped in relief, his words distant and muffled.  “I don’t know how to thank you for this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, waving off his gratitude right before you bent forward and threw up all over his boots.  

You, 2:14am

“Once again: I’m so sorry about the vomit.”

Hawks, 2:15am

“I told you, it’s fine!  Stop apologizing.”

You, 2:15am

“Never.  I am going to be apologizing about this for the rest of my life.”

“Every time we meet I’ll be like, ‘Hey, Hawks!  How are you?  Sorry about horking on your boots that one time.’”

Hawks, 2:17am

“Listen, at least this time you were the one throwing up on a bird instead of having a bird throw up on you!"

You, 2:18am

“You’re not a bird though.”

Hawks, 2:20am

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

You, 2:21am

“I want you to be ASLEEP.” 

Hawks, 2:23am

“Best I can do is propping up my feet and chugging an energy drink.”

You, 2:24am

“That isn’t even remotely close to an acceptable substitute.”   

Hawks, 2:26am

“That’s all you’re getting.  Take it or leave it.”

You, 2:28am

"Fine.  But I'm going to tell Cookie you're not taking care of yourself."

Hawks, 2:28am

"Oh, that's low."

You, 2:29am

"I literally threw up on the Number Two Hero yesterday.  I cannot possibly get any lower than I already am.  I might as well just double down and enjoy the perks of my new bottom dweller status."

You were changing out the bedding in Cookie's cage when she saw it.  

"Hawks feathers?" She warbled excitedly at the sight of the brilliant red wreath hanging in the window.  

"Oh!  Yeah, those are Hawks' feathers all right.  Good eye."

"I see?"

"Do you want to perch there while I finish cleaning out your cage?"

"Please," Cookie cooed eagerly, practically vibrating with excitement.  It was the most energetic you had seen her since her operation and you were happy to indulge her whims.  

"Here you go," you said, lowering her gently into the inner hollow of the wreath.  Mindful of her injuries, Cookie nestled down happily into the tangle of grass and feathers.  

By the time you had sanitized everything in the cage and tucked a warm water bottle into her bed, Cookie had fallen fast asleep in the cradle of feather wreath.  Heart melting, you crept closer on silent feet and took a dozen pictures at various angles and filter settings to send to Hawks later. 

You felt a familiar weight settle on your shoulder, needle-like nails scraping for purchase against your skin as the cardinal joined you in observing Cookie's rest.

"Is this okay?" You asked, knowing how important the wreath was to all the birds in the rescue and unsure if napping spot was one of the agreed upon uses for it.  To your immense relief, the cardinal bobbed his head in affirmation. 

"From each by ability, to each by need," he chirped firmly.

"'To each by need '…?" You echo suspiciously with narrowed eyes.  "Has someone been reading Karl Marx to you again?

"The proletariat has nothing to lose but chains!"

After many weeks of worried video calls and unapproved after hours visits that your boss chose to turn a blind eye to after Hawks made a hefty donation, Cookie was ready to be released back into Hawks' care.  

"So I need you to sign these discharge papers," you tell Hawks, tapping multiple spaces on the cover page that required his initials and signature.  "Mostly just standard release stuff, detailing the treatment plan listing the dates for follow up visits, etcetera, etcetera."

"Got it," Hawks agreed, having one of his feathers sign for him since he was loath to stop cuddling with Cookie for a single instant.  

"This one says that I've informed you of all the recommended follow up care."

"Uh-huh," he grinned, happily nuzzling his nose against Cookie's beak as his feather kept scribbling.

"This one says that we cannot be held legally responsible for anything that happens to her once she leaves the rescue."

"Sure," he agreed, chuckling as Cookie nipped playfully at his jaw; feather still dutifully signing away.

"And this one is the list of demands drawn up by Cookie's union."

Hawks paused, brow furrowing as Cookie continued to pluck at his beard scruff. 

"The what now?"

Hawks paced as he read through the notes you had typed up on Cookie's behalf.  As much as the pigeon adored Hawks and couldn't wait to get back to working alongside him, the cardinal had proven himself to be an incredibly persuasive orator and managed to convince Cookie to submit a list of demands.  

"'The Union of Working Birds, henceforth to be referred to as 'The Birds of Pay'', " Hawks snorted in delight. "-'formally submit the following requests.  Number one: guaranteed housing'.  Done."

"Didn't figure you'd object to that one," you said, having helped Hawks painstakingly pick out supplies to house and care for Cookie in his apartment.  

"'Number 2: food will be provided in compensation for labor and will be appropriately calculated by bird weight and provided daily'.  No complaints there-," he murmured, voice trailing off as he continued reading as he strode around the room; drawing to a sudden halt about five pages in.  

"The demands seem to shift a bit around number forty-tree," Hawks said, clearing his throat dramatically before he began reading aloud again.  "'The Birds of Pay retain exclusive rights for requesting avian-based employment with the Hawks Hero Agency'."

"Influence works both ways, Hawks.  Just like Cookie was swayed by the cardinal's talk of worker's rights, a lot of the other birds were really impressed by the stories Cookie told about you," you explained.  "At this point, you could employ an entire flock of birds if you wanted to."

The air inside your office was the perfect temperature, the thermostat set to exactly where you liked it and not a single degree higher or lower.  The furniture selection was a bit too fancy for your liking, polished marble and smudge proof glass where you felt tile and laminate would have sufficed for a fraction of the cost.  

But it wasn't your job to understand the aesthetic design choices of Heroes.  Your job was to mind the birds.  

"Songbird 2, do you copy?" You spoke clearly into your headset listening closely to the responding chirps; eyes glued to the live video feed playing across your screen.  "We have all the footage we need.  Return to the Aviary, over."

You breathed a sigh of relief as the blackbird chirped in acknowledgement, the video feed shifting from the inside of an abandoned warehouse to a wide expanse of sky as they began to make their way back toward Hawks' agency.  It had been a long day of staking out the area of an upcoming Hero Commission raid, but Songbird 2 was the last of the scouts still deployed.  The blackbird's return would herald the end of your workday, and you were excited to finally be able to go home indulge in the carton of ice cream you'd been fantasizing about for hours.  

"Home safe," the blackbird announced as it flew in through the window that had slid open automatically at their approach; the mechanism responding to the proximity sensor built into the standard Hawks style headgear each bird was equipped with.  

"Thank goodness," you smiled, pulling off the tiny headset and visor and setting them to the side for cleaning later.  "Your food dish is filled up and waiting."

"Corn?" The blackbird asked, fluffing up its feathers in excitement.

"Why don't you go check and see?"

The blackbird flew quickly towards the cubbyhole it had claimed for its own, one of many set into the large back wall; each filled with lovingly crafted nests and bright wooden toys.  You heard the distant cry of 'Corn!' followed by a chorus of shushing sounds from the birds that had been pulled from sleep by the blackbird's delighted cry.

Shaking your head with an amused snort, you move to return to your desk to log out for the day, only to run headlong into Hawks' chest.  

"ACK!" You screeched, reeling back in surprise from the impact.

"SHHHHH!" The wall of irritated birds hissed.

"Sorry!" You whispered sheepishly, channeling your embarrassment into making the glare you leveled at Hawks extra piercing.  

"All done for the day?" Hawks asked, unmoved by your display of irritation.  

"Yep.  Everyone is back safe and sound, the surveillance footage has been submitted for review, and now all that remains is for me to clock out and head home," you said as you wandered over to your desk, dropping down into your swivel chair to exit out of the last handful of open programs you had running.  "Do you need anything before I leave?"

"Can we chat?  For just a little?" He asked as he leaned against your desk, putting far more faith in the structural integrity of the tempered glass than you do.  "We haven't really had time to talk recently."

"I know," you groaned, heaving a deep sigh as you shoved your empty water bottle into the side pocket of your work bag. "I've just been so busy getting set up here and making sure the birds are acclimating well.  And then this big stakeout dropped into my lap and it's just been so crazy-"

"Is that- are you okay here?  I know Hero work is a lot sometimes and I just-," he paused, letting out a quiet huff. "I just want to make sure you're happy here."

"I am, I think.  It's definitely more stressful than working at the rescue, but I feel like I have more purpose here?  Like I'm more than just the person who talks to birds."

"Now you're the person who talks to birds with spy gear. "

"Exactly!" you laughed.  "It's totally different."

"I'm glad you're happy," Hawks smiled, one of his real ones that crinkled his nose and made your knees a little weak.  "I've been thinking about making some personal changes myself."

"Oh? What kind of changes?"

"Something like this," he mumbled heatedly, the shift in his tone prompting you to swivel both your head and chair in his direction.  

And then suddenly, his lips were pressed to yours.  Hopelessly chapped from hours of constant flying but oh so warm against your own.  It was short and sweet, a simple sort of kiss; but it stirred up so many complex feelings you were used to keeping caged up inside your chest.  

"That's quite the change," you whispered against his lips, trying to remember the exact sequence of steps required for breathing.  

"It's been a long time coming, I think."

"I wholeheartedly agree.  But I'm ah- not so sure I should be kissing my boss?" You remark apprehensively.  "I really like both you and this job and don't want to risk losing either."

"We set you up to work as an independent contractor, so technically you're your own boss," Hawks assured you, hands clasping your waist as he moved to pull you in for a second kiss. "And even if it isn't allowed, I'd absolutely commit some bluebird- collar crimes for you."

"Hawks!" You huff, swatting at his shoulder in reprimand.  "I can't believe you just ruined our first kiss with a bird pun."

"A kiss?  No, that was just a peck ," Hawks chortled at your pained groan.  "This is a kiss."

With a firm tug Hawks pulled your body flush with his as his lips descended, and with the fresh addition of his tongue and teeth you couldn't bring yourself to mind the puns all that much anymore. 

[canonical-transformation]

Genshin ships: stock market update (Natlan Act 1+2)

(Warning: May contain spoilers for character appearances and dynamics in [Chapter 5 Act 1–2] Flowers Resplendent on the Sun-Scorched Sojourn and Black Stone Under a White Stone. Previous entries here.) This is for entertainment purposes only and is not financial advice: consult with your ship financial advisor before you invest.

4.0 has landed, and our analysts have been watching with interest as Natlan characters have started listing on the Genshin ship market. Here's our recommendations for the weeks ahead.

---

Citlali/Mualani is held together by a single drip marketing quote, but what a quote. BUY OR HOLD.

Mavuika/Xilonen, on the other hand, does not have a proven profit model. No, the potential for a ship name that sounds like "melanin" isn't reason enough to invest. SELL

(Note: Since Xilonen's drip marketing has landed, let's take a second to examine all the cat themed ships. Xilonen/Dehya and Xilonen/Kirara are too hard to call this far out. Xilonen/Lynette and Xilonen/Diona have boring chemistry, SELL / don't bother. And Xilonen/Keqing... oh Keqing would hate her. Hmm. Watch this space, HOLD OR BUY.)

(No, not all cat related ships find success. The recent bankruptcy and dissolution of Osse/Neko should be proof enough.)

Kachina/Bennett — ⚠️ we typically don't cover selfcest ships because there are too many of them. In this case, we'll make an exception to note it's extra unlikely. They're both too busy having coming of age stories and joining each other's teams (not a euphemism) to have any chemistry. SELL.

Kachina/Lumine, Kachina/Aether — sorry, the Traveller is already too busy being the Wise Old Mentor in the first book of Kachina's YA trilogy. SELL— wait does that mean Traveller's going to die 😐

Mavuika/Lumine, Mavuika/Aether — Constantly inviting us to drinks, her shout or Traveller's; long private chats about the family she never talks about to anyone else; giving up her antiques collection as a show of commitment: that is textbook mid-40's cool aunt flirtation. BUY BUY BUY.

Kinich/Mualani — our analysts describe this as "the equivalent of buying the first thing you see in the store", which I think means SELL.

Atea/Mavuika — There's definitely a little chemistry there, but we're unlikely to see further developments. HOLD OR SELL

Atea/Aether — HOLD OR SELL

Atea/Lumine — HOLD OR BUY. If haircuts had sexualities[...]

Small cap market ("rarepairs")

Mualani/that one bandit in her character teaser: nah, no chemistry, she's like that to everyone who tries to rob her. SELL for two-sided, HOLD OR SELL for one-sided.

Tenoch/Tupac — yeah that's been solid enemies to lovers ever since Talking Stick dropped in 4.0. The character model reveals for both of them have only increased the quality here. BUY

Chaac/Waxaklahun Ubah Kan — SELL. Way too early. If you're interested in obscure antiques maybe try Alain/Rene or Marfisa/Parsifal instead?

On that note, our analysts were intrigued by the Heroes of Cinder City. “It's an OT5 RPG adventuring party!” they explain, “like all those tabletop podcasts!” They were, however, quick to note that this was in the same potential rocky area as all Cataclysm-era ships, so HOLD at best.

Little One/Ushi — yeah sure why not. BUY

But coverage of the world quests will have to wait for a future report. In the meantime, let us know what your market predictions are!

Sidebar: phonetics

Wikipedia provides charts for converting writing systems (e.g. romanisations of languages) into the international phonetic alphabet. Below are examples for a couple of languages found across the Pacific Ring of Fire.

May your phone calls with your ship stockbroker be tienari-free!

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"The most notorious internee held in any of the Canadian [internment] camps was Leon Trotsky. When news reached North America in March 1917 that the Russian tsar, Nicholas II, had abdicated, Trotsky was living in exile in New York City. He immediately arranged to return to his homeland. On March 27 he boarded the Norwegian freighter Christianiafjord with his wife and two sons, bound for Petrograd. Trotsky had been under surveillance in New York where British authorities took note of his departure. The situation in Russia was confused, but the Allies knew that socialists like Trotsky wanted to withdraw Russian troops from the war. It was widely believed that they were enemy agents funded by the Germans to divide the Allied war effort. At Halifax, the British naval commander received orders to board the Christianiafjord when it arrived and to detain Trotsky and the other Russians with whom he was travelling.

On April 1 the freighter steamed into Halifax harbour. Naval officers marched Trotsky and his comrades to jail cells in the Citadel, the imposing stone fortification overlooking the city. Then, while Natalia Sedova Trotskaya and the boys were lodged with a police employee in town, the men were interned in a prisoner-of-war camp, a converted iron foundry at Amherst near the New Brunswick border.

Trotsky was not cowed by his treatment. Quite the opposite: he defiantly petitioned the Russian government and the British prime minister, protesting his illegal detention. Meanwhile, he began to harangue his fellow prisoners with speeches, in fluent German, proclaiming the need for a revolution in Germany. “That month the concentration camp very much resembled a perpetual mass meeting,” he later wrote. To the dismay of officials, he became a hero to the 800 other detainees. He was “by far the most popular man in the whole camp,” the commander reported. Another officer recalled that Trotsky “gave us a lot of trouble at the camp, and if he had stayed there any longer [...] would have made communists of all the German prisoners.”

Trotsky was a citizen of a country with which Great Britain, and therefore Canada, was an ally in the fighting, and he was travelling with perfectly legal permits and visas. His internment was giving Canada a black eye internationally. At rallies in New York and Russia, speakers denounced Canada as a tyranny, no better than the Tsarist autocracy. Finally, after a month in confinement, he won his release. A crowd of cheering prisoners lined his path as he walked to the gate, followed by an impromptu camp band doing its best to play the Internationale. And with that, Leon Trotsky’s sojourn in Canada ended."

- Daniel Francis, Seeing Reds: the Red Scare of 1918-1919, Canada’s First War on Terror. Arsenal Pulp Press, 2011. p. 17-18.

[a-forbidden-detective]

A day in a life of RonToto: Germany & France (Part 1)

RonToto after their Vienna sojourn are finding themselves in Germany and for a while in France: (from top left) an old house and now a five-star hotel in Colmar, the St. Martin’s Cathedral, a boat ride along the Ill, at the foot of German poet Friedrich Schiller’s statue, the suite hotel where RonToto stayed, another timber house in Strasbourg, the Residenzschloss in Rastatt, and crashing at the wedding reception in a Stuttgart palace

After we solved the case in Vienna, and bc we did a lot of running here and there, unmasking our rich client’s long-lost lover, who happened to be a stage actor (I will tell the whole story soon, promise), he gifted us train tickets to Baden-Württemberg and the neighboring cities in France.

Ron and I visited the towns of Ludwigsburg, Stuttgart, Strasbourg, stayed a bit longer in Colmar, and then to a quaint little “baroque” city called Rastatt.

Lots of train rides, which fascinated me most of all as Germany and France in this region is only separated by a river in between, the Rhine. But wowza! The number of people who wanted to cross France on our third day was a lot. People were seated on the stairs and the hallways. It would be either be a disaster and a blessing. Just imagine if it were the time of COVID-19. Well, I am not a doctor but a police officer and I dare not to think about the possibility. Japan was in trouble when they pursued hosting the Olympics in 2020. I just read that the water quality of the river Seine was so terrible that they cancelled the triathlon the other day.

Anyway, we crashed a wedding reception in Stuttgart. Was not our intention though. The groom mistook me as a friend from middle school in an international school in Tokyo. Ron was so amused we had been offered a table and got to toast with the newlyweds for the new chapter in their lives. Two young women tried to flirt with Ron, which sort of ruined my day, but became hilarious though. Bc as soon as Ron deduced them they couldn’t wait to get away from him. Heh!

As soon as we reached Colmar while we waited for our hotel suite to be ready, we decided to go for a boat ride along the Lauch, which is connected to the Ill River that also flows in Strasbourg. Ron was also able to tick a box on his wretched list of what he wanted to do. Want to know what that is? Sitting on top of one of the half-timber roofs and sipping his black sugar syrup. I was so embarrassed but the owner let him get away with it. Lucky him.

On our second and final day in Colmar, there was a scheduled city trip around the town. Colmar is the city that is supposed to be the inspiration for Hayao Miyazaki’s “Howl’s Moving Castle’s” Ingary. It was a charming little town with the half-timber houses. So picturesque. That’s the word I learned from Ron. Stemmed from the 17th century it wormed its way to English language that could mean that the scene resembles a picture, evokes aesthetics and vivid. The old town feels like a museum, but many of them are still used either as a hotel or restaurant or both.

Rastatt is near the famous Baden-Baden. A small town that houses baroque palaces. It was a Monday when we visited it so not too many people were strolling around as museums were closed. Haha! That’s so nice to know.

Ron said we are going to make another stop in Europe until we are back to Tokyo for another client request. This is the first time I heard Amamiya was actually happy on the phone when I talked to her. Though one could never be sure.

[cliozaur]

This chapter offers an extended encounter with Éponine, and I'm pleased for the deeper insight! Hugo claims that despite the fact that she went through much distress and increasing poverty, she is becoming prettier. She sleeps in some stable, and she has “in her face that indescribably terrified and lamentable something which sojourn in a prison adds to wretchedness,” but she is still beautiful, because, according to Hugo, youth prevails. (Perhaps the absence of an abusive father and a newfound purpose in life contribute.)

Éponine is extremely talkative and sincere with Marius (he certainly does not deserve such openness): “How I have hunted for you! If you only knew! Do you know? I have been in the jug. A fortnight!” She clearly holds an idealized image of Marius in her head, and the real Marius falls short of it: “Why do you wear old hats like this! A young man like you ought to have fine clothes,” and “you have a hole in your shirt. I must sew it up for you.” She obviously envisions him as a perfect gentleman, impeccably dressed in a fine hat and shirt. Yet, as we know, his clothes are tattered, and he can't afford new ones. (I’ve just realized that Éponine is aware that Montparnasse always dons “fine clothes,” but she’d probably prefer to see Marius like this). After this surge of candidness and care, she finally realizes that Marius isn't pleased to see her. He's reverted to addressing her with “vous” instead of “tu.” His grabbing her arms and nearly shaking her, while sternly demanding she keep Cosette's whereabouts from her father (the same man he regularly sends money to), is distressing and unjust.

Then comes the truly heart-wrenching part: “‘You are following me too closely, Monsieur Marius. Let me go on ahead, and follow me so, without seeming to do it. A nice young man like you must not be seen with a woman like me.’ / No tongue can express all that lay in that word, woman, thus pronounced by that child.” Once again, Éponine embraces her own internalized stigmatization, even though Hugo explicitly acknowledges its excessiveness, almost lamenting it. The coin Marius offers her (at this point, he has hardly any money that isn't borrowed) is the final straw. It transforms her from the cheerful and chatty birdy she was initially into a sombre and despondent apparition: “She opened her fingers and let the coin fall to the ground, and gazed at him with a gloomy air. / “I don’t want your money,” said she.” I can clearly see a close-up of this falling coin. Oh, it’s so sad!

[penguicorns-are-cool]

Instead of posting your criticisms of homophobia in judaism that are almost always misinformed and antisemitic, if you really want to combat homophobia in Jewish communities, here are some links to Jewish Queer groups that are doing exactly that. By supporting them and listening to them you will be combatting homophobia without risking being antisemitic and also not speaking over Jews

Jewish Queer Youth

JQ International

Keshet

Eshel

OrthoGays (very bright colors)

Keshet Ga'Avah (also very bright colors but like in the text)

Sojourn

Svara

I got all of these from a very quick google search, and there's so many I didn't include. There's literally a wikipedia page for this, although it's not a very complete one.

Like, learn some more about queer jewish communities and what we're doing to combat homophobia and advocate for LGBT+ rights and how we're doing all this before making your little criticisms. better yet, instead of making those criticisms, support these organizations and share their resources, you'll be helping so much more than when you make rants on tumblr that inevitably end up being antisemitic in ways you don't even understand.

[alchemisland]

When I die

What is seeded accedes to another

Interned unseen beneath a cedar

Like a seed in cerecloth 

Take me far from evil and bury me

I have in the loam grim merriment

Let burrowing worms enter me in the great below

Making citadels of useless bone, I am a thing stown

Pick a place without stone and dig there a hole of fate

In soil caul me, let numberless dirt be my mortuary drape

Cover me over whole and plant cowslip

Leave me to be leached to heighten reaches

Let me bring richness as I could never in life

Let none be witness to my demise, give no rites

No solemnity or sighs, only coins upon my eyes

Seeing me safely to the Styx’s lifeless side

Let none sight my scything, my reel’s unwinding

Remember me vital and smiling, a viking

In temper, not as a member of the dead in the place of rats

Emperor only of some sand-hid ziggurat, in a corpseful manse

Remember me as a man with plans, and not a phantom

Remember not the damage, the napalm of me

But my charms, and how well I managed

All things considered

All that from me lifted, I am delivered.

.

When I die, I hope not soon

Many dreams yet enwombed

I would stay my sojourn in my tomb

To confine myself to another room

It is not gloom or maudlin lunacy

Sooth I know not why I think death often.

[quatregats]

Thinking about Marie Ladon (under cut for major spoilers through Lord Hornblower)

Contemplating Marie as proxy for what couldn't be with Bush/Hornblower trying to understand his own emotions towards Bush. It's unclear to me what parts of Marie are real and what parts are not; the entire sequence at Graçay is dreamlike to begin with, and the second time Hornblower visits, in Lord Hornblower, it feels equally so. Marie is also a deeply idealized character who seems to understand Hornblower's every need and meet his every want; but we know not to trust the internal monologue at all, and when Marie does actually break through it in a few rare moments, she does seem to be a very different sort of character - the same is also true of Barbara, but Forester is a bit more obvious about it. The thing about Marie is that not only does she only appear in these out-of-the-world, in-between spaces in the narrative, often in a very overly-perfect way, but she also appears at points where Bush and Hornblower's relationship has taken significant turns and Forester only partially elaborates on it. In particular, Bush and Hornblower become very close on the way to Graçay, and appear to have grown even closer upon leaving it (and there are distinctly romantic-adjacent comments on both sides of this sojourn), while on Hornblower's second trip to France, he has lost Bush and clearly been deeply affected by the loss - in fact, it causes a rift between him and Barbara which he deepens by seeking out Marie. There are parallels there in death as well, with both characters dying in the same book - Hornblower lives out death first with Bush at a distance, then again up close with Marie. They move in odd tandem with each other, and while Marie often appears out of nowhere and takes center-stage, Bush always looms large in the background with a longer, more emotionally-wrought storyline that can never quite come to fruition.

I wonder, then, if there is something to be said for Marie as a sort of narrative device for Hornblower's relationship with Bush. She's not that relationship directly, but instead almost a way of processing it - processing the raw desire in Flying Colours, or processing death and grief and a lost illicit relationship which might be far happier than any legally-sanctioned one. She stands in for what Hornblower can't say, and she lets him process and fail to process his ghosts. I'm not quite sure where to go from there, but I think that it's interesting how she serves to act out the things which Hornblower otherwise doesn't dare to say; in Marie there are the echoes of what Hornblower and Bush are, or could be.

[nucleon-artistry]

Thaumcraft moved on from wands in Tc6, so I wanted to do some service to the various 'casting gauntlets' added by it and some of the addons to it.

Casting Gauntlet "A more modern interpretation of Auromantic manipulation tools, the Caster's gauntlet is built off of studies into the nature of vis in its natural, primal state itself, and how best to harness it without exploiting and potentially destroying the natural sources of aura. thus endangering the balance of the local environment. Initial studies into this topic came from the properties of both the sojourner's wand cap, and the amber wand core. The design of the Gauntlet includes an energized amber lens for the drawing in of vis directly from the local environment, while the ergonomic and practical 'glove' design allows for more direct manipulation of vis as if it were an object one could wield. Some would say this is like reinventing the wheel, and they could very well be right. The iron used in its construction is prone to corrosion through extended use, and personally I would not trust a thin sheet of leather to protect me from all matter of spells that these devices can sling. This is a prototype to eventually be replaced." (Do I reaaaally need to say where its from? -.-)

Silver Plated Casting Gauntlet “Building off of the original design, changing out some fittings with more arcanely aligned metals such as gold and silver provides a slight boost in efficiency, and greatly reduces wear and tear from channeling.” (Not based off of anything actually, but I feel this would be a logical next step for base thaumcraft.)

Thaumium Casting Gauntlet “The charged thaumium that makes up this gauntlet’s build has twofold uses, it both allows for a greatly more efficient channeling tool, and a great bludgeon when vis is not so available. Unfortunately, the nature of thaumium means that its channeling ability degrades with wear and tear, though fortunately not nearly as fast as thaumium wands would.” (Based on Thaumic Revelation’s addition to the CG formula. A greatly appreciated addition tbh)

Elarium Casting Gauntlet “This extremely gaudy tool can directly channel psionic energies into more vis, and it greatly improves the users mechanical ability over the tidal forces of this world. Directly applying so much elarium to oneself however can have some damaging effects on the psyche. Just like with Elarium caps, there are much better uses for the substance than this…” (Not really based on anything, I just wanted to expand the repertoire a bit. This one is more worldbuilding than game design)

Alchemist’s Casting Gauntlet “New. Improved. With 30% more alchemy. This gauntlet is perfect for a burgeoning alchemist, with its highly durable materials, heat and chemical resistant lining, as well as inbuilt pipe management tools, it is a great deal! You can even pump certain essentia into it for a variety of boosts to its efficiency, power, or the like.” (Not really based on anything, I just wanted to expand the repertoire a bit.)

Voidseer’s Casting Gauntlet “It was only logical to take the next step from Thaumium, developing a gauntlet made from both voidmetal and shadowmetal would ensure its survivability long after other gauntlets would be worn out. Its Voidmetal build also allows it to draw in aura faster and more efficiently. It even allows for further tinkering, especially with forces of pure vis harvested from the warp itself, colloquially known as Impetus.” (Based on the Voidmetal gauntlet from Thaumic Augmentation.)

NovaCorp™️ Casting Gauntlet “The latest in aural manipulation and the field of aspectual science as a whole, the Casting Gauntlet (sponsored by NovaCorp™️) will revolutionize how you go about your daily lives! By pulling Aura directly out of the local region into its internal reservoir, it will pretty much always* remain charged! Manipulate arcana! Throw fireballs! Open up t̵͎̾ë̶̡͍́̊͝ä̶̟͚́͝ř̷̦̰̔̋s̸͚̘̮̆̕ ̵̉͑̎͜i̵̡̢͑ņ̷͕͗ ̵͇̑̌͘r̸̗͎̜̎̓e̴̩͊ä̶̞͠l̷̖̓́͠i̶͖̼͈̾͌ṱ̷̰̽̓͐ͅỳ̸̜̥͛! Special thanks to our sponsors the Order of Ascension for making it possible to bring such wonderous devices to people like you.  ˢʰᶦᵖᵖᶦⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵃⁿᵈˡᶦⁿᵍ ᶠᵉᵉˢ ᵐᵃʸ ᵃᵖᵖˡʸ. ᴺᵒᵗᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᴬᵘʳᵃ ˡᵉᵛᵉˡˢ ᵐᵃʸ ᵇᵉ ᵈʳᵃˢᵗᶦᶜᵃˡˡʸ ᵈᶦᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ᵇᵃˢᵉᵈ ᵒⁿ ᵃᵐᵒᵘⁿᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵘˢᵃᵍᵉ ᵒʳ ᵉⁿᵛᶦʳᵒⁿᵐᵉⁿᵗ. ᴺᵒᵛᵃᶜᵒʳᵖ™️ ᶦˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᶦᵇˡᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵉˣᵖᵒˢᵘʳᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶠˡᵘˣ, ᵇᵉᶦⁿᵍˢ ᵇᵉʸᵒⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵖʳᵉʰᵉⁿˢᶦᵒⁿ, ᵒʳ ᶠᵃˡˡᶦⁿᵍ ᶦⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵗᵉʳⁿᵃˡ ᵛᵒᶦᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃʳᵖ. ᴾˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃᶜᵗ ᵃ ᵈᵒᶜᵗᵒʳ ᶦᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵈᶦᶻᶻʸ, ˢᵉᵉ ᵛᶦˢᶦᵒⁿˢ ᵒᶠ ᵈᵃʳᵏ ᵃᵖᵖᵃʳᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿˢ, ᶠᵉᵉˡ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ ᵇᵉᶦⁿᵍ ʷᵃᵗᶜʰᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ/ᵒʳ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷᵉᵈ, ᵇᵉᵍᶦⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵉˣᵖᵉʳᶦᵉⁿᶜᵉ ⁿᵃᵘˢᵉᵃ, ˢᶦᶜᵏⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵛᵒᵐᶦᵗᶦⁿᵍ ᵒᶠ ᶠˡᵘˣ, ᵒʳ ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ.” (Based on a personal headcanon that the Crimson Cult have been making use of these types of gauntlets since TC4. But in AEON they aren't the CC, so /shrug)

[orphanheirs]

happy (late ish sorry) sts!

What’s a theme in your story that readers may not pick up on at first?

<3

No worries!! I'm always super late to answer asks anyway haha. Thanks for asking!!

I honestly intend to make many of my themes really front and center, but maybe *checks WIP intro post* the theme of the predator archetype? That might not be super clear to readers unless they've read up on Jungian ideas.

I'm not that knowledgeable on the subject myself, so don't quote me on any of this, but basically I'm super interested in the concept of the collective unconscious and archetypes; of the inner world of the human experience being manifested across time and cultures in the form of certain motifs, images, symbols, and even stories.

This takes the form of repeated archetypes found in fairy tales, myths, folklore, and dreams. Things like the world tree, the Great Mother, the trickster, the underworld.

I'm drawing on these sorts of things on a surface level since my story is aiming to be a fantasy which pulls heavily from mythology, but I also want to use these elements as vehicles to explore the psychological journey of my characters. In the end, the whole story, with all its magical elements, is kind of a metaphor for a psychological concept I wanna explore (and you could argue really every story is this whether intentionally or not).

Specifically I want to incorporate the predator archetype as described by Clarissa Pinkola Estes in the book Women Who Run With the Wolves. She calls this figure "the natural predator of the psyche". She describes it as "a psychic force that twists and tangles us up as though by magic, keeping us from knowing what we know".

This is manifested in Lambswool by the demon character which Tristan summons. Basically, Tristan, who is sickly and will not live to adulthood, has spent his life locked indoors and summons a demon to help him escape outside and live a little. The demon gives Tristan what he desires, but in return has custody of Tristan's soul and requires him to do all sorts of heinous things to further its own agenda. The demon has a great hatred of humanity and wants to usher in apocalypse. It latches onto Tristan's lowest vibrations, all that's poisoned his soul in his short life, in order to manipulate him to its ends and drain his life force. The demon tells Tristan a lot of what he wants to hear, but also reinforces a lot of the toxic bullshit he's internalized that prevents him from growing or truly being happy. Tristan's character arc involves connecting with others for the first time, becoming who he truly is and opening his heart, which leads him to go against the demon.

Though in the story's reality the demon is a separate, real entity with malicious intent, symbolically it's "summoned" by Tristan because it is part of his own consciousness, a part which has certain drives and opinions which Tristan may think are the truth, or what he wants, but which in fact obfuscate the truth and will harm him (and others he cares about) in the end. Though this sojourn with the demon leads Tristan down a dark path and almost destroys him/the world (psychologically the self and the world are the same thing) it's part of his journey towards self actualization/real freedom. Learning to identify and tame this figure is essential for living a genuine and full life. As is learning to see what it's hiding. As Estes says: "Asking the proper question is the central action of transformation-- in fairy tales, in analysis, and in individuation." Tristan's curiosity and longing for life leads him down this path, and in the end will be what saves him from the predator's clutches. This, for Tristan, literally leads him closer to death (as physical exertion is dangerous for him), while at the same time allowing him to begin to live. It's the beginning of his awakening, a rebirth. A tomb/womb. (In fact the demon's lair in the story is going to be located in Tristan's own mausoleum.)

The temptation of this figure is of one who offers a cheating of death and the natural order (which is exactly what the demon offers). It also is a destructive force which answers a feeling of "exile from redemption" and loneliness with anger, revenge, hatred of others and cruelty to the self.

"It hopes that if it could gather enough souls to itself, it could make a blaze of light that would finally rescind its darkness and repair its loneliness."

It beats back the higher instincts, the openness to life out of us. This could manifest as negative self-talk, but it also manifests in more subtle forms. Part of waking up and becoming enlightened as a person is finding this part of oneself and containing it so it cannot continue to limit and oppress us--i.e., it can't make us its prey.

The demon makes naive Tristan its prey, and channels Tristan's pain from a loveless and lonely childhood into cruelty and destruction, all while reinforcing Tristan's view of himself as irredeemable and evil.

"It is to those desirous and underprivileged parts that the predator appeals in order to hide the fact that its sole intention is to drag you to the cellar and leech your energy as a blood transfusion for himself."

It closes Tristan off from the wide world of possibilities he yearns for, while promising excitement and thrill and freedom. It's the "bad crowd" it's the "bad boy" it's..literally the predator preying on young kids/women/vulnerable people in general. And it's also the bad, cynical mental state adolescents (or anyone really) can get into when they're in pain. Like self-harm or believing being nice is for weak and stupid people, or believing there is no good in mankind, or believing nobody will accept us for who we really are. It degrades potential.

There will be hints throughout the story that the demon is an aspect of Tristan himself, such as the demon taking the form of Tristan's shadow sometimes, and it speaking through Tristan's mouth when it first manifests until it gains enough power to speak on its own. The demon is also generally going to be parasitic in nature, gaining more energy as Tristan gets weaker (closer to death). And the demon is of course only vanquished once Tristan completes his character arc and comes into his true self by..literally fighting his demons.

[connorthemaoist]

kites-journal.org | 1 April 2024

After consulting a tarot card reader while on a sojourn to his old stomping grounds in the Bay Area, California for insight into the possible political scenarios that could manifest in the US in November 2024, Bob Avakian has set to work on a new book to be published in the run-up to the upcoming presidential election. Democracy: We Can’t Do Better Than That promises to rationalize why preventing Trump from taking office must be the strategic priority of communists in the US, even as under the Biden administration life has arguably gotten worse for the masses of people in the US, the CDC started inventing total nonsense in relation to COVID-19 (such as the five-day rule), and the US funded and supported a genocidal war against Palestinians in the Gaza Strip.

But more than just explaining the RevCom’s current strategy of imagining a revolutionary crisis occurring around the 2024 elections and hinging all their political work around that prediction, Democracy: We Can’t Do Better Than That will justify Avakian’s reversal of correct verdicts on the history of the international communist movement. Chapter 2 of the book will rehabilitate the Comintern’s united front against fascism of the late 1930s, arguing that the defense of bourgeois-democracy against fascism supersedes the need for proletarian revolution. Chapter 3 will refashion some of Earl Browder’s ideas for the 21st century and explain the spiral-like development of Avakian’s “new communism” as a re-synthesis of the old communism of the late-1930s CP (but without the mass following) that Avakian previously insisted must be discarded. Chapter 4 will explain why proposed policies in the Constitution for the New Socialist Republic in North America that Avakian authored sound more like bourgeois-democratic parliamentary procedures than the practices of the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution in socialist China. In the conclusion of Democracy: We Can’t Do Better Than That, Avakian will rationalize how tailing the liberal petty-bourgeoisie and flattening all political work into the fight against Trumpian fascism can serve revolutionary objectives.

Followers of Avakian had mixed reactions to the announcement of his forthcoming book. Some were glad that he was actually sitting down to write a book instead of just doing another lengthy talk that is subsequently transcribed and published. Others wondered if they could stomach the possibility that, after decades of dedicating their lives to revolution, Avakian might once again tell them to vote for Biden in order to stop Trumpian fascism. Most, however, were unfortunately too brain dead after years of doing the same thing over and over but expecting a different result each time to think critically or question a capitulationist political line. A standout among Avakian’s followers was Andy Zee, who was ecstatic about the upcoming release of Avakian’s Democracy: We Can’t Do Better Than That. On the Revolution Nothing Less YouTube show, Zee explained that “I’ve gotten pretty good over the last couple decades at being a sycophant, arguing for whatever Avakian’s latest ideas are even if it meant a 180-degree flip from what I was saying a week ago. That is, after all, why I was made the host of this show.”