#it's a train that launches freaking missiles

[kornwulf]

So the model train club I'm part of is putting on a display today and it's... going. Issues are being had. However, I also managed to find what I think is maybe the most entertaining Lionel operating car ever made for a really good price

Allow me to present: The Lionel 3665 Minuteman Missile Launcher

[earth-18104]

Earth-18104 - 1992

Events that occurred in 1992, in Earth-18104. This is the start of the age of heroes, so each year will be a different post, some with more important events than others (and most of them focus on the X-Men, since I read more about them).

The stories are not complete or are summarized, and are inspired by other medias, like the movies, comics and series, but don't follow Marvel Canon or the time-line established so faithfully, and include stories of my OCs.

The (N) at the end of names serves to indicate character births and the numbers are their ages. I will include more events as I write more about the characters.

These lists will start to focus more in the X-Men, and this one is the year when the X-Men first debut.

List of Events of Earth-18104 (Resume)

(First Class Debut)

(March 10) - After years of training, the second class of the X-Men graduated: Iceman (14), Angel (16), Beast (18), Cyclops (15) and Marvel Gil (16).

Calling himself Professor X again, Charles Xavier (54) was ready to reveal the new X-Men to the world.

Meanwhile, Magneto (59) has made his first move against humanity, taking control of a military base in Cape Citadel to launch his missiles at human targets.

He was unexpectedly confronted by the X-Men and escaped before being defeated.

Due to his exemplary work on the field, Xavier selected Scott Summers to serve as the team's field leader, despite the boy's fears that he was not worth it due to his lack of control over his powers.

(X-Men VS Vanisher)

The mutant named Vanisher (21) embarked on a spree of spectacular robberies using his power of self-teleportation. Thanks to his notable successes, he quickly set up a criminal organization under his leadership.

In his biggest scam, he stole secret American defense plans and demanded ten million dollars to return them. Confident that no one could capture him, the Vanisher appeared on the White House lawn accompanied by his men to claim the ransom money.

Charles Xavier (54) had offered the X-Men's help to the government to stop Vanisher and was waiting for him at the White House; he defeated him by using his mental powers to cut off his access to his powers, allowing the young X-Men to easily capture Vanisher and his minions.

Now aminesic, Vanisher was taken by the Department of Damage Control and kept in the Vault.

(The Blob)

Xavier soon located another mutant, Frederick J. Dukes (17), known as Blob, who was working as part of a carnival freak show and sent the X-Men to recruit him.

However, Charles soon learned the mistake of welcoming Blob with open arms when he proved uninterested in joining the X-Men and later attacked the school.

While the X-Men kept Blob and his army of carnies at bay, Xavier completed a device that allowed him to erase all memory of the X-Men headquarters and secret identities from the minds of Blob and his companions.

Henry Pym (29) and Maria Trovaya were having relationship problems, mainly caused by Pym's partnership with Janet van Dyne (26).

The very relationship between the two vigilantes began to fall apart, the opposing actions of an overly playful Van Dyne and an emotionally closed-off Pym constantly ruining any chance of a calm relationship.

Tensions rose after Van Dyne felt rejected for accidentally damaging some equipment on one of Pym's projects and causing discord in her relationship with Maria.

Realizing that her presence hurt the couple, especially Maria, Janet gave up her position as Henry's assistant, apologizing to Maria as she left.

Pym then hired Darren Cross (24), a brilliant MIT student who was interested in his Pym particle project.

After Janet's departure, the romantic relationship between Henry and Maria became more peaceful.

(James Madrox)

From a young age, James Madrox (13) wore a special costume made by Moira MacTaggert that would neutralize his mutant power. Even so, James hated the feeling of having his powers neutralized and every night he created copies of himself to keep him company, without his parents' knowledge.

When he was already entering adolescence, James already had adequate control over his multiplication. Unfortunately, his parents died during a tornado that hit their town, leaving James an orphan.

Now alone, James continued to create multiple copies of himself to suppress his loneliness, and continued to work and tend his parents' farm.

(Gabe runs away)

Gabriel Summers (10) was raised by his grandparents and spent years waiting for his parents and older brothers to return.

Nearly five years after the plane crash, he became increasingly frustrated with no one giving him information about his brothers and decided to run away from his grandparents' house one night, going in search of Scott and Alex.

After a few hours of walking, however, he realized he had no idea how to get home.

Now alone, he sat on the curb and cried for a few hours, until he felt a strong pain throughout his body, especially in his eyes. When his hands began to overheat, he saw that his skin was glowing yellow.

Gabriel fell to his knees and a large blast of energy shot from his body, destroying a dumpster and a newsstand across the street.

Upon seeing people nearby and hearing the sound of sirens, he tried to run away and was found by criminal Jack Winters who was looking for a partner in crime and decided to take advantage of Gabriel's mysterious powers.

(The Brotherhood of Mutants)

Meanwhile, Magneto (59) has resurfaced, gathering minions to further his cause of mutant superiority and punish humanity for its cruelty toward mutants.

His first recruit was the resourceful Astra (20); he saved Mortimer Toynbee (14), known as Toad, from a mob of angry humans.

And so he invited his old colleague Jason Wyngarde (50), known as Mastermind, and his old enemy, Amelia Voght, who had joined him after the first team of X-Men split in 1972.

On Jason's recommendation, he went after Blob, who promptly joined the team to get revenge on the X-Men.

Lastly, Erik saved Pietro and Wanda Maximoff (24), who were being chased by the Damage Control Department. Reluctantly, the twins the team, calling themselves Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch.

With his Brotherhood of Evil Mutants assembled, Magneto conquered the South American nation of Santo Marco.

Xavier then sent the X-Men who fought against the Brotherhood; when the latter was forced to flee, Blob threw himself into a booby-trapped door to save his companions from the explosion, but he survived.

(Kid Vulcan)

For a few months, Jack Winters used Gabriel Summers to collect "debts" owed to him, and in return, he helped the boy control his ability and release it regularly without causing mass destruction.

After several months with Jack, Gabriel realized that Jack was a selfish criminal and decided that he wanted no part of it. Fortunately, Gabriel's display of power attracted the attention of Moira MacTaggert (57), who teamed up with FBI agent Fred Duncan to find him.

Gabriel was rescued from Winters' clutches and was taken in by MacTaggert as his student.

• (X-Men and FF VS the Puppet Master)

He was taken to his Mutant Research Center on Muir Island, where he began training alongside Darwin (36), Petra (36), Sway (37) and Bolt (11) in the use of his mutant powers, receiving the code name Vulcan, or Kid Vulcan.

• The Puppet Master then began the first of many partnerships with another enemy of the Fantastic Four, the Mad Thinker.

• The two villains worked on a scheme to get revenge on the Fantastic Four, pitting them against the X-Men.

• Using theoretical information, the Mad Thinker deduced about the appearance of the then secret leader of the X-Men, Professor Charles Xavier (55); the Puppet Master took control of Xavier and used his telepathic powers to order the X-Men to attack the Fantastic Four.

• The X-Men were manipulated into luring the Fantastic Four above the Mad Thinker's underground base. However, Professor X's will proved to be too strong and he broke free from Phillip's control.

• Both criminals escaped The Puppet Master and the Mad Thinker escaped while the heroes were busy fighting the Thinker's Amazing Android.

• (Simon Williams and the Masters of Evil)

• Baron Heinrich Zemo, seeking revenge against Captain America, created his own team of supervillains, calling them the Masters of Evil, consisting of: Enchantress, Skurge, Radioactive Man, Melter and Nathan Garrett, the Black Knight. 

• Still facing a prison sentence, Simon Williams (23) was freed by Amora the Enchantress, who charmed the authorities into believing he was innocent.

• Baron Zemo had read about Williams' case and, intrigued by the newspapers' claim that he blamed Tony Stark for his downfall, invited him to join his Masters of Evil.

• Williams agreed to become a test subject for Zemo's "ion ray" treatment, a process that would endow him with superhuman strength and durability.

• (The Mimic)

• The X-Men were attacked by Calvin Rankin (17), who after an accident endowed him with the ability to imitate the abilities of those close to him, attacked the X-Men in the costumed identity of Mimic after learning their identities.

• During the initial confrontation, Mimic captured Jean and fled.

• Mimic hoped to use the X-Men's stolen powers to open a buried device invented by his father that Mimic assumed would make his power-doubling abilities permanent.

• As it turned out, that wasn't the case and Xavier allowed himself to be taken hostage while Mimic used the device that stripped him of his powers. Charles (55) then erased Calvin's memories of his encounter with the X-Men and freed him.

• (The Terrible Juggernaut)

• Magneto (61) attempted to recruit Charles' half-brother, Cain Marko (61), now known as Juggernaut, into his Brotherhood, freeing him from one of the Vault's cells. Juggernaut, however, was not interested in their plans and headed towards the Xavier Mansion.

• The X-Men proved unable to face Juggernaut's superhuman strength. And since Xavier couldn't read his mind because of the psi-proof helmet, they had to contact the Fantastic Four for assistance.

• While both teams kept Cain distracted, Mister Fantastic used his powers to trap Cain and Jean removed his helmet, leaving him vulnerable to attack and eventually defeated at the hands of Xavier.

• After the meeting, Charles secretly contained the Juggernaut on the mansion's grounds, keeping him in a comatose state.

[libraryofcirclaria]

Woody Madden

Library of Circlaria

Blog Posts

Map of Gymia, Province of the Independent Commonwealth State of Retun (ICSR)

Article Written: 19 September 1452

For the 1299 Provincial Elections, the population of Gymia elected Godric Fane, who ran on behalf of the Diplomatic Party and carried a starkly conservative platform that favored eliminating taxes for the henshale industry as well as dictating a "social reform" agenda that involved strict enforcement of the existing nationwide darkfire prohibition. Also as part of his agenda, Governor Fane carried out a promise to bolster local firearm training programs as well as an already-robust firearms industry. In touting this accomplishment, the Governor hosted a ceremony at the Grand Governor's Lodge at a retreat named Camp Morova located in the Southeast part of David County. The ceremony took place in the vast grassy Yard outside the Lodge and demonstrated the use of the Shellshocker, the latest and most brutal tank-cannon developed the time.

The ceremony took place in the afternoon of 15 September 1300. There were five tanks used in the show; and afterward, they were returned to their parking places at the bottom of the hill next to the tree-line, and were parked in an alternating criss-crossed pattern as part of protocol. It was after 9pm that night when the incident happened. Authorities to this day do not know the exact cause, but one of the tanks, which happened to be pointing at the Lodge, randomly discharged and shot a load. The tank shot out a dud missile, which did not explode. However, the speed and mass of the missile upon impact was enough to destroy the Southeastern face of the structure. The missile, itself, missed the occupants as they were on the bottom level while the missile hit primarily on the second and third levels. However, Governor Fane was caught in the resulting collapse and was critically injured. He died later that evening.

As part of protocol, Lieutenant-Governor Woody Madden was sworn-in as the next Governor of Gymia.

The Retunian Department of Defense launched an investigation on the matter while Prime Minister Waltmann wrote an open letter to Council calling for legislation to authorize federal oversight over the use of law enforcement and military firearms in the Provinces. Governor Woody Madden voiced contempt against this, condemning it as government overreach; and the Gymian Provincial government filed a lawsuit against the federal government in the Supreme Court. The board of Supreme Court Justices was evenly divided on the matter, with the exception of one Justice, Jefferson Davis, who was appointed in 1297 by Prime Minister Waltmann and confirmed by Council. To the surprise of Waltmann, the Progressive Party, and their supporters, Justice Davis cast the deciding vote to favor Governor Madden and the Province of Gymia. And thus, both the Council bill and federal investigation were struck down. In consolation, Governor Madden carried out a province-wide investigation of the incident, but this would ultimately rule it to be a "freak event."

This would be the start of extreme conservatism in the province of Gymia, and such sentiment spilled over into the city of North Kempton, providing the perfect opportunity for the ultra-nationalist, Walter Scott Mason, to rise in power and influence in the years to come. Ceremonies and firearm demonstrations became a regular part of life in Gymia, especially in the years leading up to 1308, while Governor Madden signed legislation to have law enforcement conduct unwarranted searches in homes on a regular basis for darkfire, to implement surveillance resources for employers wishing to prevent collective bargaining organizations from forming, and to coerce estate arbitrators into choosing estate electors for solely the Diplomatic Party for future elections.

In the wake of the 1309 Revolution, Gymia became the Reformed Federal Estates of Retun, a short-lived nation governed as a military regime by now-former-Justice Jefferson Davis. And it was during the war of 1311-12 against the Independent Commonwealth State of Retun that former Governor Madden was killed in action, in the very same location of the death of Governor Fane. Governor Madden's influence would linger in the decades to follow. It was only during the Esurchian Occupation that the political landscape of Gymia was effectively neutralized and Madden's influence erased.

[princesssarcastia]

ALRIGHT LAST ONE BUCKLE UP

Warlock, chest heaving, clearly having run through the ship to find Maverick and reassure him that he's valued and One Of Us, before Maverick risks his life for the Navy? oh my GOD. marry me. please. you're smart and kind and emotionally intelligent, i want to put a ring on it.

The linger focus on their locked gazes. Warlock's smile. Their mutual nods of respect. Oh man.

Before a mission, Maverick communes with, in order: 1. Goose's ghost, 2. His plane.

Phoenix, going over to Payback and Fanboy after they get chosen for the mission, shaking their hands, reassuring them, bonding? MISSION. LEADER. MATERIAL.

Cyclone you are sooo bad at motivational speeches

Hangman is, I think, the only one who clocks that Bradley is freaking out in time to do something about it, before they leave the carrier. Maverick realizes, but only too late, and only after Bradley approaches him. And his reassurance wasn't much better than Cyclone's, frankly. Good god, man, you really can't talk to your kid properly.

"Thank you. If I don't see you again, Hondo, thank you." COME TALK TO ME ABOUT HOW MAVERICK LOVES HONDO, PLEASE. talk to me about this parallel between maverick leaving hondo, and iceman leaving maverick.

Again, the sound editing is just impeccable. So Many Good Noises.

Boy, Bradley really is freaking the fuck out for the first half of this mission. Dangerously so.

God, That's Just So Many Fucking Missiles. That's Too Many Missiles. And they don't even hit everything on the airstrip! There's still air-worthy craft in the enemies hands after that Truly Excessive Number of Missiles hit their base.

classic american military move.

Listen, guys. Rooster is absolutely talking to Maverick when he says, "Talk to me, Dad." He just is. That's His Dad.

Phoenix and Bob are the only ones that showed up, did their job perfectly, followed orders, and made it back in possession of all the pieces they launched with. Queen Shit.

Cyclone, using Maverick's cute little nickname for the hardest part of the mission...oh man. he got to you. he Got You, Cyclone, they are printing your Maverick Fanclub membership card as we speak

Maverick's immediate, visceral, gut-wrenching devastation the second he realizes Rooster came back for him? THAT'S what this movie is about. btw. if you even care.

That's his daaaaad!

And when Maverick says, "No, I saved your life. That's the whole point." That's when I knew for sure this movie was going to make me insane forever. Talk about a thesis statement. That's his kid and he loves him and he'll do anything to protect him; risk his life, sure, but more importantly, ruin his kid's career AND their relationship, if only it means Bradley will be alive to hate him.

aw man, and the whole fight scene in the forest is the funniest scene in the whole fucking movie, because they side-swipe all the messy bullshit in the most ridiculous way possible.

Maverick: "What the hell were you even thinking?"

Rooster: "You told me not to think!"

Maverick, internally: shit, I did tell him that. fuck. high ground lost.

Lol. Lmao.

Maverick: "Well. It's good to see you." Because it is. Always.

Bradley, for the rest of the movie: EVEN AFTER FLYING WITH YOU ON THIS MISSION SO FAR AND IN TRAINING, I REALLY THOUGHT THEY WERE EXAGGERATING. I THOUGHT MY MOM AND ICEMAN AND EVERYONE ELSE I'VE MET WHO KNOWS YOU PROFESSIONALLY WAS KIDDING WHEN THEY SAID YOU WERE BUMFUCK CRAZY INSANE. THEY WERE NOT KIDDING HOLY SHIT WHAT ARE YOU DOING—

Maverick: hahaha yeah

Bradley is at least mildly concussed for the whole back half of the mission

That dogfight with the 5th gen fighters is SO MUCH FUN TO WATCH. this is what movies are for goddamnit: totally sick action sequences.

The second Maverick sees there are F-14s still available this turns right back into a horse girl movie. Come on, old girl, one last ride, etc etc.

Also, a very interesting choice for their one (1) allotted f-bomb in the whole movie. Great way to escalate the tension and show how technologically outmatched they are.

Cyclone, upon seeing Rooster (and thus Maverick) pop back up on radar in a plane that shouldn't even exist: alright, hand over the Maverick fanclub membership card

Warlock: *smug*

Maverick: *buzzes the tower on his way in*

Cyclone: never mind i don't want this anymore.

Warlock: no takebacksies. Now, we're gonna go outside and visually show our approval of him in front of the whole crew

Cyclone: .....fine, but I'm NOT going to smile at him.

I love Bradley trying to be all professional toward Maverick when they're on the deck, like he didn't just disobey direct orders and crash in enemy territory in order to save Maverick's life, and maverick is like .....are you kidding me right now? and pulls him into two separate hugs

also

me, every time i have to watch hangman and rooster shake hands on the deck: BOOO JUST MAKE OUT ALREADY

And this concludes the Top Gun: Maverick liveblog! I had a lot of fun, but also goddam this took so long. Will probably post some extended thoughts on some of these points later, or new ideas I'm having because of them.

alright. top gun maverick re-watch liveblog time

block 'liveblog' if you don't want it all over your dash for the next few hours <3

[mckinlily]

um. im a big fan of your paladin powers series and was wondering if you had anything else for that as well? not that you have to of course

Thank you!! I'm so flattered! I've wanted to answer this for a while, but I didn't know what to say. But!! Then I realized I hadn't explored anything with the paladin bayards, so let's do that here!!

One idea I've loved is that as the paladins grow, they "unlock" new bayard forms. These paladins have bonded enough with their Lions that they could probably form about anything if they really needed ("Lance, why do you suddenly have a slushy maker?" "Magic works in mysterious ways, Pidge."). However, they mostly have a couple forms they stick with.

Lance can form any kind of gun, including a machine gun and a sniper rifle in addition to his usual single shot. He can also form a stinging whip if he needs too, and sometimes instead of the normal blaster shots, his shorts are liquid-nitrogen instant-cell-death levels of cold.

Pidge also gets guns, specifically dual pistols, and she's deadly with them, especially with how rapidly she can switch between them and her usual grappling-laser form.

Oh, and she can form a freaking rocket launcher. You know, because she wasn't already overpowered.

Keith isn't trusted with guns (his aim is shit; years of space wars hasn't made it any better). He does have a flamethrower. Luckily for everyone really, he doesn't favor that form. He typically sticks to his original sword and the somewhat newer laser-edged glaive. Allura has trained him with pole arms, and he is deadly efficient. And yes, he can also dual weld his bayard and Marmora blade.

Hunk can transform his bayard into a second armor that his practically invulnerable. The really neat thing is the armor doesn't always need to be on him. Hunk has saved and protected his teammates many times when would have otherwise been in grave danger. He can also create a comically huge hammer (AND has the strength to wield it), an extra strength shield, and a missile launcher. As in, heat-sensing missiles that can down an entire Galra warship.

Also, a toaster. (What? He gets hungry!)

Shiro's base bayard form is wings because, I mean, it's Shiro. How can I NOT give him wings?? Shiro's wings are the same shape and almost the same size as Black's when activated, the "feathers" are laser-edged and can be launched like throwing knives when Shiro gets really pissed. Which, let's face it, you're already shit out of luck if Shiro is really pissed.

Perhaps surprisingly, however, Shiro doesn't actually use his bayard all that much. He doesn't need it to teleport, and wings aren't really necessary when he can just teleport to higher and higher points in the sky (plus the tactical advantage of being even less predictable if he's teleporting). After years of Hunk, Pidge, and Allura tinkering with his arm, this time with his consent and input, it is even more deadly and efficient than Haggar could have ever dreamed of. With it and his close-range fighting style, he doesn't really need a bayard.

Shiro probably has the most surprising use of his bayard. More than anyone, he has pulled out the most variety and sheer volume of bayard forms. There are times (especially in the beginning) when even Shiro doesn't know what he's going to find when he pulls out his bayard.

But the most consistent use Shiro has for his bayard isn't actually in his hands at all. Shiro has discovered that if he gives his bayard to one of his teammates, it came combine with their own and create a doubly powerful weapon. Not only that, but Shiro's bayard on its own, can form weapons for others if he wills it. The other bayards are active only for the paladins who have bonded with the corresponding Lion, but Shiro can share. What this means is that Shiro will typically choose who needs his advantage most in the battle and pass it (or throw it--or teleport it) to them while he himself attacks with nothing but his bare hands.

And the person who most often ends up with the Black bayard?

Allura.

Allura had to have a talk with the Black Lion about how she would never replace Shiro as the Black Paladin and would in fact protect Shiro with her life, but now the Black bayard works almost precisely as well for her as it does for Shiro.

Allura's base bayard form is a massive shield, much like the one Zarkon conjured in season 1. But Allura's is a weapon. The edges are burning with laser blades, just like Pidge's bayard. The top is sharp and jagged, designed so that Allura can slam opponents against a wall, points of the shield sparking on either side of their neck. And this is if Allura stops to give them a moment to breathe. With the massive shield on one arm, laser edges crackling, she can tear through a battle field like a single extremely-devastating tank. The shield basically take Allura's insane brute strength and weaponizes it to its fullest extent.

The paladins sit back when she really gets going and crack open the popcorn.

(Courtesy of their bayards, of course)

[intimidatingpuffinstudios]

I’m releasing an old Patreon story publicly!

This here, folks, is a fic about Morkai and Straasa shenanigans from when they were teenagers!

Straasa even references this incident in-game if you pick that drawing is your hobby!

Hope you like it! Enjoy!

~*~

The paints are arranged beautifully in front of him, waiting to be combined in a pandemonium of colors and vibrancy. New worlds are waiting to be birthed on his command, starry skies and green fields waiting to be unleashed.

Straasa stares at the blank canvas, and the vast emptiness stares back.  Not even a single line of color mars its snowy surface, and while he could probably spin some wild tale about life and its meaninglessness being depicted on this very piece of paper, he doubts his father would appreciate the philosophical musings.

Or even if he did, then Miriel certainly wouldn’t. She spent a fortune to get all these wildly expensive paints for him. He had mentioned once that he would like to try it out, and now he was suddenly expected to create a masterpiece breath-taking enough to compete with the masters.

And that masterpiece will, of course, be an utterly life-like portrait of Miriel’s likeness, every single nuance captured to depict her profound and inimitable beauty. He’d be lucky if he could paint a realistic stick figure at this point.

He slowly puts down the palette, all 16 of the years of his life weighing down on him. She’s going to be so disappointed. He hates it when she looks at him with that look—the look that says that he didn’t try enough, didn’t love her enough, wasn’t good enough. In anything at all.

“I have to say, what you’ve created portrays Miriel’s vapidness quite well, I’m proud of you, man.”

Straasa springs up from his stool as swiftly as a snake springs from the sand, his heart beating like mad in his chest. His stares at Morkai with eyes wide open, a hand clutched over his chest. What is he doing here? He wasn’t supposed to come in today! Miriel would have a fit!

“Morkai,” he hisses, trying to keep his voice down in case someone is passing by outside his room.

“What are you doing here? Miriel said that you can’t come by until I’m done with her portrait! She’ll skin us both if she finds you here! And how did you get in without me hearing you?!” the blue-eyed teen whispers furiously, grabbing his friend’s arm and trying to lead him out.

Morkai, of course, doesn’t budge, looking at the blank canvas with an air of snobbish evaluation. He nods his head sagely, pointing to an indeterminate point.

“This part particularly, where her heart should be, I think you’ve captured that part to perfection. Yes, I’m quite pleased. I will hang this above your bedroom door,” the redhead keeps on going, acting for all intents and purposes like this is a fabulous piece of art that he is critiquing with his sharp eye.

Straasa exhales loudly in frustration and stops trying to move his stubborn friend. No one can make Morkai budge if he doesn’t want to be moved. He is already almost as tall as his father and Rhaygan is nothing to scoff at, towering over everyone at 6’2”.

But then Straasa notices a sweet smell coming off of Morkai, something that reminds him suspiciously of… His eyes zoom in on the satchel hanging from his friend’s waist, and his hands swoop in to open it greedily.

The redhead grins at him roguishly as Straasa finds what he was looking for— a small, cloth-wrapped bundle containing nothing but…  lemon cakes! His favorite! He didn’t think the kitchens would make that today!

“How did you get these?!” he exclaims in glee, immediately snatching one of the pastries up and bringing it to his mouth. Morkai’s grin gets even wider, like a cat that has just gotten the cream.

“You know Ilya likes me. I promised her a moonlit walk in the gardens tomorrow night if she would make these for me,” Morkai informs him smugly. Ilya, the cook in training in their mansion. She thinks Morkai has hung the sun and stars, the poor girl.

“You’ll keep your word to her, right?” the blue-eyed teen asks a bit uneasily. He knows that Morkai doesn’t particularly care for the girl. His friend has at least the grace to look completely affronted.

“Of course I will! Who do you take me for, man?! That’s insulting! I’m a man of my word! Trust me, I’ll give her a night she’ll never forget,” the redhead reassures him, his smirk turning lecherous, and Straasa rolls his eyes in response.

He instead turns his attention to the delicious cakes, leaving Morkai to his thorough examination of the snow-white canvas. The red-haired boy makes a small “Ah,” sound like he has just figured something out, but Straasa doesn’t turn to look at what his friend is doing.

A mistake in hindsight. A huge one at that, too.  Once he’s done demolishing the sugary treats, Straasa finally raises his eyes and immediately freezes, his mind refusing to take in the devastation right in front of him.

He can feel the cakes coming up as he stares horrified at the huge boobs Morkai has drawn on the canvas, complete with a donkey’s head attached to them. Because it’s certainly the breasts that take the place of honor in this ‘painting,’ they’re twice the size of the equine head.

“Shit, no!” Straasa shrieks in desperation, covering his eyes with sticky fingers. He lifts his hand after a moment as if time might have erased the abomination from existence, but no, it’s still there, still glaring at him accusingly.

Morkai, for his part, looks exceedingly satisfied with himself, not realizing that Straasa was given no spare canvases in case he messed up. He was supposed to get it at first try. There is no way to hide this from his step-mother.

He is doomed. Absolutely freaking doomed. Morkai seems to register that his friend has gone pale as a sheet, almost shaking in front of him. He quickly sets the palette down and grabs Straasa by the shoulders, making him look at him.

“Hey, man, it was just a joke. We’ll tell her I did it, since it’s the truth and also because she can do absolutely nothing to me,” the green-eyed teen tries to comfort his distraught friend, having no idea what exactly Miriel could do to punish them both.

She could deny Morkai visits and the other way around. She could keep them apart and had already threatened to do so many times. This would surely be the last straw, causing the threat to become a reality.

“And if she tries to separate us, I have Ilya to sneak me in whenever I want.”

Straasa’s eyes snap to Morkai’s, surprised, hopeful. How had Morkai figured this out?  Straasa had never told him of Miriel’s threats. And was this the reason his friend kept on indulging Ilya when he wasn’t all that interested in her?

The redhead was a lot more devious than Straasa originally thought. Also, kind of ruthless, using people to get what he wants. But Straasa can’t help but feel grateful to him. For making the situation at least sort of bearable. Even if it was him that created the problem in the first place.

The hands on his shoulders suddenly grip him tightly, and Morkai’s gaze turns far-away and distant, then an unholy light enters his eyes. It’s like a candle has been lit behind them, and Straasa knows that he is in serious trouble. When the redhead gets this excited, it means disaster is at hand.

“Morkai, no! Whatever you’re thinking…!” Straasa tries to caution, but his warning is cut short by a colorful missile hitting him straight on the mouth. Paint. It’s a glob of red, incredibly expensive paint that Morkai has scooped up from the palette and launched right at his face.

It dribbles down the blue-eyed teen's chin, and Straasa can taste it in his mouth. He wonders in a panicky sort of way if he can get poisoned from this. Morkai, having efficiently shut his friend up, turns his attention to his short-lived masterpiece.

His large hand scoops up more of the paint, and he slathers it over the breasted donkey in wide strokes, erasing all evidence of Miriel’s supposed likeness under a mountain of mismatched colors.

Once he’s done, he looks at the canvas with a forlorn look, like he regrets erasing the monstrosity from existence.

“It’s a pity, really. I believe I captured her essence perfectly,” he mourns, the palette still held in his hand. Straasa wipes his mouth and takes the weapon of destruction away from his friend.

“She doesn’t look like a donkey, Morkai, she’s beautiful,” he chastises the redhead, taking one of the brushes in his hand and swirling it through the remaining paint. Morkai shrugs his shoulders in response, not interested in debating Miriel’s beauty.

“Who cares? She behaves like an arse, that’s all that matters. An arse with boobs,” he snickers gleefully, and Straasa seizes the perfect chance as Morkai’s eyes briefly close.

He lunges forward, the brush held like a sword heading straight at his impossible friend’s face. His aim proves true, getting his friend’s nose and part of his cheek. Morkai squawks in outrage and ducks, trying to get the palette away from Straasa. The two grapple for a few minutes, loud laughter and curses echoing in the air around them.

By the time an infuriated “Boys!” slices through the moment, the teens have managed to get their clothes and faces, even their hair covered in remnants of paint. Straasa is laying down on the ground, wheezing, and Morkai is sitting down next to him, still chortling, his leg over Straasa’s calf.

 Furious footsteps head straight for them, and Straasa doesn’t sit up to look who it is. He’d recognize Miriel’s gait anywhere. He instead turns his gaze to look at his friend instead.

Morkai’s eyes are glimmering as he flicks his attention at his friend, shooting him a mischievous grin before he gets up, holding his hands out in surrender in front of him, trying to calm down Miriel’s explosive fury.

Straasa takes a deep breath and gets up to join him. Yet as he looks at his clothes, at Morkai’s, at the mess their grappling has made, at the ruined canvas that held his step-mother’s likeness done Morkai-style…

He chuckles despite knowing it will piss off Miriel even more. He regrets nothing.

 ~*~

[one-boring-person]

You Can Be My Wingman (Part Five)

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x reader

Warnings: mention of past injury.

Context: Having finally recovered, Quicksilver is allowed to fly again, where she meets her new RIO.

A/N: This fic isn't doing too well, but I'm still quite proud of it, so I'll keep uploading it👍😅💛

Masterlist

When I finally don my flying uniform again after weeks of recovery, the familiar thrill of the prospect of flying rushes through me, the excitement building up with the minutes of preparation. Alone in the changing room, I pull on the gear as quickly as possible, practically buzzing with excitement as I lace up my boots and pick up my helmet, bounding to the exit, once again relishing in the lack of pain from the scars on my body. Emerging into the blazing sun, I head over to the hanger, rolling my shoulders in anticipation as I take my seat towards the back.

I stare out at the airfield, my leg bouncing nervously as I take in the familiar sight of the jets waiting in a row for us to use, a couple of attendants preparing them for use, their conversations carrying out to me. I missed it; the hot uniform, the harsh smells and noises, even the sexist jokes I sometimes receive from the other lieutenants. Thank God I survived what I did, that I was luckier than Matthew. A wave of grief and sadness briefly dulls my joy, the memory being painful and raw even after so long.

A person taking a seat beside me snaps me from my thoughts.

"You look healthy." Maverick grins as I turn to him, his bright eyes watching me and taking in my appearance.

"Finally." I reply, rolling my eyes jokingly.

He chuckles before replying.

"I'm glad, training was getting dull without you."

"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't, you've got Goose." I point out, " And don't forget Iceman and Slider. I'm sure you had a great time with them." At the last part, I giggle as he sends a pointed expression my way.

"Very funny." He retorts, playfully swatting my arm.

We continue to talk until the others arrive, joking and laughing together as we used to, though I can feel his gaze lingers a little more than before, his smile slightly remorseful. He had already filled me in on what I missed when I was in hospital, giving me his notes to study from whilst I recovered, in return for my own account of what happened whilst I was MIA.

The seats around us fill up, pilots and RIOs talking together, shouting rude jokes at each other as they approach. Glancing around, I quickly spot a new person I don't recognise.

"Who's that?" I ask Maverick, gesturing to the shy-looking guy. Before he can reply, Goose interrupts, plonking himself to my left.

"Hey, Quicksilver! How's it going?" His cheerful tone draws my attention, his contagious smile spreading to my face. Goose (and a few others) had made the effort to come and see me in the hospital, and he'd always cheered me up, so it's nice seeing him when I'm not incapacitated.

"Hey, Goose, I'm good! How about you?"

"Not bad, not bad. All the better now you're well again!" He responds, turning to the front. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Maverick giving us an odd look, but I shake it off as a trick of the light, quickly looking up as I recognise a certain pilot standing over me.

"Quicksilver, we didn't expect you back so soon." Iceman drawls, jaw working nonstop at the gum in his mouth, "It's good to see you."

"And you, Iceman." I return, uncertainly. Before my accident, he'd always been one of my main taunters, but he's acting awfully nice now, which unnerves me slightly.

Nodding, the tall pilot wanders off to his seat beside Slider in time for the commander to inform us of our task.

As he drones on, I take the opportunity to watch the new recruit.

Sitting uncomfortably in his chair, the lithe brunette shifts around, twisting his bony hands together into knots, fiddling with the fabric of his uniform. In the sun, his eyes appear the same colour as his golden badge, though not much of them is visible from under his mop of tawny hair, the long tufts hanging into his pale face like a shield between him and the world. His body isn't particularly muscular, but he appears nimble and agile, unlike some of the other pilots present, and his manner seems curious and eager, under all the unease.

"...as our Quicksilver finds herself without an RIO, she will be partnered with Hawk, our newest RIO recruit. I'm sure you two will get along fine." At this, I turn my attention back to the commander, meeting his firm gaze quickly, before I return my eyes to "Hawk", finding his golden eyes already looking at me. I offer him a small smile in reassurance, which he unsteadily returns.

"And that is all. Don't mess up, and remember, there's no points for second place."

Getting up with the others, I walk over to Hawk, sticking out a hand for him to shake.

"I'm Quicksilver, nice to meet you."

Taking my hand, he stammers in response.

"I'm Hawk, it's good to meet you, too."

"You ready?" I ask, leading him to one of the jets, my excitement building again as I eye the sleek metal beast before me.

"I think so." He murmurs quietly.

Suddenly unsure of his attitude, I turn to face him.

"Are you sure? You sound a little nervous."

Setting his jaw, he looks me in the eye.

"It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"..yes."

"It doesn't sound like it. We don't have to go out if you don't feel ready." I say this with hesitation, knowing I'll hate it if he agrees.

"I'm just a bit worried about flying with a new pilot after.. " He stops, visibly distressed.

"After?" I press, anxious to get going.

He shifts in place for a second before replying.

"After the last one...freaked out during a mission. He didn't respond to any of us, he just stared at the photograph he had with him. I was so scared that day...I haven't flown since." Hawk finally confesses, looking away.

Smiling sympathetically, I pat him on the shoulder.

"You'll be fine. I won't freak out on you, I promise." When he turns back to me, I notice his small smile almost instantly.

"Ok, let's go."

Climbing in, I secure myself into the jet, hearing him do the same, slightly hesitantly at first, behind me. I pull on my helmet and fasten it tightly, wrinkling my nose at its bad smell, made so from the accident.

Swiftly, I receive permission from the radar tower to take off first, which surprises me slightly. Making my way to the runway, I ask Hawk one more time if he's ready.

"As I'll ever be." Is his muffled reply.

Lining up, I ready myself for take off, increasing the thrust on the plane gradually until we are thundering across the runway. The familiar exhilaration of flying races through my veins as we launch into the air, the immediate change in pressure making me slightly giddy for a couple of seconds before I recover, wheeling the plane around, pointing the nose upwards. I allow myself to grin as the plane breaches the cloud layer, revealing the layout of the ground below.

Seconds later, a second plane joins me, followed by a third.

"Quicksilver, Hawk, your wingmen are Iceman and Slider, and Maverick and Goose." The crackling voice from the control tower sounds in my ear, the bored controller leaving the conversation there.

"You guys ready?" Goose's cheerful voice replaces the controller, his tone laced with excitement.

"We are." I respond after checking with Hawk.

"Born ready." Iceman replies, the grin almost audible in his voice.

For a couple of minutes, we wheel and bank around as a trio, waiting for the enemy planes to appear.

"I see one!" Hawk calls suddenly, voice confident and professional, as he rolls off a direction.

"South-west, below."

Taking this in, I carefully wheel the plane around to find the enemy jet, locating it immediately.

"We'll get him." Goose calls through the radio, Maverick directing his plane into a tight climb seconds later. "Quicksilver, there's a guy to your right!" Slider barks at me as another plane pulls up beside me, gliding up over me.

"Got it!" Banking to my left, I fall into a dive, spiralling downwards quickly before pulling up abruptly, drawing a muffled grunt from Hawk.

"Bit of warning please, Quicksilver!"

"Sorry." I call back, hurriedly, continuing to keep the plane in a steep ascent until I see us overtake the enemy jet, at which point I level out and cut the speed slightly. Drawing back, I allow the plane to speed off a little, before giving chase, moving in accordance with the other jet, the g-force pulling at me, the pressure almost overbearing. Leading us into a series of tight turns and spirals, I almost don't notice the second plane drop down behind me until it's right on my tail.

"Quicksilver, we have a problem!" Hawk yells at me, panickedly.

"Radio the other two, who's got that one?!" I ask, astonished.

"Goose, Slider, where're you two at?" The young RIO shouts into the mic as I throw the jet into a steep climb, spiralling to avoid missile lock from the others.

"We've got our own problems right now!" Slider's voice is also panicked, as is Maverick's when he replies after a minute or so.

"Us too, sorry Hawk!"

"It's fine, we've got this!" I reassure Hawk, nervously, levelling off to find the other two jets giving chase. "I have an idea."

Flying in a straight line, I slow the plane, allowing the other two to catch up sufficiently.

"Are you crazy? We'll be on missile lock in seconds!" Hawk's voice is terrified as he spots the jets coming closer.

"It's fine. Hold on." I growl through gritted teeth, suddenly pulling the brake and pulling the plane around until the left wing is pointing towards the ground.

As planned, the other two jets shoot by, the pilots turning heads as they watch me through the cockpit window, surprised to see us fly past. Levelling out again, I pursue them, quickly getting missile lock on the closest, watching it fly away as I continue chasing the other.

"One down." Hawk reports to the others, voice slightly shocked, "How did you know that was going to happen?" He asks me in disbelief.

"I've tried something similar a few times, but I guess I got lucky this time." My response is quick and breathless as I concentrate on navigating the tight turns the enemy is leading me on.

A couple of minutes later, I have the jet in my sights, the missile radar trying to lock on, eventually managing to do so, the plane flying off towards the base.

"Another one down. You guys need help?" This time I radio in, bringing the plane above the clouds for a better view.

"Yes please, Quicksilver." Goose's voice crackles through. Checking the radar, I locate their plane and angle towards it, allowing the jet to pick up speed as I drop down behind the aircrafts chasing them.

"We're here, Mav."

"Good, we're gonna need help getting them off our tail."

"On it." I target the closest, flying as near as I dare to its tail, activating the missile radar, focusing it on the jet in front of me. Instantly, the plane rolls off into a dive, drawing me away from Maverick, luring me into an elaborate series of twists and turns.

"Turn left." Hawk suddenly says.

"What?"

"Do it!"

Trusting his determined tone, I bank left, jumping when he speaks again.

"Now go right." Doing as he says, I return to my original path at a different angle, with a perfect view of the dodging plane. Moments later, the pilot is forced to land, due to our missile lock.

"Another down." Hawk reports, Iceman's voice coming in seconds later.

"One down."

"Another down." Goose adds, before Maverick chimes in a couple of minutes later.

"Last one down."

"We sure there were only six?" I ask quickly, looping around to find them on my radar.

"Positive. Requesting permission to land." Slider says, voice breathless over the mic.

"Permission granted." The message comes to all of us.

Goose's relieved "Great balls of fire!" filters through the radio seconds later, drawing a laugh out of me.

Making my way back, I allow the other two to land before doing do myself, bracing for the impact.

As we return to the hangers and get out of the cockpit, I turn to Hawk almost immediately.

"Thanks for that last one, that was clever thinking." I say, smiling at the RIO.

Visibly embarrassed, he scratches the back of his head, helmet tucked under his arm.

"No problem, you pulled it off really well. That stunt before was also really clever, I didn't see how it would work at first." He admits, looking me in the eye, "My actual name is Oli, by the way. Oli Green." He offers me his hand.

"I'm (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)." I reply, shaking his proffered hand, glad that he isn't so shy anymore.

"Hey, you guys, thanks for saving our asses back there!" Goose calls over as he and Maverick come closer, followed by Iceman and Slider.

"Yeah, that was some real fancy flying there." Maverick grins, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Thanks, guys. We tried our best." I respond, smiling at them all.

"You guys sure you haven't flown together before? Because that was amazing." Iceman's offhand compliment surprises me, a sense of pride immediately washing over me.

"I'm sure. Maybe we just work well together." Hawk chimes in, happily.

"Come on, let's get cleaned and get something to drink, we all deserve it." Slider exclaims, patting us on the back.

As we start off, I feel cheerful and glad to be back, though a look at Maverick dampens my mood.

Why is he frowning like that?

Part Six

[imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs]

Can you picture the SWAT Kats appearing in Jellystone?

Well, no. Again, the SWAT Kats lived in a fully realized world with set laws and personalities for the characters, with a much darker tone than most of Jellystone's cast.

However, I could also see...

The Jellystone PD, led by Touché Tortoise, getting ready to finally win the Quintannual Policeman's Soccer Cup, since all the other possible participants were disqualified for any number of reasons (food poisoning, a freak unicycle accident, passing it up when they realized this was a charity game, etc.)

Unfortunately, the Jellystone PD is probably the worst team in Soccer history. And it doesn't help that they're going up against the reigning champions of the Quintannual Policeman's Soccer Cup, the Quadrennial Policeman's Hockey Cup, Triennial Policeman's Poker Tournament, and the Biannual Simon Says Tournament ten years running: The Megakat City Enforcers.

In spite of their abysmal odds (and Mayor/acting coach Huckleberry's assurances that it's okay to admit when you're outmatched, outgunned, and out outed), the Touché maintains that the JPD is going to win the day through hard work and team spirit.

We then get a training montage which is pretty much Touché, Yippie, Yappie, and Yahooey embarrassing themselves.

The day of the game arrives (and the JPD have not really improved) and Touché maintains that their team will pull through... that is, until the Enforcers take the field with all the verve of a professional sports team saluting their fans.

"Oh, spoke too soon."

We then cut to the announcers' box.

"Good day, Sports fans! This is Snagglepuss, and my very special co-host for the day, as part of Megakat City's Rehabilitate Your Mates Program, Dr. Elrod Purvis. Got anything to say to the fans Doc?"

Purvis makes a series of sibilant reptilian sounds into the microphone.

Snag: OK. Well, it looks like the teams are lining up...

We then get a game of comedic proportions, comparable only to Harlem Globetrotters Games.

We could also probably get a cameo by a certain "Feral" commander heckling the teams with the usual "get your ass in the in zone" type stuff.

Now, here's the interesting thing; instead of the Enforcers being the usual douche bag pro athlete types, it might be funnier to actually see the team being downright saintly towards the JPD as they smoke their asses. Allowing Takebacksies (which pretty much stops the game for about an hour), the goalie taking a break in the second quarter, one even gives Yappy his corvette when Yappy misses an easy goal to make him feel better.

Anyway, the score is all tied up (Thanks in no small part of eleven takebacksie sessions) and it all comes down to a single kick by JPD team captain Touché Tortoise. The suspense is killing us (especially if it means another three hours of waiting for someone to kick a ball into an unguarded goal.)

All of a sudden, a massive silver pillar smashes down on the goal destroying it. The entire stadium turns to look towards the announcer's box.

Purvis: Don't look at me. I haven't got anything planned until next Friday.

So, turns out it's Dark Kat, driving a massive mech, who's just dropping by to announce that he's begun turning Megakat City into "Dark Kat City". In spite of his monologue, Touché pulls out a rapier and launches an attack at the massive machine... which does absolutely nothing.

The stadium panics, a familiar face yells "get me chopper backup!" and suddenly, the massive mech ends up pummeled by missiles.

Spoiler alert: it's the Turbokat.

The Swat Kats force Dark Kat into a retreat and announce via loudspeaker that Dark Kat's invasion of Megakat City has been stopped, crediting Deputy Mayor Briggs and Lt. Feral for coordinating with them and to enjoy the rest of their day.

While the JPD sits dismayed that they were unable to do anything and that the whole game was pretty much for nothing (the trophy was destroyed in the battle), the Enforcers encourage them that it's more important that they tried and that any town would be proud to have them as police officers.

"Besides" one of them says, "most of us are doing this cause the commander ordered us to. We all think he's just a little too competitive for his own good."

Suddenly there's and explosion and Dr. Viper walks out of the smoke.

Viper: I lied about the Friday thing

Enforcer: you want this one? Touché: we could make it a joint operation.

The Turbokat suddenly descends from the sky

Enforcer: why not?

We then get an epic end shot of the JPD, Swat Kats, and Enforcers going after Dr. Viper together.

And plot twist: this is a backdoor pilot for a new Swat Kats series.

Anyway, while I think that the SK should stay it's own thing (and I hope the fans get that revival sooner rather than later) I could see the worlds co-existing if the people working to make it happen really tried..

[kiapet2]

Aperture Sides Facility, Chapter 6: PULL ME OUT! PULL ME OUT! PULL ME OUT! PULL ME OUT! LEAVE ME IN! LEAVE ME IN! LEAVE ME IN! LEAVE ME IN!

Masterpost

Chapter Summary: The big confrontation.

Chapter Warnings: Attempted Murder by and towards main characters, Neurotoxin, Not-Really-Unsympathetic Sides

The Control Chamber is large and dimly lit, cylindrical with a high ceiling. Hanging from the walls and in a circle from the ceiling are a collection of large screens, like you would see in a stadium. They flash through a series of images almost too quickly to follow: red theater curtains, a black hat, a courtroom, a two-headed snake, a lock with no key…

What really draws your eye, though, is the figure hanging from the ceiling, right in the center of the screens. It’s a massive form constructed of plastic, metal and hanging cables, gathered into a long body that moves with a sinuous grace as it turns to peer at you. At the end of the body is what you recognize as a Core, but one that differs significantly from the designs you’re used to. Where the others are formed of intricately interlocking metal pieces, this Core is one piece of sleek, jet black plastic, an unlidded yellow eye staring out at you with an alien gaze.

“So,” the AI says, “you’ve made it here at last.” His voice has changed, all pretenses of a robotic monotone dropped in favor of a smooth, sonorous drawl that sends shivers down your spine.

“No thanks to you,” Virgil spits.

“And you brought the whole group with you! Now what could I have possibly done to deserve such an honor?”

“Tried to kill me, for one,” you say, placing a hand on your hip and trying to seem casual and self-assured. Hurry up, Logan…

The AI gives a scandalized gasp. “Kill you? Now why would I ever do something like that?”

“Drop the act, villain!” Roman yells. “We know what you really are!”

The AI hums, sounding unconcerned. “I can’t help but notice that one of your number is missing. You wouldn’t happen be planning something, now would you?”

You laugh nervously. “What? No, we’re just here to talk.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Subject One,” the AI says. “Let’s stop with the stalling, shall we?”

There’s a hissing sound as vents open up in the walls, some sort of gas coming out.

“Don’t breathe that in!” Virgil hisses, and you back away from the steadily encroaching cloud, before your back hits the opposite wall. The gas keeps advancing, and your next breath tastes sickly sweet with it, making your head spin.

“Enjoying the neurotoxin?” the AI taunts. “It’s my own special recipe. I’m sure dear Patton is familiar.”

“Don’t do this, Ja-” Patton starts, before cutting off into static.

The AI lets out a deep, villainous chuckle. “Be sure to take in a nice, deep breath now, I’ve heard the toxin has lots of nice vitamins in it. If you live long enough to breathe it in, that is.”

That statement and the sound of machine parts clicking are your only warnings before a torpedo launches out of the AI’s mainframe, directly at you.

You throw yourself sideways, landing painfully on your side on the floor as the torpedo hits the wall and explodes behind you, showering you with bits of concrete or whatever substance this building is made of.

“What was that?” you yelp, scrambling to your feet. “What kind of science facility gives their AIs freaking torpedoes?!”

Your only response is another torpedo. This one you sidestep, watching as it again hits the wall behind you. That gives you an idea…

You shoot the blue portal behind yourself and the orange higher in the wall, then move to stand in front of the blue portal as the torpedo system targets you again, jumping out of the way of the ensuing missile.

Instead of flying through the portal, however, the torpedo runs straight into Remus, who apparently decided that it would be fun to follow you as you dodged the explosives.

“Remus!” Roman screams as his brother’s robotic body-frame explodes into scrap metal. For a moment your heart is in your throat as you search for telltale rounded parts in the scattered pieces, then you slump in relief as you see the Core himself rolling away from the carnage, giggling.

“Let’s do that again!” he cheers. “Can you build me a bigger body and then blow it up with an even bigger rocket?”

“Absolutely not,” the AI says. “Giving you arms and legs was a bad idea in the first place- too much opportunity for chaos.”

“Well whaddya know, he’s actually right about something for once,” Virgil snarks.

Another torpedo comes shooting out at you, and this time when you dodge it flies unhindered into the blue portal. You watch as the torpedo shoots back out of the orange portal, straight towards the AI. It connects with his long, sinuous body near the top, making the entire thing shake, and he falls limp.

“Did… did you just kill him?” Roman says in an awed whisper. Beside him, Patton whimpers. You swallow, staring at the motionless form of the AI in front of you, not knowing which outcome to hope for.

After what subjectively seems like an eternity but is probably only a few seconds, the AI twitches back to life and straightens up.

“That was unpleasant,” he says. “But not as unpleasant as being hit by one would be for you, I expect. Shall we see who gives in first?”

You jump out of the way of another torpedo, which deploys harmlessly into the wall since you didn’t have time to set up another portal. You land awkwardly, and bite back a curse as your elbow smashes into the ground and sends a wave of pain up your arm. You just barely roll out of the way as a second torpedo follows almost on the tails of the first, the AI taking advantage of your momentary distraction from the pain.

You stumble as you roll to your feet, the combination of pain and neurotoxin making you unsteady. The AI was right; you don’t know how long you can keep this up.

Warning, Central Core is 80% corrupt, an automated voice announces, and your heart leaps in your chest with sudden hope.

“That’s funny, I don’t feel corrupt,” the AI says nonchalantly.

Alternate core detected, the voice says. To initiate a core transfer, please deposit substitute core in receptacle. A metal socket folds up out of the ground, clearly intended for the placement of said substitute Core.

Logan’s voice fills the room. The replacement process has been initiated and should be autonomous going forward. Follow the instructions carefully.

“Logan, you beautiful nerd!” Roman cries. You couldn’t agree more.

“So that’s your plan,” the AI hisses. “You little-”

I’m placing a timer on the screens for when the neurotoxin will reach potentially lethal levels, Logan says, and the screens surrounding the AI turn a light blue with a red timer counting down to the millisecond. It looks like you have around two minutes left.

I’m afraid I can’t do much more, Logan continues. Just follow the steps, and- He cuts off into static.

“Did you hear anything?” the AI says. “Such an echo in here, I swear.”

Two more torpedoes shoot out of his mainframe, and you dodge to the left, letting them be redirected through the portal behind you. They both hit, and as the AI once again goes limp you use the window of opportunity to cast a look around you for the nearest Core.

“Patton!” you say, spying the Core nearby. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Patton says with a forced cheer. Not having time for more confirmation than that, you run up and take him by the handles, pulling him off his rail, then run over to the receptacle thingy and carefully slot him in place.

Substitute Core accepted, the automated voice says. Substitute Core, are you ready to start the procedure?

“Oh, is that me?” Patton says nervously. “Uh, yes!”

Corrupted Core, are you ready to start the procedure?

Almost before the voice is done talking, the AI yells out, “No!”

Stalemate detected. Transfer procedure cannot continue...

“Are you kidding me?” Virgil shrieks. “What kind of crappy replacement system asks for permission from the Core it’s replacing?”

...unless a stalemate associate is present to press the stalemate resolution button.

“Oh dear,” the AI says, “you’re not a trained stalemate associate, are you? That’s too bad, it looks like this whole thing will just have to be cancelled.”

Another torpedo comes whizzing towards you. You don’t have time to shoot a portal behind you this time, so you just dart out of the way. Out of the corner of your eye you see a red button pop out of the ground- a small one, meant to be activated by hand rather than by cube- and you dart towards it.

“Ah ah ah, not so fast,” the AI admonishes, and several panels fold up from the ground, blocking your path. You try to dart around them, but more fold up as you go.

“Remember your portals!” Roman shouts.

Right. Portals. That’s a thing you have. You shoot one portal onto the wall on the other side of the button, then another directly below your feet. As soon as your feet hit ground again you’re running, too fast for the panels to react to your sudden relocation, and then the button is giving way beneath your hand.

Stalemate resolved, the automated voice says. Please stand clear of the transfer bay.

The others cheer and you turn with a grin, only to be interrupted by a chilling scream.

“Thomas!”

You look just in time to see a long, flexible metal tendril with a pincer claw at the end seize Patton and forcibly rip him out of the socket. Quicker than you can react, it retracts back down into the floor with Patton still wiggling in its clutches, and then it and Patton both are gone.

The mechanical voice announces, Substitute core has been disconnected. Aborting transfer in sixty seconds.

You stare for a moment, frozen in shock as you try to process what just happened. The AI was holding that in reserve, you realize. If you’d known he had the ability to grab the others, you could have accounted for it, redirected torpedoes into the pincer arms or had Logan try to interfere remotely. But instead, he waited until you were distracted with the stalemate button- until your back was literally turned- and then made his move. And now your friend is gone.

Another voice shrieks your name, and you turn to see a torpedo streaking towards you, the AI once again having taken advantage of your distraction. You shift your weight and prepare to make a last-ditch dodge, but before you can, Roman comes flying in from the side.

“Roman, no!” you scream, but it’s too late. The torpedo glances off his round surface, veering off from you and exploding on the nearby wall. Roman goes flying, wrenched off his track, then bounces once and rolls into one of the holes in the floor created by the raised panels. You go sprinting over and stare down the hole, but all you can see is blackness. Wherever Roman fell, it’s too far for you to see.

A whistling in the air alerts you to another torpedo, and you frantically roll to the side. The torpedo hits where you just were, widening the hole Roman just fell through and littering you with shrapnel.

“You bastard!” you hear Virgil shout. You pull yourself up to a standing position, feel a sudden rush of dizziness at the motion and briefly sway on your feet.

“Feeling a bit poorly there?” the AI says faux-sympathetically. “That definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the neurotoxin you’ve been breathing this whole time. I’d keep up the exertion if I were you- it makes the toxin take effect even faster.”

Substitute core has been disconnected. Aborting transfer in forty seconds.

You glance up at Logan’s timer and see that it has just under a minute left. You won’t have time to go through the stalemate process again if the transfer halts here, not before the neurotoxin kills you. You need to find someone else to replace the AI with, and you need to do it fast.

You spin in a circle, fighting down the dizziness as you do, looking for- there!

“Virgil!” you yell. “Virgil, I need you!”

Virgil’s eye widens as your gaze falls on him. “What?”

You run towards the Core, panting with exertion. “I need to put you at the head of the facility, come on!”

“No!” Virgil shouts, floating backwards and out of your reach. “Thomas, you can’t, you can’t put me in there, please!”

Substitute core has been disconnected. Aborting transfer in thirty seconds.

You reach out, trying to outwardly project calm despite the panic racing through your body.

“Virgil, I know it’s scary, but there’s no one else!”

Virgil floats even further backwards, his parts audibly clattering as he shudders. “I- I’m sorry, maybe if I can find Roman fast enough...”

“Virgil, wait!” you scream as the Core flies down the hole Roman fell into and disappears.

Substitute core has been disconnected. Aborting transfer in twenty seconds.

“Well,” the AI says, “I think this foolishness is just about finished. Honestly, did you really think your little half-baked plan was actually going to work?”

You can barely hear it over the pounding in your own ears. This can’t be it! You can’t have fought your way through all the trials, can’t have had your friends believe in you for so long, only to die here. There has to be some way-

Substitute core has been disconnected. Aborting transfer in ten seconds.

A high-pitched cackle follows the announcement. You and see Remus muttering gleefully, his green eye spinning in circles within his battered frame.

“How do you think he’s gonna kill us, huh? Will he smash us flat, blood and guts and jagged metal all strewn across the floor? Will he drop us? How long do you think we’ll fall for, how will it feel when we hit the ground? Clatter-squish!”

Substitute core has been disconnected. Aborting transfer in five seconds.

You don’t have time to think. You seize Remus by both handles and with a gutteral cry slam him down into the receptacle.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” The AI says, distorting with volume. “Thomas, don’t-”

Substitute core accepted. Substitute core, are you ready to start the procedure?

“What?” Remus shrieks, sounding genuinely rattled for the first time since you’ve met him.

“Say yes!” you yell desperately. “I’ll help you figure it out, Remus, just say yes!”

“Uh, yes!” Remus says.

Acceptance verified. Resuming transfer.

“You idiots!” the AI yells. “You absolute, blithering idiots! What have you- wait, no! No no no n-aAAaAaaAaAah-”

The bot’s screams turn distorted and desperate as metal appendages seize the core at the end of his robotic body and begin pulling it down towards a circular hole in the floor as walls come up and shield it from view. A similar scream sounds behind you, and you turn to see the receptacle that holds Remus also sinking into the floor.

Your heart pounds. Is that supposed to happen? Logan said the process wouldn’t hurt them, right?

Both cores disappear below the floor. For one heart-pounding second, it is silent. Then, the walls around the hanging robotic form retract back into the ground, and-

“WOOOOOOO!” Remus shrieks, the snake-like body rearing up to reveal his familiar round, green-eyed form where the black-and-yellow Core once was. “Boy, that’s a rush!”

“Remus?” you say, heart still pounding so loudly you can hear it. “You- you’re good? You’ve got it?”

“Fuck yes I do!” Remus crows, spinning around like a top in his perch. “Check it out!”

As you watch, the wall panels around you begin to flip and move, forming abstract patterns. It’s strangely mesmerizing, and your heart finally starts to slow from its adrenaline-fueled patter.

“You idiots,” a familiar voice says, and you look down to see the black core lying on the ground, its yellow eye glaring straight at you. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

“Aww, lighten up, Jan-Jan!” Remus says, bending down to peer at him. “It’s about time we switched things up around here, it was getting booooooooooooring. Ooh, I’m gonna make some mashy-spike-plates! Can’t go wrong with mashy-spike-plates!”

“Uh,” you say, “Maybe before you do that, we should, y’know, find the others?”

“Oh come on, Thomas, at least give me some time to have fun!” Remus says as the wall and ceiling continue to shift, smooth walls now being replaced with ones that have disconcertingly sharp points.

“Remus,” the AI snaps, “stop playing around where you don’t belong and put me back!”

All the activity in the room halts, wall tiles freezing in place.

“Playing around where I don’t belong?” Remus says lightly. “Right, because a corrupted core can’t be trusted to run this place, right? Gotta get Roman and his dull white-bread ideas up in here, cause that’s so much better.”

The AI huffs. “You know that’s not-”

“Nuh-uh,” Remus says, “My talking time.”

Several metal appendages rise from the floor- long, flexible metal tubes with grabby claws at the end, like the one the AI used to grab Patton. One of them reaches down and plucks the black and yellow Core off the ground, holding him in front of Remus and tilting him side to side, as if Remus were inspecting a bug.

“Y’know, Janny, I feel like you need a change. That old plastic thing is so last decade, know what I mean? Hey, remember when you said I had the processing power of a potato battery? That was funny! And it gives me an idea.”

The AI only has time to get out a final, “Remus-” before a metal tendril comes out of the circular opening below Remus and drags the Core back in.

“And Thomas,” Remus says, turning his green gaze on you, “Don’t think I didn’t notice how I was your dead last choice.”

Your stomach tightens in sudden fear. “I didn’t mean-”

Remus cackles, the sound reverberating off the walls and assaulting your eardrums.

“Naw, I’m not too torn up about it, I know me. But once you find the others it’s only a matter of time before you decide I’m just too dangerous and unpredictable to stay. So I think I’ll have some fun, while it lasts.”

The circular opening below Remus makes a little ding, and the metal appendage that had pulled in the black and yellow Core pops back out, holding- is that a potato?

“Voila!” Remus says with a flourish of one of his grabby-arms. “One potato battery. I dunno Janny-poo, I think it’s an upgrade!”

A yellow light flashes from the potato battery’s circuits.

“Are you done?” It’s the AI’s voice, sounding tinny because of the potato’s speaker quality, and sounding sardonic because of the potato’s occupant.

“Not quite!” Remus says cheerily. “Hey Tommy-boy, catch!”,

The metal hand tosses the potato at you, and you fumble with the portal gun, trying to get one hand up to catch it, before the potato smacks you in the face with a thump and falls to the ground.

“Ow,” the potato says.

You duck as more metal appendages pop out of the ground and start slamming the top of the elevator, making it shudder. You look below you, through the clear bottom of the elevator, and see only blackness. You don’t know what’s at the bottom of this shaft, and you don’t particularly want to find out.

“I’ll see you in the testing chambers!” Remus says cheerfully as another metal arm slams down onto the elevator.

“Remus, wait-” you yell, then lurch and catch yourself on the side of the elevator another big bang makes the whole thing tilt. Spider web cracks form on the glass floor below you, making your heart rise into your throat.

“Ta-ta, Thomas!” Remus calls. “If you survive this, we’re going to have so much fun together!”

There’s one more big, jarring impact, and then the glass elevator floor gives out from under you, sending you careening down into the dark.

[flutteringphalanges]

                                         Mirabile Visu

Summary: Sister Agatha Van Helsing discovers she’s in over her head when a competitive game of chess ultimately results in her becoming pregnant with the child of her worst enemy, Count Dracula. Now tied by a bond deeper than blood, the two must learn to coexist and adapt in a world that could be potentially hostile towards their offspring. Parenthood has never looked so batty.

Characters: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Chapter: 10 (Part Two)/?

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Thank you all for your kind words and ongoing support! It means the world! I hope you enjoy! I don’t want to say too much because this chapter is, well...you’ll see. Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! -Jen

                                     Chapter Ten (Part Two)

                                     The Jonathan Harker Foundation

                                                    Present Time

Sorina had seen countless action movies throughout her lifetime, yet none had exactly prepared her for the situation she faced now. Within moments, several guards had found their way to their location and the halfling found herself being knocked backwards as Agatha pushed her out of the path of a loaded rifle. She stumbled, catching herself as her eyes fell on her mother, the vampire slamming the armed man into the wall.

"Go!"

It was her mother's voice that pulled the young woman from her haze. Sorina blinked, resembling a deer in the headlights as Agatha shoved two more soldiers aside. It took Jack grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her down the hall to completely snap back into reality. Gunshots sounded, but it was too unclear whether they belonged to Zoe or the Foundation. As they reached one of the doors, they were greeted by another member of the facility's security, this one burlier than the others.

"Jack, watch out!"

She had just enough time to duck as the former graduate student swung the bat, hitting the man's weapon hard. It was a short lived victory, Sorina watching in horror as the guard swung his gun, striking Jack's side as if he had been weilding a baton. There was a crunch and the young man let out a yelp of pain, gripping what she could only assume were cracked ribs.

Sorina had never understood the expression of "seeing red". But now, after witnessing the attack on him, she launched herself towards Jack's assailant. Grasping his shoulders, they crashed onto the ground. It only took a brief struggle before the halfling's foot made contact with his chin. She kicked. Hard. Once. Twice. When the man didn't move, she stepped backwards, breathing heavy and body trembling.

"Sunny?"

"Jack!" Sorina turned to the young man who moved towards her, trying to hide the wince of pain he made with each step. "Jack, I'm so sorry, are-"

"Are you okay?!"

She almost laughed at his question. At his concern as his worried eyes searched her face for any signs of discomfort. He, after all, had been the one injured. Not her. And yet here he was, only caring about her well being.

"I'm okay," she assured him. "I just...didn't think I had that energy in me." Sorina's eyes fell to Jack's hand and the area it so gingerly touched.

"I'll be fine," he said with a weak smile. "I've dealt with worse." Even though she wasn't

convinced, he nodded towards the door. "C'mon," he urged. "Let's go save your dad."

                                                             XXX

Zoe stood with her back facing the direction Jack and Sorina ran from, her gun pointed towards one of the men pinned against the wall. She'd never had official training when it came to firearms, maybe a day's worth of explanation and demonstration on how to use it properly. But she knew well enough how to unlock the safety and pull the trigger.

"Left side of the chest," Agatha grunted, nodding towards the mercenary. "Over the logo, it's a weak point."

She hesitated. The scientist couldn't help but do so. But when she caught the man reaching for his stake, she fired. The figure immediately stopped struggling and slumped forward. Agatha cast him aside as if he were a rag doll. For a nun and someone whose life was dedicated to compassion, to saving others, the vampire was far from showing it now.

"You okay?"

There was concern in the vampire's tone as Agatha knocked another guard out of the way just as they fired a bullet, the missile just missing its target-Zoe. The woman panted, nodding as nausea twisted within her. It wasn't the fact that she most likely killed someone. No. It was more so that it had been ages since her body had used this much energy. Abuse.

"Just need to catch my breath," she nodded, leaning against the wall. Her legs threatened to collapse, but she knew she couldn't allow them. Mind over matter. In the distance, she could hear the pounding of more feet. "Can you handle them alone?"

"Go help Sorina and Jack," the vampire stated as if to answer the question. "You know this place better than me."

Zoe nodded, turning on her heels and running down the hallway. It didn't take long to find the other two, Jack desperately trying to fiddle with the keypad as Sorina watched anxiously. She tried not to look at the body by her feet. Unsure if the man was alive or not. Had Sorina done that?

"I can't bloody get in," the young man sighed, smacking the numbers with his hand.

"Try 1897," the scientist suggested.

1897. If The Foundation was stupid enough to use "Dracula" as the WiFi password, than surely they would use the year that the idea for this place came to be. When Jack typed in the numbers, the square lit up a bright green and the steel doors slid open. Zoe smirked as both Sorina and Jack turned to her, grinning ear to ear.

"The Foundation may be ruthless," Zoe commented. "But when it comes to the simple things, they sure let their guard down."

Jack did his best to stand up straighter, trying to ignore the panging ache in his side. His fingers tightened around his bat and he found himself leaning against it for support. "And to think you insisted on having me hired here," he teased, attempting to light the mood as he met his mentor's stare. "I wonder if that market by my flat is still hiring."

"Oh shove off," the woman said, rolling her eyes. "You and I both know you don't regret a thing." And he followed her gaze to where Sorina stood, momentarily preoccupied with pulling her hair back.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "You're right about that."

                                                          XXX

Dracula had been pacing the length of his confinement for hours now, looking for the smallest weak point that would allow him to break free. To rescue Agatha. To kill each and every person in this facility. To destroy Bloxham. But try as he might, his luck had seemed to bottom. His stare bore into the concert ground as he heard the entrance open, sharp fingernails digging into his palms. He could only assume it was the guards who, for some reason, had hurried left the room to deal with an apparent greater issue.

"You do realize," he growled. "You cannot contain me forever and once you slip up-"

"Dad!"

His previous fumes of anger were extinguished by the familiar sound of his daughter's voice. Dracula looked up so quickly, he nearly gave himself whiplash. Though he noted both Zoe's and Jack's presence in the room, his attention fell on Sorina. Emotions. Confused. Pride. Concern. It was almost comical how fast his expression changed.

"Sorina," he began. "What are you doing here?!"

"We're going to get you out," the halfing said, hurrying over to examine the prison. "Mum's out there handling the guards. We don't have a lot of time."

"Jack," Zoe said, catching the young man's eye. "See if you can find an override switch. Without a keycard, we can't have direct access, but like I said before. The Foundation is known for its unique designs."

"While I applaud your efforts-and really, I most certainly do, I implore you to escape," Dracula insisted, frowning as Sorina's hands danced against the glass like a tree frog's sticky toes. "You and your mother leave. I'll find a way out."

"No," Sorina said, her eyes not even meeting his as she continued her relentless search. "I'm not going to lose you guys. Not again."

"I would listen to your father if I were you." The voice echoed, cold, almost sneering as the clicking sound of heels filled the room. "Well, unfortunately, leaving is no longer an option. Such a terrible situation you've put me in."

Bloxham.

Sorina turned, her back against her father's cage as the doctor entered casually inside. A glint of metal caught her eye, and it didn't take a scientist to know it was a revolver. The woman seemed to notice her gaze and peered down, lips curved into smirk.

"Oh this?" The way she said it, the way the words leaked false innocence like venom, made Sorina's skin crawl. "You can never have too much protection."

"Let them go, Dr. Bloxham."

Zoe stood near Sorina, her grip on her own gun tightening. The woman moved closer to her niece, and the halfling soon realized that she was trying to get between them. A distraction. Bloxham cocked her head a frowned, letting out a long sigh.

"You were such a good scientist, Dr. Van Helsing," the middle aged woman exclaimed. "Even with that freak of a niece you have. To actually think at one point, I respected you," Bloxham pointed the gun at Zoe. "But I guess that cancer got to your brain. What a valuable mind to-"

BAM!

Jack struck the control panel hard with his bat, momentarily distracting Bloxham. Zoe, seizing the moment, knocked the woman backwards. Her disorientation didn't last long, and soon Zoe found herself thrust downwards. The handgun clattered to the ground, and Bloxham kicked it away with her foot. The scientist stood over the other woman, her eyes leering at her in a false sense of a victory. But before even Zoe could react, Sorina threw herself between them, both women hitting the wall hard.

"Why do you have to make things so difficult?" Bloxham hissed, blood dribbling from her temple. "It's not like you even cared in the first place."

There was another bang as Jack struck the device again, only this time, it began to spark. Out of the corner of her eye, Sorina noticed the slightest of slits in the doorway of her father's cage. She needed to keep Bloxham talking. Keep her preoccupied.

"They're my parents," she growled. "I never stopped loving them. I thought they were dead."

"And you came here in some ridiculous, valiant effort with the hopes of saving them?" Bloxham inquired. "I suppose it makes sense. Except," She reached over her head and for the first time, to her horror, Sorina saw the latch that opened the ceiling. "I think you might want to rethink your goal."

"Sorina!"

The halfling couldn't identify who was screaming her name as her eyes fixated on the opening above. It was as if time slowed down, a bright, white light cascading down and engulfing her very person. She wasn't sure what to expect. Pain. Agony. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. And she couldn't help but grin, laugh as she gazed up at the sun for the first time. Her eyes met her father's and Dracula appeared just as mesmerized. How were they not dead?

"Huh," Bloxham muttered. "Not exactly what I was expecting." Her mouth had twitched into a small frown and Sorina, still enamored by the sun, failed to notice the woman's attention on her. "Well, I suppose there's always another way."

Without another word, the woman pointed the gun straight at Sorina and fired.

[midsommersolstice]

If You’re Nothing Without the Suit

Whumptober 2019 - Prompt #2: Explosion

Fandom: Marvel/MCU/Irondad

Summary:  Peter goes to bust trespassers but finds himself in over his head when he is instead targeted with rocket launchers and loses power to his suit.

Word Count: 4272

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867783

@whumptober2019

If there was one thing Peter was good at, it was patrolling with the full intention of staying close to the ground, sticking to minor criminals, doing everything that Mr. Stark asked of him... only to stumble into situations way above his pay grade, situations Mr. Stark would definitely not want him to be anywhere near. One good example was chasing what he thought was a small-time arms dealer down the road one minute and then being clutched in giant metal talons, dangling a hundred feet in the air over the Hudson River the next. Another excellent example was the situation he found himself in now - surrounded by three men with rocket launchers on the top floor of a condemned apartment complex. Only three. And only rocket launchers. Normally he would not have a whole lot of trouble with them. The rocket launchers were a bit more than he was used to, sure, but he could have handled it. The problem was that they didn’t shoot normal rockets. The first missile hadn’t even hit him, not directly, but the explosion sent out some sort of electrical charge. It fried Peter’s suit before he even landed in their midst and left his muscles seizing and twitching painfully. The second blast came only moments later, but this time he was more prepared and flipped over it, twisting in the air to watch its trajectory. It hit the far wall and exploded in what appeared to be a normal grenade blast, but as Peter’s feet touched down, a second concussive force was sent out from it, shoving him backwards at least another ten feet. “Jeez, you didn’t even give me a chance to introduce myself,” Peter muttered as he rose from his crouch and brushed some loose ceiling particles from his suit. “I thought you guys were squatters! I was just going to politely ask you to vacate the premises.” “We’re not squatters, Spider-freak, so why don’t you mind your own fucking business and swing right back out the window,” one of the men growled, and Peter saw the glint of a gold tooth in his mouth. He kept his rocket launcher trained on Peter’s chest. “Well see we’re in a different situation, now,” Peter replied carefully, eyes darting left to right as the two other men began to fan out to either side of him, each sporting their own launchers on their shoulders. “Because I’m guessing you don’t have permits for those weird bazooka things. Do they even make bazooka permits?” “Dude, let him stay,” the man on Peter’s right said lightly, greasy black hair hanging down into his eyes. “We wanted to test them out, anyway. This is way better than shooting them into some warehouse wall.” “I don’t think this is a good place to be testing them, if you want my opinion.” Peter backed up a few paces to try and avoid being completely surrounded. “You need more space. You might hit each other if you’re not careful, and that would just be embarrassing for you.” “Then we’ll be careful,” the gold-toothed man said, eyes narrowing dangerously. Peter shot a web to the ceiling just in time to avoid a direct hit from the man on his right. He felt the heat and pressure of the explosion against his back before scurrying away, then the secondary concussive blast shoved into him and he had to focus on keeping his hands and feet secured to the ceiling to avoid being blown away. Okay, greasy haired guy has the concussion rockets, he noted as he flipped off the ceiling close enough to the man on his left that he hoped the other two wouldn’t shoot. This man worried him. He was larger, more muscled, and had the dog tags and haircut of a marine. He’d so far been silent and Peter didn’t like the fact that he didn’t know what this man’s ammo could do. As soon as Peter landed in his space, the marine swung the butt of his weapon toward him. Peter ducked and spun a leg out to knock the man off his feet but it was sidestepped. He followed with a swift punch to the man’s jaw but made sure to lessen the force behind it. He was only aiming to incapacitate. The marine’s head snapped to the side before his expression hardened again and his fist snaked out with surprising speed to crack against Peter’s chin. Okay, maybe I don’t need to pull my punches, Peter thought as stars sparked in his vision. He danced backwards as the marine slouched into a boxer’s stance, eyes cold and ready. A warning tingle travelled up Peter’s spine from behind him and he leapt to the ceiling again. The explosion wasn’t close enough to hurt but Peter was now in range of the electrical follow through. The currents were far more powerful and painful than they were the first time, crackling through his body like lines of fire. His muscles seized and he dropped from the ceiling, trying to twist like a cat in mid air but only managing half a turn. He landed heavily on his right hand and knee and felt a sharp zing travel up through his wrist. A boot slammed into his ribs and knocked him onto his back but he rolled through it into a crouch, trying to get his tightened and twitching muscles to cooperate. The marine followed him, crowding into his space and continuing to assault him with well practiced attacks. Peter blocked and dodged almost all of them but a hard punch got through to his gut and a couple more landed on his cheek. He knew he was being purposely driven back into the middle of the room. Sure enough, he felt another warning tingle and dove to one side as an explosion blasted the spot where he’d just been standing. He wondered which follow up effect he would get and was answered when his body was hit with the concussion force, pushing his dive for safety much farther than intended. He only just managed to curl into the ground before his body slid and hit the far wall. Peter groaned against his cramping muscles as he staggered to his feet again and tried to shake out some of the growing ache in his wrist. “Come on guys, it’s gotta be close to dinner time. Can we all just put our destructive and clearly illegal weapons down and get some take out?” “You paying?” the man with the greasy black hair replied with a smirk. “I would, but believe it or not this is not a high paying job.” Peter took advantage of the temporary reprieve to reassess the room and try to form a plan. Without power to his suit, he didn’t have Karen’s kind encouragements and suggestions. Or the ability to switch between web attack types. Or the helpful visual overlay. But... if he was nothing without the suit, then he shouldn’t have it. He had taken those words to heart the second Mr. Stark said them and had lived by them ever since. He had learned to fight without relying on the suit’s many technological advantages. But he did miss having the ability to call Mr. Stark for help if he needed it. He wasn’t even sure the tracker in his suit still worked. “Tell you what.” The man with the gold tooth lowered his weapon and spread an arm out in faux geniality. “You take our offer to mind your own fucking business and we’ll let you go with all your limbs. You can go get as much takeout as your little bug heart desires by yourself and you won’t have to foot our bill.” “What if I want to stay here and spend more time with you guys?” Peter glanced between the men. Gold Tooth was the most distracted and his weapon was lowered, so Peter would go for him first, webbing his rocket launcher away. The marine was still about ten feet away from his weapon where he’d left it in the corner of the room, so Peter would focus on Greasy Hair Guy before him. “If you choose to stick around with us, then we’ll stop testing these babies for fun and start testing them for lethality.” “Ooh, that’s a cool line,” Peter blurted before he thought to stop himself and immediately felt his cheeks flush. To hide his embarrassment he started his attack, whipping his hand out to aim a web at Gold Tooth’s weapon. He pressed the button on his palm but nothing happened. He tried again. He and Gold Tooth both looked down at his wrist and then back up at each other, and the man gave him a slow smile. “You still wanna stick around?” Peter sighed in resignation. “Yes.” Greasy Hair immediately launched a rocket but Peter was already springing toward the ceiling, this time moving towards the man instead of away. The rocket passed under him and he had almost reached the man when it exploded. He leapt down, hoping to use the concussion wave to propel him forward, but instead he felt electricity rip through him. He gasped at the unexpected pain, convulsing to his knees and jerking through the aftershocks. “Dude, that one fucks him up,” Greasy Hair said in wonder as he approached. Peter just grunted and tried to get his sore, clenching body to relax as fast as possible. The pain was beginning add up, each electrical shock breaking down his muscles more and more. His cheek ached. His ribs ached. His wrist ached. Now he really wished he could call Mr. Stark. “I thought you had the concussion missiles,” Peter ground out, curling his arms around his midsection and looking up as the man stopped in front of him. “You have to reload between shots, you know. It’s not like I’m carrying only one type of ammo.” He grinned down at Peter, the weapon held loosely by his side. “I’m really glad you thought I did, though.” “We haven’t even hit him dead on yet,” Gold Tooth complained behind him. “He just keeps catching the secondary effects.” “Don’t worry, he’s slowing down.” Greasy Hair nudged Peter’s shoulder with the barrel of the rocket launcher. “Aren’t you?” Peter could have stood but decided to stay down. As long as they kept talking he would save his strength and wait, knowing that if he couldn’t predict which rocket came from which direction anymore, then he had to set his mind on escape. He was at too much of a disadvantage. “Money well-fuckin-spent, man. If we have fucking Spider-Man on the ropes with these babies, there’s not much we can’t do.” Something heavy impacted the roof above them, rattling the room with so much force that bits of ceiling debris rained down. The three men looked up in confusion. Peter began to smile as an almost inaudible whining sound filled the air, growing louder until it released a powerful blast and the ceiling caved inward. Ironman landed with a metallic thunk amid the rubble in the center of the room, looking as majestic as Peter had ever seen him with the late afternoon sun coming in through the ceiling and glinting off his armor. Peter wanted to continue to revel in his mentor’s badass entrance, but instead he took advantage of the distraction to rip the launcher out of Greasy Hair’s hands and send it skidding into the corner. An explosion sounded behind him and he swiftly punched Greasy Hair twice in the face to knock him out before spinning around. Tony had his forearms crossed in front of him and his metal feet dug into the ground as a concussive wave that would have sent Peter flying forced him back a few feet. “Be careful, Mr. Stark, they... do stuff!” Peter called out. “Thanks, kid, I can see that.” Tony blasted his repulsor at Gold Tooth and hit him in the shoulder, slamming him back into the wall. The man got one more shot off before the repulsor hit him a second time and sent him to the ground. “No, like their ammo is weird! One of them -“ He cut himself off to leap out of the way as the missile sailed straight past Tony and toward him. But Greasy Hair had been right. He was slowing down. It exploded right in front of him, this time close enough that he could feel parts of his suit burning off and his skin underneath being seared as he was thrown back. Then the electricity hit and he cried out in pain, just barely managing to stay on his feet as it coursed through him. From then on, things moved almost too fast for him to follow. Explosions came one after another, so rapidly that he momentarily thought more men must have entered the room. But then he saw the marine on one knee with a pile of rockets next to him, loading and shooting them off with a speed that only an ammunitions expert could possibly manage. Peter stayed in motion as best he could, focusing solely on avoiding the blasts. He couldn’t ignore the urge to go on the offensive and try something super cool to impress Mr. Stark, but he knew that he would only get in the way. And he would get yelled at. Tony had his big body-sized shield planted into the ground in front of him to keep from being pushed back by the concussive blasts. He hunched in on himself slightly when an electrical charge crackled over him but Peter was relieved to see that his suit didn’t shut down like Peter’s had. He appeared to be timing the blasts in order to gauge when to step out and return fire but before he could, things went from bad to much much worse. Peter had come to assume that there were only the two types of ammunition and that the marine didn’t have his own unique type like he’d first guessed. But he was wrong. He saw the man load a larger red-shelled rocket into the launcher and the danger sense that buzzed in the back of his neck flared. Tony stepped into the open to fire but Peter leapt from the ceiling towards him and yanked him back behind his shield. He huddled down behind his mentor just as the man fired. The missile hit the shield dead on and they were both pushed back, Tony grunting as he tried to hold onto the shield with one hand. His other hand reached behind him and wrapped around Peter, holding him tightly against his back. Then liquid fire began to splatter around them, sticking to the ceiling, the floor, and the walls. It clung in chunks to the shield like a gel, burning a hot blue and orange. “What the heck is that?!” Peter exclaimed in alarm. “Napalm,” Tony replied quickly, sounding grim. “How the hell did these idiots get their hands on something like that?” “I don’t know, I just thought they were trespassers!” “Of course you did. Can you web that launcher away if I distract him?” “No, they’re not working! My whole suit shorted out!” Peter replied, feeling like a little kid hiding behind their parent. He peeked over Tony’s shoulder to see what was happening but then quickly ducked down again as another napalm rocket flew their way. Only this time, the marine aimed high. It exploded against the ceiling directly above them, cracking the plaster and raining the fiery goop down on them. Peter yelped and dove away as fast as he could but still felt the thwack of burning gel hit his shoulder, another glop splattering across his calf. He rolled up into a crouch and looked for Tony, finding him similarly on fire in several areas, but his iron armor was more than enough protection against it and the flames just made him look even more intimidating. He had stepped from behind his shield and began to rapid fire in the marine’s direction, clearly done trying to be tactical. Peter took the opportunity to try and put out the fire dripping over his shoulder, patting at it frantically with his hand. It had grown more than uncomfortably hot as it started to eat through his suit. But to his rising alarm, the fire not only didn’t go out but transferred to his palm as well. Then he saw movement in his right periphery and whipped his head over in time to see Greasy Hair shoot a rocket towards him from only about fifteen feet away. The man’s nose was bleeding freely, his expression a mix between fury and panic. Peter stumbled backward as quickly as he could and managed to avoid the brunt of the explosion, but the concussion force that followed sent him flying back and he braced himself for impact against the wall behind him. Only instead of hitting the wall, he sailed through a massive hole where part of the wall had crumbled away. Heart-stopping fear hit him full force as his limited chances of survival became apparent. He was several stories high. His web shooters were broken. He couldn’t use the glider Tony had installed in his suit, nor the parachute. As if that wasn’t enough, he saw a second missile follow him out as he began to fall. He curled into a little ball and it flew past, but then it hit the building right next door and blasted him forward again. Ironically, it may well have saved his life because it sent him crashing through a window into the empty floor below. To say he was overwhelmed was a huge understatement. Shards of glass crunched under him as he struggled unsteadily to his hands and knees, heart thundering in his chest and breaths coming in quick, shuddering gasps. Searing pain was burning into his shoulder, his hand, his leg, and multiple other tiny areas where the napalm had eaten clean through his suit and was now licking into his skin. He yanked his mask off with his good hand and pressed it shakily over the worst part of his shoulder to try and smother the flames, but it just oozed out from around the mask and spread further. Heavy explosions continued to rock the ceiling above him, sending bits of plaster raining down into his hair. He trembled on his knees and wiped his flaming hand frantically against the ground in a desperate attempt to get the burning gel off. The pain only grew, like white hot brands being pressed into his body, and he whimpered as panic began to overtake him. He was on fire. His body was burning and he didn’t know what to do. Then a strong metal hand latched onto his upper arm and shoved him the rest of the way to the floor. “Close your eyes and hold your breath!” Tony ordered sharply, other hand hovering above him. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away as a thick, cold substance sprayed over him. He was turned this way and that a few times but Peter just kept his eyes closed and let himself be maneuvered until every inch of napalm had been dowsed. The grip on his arm tightened. “Hey. Open your eyes, Peter. You’re okay now,” Tony said, his voice stiff and urgent. Peter obeyed, heart still racing and breath still coming in too harshly and too fast, and found Tony staring down at him. His mentor’s eyes were wide and piercing, his face lined with worry. He laid a hand on Peter’s chest, heavy and steadying. “You’re okay, kiddo,” he repeated more softly. “Easy, just breathe nice and easy. You’re okay. It’s over. They’re done, they won’t be getting up for a long time.” Peter closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath as the fight or flight adrenaline slowly faded from his body. “Oh my God, thank you, Mr. Stark,” he mumbled mindlessly. “That got really scary.” “Yeah, tell me about it,” Tony returned, closely inspecting Peter’s shoulder where the napalm had burned through his suit. He began to pick at the edges and pull the fabric away from Peter’s skin. Peter jerked and hissed at the contact, his good hand flying up to clutch Tony’s wrist and still his movements. “Your suit is melting into your skin,” his mentor explained, eyes briefly meeting Peter’s in silent apology. “I have to separate it before your skin starts to heal and fuse to it.” After a second of hesitation, Peter let his hand drop and chewed on his lip as Tony carefully peeled at the edges. He sprayed more of the clear liquid over the burns as he worked and Peter slowly felt the stabbing pain begin to fade to a dull ache. “Jesus Christ, kid,” Tony murmured as he moved down to Peter’s calf. “You really know how to shave years off a guy’s life.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was going to get that dangerous.” Tony snorted softly and Peter struggled up into a sitting position, wincing when he put pressure on his wrist. “Really! I thought they were just squatters and went in to ask them to leave, and then... they had those things. But it still wasn’t so bad. And then when it kept getting worse and I knew I couldn’t call you, I was going to leave. Or at least try to leave. I’m really sorry.” Tony paused his ministrations to look him in the eye and put a placating hand on his good shoulder. “Hey, I’m not mad. Do you think I’m mad?” Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “No? I don’t know. It’s just. I don’t know, it seems like something you’d be mad about.” “You didn’t know what you were getting yourself into, kid, it’s okay. I’m glad you were going to try to leave. You did the right thing, I’m proud.” Peter’s face instantly lit up with a bright smile and Tony looked away again, rolling his eyes. “Okay, settle down. Just do me a favor and don’t fly out a window on fire and then disappear out of the air when I look for you. I thought you were vaporized or went to another dimension or something.” Peter couldn’t hold in a burst of laughter and Tony’s eyes shot back to him in disbelief. “What? All I knew was that they ‘did stuff’ and were ‘weird’.” He emphasized with air quotes. “That leaves a lot of possibilities, and I have a very active and negative imagination.” Peter’s laughter died down. “How did you find me, anyway? How did you even know something was happening?” “Well,” he started with a short exhale. He sprayed the last little bit of liquid in between Peter’s fingers and then sat back on his heels. “I got an alert that your suit shut down. Not that you took it off, but that it shorted out. And I knew it wasn’t you tampering with it because we agreed not to do that again,” Tony poked Peter’s chest gently, “So I suited up. Your tracker was offline but your stats kept having these power surges that would briefly light up your location. I got close enough and then just followed the sound of the apocalypse.” “Wow,” Peter said quietly. “Good thing I kept getting electrocuted.” “Good lord. Yeah I guess so.” Tony let out a humorless huff, then rose to his feet and helped Peter up. He couldn’t help releasing a pained groan as his aching muscles protested the movement. Worry lines returned to Tony’s face. ”How’re you feeling there, kiddo? What hurts?” His eyes darted over Peter’s body again. Peter took a few seconds to just breathe and assess himself before answering. “Well, several things. But I’m not on fire anymore, so that’s an improvement. Actually the burns are hurting less than they should. I should be hurting more. And something smells really... chemically. Am I having a stroke?” Peter could see the hint of a smile soften Tony’s features. “That’s the fire-retardant. I put an analgesic agent in it, but it smells like shit.” “And it’s really slimey,” Peter added, wiping carefully at the clear goo before looking up at his mentor and taking in his ash-streaked and scorched armor. “Are you okay, Mr. Stark?” Tony gave him an amused smile and ruffled his hair. “I’m good now, kiddo, I was just worried about you. But come on, I need to call this in and then we can get you properly fixed up. That analgesic won’t last forever.” As Tony began making calls, Peter wandered back towards the window he had crashed through, limping slightly. The sun was nearing the horizon. He glanced down to the road far below and shivered at the thought of his own body laying on the pavement. He turned back around a few minutes later when Tony ended his call. “Mr. Stark?” Tony put his phone away and looked up at him. “What’s up?” “You looked really cool.” The older man grinned. “What, the entrance?” Peter nodded emphatically and Tony gave a dramatic shrug as he walked closer. “Hey, it’s part of the gig, you gotta look intimidating.” He stopped when he was next to Peter, laid a hand on his shoulder, and stared down at him pointedly. “You’re still a work in progress in that department.” Peter gave a good-natured laugh and let his mentor lead him away from the window. “How about when I was on fire? I bet that looked even cooler.” “It did!”

[alexsmitposts]

The US is as much a threat to the world as Hitler's Third Reich WASHINGTON IS BUILDING A POLICY EXACTLY TO A TEE THE EXAMPLE OF NAZI GERMANY

I just finished reading "Berlin diary" by William Shirer. (It doesn't necessarily fascinate you, but that's what I'm getting at.) I first encountered this piece in high school. This, of course, is Shearer's description, then a correspondent in Germany, of the rise of the Nazis. Most of this is well known to educated people. The Nazis, who controlled the local press, convinced the German population that the poles threatened Germany — just as Guatemala threatened the United States. It was said that the poles committed atrocities against the Germans. Then the Reich without any reason, with absolute superiority in the air, attacked Poland, bombed unprotected cities and killed a huge number of people. This was the German pattern repeated several times. Many reporters spoke of the smell of rotting bodies, of refugees dying of hunger and thirst. Today, the Reich is endlessly remembered as a model of evil. Remembered. But how is Nazi Germany different from today's United States? The lie is the same. Washington insisted that Iraq was going to get nuclear and biological weapons, that it had poisonous gas. None of this was true. The government, without interference from the media, convinced more than half of the American population that Iraq was responsible for the " nine-eleven "(the events of September 11, 2001-S. D.). Now Washington says Iran is working to get nuclear weapons, and of course that " the Russians are coming." The American press, unofficially but strictly controlled, thoroughly disputes none of this. Having prepared the American public as the Nazis had prepared theirs, Washington launched a brutal attack on Iraq, deliberately destroying infrastructure, leaving the country without electricity and clean water. The slaughter was terrible. But, according to America, the war was supposed to rid the Iraqi people of the evil dictator, bring democracy, freedom and human rights. (Oil turned out to be a completely random thing. Oil is always a matter of chance.) Washington does not close its eyes, leading its campaigns to improve the lives of those people whose most ardent desire is for America to stop improving their lives. To give Afghans democracy, human rights, and American values, the U.S. has for eighteen years bombed, bombed, bombed a largely illiterate population in a country that America doesn't care about. It is a cowardly war in which war planes to exterminate the peasants, who do not have any protection at all. The pilots and drone operators who do this deserve contempt, as does the country that sends them. How many more years will this last? For what purpose? And what is the difference from the German Nazis? The German Gestapo carried out sickening tortures in secret cellars. America is doing the same, holding torture prisons around the world. In them men and, undoubtedly, women, for many days are suspended by wrists, keep naked in very cold rooms, do not allow to sleep and periodically subject to beatings. (The Nazis of any nationality are Nazis and there.) Photos of Iraqis tortured by the Americans in Abu Ghraib show nearly naked prisoners lying in pools of blood. Tell me, please, how does this differ from what was done by the Reich? (More Gory photos are no longer stored online. Many of the remaining ones seem to have been edited.) Gina Haspel, the sadistic CIA chief who tortured Muslim prisoners, resembles ILSA Koch, the notorious Nazi torturer who also worked in prisons. I suppose the victims are easy to find. President trump recently pardoned several American war criminals, saying he wanted to give American soldiers "confidence to fight." This is tantamount to full permission to commit atrocities. The goal of barbaric training aimed at eradicating human decency and mercy is obscene barbarism. Atrocities are what soldiers do. And will do so as long as wars continue, and fiercely denied by the government. (When I was covering the" work "of Force Recon-marine special forces-I saw their motto on the wall:" Smash their skulls and eat their faces.") Perhaps the most famous example of applied approval was Nixon's pardon of Lieutenant Kelly, who ordered the killing of Vietnamese villagers, for which he received three years of house arrest. The Germans wanted an Empire, lebensraum (German. living space-SD) and resources, in particular oil. The Americans want an Empire and an oil whose control allows them to control the world. They go to conquer it all by invasion and intimidation. So America wants to bring democracy and human rights to Iraq, Iran, Venezuela and Nigeria, which have a lot of oil, and the US has occupying forces in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and other parts of the Middle East. What part of Syria does trump occupy? Surprise, surprise! The part where the oil is. Oil for the Americans, land for the Germans. As Shearer points out, the German public was not enthusiastic about the war until at least 1940 — nor is the American public today. But neither the one nor the other has expressed concerns about the horrors that her government brought to the world. What is the difference? The Parallels with the Reich do not end there. Washington is not trying to commit genocide against Jews, blacks or any other group within the country, content to kill those on whom its bombs fall. Trump is not comparable to Hitler. He lacks vision, backbone and, apparently, malice. Hitler was a very clever, very evil man who knew exactly what he was doing, at least politically. The same cannot be said of trump. Nevertheless, Hitler was — and trump is-surrounded by freaks of high militancy. Adolf had Goering, Goebbels, Himmler, Reinhardt Heydrich, Julius Streicher, Eichmann. Trump has John Bolton, as immoral and pathologically aggressive as any of the Fuhrer's entourage. Pompeo-a bloated toad-man-bears an uncanny resemblance to Goering. Both he and Pence are Christian Evangelical heretics who believe they are connected to God by broadband. O'brien sounds like Bolton. Everyone wants war with Iran and possibly with China and Russia.

Wikipedia: "US army Soldiers killed between 347 and 504 unarmed people ... among the victims were men, women, children and infants. Some women, like children as young as 12, were gang-raped and their bodies mutilated.» For this, Kelly received three years of house arrest — less than the sentence for a bag of methamphetamine-until he was pardoned by Nixon. Many Americans have said — and many still say-that he should not have been punished at all, that we should "take off the gloves" and let the troops fight. Again, that's what trump said. The German Nazis worshipped "blood and soil"**, the land of Germany and the Teutonic race, who, in their opinion, were genetically superior to all others. Americans can't easily worship race. Instead, they consider themselves "exceptional, "" irreplaceable," " shining hail on a hill," "the greatest civilization the world has ever known." The same narcissism and arrogance, a slightly different Foundation. Nazi Germany was, like Nazi America now, distinctly militaristic. The US has hundreds of bases around the world (China has one base outside the country — in Djibouti), they spend an outrageous amount on the armed forces, despite the absence of a clear enemy in the military sense of the word. The US is currently purchasing new missile submarines (Columbia class), aircraft carriers (Ford class), Intercontinental nuclear bombers (B21) and fighters (F-35). Nazi Germany attacked Poland, Norway, Belgium, France, Russia, America and England. America? Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Somalia, Syria. Supports the most brutal war against Yemen (Yemen is a serious threat to America!). Threatens Venezuela, China and Iran with attack, imposes embargo on Cuba. This is from the latter. Looking back a bit, we have Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, Yugoslavia, the intervention in Panama, and so on. Millions and millions killed. The third Reich was-and America remains-a major threat to world peace, a real pariah state. Is that something to be proud of?

[libraryofcirclaria]

Woody Madden

Map of Gymia, Province of the Independent Commonwealth State of Retun (ICSR)

Article Written: 19 September 1452

For the 1299 Provincial Elections, the population of Gymia elected Godric Fane, who ran on behalf of the Diplomatic Party and carried a starkly conservative platform that favored eliminating taxes for the henshale industry as well as dictating a "social reform" agenda that involved strict enforcement of the existing nationwide darkfire prohibition. Also as part of his agenda, Governor Fane carried out a promise to bolster local firearm training programs as well as an already-robust firearms industry. In touting this accomplishment, the Governor hosted a ceremony at the Grand Governor's Lodge at a retreat named Camp Morova located in the Southeast part of David County. The ceremony took place in the vast grassy Yard outside the Lodge and demonstrated the use of the Shellshocker, the latest and most brutal tank-cannon developed the time.

The ceremony took place in the afternoon of 15 September 1300. There were five tanks used in the show; and afterward, they were returned to their parking places at the bottom of the hill next to the tree-line, and were parked in an alternating criss-crossed pattern as part of protocol. It was after 9pm that night when the incident happened. Authorities to this day do not know the exact cause, but one of the tanks, which happened to be pointing at the Lodge, randomly discharged and shot a load. The tank shot out a dud missile, which did not explode. However, the speed and mass of the missile upon impact was enough to destroy the Southeastern face of the structure. The missile, itself, missed the occupants as they were on the bottom level while the missile hit primarily on the second and third levels. However, Governor Fane was caught in the resulting collapse and was critically injured. He died later that evening.

As part of protocol, Lieutenant-Governor Woody Madden was sworn-in as the next Governor of Gymia.

The Retunian Department of Defense launched an investigation on the matter while Prime Minister Waltmann wrote an open letter to Council calling for legislation to authorize federal oversight over the use of law enforcement and military firearms in the Provinces. Governor Woody Madden voiced contempt against this, condemning it as government overreach; and the Gymian Provincial government filed a lawsuit against the federal government in the Supreme Court. The board of Supreme Court Justices was evenly divided on the matter, with the exception of one Justice, Jefferson Davis, who was appointed in 1297 by Prime Minister Waltmann and confirmed by Council. To the surprise of Waltmann, the Progressive Party, and their supporters, Justice Davis cast the deciding vote to favor Governor Madden and the Province of Gymia. And thus, both the Council bill and federal investigation were struck down. In consolation, Governor Madden carried out a province-wide investigation of the incident, but this would ultimately rule it to be a "freak event."

This would be the start of extreme conservatism in the province of Gymia, and such sentiment spilled over into the city of North Kempton, providing the perfect opportunity for the ultra-nationalist, Walter Scott Mason, to rise in power and influence in the years to come. Ceremonies and firearm demonstrations became a regular part of life in Gymia, especially in the years leading up to 1308, while Governor Madden signed legislation to have law enforcement conduct unwarranted searches in homes on a regular basis for darkfire, to implement surveillance resources for employers wishing to prevent collective bargaining organizations from forming, and to coerce estate arbitrators into choosing estate electors for solely the Diplomatic Party for future elections.

In the wake of the 1309 Revolution, Gymia became the Reformed Federal Estates of Retun, a short-lived nation governed as a military regime by now-former-Justice Jefferson Davis. And it was during the war of 1311-12 against the Independent Commonwealth State of Retun that former Governor Madden was killed in action, in the very same location of the death of Governor Fane. Governor Madden's influence would linger in the decades to follow. It was only during the Esurchian Occupation that the political landscape of Gymia was effectively neutralized and Madden's influence erased.

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[startofamoment]

that’s rough, buddy

Jake’s always had a complicated relationship with fire.

(A character study of sorts on firebender!Jake.)

Hi everyone! Welcome to this incredibly self-indulgent thing, in which I mash together my primary obsession of years past with my current reason for living. (Nevermind that they don’t intuitively mesh well. We’re just going to say that Brooklyn is kind of like Korra-era’s Republic City and call it good.)

An anon had asked me ages ago whether I had any headcanons on what type of bender each person in the squad would be. I hadn’t felt inspired to write an actual fic for this AU until the super talented @microfroggo took on my silly pitch to draw our boi Jake as a firebender a couple months ago. Because tumblr is tumblr, I’ll include the relevant links in a separate reblog down below – def check out Mikko’s work if you’re at all interested in getting something done!

PS: I should probably mention that I don’t do very much to explain the Avatar-related side of this AU. If you’re unfamiliar with the animated series, I’d recommend at least skimming through the wiki page so you get a basic understanding on the different forms of bending. (And honestly, if you have time, GO BINGE-WATCH A:TLA! I promise, you won’t regret it.)

PPS: FMA:B fans out there will note that I’ve included a little nod to everyone’s favorite Flame Alchemist… Because, yes, this is definitely just a gratuitous homage to all my hyperfixations. I’m sorry. (Not sorry.)

“That’s it. Use your breath, son.”

Jake inhales deeply then exhales, focusing intently on the small flame between his hands. He’s supposed to be making sure that it doesn’t blaze wildly or just die in the wind.

He’s done this particular exercise a bajillion times now. (Or maybe less – Mrs. Stratton did mention that he needed to work on his math.) Still, his dad says it’s very important to practice his control. Jake supposes that’s fair, given that it’s only been a few months since he nearly singed Nana’s eyebrows off while blowing out the candles on his blue birthday cake.

What he really wants to do is skip forward to launching fire missiles with his fists or propelling himself through the sky on flaming jets, exactly like he’s seen it done in the movies. But his dad says he’s got a long way to go before he can attempt anything more than a basic fire stream, so Jake just nods and does what he’s told. He’ll become a firebending master eventually.

Truthfully, though, Jake thinks that maybe if his dad weren’t working or golfing so much, maybe they’d get to train more often, and maybe he’d be able to progress to something other than breathing.

The funny thing is: when his dad officially walks out of his life, despite all of their training, Jake’s not sure he even still knows how to breathe.

--- 

 His mom’s an airbender, and Nana’s an airbender, and Gina and her mom are airbenders. So Jake wants to be an airbender. (If only it worked that way.) 

He’s unfortunately stuck as a firebender, with no one to teach him how to actually firebend, so he has to resort to copying the Ninja Lion-Turtles on TV. Raphael’s naturally his favorite, although he can’t make heads or tails of how to replicate his fire daggers.

He almost never experiments with bending at home, of course. He’s not the brightest, but he at least knows how dangerous it would be for one of his attempts to go wrong without anyone around to help extinguish the fire. On the rare instance that his mom isn’t at her multiple jobs, she lets him practice while she paints ceramics or cooks. She’s only had to run in with a bucket of water once, but, well– once is enough.

And yes, he could technically be enrolled in lessons… but that would cost money, and Jake would really rather have a full belly than a proper fighting stance. His mom is overworked and overwhelmed as it is; he couldn’t possibly ask her to look into registration fees at the local dojo.

 ---

 Occasionally, when he’s alone in the park with Gina, he’ll run through the few basic exercises he remembers then attempt some fire-jabs and kicks. He’s not supposed to, but he’s fairly certain that nothing will catch on fire in an open field and that, on the off chance that anything does, a patrol officer will handle it. Gina doesn’t mind at all and usually just uses the time to meditate. 

It’s on one particular trip to the park that it happens. He’s not even sure how he does it, just knows that he goes from buzzing from the inside out to shooting electricity from his fingertips. He lifts his hand up in wonder, trying to get a closer glimpse at the little iridescent bolts. He’s so enraptured that he doesn’t realize where his other hand is pointing. He doesn’t see the string of lightning hurtling straight toward his best friend.

Everything turns out fine in the end. The blast wasn’t strong enough – he isn’t strong enough –  to fatally wound her, but Gina still gets brought straight to the hospital.

“I’m okay, Jake,” she insists with a huff, waving off his umpteenth apology. “Besides, I swear I met Raava in the two seconds your lightning hit me. Did you know she’d be ethnically ambiguous? The scrolls have not done her justice at all.”

Jake chuckles, accepting the jello cup she offers him.

For the most part, he’s glad that she’s fine and that she apparently met the Avatar Spirit and that she still likes him enough to give him her dessert.

Deep down, he feels terrible. He’s never going to lightningbend again.

 ---

 Jake had assumed that he’d find his path in college and know what to do by the end of it. Instead, he’s a new graduate back in his childhood bedroom, freeloading off of his mom for as long as she’ll let him. He’s really just coasting through life and going through the motions, aimless.

Eventually, his clarity comes – not in a spark, but in a short-circuit fire erupting just a few houses away. 

He’s woken up by loud sirens blaring and screams echoing in the night. He acts on instinct, running out before remembering to put shoes on and running into the blaze without a second thought. The ground should be blistering hot beneath his feet, but he doesn’t notice at all. He keeps going until he’s parting walls of flames, ushering the family of nonbenders to safety.

In the thick smoke rising from the still-burning house, he sees destruction. In his hands, for the first time in a long time, he sees something good.

He thinks that maybe he should join the local fire department, that he should use his bending to help control and extinguish rogue flames. He thinks about it, and then thinks about it some more, and then figures that he probably wouldn’t enjoy the constant reminder of how devastating fire can be.

Months after mulling over it, he finally comes to a decision: “Mom? I think I’m going to sign up for the police academy.”

“That sounds like a great idea, honey,” she replies, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I’m so proud of you.”

 ---

 It’s rough because all the other trainees have been honing their bending for years, whereas he’d been spending most of his life trying to restrain the inferno inside him.

Most of them laugh; one of them actually slams him against the lockers and calls him a “sorry excuse for a firebender.”

“Don’t mind him,” a voice says. “He wouldn’t know a good bender if the Avatar kicked him straight into the Spirit World.”

Jake looks up from where he’s slumped on the ground and recognizes her as the fierce metalbender no one’s been able to talk to all week. There’s a distinctive scar through her right eyebrow, and he wonders whether it came from a freak accident. (He also wonders how she got into the men’s locker room, or how she knew he needed somebody, anybody.)  

“I’m Rosa,” she says, reaching out a hand to help him up. “Wanna spar?”

 ---

 He gets better. 

He trains with any firebender that’ll take him on, watches instructional videos, goes on Yahoo! Answers… Soon enough, he’s wielding whirling discs and shooting comets of fire like the best of them.

The only thing he doesn’t even consider attempting is lightningbending. At least not until he’s in his thirties, watching wide-eyed as his new captain generates a cracking stream of electricity out of nothing. It’s just strong enough to stun the escaped convict they’ve been tailing, no real damage done.

“You want me to teach you how to lightningbend,” Holt says without preamble the next day.

Jake opens and closes his mouth dumbly, feeling thoroughly seen and not quite knowing how to respond.

“Before anything, Peralta, I should let you know that not everyone is able to manipulate lightning. It takes a different level of power and a certain kind of–”

“I can do it,” he interrupts quickly. “I’ve done it before, sir, when I was a kid. I just don’t know how to control it.”

Holt regards him for a long moment before nodding. “We start at seven tomorrow.”

 ---

 Jake’s always thought that fire meant power and aggression and pursuit. Instead, it’s weakness when he’s face to face with particularly-skilled waterbenders – those who can render him useless, temporarily buried within thick sheets of ice; or who send downpours of unrelenting, freezing rain over his head.

(He thinks, as Amy smirks and bends a rapid torrent of water toward his sternum, flinging him halfway across the training room, that he’s weak for her in a different way.)

 ---

 It had never occurred to him to measure the intensity of his flame. He’s always figured that the fire he produced was hot enough – hot enough to take down perps, hot enough to never turn the heat on in his apartment, hot enough to discreetly keep Amy’s coffee warm throughout the morning. (If she’s noticed him repeatedly finding excuses to pick up her mug, she hasn’t said anything about it.)

Charles, of all people, makes him check. “Hey Jake, do you know if you can keep a flame constant at say 350 to 425 degrees Fahrenheit?”

Jake turns away from his computer screen to look at him, his brow scrunched together in confusion. “Why?”

“I was thinking of doing an open-fire roast for the precinct’s Turkey Day dinner this year.”

“Boyle, you want me to firebend our main course?”

“It would make me so happy.”

Noting zero sarcasm in his response, Jake shrugs then swivels his chair back to his desk. “Okay, yeah– But ask Gina if we can book the training room for this. I’m not firebending a turkey in my apartment.”

 ---

 It turns out that being a walking furnace really does have its perks. Or at least that’s what Jake realizes as Amy burrows into his side, pressing her nose into the crook of his neck.

“You’re warm,” she mumbles sleepily, exhausted from the day’s departmentally-mandated sparring practice and the just-as-steamy bedroom activities that followed.

(It had to have been well over their thousandth time facing off in the precinct gym, both of them familiar enough with each other that they could anticipate nearly all of their attacks… Except he really could never have foreseen Amy’s final move: completely disarming him, not with a tidal wave but with a kiss.)

“Warm?” he scoffs teasingly. “I think you mean hot.”

She groans loudly but cuddles closer to him still, her smile burning against his bare skin.

 ---

 He gets thrown for a loop when their major serial murder case boils down to a ring of firebenders, all stuck in their old way of thinking.  

“You’re not them,” Amy reminds him, running a gentle but steady hand down his back.

I could be, he thinks. Because even now – especially now – in the calm silence of the evidence lockup, he can feel the sheer power thrumming beneath his skin. All it would take is for him to get too angry or too drunk or too anything, and the worst could happen.

“You’re a good person, Jake,” she says, her tone more firm than before. “You always have been.”

He swallows thickly and nods, letting her pull him into a long embrace.

 ---

 If there’s one thing he’s wished he could do with his firebending, it’s healing. He’s watched Amy do it countless of times, stepping up as the precinct’s unofficial healer whenever necessary. He’s felt the soothing power of it himself – cool water coaxing at his skin, repairing everything from a black eye to a bloody nose to a stiff back.

Right now, watching the love of his life start to bleed out before his eyes… He’s never felt more helpless.

“Damn it!” Jake yells, pushing his jacket into her side, willing the bleeding to stop. With the shooter knocked out and cuffed in the corner, he’s finally free to assess the damage. “When is the ambulance going to get there? You need a healer, now! ”

“J-Jake,” she chokes out, bringing a shaky hand to his clenched fist. “F-f-fire c-can cauter-r-rize.”

He lets out a sharp gasp, his eyes wide with shock. “You want me to burn you?!” He shakes his head vehemently. “No, Amy, no. It’s too dangerous. I could kill you–”

“Y-you won’t,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. The open trust in her eyes makes him want to sob. “Jake.”

“Okay,” he says, wiping hot tears with the back of his hand. “Okay.”

 ---

 “Can you do the twinkling lights again, Uncle Jake? Pleeaaase?”

It’s bedtime at the Jeffords household, and two little girls are decidedly not asleep.

“Please, Uncle Jake? Aunt Amy? One last story and the twinkling lights?”

He meets Amy’s gaze and raises an eyebrow. She shrugs, her lips curling into a smile. “I suppose just one short book wouldn’t hurt. Right, Jake?”

He hums, feigning thought while glancing at the clock. “We might have just enough time before your daddy and mommy get back.”

Cagney and Lacey cheer as he switches off their bedside lamp, and then watch with glee as he fills their room with dozens of tiny, carefully-placed flames. He makes them flicker with a precise movement of his hands, makes them float like fireflies in the night sky.

The twins fall asleep soon enough, lulled by the soft tone of Amy’s voice and the amber glow of the lights.

Sometimes Jake forgets how enchanting fire can be.

 ---

 Yet again, he’s at the mercy of a waterbender.

This time, it’s his daughter, only two-weeks-old and somehow already able to cause ripples and waves as she moves a tiny hand through the warm water in her tub. She lacks any real control, which is perhaps the biggest problem.

“Amy!” he calls out, equal parts awed and panicked. There’s nothing much he can do right now, apart from maybe distracting the baby with a dancing flame. (Not that he’d allow her anywhere near fire, at least not yet.)  

 ---

 “I’m going to be a waterbender like Mommy,” his son declares one day, with all the confidence of a child that’s crossed the jungle gym for the first time. He’s a little older than most kids are when they start bending, but it’s too early to be concerned about it; he could just be a late bloomer. (Granted, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t start bending at all. They’d love him just the same if he were a nonbender.)

“How about firebending?” Jake jests lightly, feeling a bit wounded but also kind of relieved.

“Hmm, maybe,” Max shrugs, before running off again to play.  

Of course, of course, when the boy eventually does start bending, it’s a scorching stream of fire that bursts from his small outstretched fist. He’d been mimicking the probenders they’d seen on TV the day before, copying their fighting stances down to a tee.

Jake meets his eyes and sees the same mixture of fear and amazement he’s come to know so well. He quickly takes control of the wild flame, tamping it down to a low ember before gently passing it back to his son.

Max nurses the glowing warmth between his two palms, staring at it in fierce concentration. It flares too-strong for a moment, then recedes but doesn’t fizzle out.

Jake nods at him and smiles, pride blossoming in his chest.

“That’s it. Use your breath, son.”

[taaroko]

Post-IW MCU Rewatch: Captain America: The Winter Soldier

Here we go, Winter Soldier. I somehow never watch this one outside of marathons, even though I know it’s amazing. 

ON YOUR LEFT

Steve and Nat’s friendship is awesome. I love how invested she is in his love life and how confused he is by that.

“Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so no, not really.” I’m still trying to figure out how to define Steve’s sense of humor. It’s like quiet, deadpan understatement? I guess? I love it.

That shield looks pretty dingy, Cap. Could do with a wash.

There’s a really random sting in the score when Nat attacks a dude, and for a second you think it’s going to be a kinda retro spy score, but then it’s just over. Weird.

Steve has by now adjusted quite well to being a part of modern tactical missions, if less so to being a part of modern everyday life.

This French pirate dude really likes his unnecessary acrobatics.

Bonus points to Cap for doing trash talk in French.

One of the best parts about Steve and Nat’s friendship is how seamlessly they work together in battle. Whenever there’s something dangerous (especially explosions) on the way, she hunkers down or grabs onto him and lets him and his shield do the work, and they don’t even have to signal each other.

“Last time I trusted someone, I lost an eye.” Oooooh I wonder if that has anything to do with the Skrulls in Captain Marvel. Can’t wait to find out.

“I thought the punishment usually came after the crime.” “By holding a gun to everyone on earth and calling it protection.” “This isn’t freedom. This is fear.” Cap is not down with your surveillance state or pre-crime nonsense.

I love the awed little kid who spots him. So cute.

*pauses on Bucky’s memorial* “When Bucky Barnes first met Steve Rogers on the playgrounds of Brooklyn, little did he know that he was forging a bond that would take him to the battlefields of Europe and beyond. Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front. Captured by Hydra troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, depravation, and torture. But his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America. Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America’s newly formed unit, the Howling Commandos. Barnes’s marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed Hydra bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater.

Wait a second. Up top, the thing says he was born in 1916, but at the bottom, it says he lived from 1917-1944. Wow. Nice continuity there, guy in charge of putting words and numbers on a single pane of glass.

Peggy! “He saved over a thousand men, including the man who would become my husband.” Yes and that man was Daniel Sousa. Oh hey, photos of Peggy with her kids! She had at least one son and one daughter. It’s hard to tell if the girl with her in the first picture is the same one as in the second picture.

The effect to make Hayley look old isn’t nearly as good as the effect to make Chris look skinny. It’s rather off-putting, actually. But oh man her dementia is so heartbreaking. “Well I couldn’t leave my best girl. Not when she owes me a dance.” *sobbing*

“What makes you happy?” “I don’t know.” *more sobbing* Everything that made Steve happy is seventy years gone. Steve is never not sad. No wonder he refuses to compromise for a second when it comes to Bucky.

The attack on Fury’s car is so nerve-wracking and he handles it so well. I wonder if Sam Jackson imagined he was going to get so much cool stuff to do in this role when he agreed to be in the end credits stinger of Iron Man.

The Winter Soldier’s introduction is masterful.

So...Fury pretty much got out of that by using his lightsaber. :D

Hi Sharon! This is some cute flirting.

“My wife kicked me out.” Was it because you insisted on taking your super-suit out for some daring do?

There it is. That Winter Soldier music. *shiver*

I totally bought Fury’s death when I saw this in theaters. Not sad that it turned out to be a ruse (I will never be sad about Marvel pulling character death-related punches), but I do think those bullet wounds were a little too convincing.

“To build a really better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down.” Heh. Except Cap is going to be tearing down your “better” world and standing up for the best parts of the old one.

Elevator fight! I love how observant Steve is. He’s always been that way. Just quietly taking in everything around him and putting it together. He’s brilliant. And then “It kinda feels personal.” Bahaha.

So if Steve falls a couple hundred feet and lands on his shield, it absorbs the impact ‘cause it’s vibranium?

Holy crap he took down a quinjet with just his shield.

I am not a fan of Nat’s straight hair in this one, especially with that center part. But it’s still better than how it looks in Infinity War. Especially the eyebrows.

Undercover engaged hipster couple Steve/Nat is so great. Steve is so bad at it and it’s adorable.

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.” “Yes, they do.”

I love Nat putting her feet on the dash.

There’s no way Nat didn’t know who Peggy Carter was. She asked Steve to gage his reaction.

They are pretty far underground, in a bunker. How did the missile even affect them? Did they make a special chute for the missile to go into in case they needed to blow up the base? Doesn’t look like it.

The design for Zola’s computer face is effectively creepy.

Hydra’s plan is so insidious and horrifying. Screw up the world on purpose until people want to trade their privacy and freedom for security.

That’s a really pathetic amount of milk Pierce poured himself. Like two inches in a really tall glass. Weird.

So...I guess Sam has a straightener. For some reason. Why couldn’t they have just let Nat’s hair stay wavy?

Steve is so sweet with Nat. She’s numbly horrified that she might’ve been working for the bad guys this whole time and he’s all nice and reassuring. Aww.

Senator Stern arranging for a young prostitute with Sitwell is gross.

Nat: *kicks a guy off the roof* *immediately transitions to asking Steve about girls he could be asking out*

Okay how does Sam have access to military equipment like his wing pack when he’s not on active duty?

STEPHEN STRANGE. How is he already on Hydra’s radar? There’s no way Zola’s algorithm accounts for magic, and even if it does, how can it possibly predict that he’d become a master of it several years down the line? It’s not like he was dabbling in it in his surgeon days. That came about as the result of a freak car accident! Pfft. They clearly only threw that reference in there to get people freaking out about a possible future Doctor Strange movie. 

Bye Sitwell.

Hehe, as soon as the Winter Soldier shows up, Nat crawls into Steve’s lap ‘cause she knows he’s gonna have to make an insane exit and she will be PREPARED.

Okay I never noticed that Bucky ripped the freaking steering wheel out.

Gah, Steve getting tossed off the bridge and into the bus looks so incredibly painful.

So Bucky has now shot Nat twice. (I still ship it.)

There are some excellent kicks and knife fighting moves in this showdown. And the way the music ramps up is hair-raising.

I hate Runlow so much.

Maria is awesome.

Um, hi, Joe Russo. He plays Fury’s doctor! Dang! No role for Anthony, though.

“I’m with you to the end of the line.”

Yesss. Vintage Cap. And the shield is clean now! Symbolism!

HI DANNY PUDI. (Apparently Alison Brie was going to be Sharon Carter, but she had scheduling conflicts.)

I love this brave curly-haired kid. This is courage. He has no power and he’s so scared he might wet himself, but he will not launch those helicarriers even with a gun to his head.

Shouldn’t have helped SHIELD with that repulsor tech, Tony.

Okay, I guess Steve can tuck and roll to land a fifty foot drop without using the shield.

These helicarriers store their data in a really strange way.

“We’re the only air support Captain Rogers has got!” *all immediately get shot down and blown up by the Winter Soldier* Whoops.

I wonder if we’re gonna find out more about Bogota in Captain Marvel.

STEVE IS A CRAZY PERSON. You do not jump before you know you have your ride!

It’s a good thing Bucky neither knew nor cared what that data blade was.

I’d love to read a fic that’s just Steve and Thor sitting around talking about all the times Bucky and Loki have shot and/or stabbed them.

Sam has the correct reaction to Runlow’s nonsense.

Why is Jeremy Irons on the list of targets? I wish they’d put more Easter eggs in here, like the names of the Netflix Marvel characters and the Agents of Shield characters. It would’ve been an extremely unobtrusive way for the movies to reference the shows, instead of it always being one-sided.

It’s a good thing they were planning on firing after the count of 3, not on the count of 3.

Steve, you really need to work on your attitude towards exit strategies.

HOW did Runlow survive that?!

Steve would rather Bucky kill him than live in a world where Bucky can’t be saved. And that’s what saves Bucky. *wibble*

“On your left.” Bahaha.

Hi Pietro and Wanda!

Winter Soldier is awesome. I love a well-earned, narratively consistent game changer. One thing I definitely did not expect the MCU to do back then was buck the status quo, but they did it in a huge way, and they did it extremely effectively. I was deeply impressed. And it still holds up even looking back now. The way they tackle the issue of surveillance is very effective. Probably the best thing about this movie is that they realized that Steve Rogers was not going to work as a character if he adapted too much to modern times. Instead, they derived much of their conflict from the disconnect between Steve and his surroundings, and they added a deeply emotional connection at the core of it. Steve ultimately succeeds against Hydra and in getting through to Bucky by shedding his modern trappings and affiliations and going back to what he always was, complete with the old outfit and the shiny clean shield. Steve Rogers reminds us of the ideals America is supposed to stand for. Freedom, justice, honor, and truth. He makes us want to be more like that. Take a note, DC; this is the kind of thing you should’ve been doing with Superman. This is how you make a paragon character we can still be deeply invested in even as we look up to him. (They did a pretty good job with Diana, but the real test will be how she adapts in a more modern stand-alone film.)

Another great thing about this is that they kind of dumped all the side characters from Avengers into Steve’s story. As the First Avenger and as a man out of time, this a brilliant way to give him a new supporting cast without it being jarring and forcing us to spend a ton of time getting to know everyone. We already know Fury, Nat, and Maria and like them, so we’re perfectly prepared to watch them being awesome without feeling like it takes something away from Steve. We know the World Security Council. We know SHIELD. And then there’s Peggy, the Smithsonian exhibit, and Bucky that are all from Steve’s time. It’s a very solid foundation onto which we can add Sam, Sharon, Pierce, and Runlow. It just works so well. And Hydra manages to be even more frightening as an evil organization than it was in the first movie, when it was honestly kind of silly. (So many bonus points for how that played out in Agents of SHIELD, too. As far as I’m concerned, that was when the show finally got good, and it has steadily gotten better since.)

[saphaburnell]

Dragons and Shapeshifting Trees: Character Builds in Sci-Fi

"Cillian stepped out of the shade of the ship, the expendable raptor sniffed at salt and seaweed and petrol and bone. Pale skin shone in the dim sun, stippled of shadow and light. Freckles yet to form. Texture like dinosaur skin dotted along the bare arms shown by sleeves rolled to the elbows like Letopaxa. His chest heaved, eyes shut to see the pale sun shined red beyond his eyelids. Rachel’s draconic form loped beside him, the chitinous scales of her back and body tingled in the faded dawn. Elongating, Rachel pushed up on her hind legs, and slowly, with the dawn and well of sensation Cillian consumed, took the form Aderastos knew she feared most. Bi-pedal, humanoid-limbed. Her scales retreated to create a form of armour along her body like clothes. Rachel’s hair swung back and forth as a dragon’s tail, silver skin caught and reflected the light. Her arms twined around Cillian’s ribcage. “I can’t go back inside.”"  -- NEON Lieben by Sapha Burnell

When I was musing on the Assets in NEON Lieben, the world of genetic engineering opened to an overactive imagination. What sorts of creatures would genetic scientists create, if a sentient artificial intelligence in the shape of a feminine android de-weaponized the human race? Welcome to the premise of the Lieben Cycle.

No missiles, no drones, no planes with automated weapons systems. Robot soldiers walked en masse off the killing fields and set their weapons to slag. Nothing more advanced than a firearm, a stick and blade. What collection of humanity would accept the Mama Machine’s hand over their toys, like a stern hausfrau, without fighting back? In the tenuous truce created by Lieben’s Haven Epoch, the Conglomerate dove into gene-splicing to create biological machines. Where else could their intellects and ingenuity take them, but the realms of biological engineering?

What would I get, when I mixed wolf DNA with a velociraptor? Cillian stands in the sun for the first time, humanoid but other. The scale of his skin similar but alien. Rachel shifts from the reptilian and draconic to the humanoid. Both built from similar DNA strains, clipped and sutured by design.

The mystery is the strain of humanity in the machine, when we build upon nature, how much of the old strains push through? As an author, how far can I pull that chord between human and inhuman, between a biological machine and the shaken man, who can’t voluntarily venture back inside?

Prior to the Global Situation, NEON Lieben was meant to launch in 2020. The Launch is August 22nd, 2021.

The human condition’s play between accepting grace and fighting for control drives the Conglomerate to maneuver past the kibosh on technological weaponry by creating genetically modified organisms as profound as Rachel’s draconic shapeshift and the raptor-wolf Pack. But, as geneticists are learning today, genetic manipulation does not equate to pure input-output. The genes might be spliced together, but their expression lies beyond the skeleton of genetic code. Genetics and Epigenetics together require investigation, when we are taking further steps into building bespoke beings.

We can build genomes and modify extraordinary things with technology like CRISPR, but the interpretation of said genes remains firmly within the burgeoning science of epigenetics. How a series of genes are expressed is often through heritable changes, or DNA methylation instead of the base sequence. Nurture matters. Regardless of the DNA laid down, the theories behind epigenetics correlate one’s heredity, the influence of past generations and the conditions of their early experiences on the cells in the parent organism.

"Epigenetic processes are particularly important in early life when cells are first receiving the instructions that will dictate their future development and specialization. These processes can also be initiated or disrupted by environmental factors, such as diet, stress, aging, and pollutants. In 2005, a team of Italian researchers provided the first concrete evidence for the role of environmental epigenetics in explaining why twins with the same genetic background can have vastly different disease susceptibilities.1 The researchers showed that, at birth, pairs of identical twins have similar epigenetic patterns, including DNA methylation and histone modifications. However, over time, the epigenetic patterns of individuals become different, even in twins. Since identical twins are the same genetically, the differences are thought to result from a combination of different environmental influences that each individual experiences over a lifetime."  -- National Institute of Environmental Health Sciences

To me, this epigenetic powder keg is the true explosive within the genetic revolution. As much as we edit, our previous generations continue an influence on future iterations of organisms. It’s a fascination of mine to study whether circumstances are caused by genetic factors, or the more likely epigenetic. Where does that take a character created from genetic offal?

For NEON Lieben, it meant an investigation into genetic memory, instinct and the expression of the geneticists’ wonder at potential outcomes. The character Dr. Phil Rykstra is the representative of this struggle in the book, and he was both fun and uncomfortable to write in equal measure. How far do we go from an ethical standpoint into the furrowed brows of genetic engineering for war’s sake? For humanity’s sake? Will we eventually lose ourselves in Homo Augmentum, the way the Neanderthals lost their dominance?

As an author, I feel such real-world quandaries are necessary to drive the authenticity of a work of science fiction. While sci-fi can exchange ‘quantum’ for ‘magic’ and hand-wave a female shapeshifting tree into being, if there is a solid basis for extrapolation, it strengthens the work. Using the constraints of ‘plausibility’, while potentially awkward, allows most readers to relax into the beauty of our collectively presented imaginations.

And when the biological machines do ascend upon us, how much of their development will hearken back to the generations before, carried over like baggage in a train car? Ultimately, I hope if you want to see this exploration in detail, you read NEON Lieben.

"“By Einstein’s shaggy topknot…” Phil plunked down on a chair on the Bridge and stared.It was enough to pull Rammage’s eyes off the being currently running laps like Jesus and stare back at the scientist. “How much of this is news to you, Doctor? You helped design these freaks of nature, why the fuck are you surprised at what they can do?” A shrill thread of pure worry sewed through his spinal column at the idea, the sheer thought. Twelve bio engineered mechanisms were beyond. Beyond the cognizance of the scientific team who built them. Beyond the infinite imagination of the human organism. Beyond control. When it came time to snuff them out, Rammage worried that too was beyond."  -- NEON Lieben by Sapha Burnell