#phone user traffic

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tesla's Dieselgate

Elon Musk lies a lot. He lies about being a “utopian socialist.” He lies about being a “free speech absolutist.” He lies about which companies he founded:

https://www.businessinsider.com/tesla-cofounder-martin-eberhard-interview-history-elon-musk-ev-market-2023-2 He lies about being the “chief engineer” of those companies:

https://www.quora.com/Was-Elon-Musk-the-actual-engineer-behind-SpaceX-and-Tesla

He lies about really stupid stuff, like claiming that comsats that share the same spectrum will deliver steady broadband speeds as they add more users who each get a narrower slice of that spectrum:

https://www.eff.org/wp/case-fiber-home-today-why-fiber-superior-medium-21st-century-broadband

The fundamental laws of physics don’t care about this bullshit, but people do. The comsat lie convinced a bunch of people that pulling fiber to all our homes is literally impossible — as though the electrical and phone lines that come to our homes now were installed by an ancient, lost civilization. Pulling new cabling isn’t a mysterious art, like embalming pharaohs. We do it all the time. One of the poorest places in America installed universal fiber with a mule named “Ole Bub”:

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

Previous tech barons had “reality distortion fields,” but Musk just blithely contradicts himself and pretends he isn’t doing so, like a budget Steve Jobs. There’s an entire site devoted to cataloging Musk’s public lies:

https://elonmusk.today/

But while Musk lacks the charm of earlier Silicon Valley grifters, he’s much better than they ever were at running a long con. For years, he’s been promising “full self driving…next year.”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

He’s hasn’t delivered, but he keeps claiming he has, making Teslas some of the deadliest cars on the road:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2023/06/10/tesla-autopilot-crashes-elon-musk/

Tesla is a giant shell-game masquerading as a car company. The important thing about Tesla isn’t its cars, it’s Tesla’s business arrangement, the Tesla-Financial Complex:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat

Once you start unpacking Tesla’s balance sheets, you start to realize how much the company depends on government subsidies and tax-breaks, combined with selling carbon credits that make huge, planet-destroying SUVs possible, under the pretense that this is somehow good for the environment:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

But even with all those financial shenanigans, Tesla’s got an absurdly high valuation, soaring at times to 1600x its profitability:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/15/hoover-calling/#intangibles

That valuation represents a bet on Tesla’s ability to extract ever-higher rents from its customers. Take Tesla’s batteries: you pay for the battery when you buy your car, but you don’t own that battery. You have to rent the right to use its full capacity, with Tesla reserving the right to reduce how far you go on a charge based on your willingness to pay:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/09/10/teslas-demon-haunted-cars-in-irmas-path-get-a-temporary-battery-life-boost/

That’s just one of the many rent-a-features that Tesla drivers have to shell out for. You don’t own your car at all: when you sell it as a used vehicle, Tesla strips out these features you paid for and makes the next driver pay again, reducing the value of your used car and transfering it to Tesla’s shareholders:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/2/6/21127243/tesla-model-s-autopilot-disabled-remotely-used-car-update

To maintain this rent-extraction racket, Tesla uses DRM that makes it a felony to alter your own car’s software without Tesla’s permission. This is the root of all autoenshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

This is technofeudalism. Whereas capitalists seek profits (income from selling things), feudalists seek rents (income from owning the things other people use). If Telsa were a capitalist enterprise, then entrepreneurs could enter the market and sell mods that let you unlock the functionality in your own car:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/11/1-in-3/#boost-50

But because Tesla is a feudal enterprise, capitalists must first secure permission from the fief, Elon Musk, who decides which companies are allowed to compete with him, and how.

Once a company owns the right to decide which software you can run, there’s no limit to the ways it can extract rent from you. Blocking you from changing your device’s software lets a company run overt scams on you. For example, they can block you from getting your car independently repaired with third-party parts.

But they can also screw you in sneaky ways. Once a device has DRM on it, Section 1201 of the DMCA makes it a felony to bypass that DRM, even for legitimate purposes. That means that your DRM-locked device can spy on you, and because no one is allowed to explore how that surveillance works, the manufacturer can be incredibly sloppy with all the personal info they gather:

https://www.cnbc.com/2019/03/29/tesla-model-3-keeps-data-like-crash-videos-location-phone-contacts.html

All kinds of hidden anti-features can lurk in your DRM-locked car, protected from discovery, analysis and criticism by the illegality of bypassing the DRM. For example, Teslas have a hidden feature that lets them lock out their owners and summon a repo man to drive them away if you have a dispute about a late payment:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

DRM is a gun on the mantlepiece in Act I, and by Act III, it goes off, revealing some kind of ugly and often dangerous scam. Remember Dieselgate? Volkswagen created a line of demon-haunted cars: if they thought they were being scrutinized (by regulators measuring their emissions), they switched into a mode that traded performance for low emissions. But when they believed themselves to be unobserved, they reversed this, emitting deadly levels of NOX but delivering superior mileage.

The conversion of the VW diesel fleet into mobile gas-chambers wouldn’t have been possible without DRM. DRM adds a layer of serious criminal jeopardy to anyone attempting to reverse-engineer and study any device, from a phone to a car. DRM let Apple claim to be a champion of its users’ privacy even as it spied on them from asshole to appetite:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Now, Tesla is having its own Dieselgate scandal. A stunning investigation by Steve Stecklow and Norihiko Shirouzu for Reuters reveals how Tesla was able to create its own demon-haunted car, which systematically deceived drivers about its driving range, and the increasingly desperate measures the company turned to as customers discovered the ruse:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/tesla-batteries-range/

The root of the deception is very simple: Tesla mis-sells its cars by falsely claiming ranges that those cars can’t attain. Every person who ever bought a Tesla was defrauded.

But this fraud would be easy to detect. If you bought a Tesla rated for 353 miles on a charge, but the dashboard range predictor told you that your fully charged car could only go 150 miles, you’d immediately figure something was up. So your Telsa tells another lie: the range predictor tells you that you can go 353 miles.

But again, if the car continued to tell you it has 203 miles of range when it was about to run out of charge, you’d figure something was up pretty quick — like, the first time your car ran out of battery while the dashboard cheerily informed you that you had 203 miles of range left.

So Teslas tell a third lie: when the battery charge reached about 50%, the fake range is replaced with the real one. That way, drivers aren’t getting mass-stranded by the roadside, and the scam can continue.

But there’s a new problem: drivers whose cars are rated for 353 miles but can’t go anything like that far on a full charge naturally assume that something is wrong with their cars, so they start calling Tesla service and asking to have the car checked over.

This creates a problem for Tesla: those service calls can cost the company $1,000, and of course, there’s nothing wrong with the car. It’s performing exactly as designed. So Tesla created its boldest fraud yet: a boiler-room full of anti-salespeople charged with convincing people that their cars weren’t broken.

This new unit — the “diversion team” — was headquartered in a Nevada satellite office, which was equipped with a metal xylophone that would be rung in triumph every time a Tesla owner was successfully conned into thinking that their car wasn’t defrauding them.

When a Tesla owner called this boiler room, the diverter would run remote diagnostics on their car, then pronounce it fine, and chide the driver for having energy-hungry driving habits (shades of Steve Jobs’s “You’re holding it wrong”):

https://www.wired.com/2010/06/iphone-4-holding-it-wrong/

The drivers who called the Diversion Team weren’t just lied to, they were also punished. The Tesla app was silently altered so that anyone who filed a complaint about their car’s range was no longer able to book a service appointment for any reason. If their car malfunctioned, they’d have to request a callback, which could take several days.

Meanwhile, the diverters on the diversion team were instructed not to inform drivers if the remote diagnostics they performed detected any other defects in the cars.

The diversion team had a 750 complaint/week quota: to juke this stat, diverters would close the case for any driver who failed to answer the phone when they were eventually called back. The center received 2,000+ calls every week. Diverters were ordered to keep calls to five minutes or less.

Eventually, diverters were ordered to cease performing any remote diagnostics on drivers’ cars: a source told Reuters that “Thousands of customers were told there is nothing wrong with their car” without any diagnostics being performed.

Predicting EV range is an inexact science as many factors can affect battery life, notably whether a journey is uphill or downhill. Every EV automaker has to come up with a figure that represents some kind of best guess under a mix of conditions. But while other manufacturers err on the side of caution, Tesla has the most inaccurate mileage estimates in the industry, double the industry average.

Other countries’ regulators have taken note. In Korea, Tesla was fined millions and Elon Musk was personally required to state that he had deceived Tesla buyers. The Korean regulator found that the true range of Teslas under normal winter conditions was less than half of the claimed range.

Now, many companies have been run by malignant narcissists who lied compulsively — think of Thomas Edison, archnemesis of Nikola Tesla himself. The difference here isn’t merely that Musk is a deeply unfit monster of a human being — but rather, that DRM allows him to defraud his customers behind a state-enforced opaque veil. The digital computers at the heart of a Tesla aren’t just demons haunting the car, changing its performance based on whether it believes it is being observed — they also allow Musk to invoke the power of the US government to felonize anyone who tries to peer into the black box where he commits his frauds.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

This Sunday (July 30) at 1530h, I’m appearing on a panel at Midsummer Scream in Long Beach, CA, to discuss the wonderful, award-winning “Ghost Post” Haunted Mansion project I worked on for Disney Imagineering.

Image ID [A scene out of an 11th century tome on demon-summoning called 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros. Anno 1057. Noli me tangere.' It depicts a demon tormenting two unlucky would-be demon-summoners who have dug up a grave in a graveyard. One summoner is held aloft by his hair, screaming; the other screams from inside the grave he is digging up. The scene has been altered to remove the demon's prominent, urinating penis, to add in a Tesla supercharger, and a red Tesla Model S nosing into the scene.]

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tesla_Model_S_Indoors.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[obscurevideogames]

Tumblr’s Core Prodct Stratgy

Here at Tumblr, we’ve been working hard on trying to keep our sinking ship afloat for as long as possible. This means desperately trying to copy every new fly-by-night social media app that some multi-billionaire sh*t out during their daily Peloton routine. What follows is the strategy we're using to accomplish the goal of user growth. If you find the things we say here worrisome, please understand that is our exact intention. You've outgrown our target demographic. Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

The Diagnosis

It's lookin' pretty bad y'all!

After somehow losing hundreds of thousands of users during the great pr0n purge of 2018, we started to wonder if anything could be done to get back to where we were. We even brought in a management consultant who charged us a ridiculous amount of money. It would make you sick if you knew how much, but we got a few nice meals out of it at least. Anyhow, we handed this guy the app, and HE HAD NO IDEA HOW TO USE IT! It was f*cking hilarious! But suddenly it all clicked -- our users are a bunch of stupid idiots who can't even do basic arithmetic. I mean, they spend all day looking at their phones, so what do you expect?

Tumblr’s best feature is its unique content and vibrant communities. But who cares, right? We're just as happy getting traffic from people sh*t-posting memes, vague-booking, giving out-of-context hot takes to news events, and spewing whatever random thought is in their head at the moment. Plus that stuff doesn't p*ss off Apple.

To keep this thing going we need new people. And by "people" we mean teenagers, like we used to have back in the good ol' days. Unfortunately we're all in our 40s now, so we have no idea what they want. But teenagers are so cool! Imagine if they talked to us like we're one of them? We're getting hard just thinking about it.

Our Guidng Principls

To make Tumblr cool again, we must address these huge glaring issues.

People can look at a blog without logging in. How is that fair to all the poor schlubs who had to fill out forms to get an account? Also we haven't figured out a way to force ads onto the personalized pages yet. But we swear that's not the main reason.

People can see content they are looking for or linked to. People can keep up with blogs they follow. But the problem with this is, people don't know what they want. We know what they want! We're smart. We wrote this damn site, remember?

Promote posts that incite pointless conversations. Posts that are guaranteed to bait every troll into responding. Isn't that why all your Magat relatives love Facebook so much? We can do that!

P*ss off your content creators in every way possible (see #2).

Create algorithms that throw an unending barrage of irrelevant content in your face. Have you seen Instagram lately? We could do that so easy!!!

The app is slow. The website is slow. Obviously this is because of GIFs. Facebook and Instagram don't allow them, so why should we?

Conclusion

Our mission changes on a day-to-day basis. Right now we're super jealous of all the attention that new Threads thing is getting. We're still not sure what it is, but we're gonna download it after work.

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

What We Used to Be - Jey Uso x Black!OC

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Main Masterlist

This will remain a ONESHOT, no part twos ❤️

April 11th 2017

JaiFelix_WWE

liked by trinity_fatu, sashabankswwe, and 300,000 others

JaiFelix_WWE: If you're not watching Smackdown tonight, what are you doing??!

view all comments

user: dreaming about us being together

trinity_fatu : JAI- JAI 💖

carmellawwe: looking good girl!

jonathanfatu: can u delete this plz! got my wife licking her phone!

↪JaiFelix_WWE: @jonathanfatu LMAO!

Jaiania held her breath as she walked past Josh and his twin brother Jon. She kept her head down, hoping they didn’t notice her walking by them. She absolutely did not want to have a conversation with either of them - especially Josh -. After their failed relationship and trainwreck of a breakup, she would rather play in traffic than have a conversation with him. 

She almost made it past them without being noticed. “Damn girl you just gon walk right past us.” That was Jon. Jaiania forced a smile on her face and turned around to face them. 

“Oh, hey.” She said, keeping her eyes on Jon. “Didn’t see you there.” She shrugged when he gave her a ‘yeah right’ look. Josh crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes when he realized that she was trying her hardest to not look in his direction. 

This is awkward she thought as she rocked back on her heels before pointing in the direction she was walking. 

“I gotta go. Nice seeing you though,” She said to Jon, still ignoring Joshua’s presence. 

She hurried down the hallway feeling their eyes on her. 

Jon turned to his brother once she rounded the corner. “Look at what you did,” He said, smacking Josh on his chest. Josh rolled his eyes. 

“I ain't do shit. Come on, we gotta get ready.”  Josh did not want to hear that bullshit. He was in the wrong just as much as she was but since everyone loved Jaiania he took all the blame. 

Jaiaina groaned as she saw Jon and Josh walking her way a couple of hours later. This must be my lucky day, two times in one night, she thought bitterly. She could normally avoid Jon and Josh but they seemed to be everywhere she was today.

“Congratulations guys.” She said referring to the Smackdown tag team titles they had just won from Chad Gable and Jason Jordan. 

“Thank you, Jai,” Jon said, trying to give her a sweaty hug. She pretended to throw up and moved away from him. “Is your arm okay tho? That rinpost spot looked pretty rough.” 

“I’m totally fine.” Jaiaina lied. “Looked way worse than it actually was.” She said, smiling at him. 

“Yeet!” He said, making Jaiaina roll her eyes. “We goin’ out to celebrate our big win tonight, you in?”  

Jaiaina let her eyes cut over to Josh who thankfully wasn’t looking at her. “Uh. I can’t. I have plans already.” That got Josh’s attention. He looked up from his phone and squinted his eyes at her. He wasn't normally one for gossip but he had heard some things about Jaiaina and another one of their co-workers recently. 

“So the rumors are true huh?” He said with a scoff. “You move on fast.” Jaiaina cut her eyes back over to him and glared. 

“Excuse me?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Josh sucked his teeth and narrowed his eyes at her. “You heard me.” 

Jon let his eyes ping pong between the two of them. He knew he needed to stop them before they became explosive. “Uce, come on. It ain’t worth it. ” Jon said trying to pull his brother along but Josh wasn’t budging. “Josh, stop. Let’s go Uce” 

“Yeah, I think that's a good idea,” Jaiaina said as she rolled her eyes and turned to walk away from them.  6 months of silence and the first thing he said to her is something about some bullshit ass rumors?! Pathetic 

“And then he had the nerve to talk about me moving on too fast,” Jaiaina said to Trinity and Carmella as they sat in the VIP section of a club. “I mean, he broke up with me. What does he care if I moved on or not.” She said as she downed another shot. Carmelle and Trinity shared a look but didn’t say anything.  “And what fucking rumors?!” She turned to her best friends. “Yall heard rumors about me?” She let out a scoff and rolled her eyes when they both nodded. 

“Yeah, but we obviously don't believe it,”  Carmella said. 

“What's the rumor though?” 

Carmella shrugged and sipped her drink. “Something about you and AJ” 

Jaiaina's eyes widened. “AJ STYLES?!” She asked louder than necessary. “Ew, what the fuck. Where did that fucking come from?”

 Carmella sighed. “Okay, here's what I know. Apparently, someone saw you and him  leaving a hotel room together a couple of weeks ago.”

 Jaiaina scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Do these people know that he’s married and I would never do that to Wendy or his children?” She sighed. “And Josh knows that Allen was my mentor during my time in TNA.” 

“Girl you know how Josh is. He’s being an ass because he misses you.” Trinity said and Jaiaina rolled her eyes.  

“Yeah well, he shouldn’t believe rumors about me.” 

“And you miss him too, right?” Trinity questioned. 

Jaiania rolled her eyes. “Of course I miss him, I never said I didn’t.”

“ Do you still love him?” 

Jaiaian took another sip of her drink before answering. “Yes I still love him, but it is extremely obvious that he never did. We break up and the first thing he does is go fuck on one of our coworkers? That’s foul. Now every time I walk past that hoe she got a fucking smirk on her face that I wanna smack off. ” 

Trinity and Carmella found themselves nodding along with Jaiaina’s statement. It was an extremely foul thing for Josh to do. 

“I still don’t know what possessed him to do that. “ 

“I do.” Jaiaina rolled her eyes. “He been wanting to fuck Dasha. Surprised he didn’t do it  while we were dating.” 

Trinity rolled her eyes at her friend. “Josh may have been an asshole but we all know he wouldn’t cheat on you.” 

Jaiaina hummed as she took a sip of her drink. She then eyed her friend. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating with your husband?” 

“Oh, about that.” 

Jai narrowed her eyes at Trinity before letting out a gasp. “You didn’t !” 

“I’m sorry! I know we already planned this girl's night and I didn’t wanna flake on y'all.” 

Jai scoffed and turned towards Carmella who was already looking at her with guilty eyes. 

“I invited  Corey too.” 

Jaiaina had to stop herself from throwing a temper tantrum. “You guys” she whined. “Girls night mean just girls.” She pouted. 

Trinity and Carmella burst into laughter. “We’re sorry! But look, we can have a girl's night once we go back to Florida. Just us.” 

“Fine,” Jaiaina said, still pouting. Just as she was about to take another sip of her drink, Jon, Josh and… Dasha fucking Jackson. Jaiaina scoffed and adverted her eyes from the couple. 

“I’m sorry,” Trin whispered as stood and greeted her husband and Corey purposely ignoring Josh and Dasha. Carmella did the same and Jaiania couldn’t have been more grateful for her friends. 

Don’t let it get to you, Don’t let it get to you. She repeated in her head as Dasha made a point of showing she was Josh’s girl now by placing a kiss on his lips. Once Dasha looked in her direction, Jaiaina stood from her seat and walked over to the bar. The drama was something she did not need nor want tonight. 

She let out a heavy sigh as she leaned against the bar. She had successfully gone months without being in the same space as Josh because it hurt. It hurt to look at him and not be with him. She said some foul things the day they broke up and so did he, but she never expected him to literally go and fuck another woman THE SAME NIGHT. 

“C’mon, you too pretty to be frowning.” Jaiaina had to stop herself from swinging on the slimeball that just slithered his way next to her. She turned her head to the side to face him and he smiled thinking he got her attention. She cringed at the food he had stuck in his teeth. 

“Thank you,” She said referring to the compliment. “But, uh no thanks.” She said referring to his advances. The bartender set down her rum punch, Jaiaina grabbed the drink and tried to walk away but the guy grabbed her arm. 

“Don’t be fucking rude.” He scoffed. “You didn’t even ask me my name.” 

“That’s cause I don’t wanna know your name!” She said, trying to pull her arm out of his grasp. Just from how tight his grip was, she knew she was going to have a bruise. “Let go of me!” 

“Don’t be such a bitch!” He spat at her, Just as Jai was lifting her knee to hit him in his balls, he was forcefully grabbed, which caused him to release her arm. 

“The fuck is you doin’?!”  

Jaiaina let out a gasp as Josh pushed the slimeball down to the ground. By now, more than half of the bar had turned their attention to them. “Don’t put ya’ fucking hands on her like that. Fuck is wrong witchu?!” 

Slimy McSlimerson tried to kick his feet at Josh but Josh sidestepped them and then kicked slimeball in his face, knocking him onto his back. Slimy let out a groan as he started to hold his now broken nose. 

“You alright?” The bartender asked coming around the bar and taking Jai’s arm in his hands, inspecting it. “You want me to call the cops?” 

Josh gently pulled Jaiaina away from the bartender, making him drop her arm. Jaiaina’s eyebrows furrowed together as Josh wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer, tucking her into his side.  “Nah, we good,” Josh said eyeing Slimy on the ground. Josh was tempted to knock Slimy’s teeth down his throat but decided against it as he led Jai out of the club and into the night's cool air. 

Jaiaina said nothing as she let Josh lead her outside. She momentarily allowed herself to lean into his familiar touch before remembering their current situation. “I’m fine now.” She said, taking another step away from him. “You can go back into the bar.” 

“And leave you out here?” He asked. “Bab–Jaiaina, you shaking.” 

“Okay, so send Trin or Mella out here. Go back inside.”  Josh sucked bus teeth and pulled off his black bomber jacket he was wearing and handed it to her. 

“Just take the damn jacket Jai” 

“I don’t want your damn jacket, Joshua. And I damn sure didn’t need your help back there. I had it.”

Josh scoffed and grabbed her arm, making them both look down at the purple bruise that was forming. “Yeah okay.” He snorted. He hated that she was so stubborn. “You can hate me all you want Jaiaina. But if you gon’ wait out here in the damn cold, take the damn jacket.” 

Jaiaina huffed and snatched the jacket out of his hands. “Happy?” She asked with a sarcastic smile and she slid her arms into the jacket. 

“Very.” Just as he said that the side door to the bar opened and her group of friends and Dasha spilled out. Dasha eyed the jacket and then narrowed her eyes at Josh, who was still looking at Jaiaina. 

“Girl! Are you okay?!” Trinity cried out as she and Leah rushed over to their best friend. Jai broke eye contact with Josh and turned her head towards her friends. 

“I’m fine. Just some weirdo who doesn’t understand the meaning of No.”  

Trinity, being the emotional drunk wrapped her arms around Jai’s head and pulled her down, so Jai’s head was resting on her breast. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help you friend.” She whispered as a few tears slipped down her face. Jon and Josh sucked their teeth. 

“Man, Trin get off her.” Jai let out a soft laugh as Jon pulled Trinity away from her. 

“Did I ruin the mood? Or can we go back in?” Jaiaina asked. 

“Hell no! You didn’t ruin the mood! C’mon!” Leah said as she grabbed Trinity’s and Jaiaina’s hands and started to lead them inside. 

“Actually. I’m not in the party spirit anymore… We’re gonna head back to the hotel. Dasha said as she walked over to Josh. Jaiaina hated the way her heart tightened in her chest. Jaiaina watched as Dasha slipped her hand into Josh’s, her fingers curling around his in that intimate, effortless way that people who were in love did. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a bit longer?” Josh asked, his voice soft but laced with that familiar warmth Jaiaina had once loved.

Dasha's hand tightened around his. “I’m sure. Come on, let’s go.” There was a finality to her words that Jaiaina couldn’t ignore.

Jaiaina’s chest tightened. It shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t hurt at all.

She and Josh had broken up for a reason—no matter how hard it had been. She told herself she was over it. Jaiaina forced herself to look away from the couple. 

“I think I'm gonna head back too. I forgot I have an early flight to Birmingham in the morning.” 

Birmingham? Josh arched his eyebrow at the mention of Birmingham. He knew there was only one reason why she was going there, which meant she lied to Jon earlier when he asked about her arm. 

Trinity and Leah shot her playful glares, but their smiles quickly softened into teasing hugs. After making Jaiaina promise to hang out once all three of them were in Florida, Jon, Trin, Leah and Corey walked back inside the bar. 

Jaiaina stood there awkwardly. She pulled her phone out of her clutch and ordered an Uber. She could feel Josh and Dasha’s eyes on her. 

“Oh, your jacket,” Dasha said as their Uber pulled up. 

“She can keep it. It’s cold as hell out here Baby.” Baby.. just hearing that Josh had a nickname for Dasha made Jaiaina sick to her stomach.  

“It’s fine..” Jaiaina trailed off as she took the jack off and handed it back to Josh. “I should have brought out my own coat.” 

“Yeah, you should have.” Dasha scoffed and snatched the jacket out of Jai’s hands. 

Be the bigger person Jaiaina thought, don’t beat this bitch’s ass. 

“C’mon man, you ain't have to snatch it,” Josh muttered as he walked towards the Uber. Dasha rolled her eyes and stomped after him. 

“Well, why did you give her your jacket? Could have let the hoe freeze for all I care.” 

Jaiaina gritted her teeth as the door to the Uber slammed shut and they drove away. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the deep breathing exercises her therapist told her to do. Forcing herself to take slow, deliberate breaths in and out. In through the nose, out through the mouth...

It didn’t work. Not this time.

Dasha was so lucky that Jaiaina actually enjoyed her job, cause Jai would have BEEN beat her ass by now. 

Jaiaina’s head had barely hit the pillow before three sharp, rhythmic knocks echoed through the room. Her stomach twisted into knots at the sound of the knocks. 

There was only one person in the whole world that knew three was her safe number. Sighing, she threw the covers off of her, grabbed her pink Versace robe, and opened the door.

“Why did you lie to twin earlier?” Jaiaina blinked. 

What?” she scoffed, a quick laugh escaping her. “What are you talking about?”

“Earlier, Jon asked about your arm. You said you were fine but you not. Why you going to Birmingham in the morning.” 

“What I have going on in my life doesn’t concern you anymore Joshua,” Jaiaina said firmly, trying to shut down the conversation before it could go any further.

“Don’t do that.” He muttered, his eyes never leaving hers. “Don’t act like you weren’t a major part of my life.” 

“I was. Not anymore Joshua. Go back to Dasha and leave me alone.” 

Josh’s jaw tightened as he took a deep breath trying to compose himself. “Look, I know –” 

“No,” Jaiaina said as she started to shake her head. “I’m not doing this with you.” Josh looked confused as she started to close the door in his face, at the last second, he put his foot in between the door and the fame. Jaiaine huffed as he easily overpowered her and gently pushed her away from the door. 

She stomped over to the bed and threw herself down on it, while Josh shut the door behind her and went to sit in the armchair that was placed between the bed and the window. 

“Josh, it's been six months since we last talked. Let’s just go back to that.” 

“I don’t want to. I fucking miss you Jaiaina.” 

Jaiaina laughed making Josh scoff. 

“The hell so funny?” 

“YOU!” She exclaimed as she jumped from the bed and pointed at him. “You think you can just come swoop in like some type of Superman after what you did?! Fuck off, Joshua!” 

“Jai, I know I said some fucked up shit but -” 

“Said?! No nigga. It's about what you did!” She cut him off.  “The fact that you fucked that bitch the same night we broke up was foul as hell Joshua!” 

“Woah!” He called out, jumping to his feet. “I ain't do no shit like that. Fuck is you talking about.” 

Jaiaina let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah okay.” She said mockingly with a roll of her eyes. “The bitch already told anybody who would listen. The same night you walked out of our hotel room, you went to her! And you fucked her.” Jaiaina couldn’t hold it back anymore, the tears that threatened to spill since the bar came flowing down her face.

"Jai, I swear to you, that's ain’t what happened," Josh said, his voice low and urgent. He took a step towards her, but Jaiaina backed away, shaking her head.

“Don’t Joshua. Just leave.” 

“Hell no. I’m not going anywhere. I lost you once, I’m not doing It again.” 

Jaiaina childishly covered her ears. “I’m not listening to any of the bullshit you are spewing tonight Joshua!” She uncovered her ears and narrowed her eyes at Josh. “Okay let's just say, you didn’t have sex with her the same night. You’re still with her now! And don’t deny it, I heard you call her baby.” When Josh didn’t deny it, Jaiaina felt her heart break even more. “Please just go. Go back to your girlfriend and go back to ignoring me.” She whispered as she lowered her eyes to the ground. 

Jaiaina heard him sniffle but she didn’t lift her head to look at him. “I never wanted to hurt you Jai.” Jaiaina didn’t say anything back, she didn’t have anything to say. She was exhausted. She just wanted to go to sleep and forget all about Josh by the morning. 

Josh sighed and started walking towards the door, the silence between them was too much. It was suffocating. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to make things right. But he didn’t know how. With one last glance at Jaiaina, he turned and walked out the door. 

As soon as the door shut, Jaiaina broke down, she covered her mouth with her hand to try and hide her sobs. Outside, Josh leaned against the closed door, his forehead pressed against the cool wood. He could hear Jaiaina's muffled cries through the thin barrier, and each sob felt like a knife twisting in his gut. He wanted nothing more than to burst back in, to take her in his arms and explain everything. But he knew she wouldn't listen, not now.

April 18th 2017

Birmingham, Alabama

Jaiaina knew it was stupid to go through this surgery alone, but WWE provided the best doctors so she knew she was in good hands. 

Waking up from surgery was a feeling she would never get used to. She let out a groan at the dull ache in her right shoulder and immediately she heard someone shh her and place a straw at her lips. The comforting sensation of the water helped clear some of the haze, but as she blinked her eyes open, the shock of who was sitting next to her hit her like a ton of bricks.

“I gotchu, relax.” 

“What are you doing here?” She whispered,  her voice scratchy and weak from the anesthesia.

“Making sure you alright and not alone.” 

“Josh please –” 

He shushed her again. “I broke whatever I had with Dasha off. Imma be truthful and say that yeah, I got with her to fuck with you after I heard the rumor about you and AJ but, I did not have sex with her that same night. To be honest, I never had sex with her, I haven’t had sex with anybody since you.” 

Jaiaina’s jaw dropped open. She didn’t know how to respond to that. She had spent the past six months hating Josh because she thought he was a slimy asshole. She didn’t know how to feel right now. 

“Josh I-”  She started, 

“I’m not asking you to forgive me, Jaiaina,” Josh continued, his voice soft but firm. “Not right away. Aight? I know I messed up, and I know it’s not gonna be easy. But I’m willing to work this out, but only if you want to.”

Jaiaina stared into his eyes, no matter how hard she tried she would never get rid of the love she had for this man. It was a big relief to finally hear the truth about the night that they broke up but he still hurt her by ignoring her for six months. 

“Please.” He whispered. “I always seen you in my life. Always seen you as the mother of my kids. Just give me one more chance.” 

Jaiaina’s breath caught in her throat. This was the most vulnerable she had ever seen him in the three years they had dated. 

“Okay,” She whispered, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “But I swear on everything I love, this is your LAST chance.” 

Josh's face lit up with a mixture of relief and hope. He gently took Jaiaina's hand, careful not to disturb the IV line. “I promise you, I won't mess this up again. I love you too damn much.” 

Jaiaina stared at him for a second before a small smile came across her face. “I love you too.” 

Authors Note: I'm sorry if this sucked 😮‍💨😫

I've had this halfway written for about a year and just decided to say fuck it and finish it. I really do hope you all enjoy it! ❤️

Side Note:

Jaiaina had torn rotator cuff.

Josh definitely bribed and threatened an intern to tell him what was wrong with Jaiaina LOL!

🏷️: @paigereeder @harmshake @empressdede @theninthwonder @jaethaone

@mzv11 @shantinextdoor @sheydnni @xmonetsworld @christinabae

@southerngirl41 @reci1996 @alyyaanna @li-da-savage @kill-the-artiste

@trashbin-nie @adoreesun @shayaaaaaaa @bebesobrielo @bookuce

@rianasixx @kat3457 @queeny23 @privateeyed95 @cyberdejos2

@justazzi @jstarr86 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @vampygomez @msbigredmachine

@ashykneee @callmekayd @yana3sworld @romansthrone @alichesmi

@amandairene88 @scarlettnoir01 @bonni-98 @sassginamillls @rebelrel0987

@aikosilo @vibessonvibes @magnificentbouquetmusic @tbmotw @nayys-world

[ssa-dado]

0 - Symposium, definitely not Platonic love.

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader (I hope I tagged it correctly woops)

No use of Y/N!

Summary: Hotch, after seeing you reading a book on the jet, picks it up out of curiosity. Late-night texts with you evolve from work to teasing philosophical banter about love, deepening your connection. Through this dialogue, Hotch reflects on both philosophy and his feelings for you, as the conversation subtly flirts with deeper emotions.

Genre: fluff, sapiosexual fluff.

Warnings: Implied alcohol consumption ; Reader and Hotch being completely blind yet marvellously insightful ; Philosophical discussions, I tried my best to make them as user friendly as possible ; Sir kink if you squint, although it's not intended in that way at all ; The story is set around season 3/4 before the team found out about Strauss' drinking problem, I feel so bad anyways.

Word Count: 2.9k

Dado's Corner: be kind this is my first ever Hotch fic and overall first fic I've written in English (yes, I indeed am a real Italian stallion) so there might be some mistakes, bear with me.

next part - set when they first ever met.

Hotch sits on the couch, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows across his living room, the house is so quiet, he briefly interrupts his late night reading session as he swears he can almost hear Jack’s light breathing from across the house. Those sweet thoughts, mixed up with the muffled night traffic almost lullabies him to sleep while the weight of another long week at the BAU settles into his bones.

His eyes immediately gaze down to his hands, firming holding opened the slim book: Symposium by Plato—a book he wouldn’t normally pick up on his own. The corners of his mouth quickly turn up as he recalls how he’d seen you reading it on the jet a few cases ago, sitting cozily and crossing your legs alone in a seat in front of him, strategically shielded from the table seats occupied by playing the rest of the team, including himself, busingly playing cards.

Every now and then his gaze automatically lingered on your stillness, the only movements coming from the swift air you moved while turning the page or adjusting your pose to be more comfortable, this sight intoxicated him. Your focus was so intense you didn’t even flinch at Derek standing up from his seat and leaning forward, while his hands gravitated towards the doctor’s bare neck after the latter just killed him off the game because oblivious of yet another variation they all added so it would make it easier to beat Reid. An attempt that ended tragically.

In that abrupt mess - from JJ laughing at the ironic hilarity to Reid using the highest-pitched voice his vocal chords could ever produce to defend himself from Derek's accusation of cheating - Hotch only remembers how your statuesque figure slowly had revived itself again as you glanced up to make sure no harm was done to the doctor. You made eye contact with Hotch and and you immersed yourself back to the slim book as soon the Unit Chief signed you not to worry and that he would tackle the situation himself. In a matter of fractions of seconds all your surroundings had disappeared again.

As soon as the Unit Chief was back into his office, curiously reminiscing about your hypnotic serenity, he’d ordered a copy.

Now, as in the comfort of his living room slowly turns the pages, his phone vibrates with a message from you awakening him from his trance, immediately wonders why you would message him so late at night.

“Hotch, quick question: about the profile for the Winger case—should we revise the victimology section?"

…Of course, he almost started to hate how his role as Unit Chief always seemed to ruin his brief-lasting delusions.

He robotically types a response, a straightforward answer to your work-related question but as he presses send, his gaze lingers on the book in his hands. There’s somehow a temptation on his side to share the weird coincidence, to see how you might react.

"Good catch. I’ll review it tomorrow.” He writes.

“Wow that was quick, I didn’t expect you to still be up, did I interrupt your late night reading session?”

He quicky blushes, how could you know him so well?!

“You did. Don’t worry about it. By the way, I’m reading Symposium tonight." He blurts out

There’s a pause, and he can visualize your surprised reaction, how the sight of your smile would always warm his heart; almost immediately, his phone buzzes again.

"Wait, really, Symposium?!”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He wouldn’t smile so much if you were standing in front of him, thankfully, the shield of communicating through texts allowed him to put down his.

You continue. “Not to raise your expectations too much, but that’s my all-time favorite book, just so you know!"

He swears he can hear the intonation of your voice reading that text, visualizing how you would face your palms towards him and raise your shoulders, trying to keep that non-chalant expression of yours and not perk a soft smile to him.

Entitled by that fateful coincidence, Hotch feels brave enough to decide to tease you - just a little - hoping the text doesn't sound that much so out of character for him as much as it does in his head, although he shrugs, sending it before he starts overthinking it.

“Your all-time favorite? A book about love? I should’ve known."

He pauses, imagining you raising an eyebrow, maybe with that knowing smile you wear when he’s teasing you. And even though he’s playing it off as a joke, part of him can completely see how you, could actually have a natural flare for romance - even if you never openly admit it and always tried the best you could to suppress that side of yours.

He decides to blame it on the years spent at the BAU when it was just the two of you along with Rossi and Gideon; At how you were recruited as soon as you turned 21, while the youngest person you worked with on the team and could relate to the most was Hotch himself, even if he was late in his Jesus year.

He quickly remembers how you would always overwork yourself - you both still do nowadays, that's why you're having a conversation at past 2 AM - He could see how you were always trying to prove your worth more to yourself rather than to your co-workers or even to the sketchy police officers and detectives somehow still stuck in the 1400s.

He had always admired you for your intelligence and acute instincts, and so does your nowadays team, immediately entrusting you with the nickname of "Prehistoric Reid" only because because you had started working at the BAU back when they still didn't provide the jet so you all had to move using the trains. Even if you already have 9 years of experience in the field, yet you were the 2nd youngest - still no eidetic memory though - this desire to always prove yourself never fully went away. One day you were the youngest, the other they assume someone way more genius than you were so you can't stand out anymore for merely for your intelligence.

You finally respond: "Well, it’s more than just a book about love. It’s actually quite of a concrete example of Plato’s take on philosophy - the whole thing told through dialogues, like a discussion among friends. But I won’t bore you with all the technicalities"

Hotch chuckles softly, picturing you downplaying your passion, trying not to sound too academic. What you don’t know is that he could listen to you talk about philosophy for hours - especially tonight, about philosophy’s take on love, no less. He doesn’t dares to say that, though.

"I wouldn’t say you’re boring me. In fact, I’m starting to see the appeal. But really, all-time favorite?"

He leans back into the couch, waiting for your reply.

You told him back when you first met that your first ever degree was in philosophy, and now recalling that specific information he's been wondering why exactly a barely-reaching-100-pages-long book holds such a special place for you, out of all the others he’s seen you passionately read during the years. A part of him is genuinely curious, the other part is trying to stretch as much as possible this conversation with you.

"Absolutely. I mean, think about it: a bunch of people crashing at their friend's house, sitting around, getting drunk, each giving their take on love while they feast at a banquet." You continued. "It’s almost like when we’re at Rossi’s, except instead of love, we’re all talking about criminology and cases while stuffing ourselves with his Italo-American dishes".

An image of Rossi pouring wine wearing an ancient greek costume - fake long white beard included - while everyone at the table delves into some intricate discussion about a case flashes through his mind, Hotch immediately chuckles at the comparison. He's sure you've imagined the exact thing too and he can almost hear you suggest hosting a real Symposium next time, his profiling skills never fail him as soon his phone buzzes again.

"Imagine if we recreated the Symposium at Rossi’s. Each of us giving our take on love. I can almost hear Reid's speech delving into the psychology of affection and its variations throughout the various cultures"

Quick on his chubby fingers, after laughing at the scenario, he types the continuation "In stark opposite, Garcia would follow him and pull out her tarot cards and read each of our birth charts, telling us who we're most compatible with based on our stars alignements"

While waiting for you, he stands up and makes his way towards his home bar, reaching for the scotch bottle, swiftly filling up his glass, silently blessing Plato for making this the longest light-hearted conversation you haven’t had in years. You were both either too focused on your work or actively suppressing your romantic feelings and ignoring each other. After all this time he would almost forget how the two of you were first and foremost very good friends. As the liquid burns the back of his throat, his phone buzzes again.

"That's actually really fascinating yet so intimidating, what about Rossi though? Of course he's hosting all of us but I feel he would totally blurt out some old-scool stuff he only understands. I know I'm not the only one who doesn't get his references, but I really feel bad whenever I don't."

He almost chokes himself after your other reply

"So, big boss, have I convinced you with giving us the free week-end or should I extend the invite our lovely friend Strauss? I fear that after a few glasses of Rossi’s wine all that angst towards you might turn into some ol' sweet love. I would watch out if I were you, Unit Chief"

You loved poking fun at him using his rank; It all started a few years ago to jokingly shrug away the awkwardness caused from how the co-worker you always used to joke around, spend the nights together in the same room, sharing your theories about the unsub and building up the profile with suddenly turned into your superior. As much as you both didn't want to admit it, something in your relationship had shifted since this happened, not to mention to the fact that it's much more awkward to admit to your boss you've been having a crush on your him for almost 9 years rather than to your co-worker.

Now Hotch, encouraged by the slight booze, further teases you "And what do you think my take on love would be?"

This was the closest he could ever come to flirting with you, walking on that fine line and never pushing himself further. For Hotch, the gesture of basically asking you to profile him in a moment in which he was so vulnerable, breaking his golden rule of "never profile your coworkers" was the most romantic declaration of love he could ever think that of.

Your text brings him back down to Earth:

"Hmm, I imagine you’d give a thoughtful, analytical speech something with a lot of depth but surprisingly subtly humorous. You would wait for everyone to finish their own speech so you would be last, acknowledging all of us completely busted, only because you have self-control."

You feel the need to add something else, even if you know already he would read into it, at the way how you reserved a mere sentence to describe that scenario involving your teammates. On the contrary, you could write a whole book about him and all his hypothetical remarks, meticulously poiting out every small gesture or expression - or the lack of - of him. Since truth lies in the middle, you decide to dedicate him only another lengthy paragraph.

"You would start with something along the lines of ‘Love is a complex system of emotional responses influenced by myriad factors…’ as if you were delivering a profile, definitely using that same tone as well. You’d probably have us all analyzing every possible nuance and you enjoy watching us slobber, trying to quickly sober up to keep up with your impeccable remarks. Of course we would miserably fail at being analytical whatsoever, but you love whenever we make a fool out of ourselves."

He chuckles "You do know me too well"

He probably hints at the possibilty of having a weekend off with his next text "And since now you're making me think I might have to start prepare my speech about love, it wouldn't hurt to also include a few practical applications for the BAU team’s dynamics."

Ha. You wish he showed you what those practical applications consisted of. Hotch although interrupts even the possibility of recycling this genius quick witted remark with him, making sure to replace yourself with his archenemy section chief Erin Strauss, to not weird him out.

"Jokes apart, your take on love would be fascinating, I'm looking forward to hear it", he says.

"Only if you’re ready for philosophical debates after a few glasses of wine. Though, I’ll warn you - I take my Plato very seriously."

Hotch smiles at that, apparently he took his Plato quite seriously as well. What you're not aware at all is that the late-night session of Symposium you had interrupted wasn't his first.

"I’ll keep that in mind. But honestly, I’ve been finding parts of it… enlightening."

He had actually finished it for the first time less than a hour before you texted. What you actually interrupted was Hotch helplessly going back through certain passages that reminded him of you. He hypothesises your take on the subject of love, trying to gauge how you view it without revealing feelings he’s kept carefully hidden for a long time.

"Enlightening, huh? So you’ve gotten to the part where Socrates explains how love makes us better people?"

Hotch remembers that part well enough, but he hasn’t revealed just how deeply he’s been thinking about it - how, in his own quiet way, he’s been trying to connect those ideas to his life, and to you, so he chooses his next words carefully.

“Not yet." He lies, knowing that the part you appointed to would only come much later in the book "But I’m guessing you’ve got some thoughts on that?"

He imagines you smiling on the other end, maybe a little amused at how he’s obviously deflecting, although you don’t press him, but your next reply doesn't lack a subtle challenge.

"I do. But I think you'd find it pretty relevant, Hotch. Phaedrus talks about how lovers fight better together - how love gives them courage."

He quickly smirks and reminds himself how much he loves when you put him in the corner with the choice of your words, there was no way he could deflect that, since Phaedrus’s speech comes first, he couldn't say he hadn't read that yet.

Hotch's eyes flicker toward the book again, remembering Phaedrus’s discourse: the idea that love could make people fight harder, be stronger… it strikes a chord, reminding him of the strength he’s seen in you, in the unique way you both handle the intense challenges of your work when paired up together. He types, his words more deliberate now.

"Phaedrus might be onto something. Love as a motivator, as a way to push people to be better. What about you? Do you see it that way?"

There’s a slight pause before your next message, and he can almost sense your careful consideration, you’ve never been one to answer these kinds of questions lightly.

"Yeah, I think so. I mean, love isn’t just about being close to someone, it’s about making each other better, pushing each other forward. But that is not easy at all. It takes patience, discipline… and maybe a bit of faith."

Hotch’s expression softens as he reads your words. He admires your thoughtfulness, your ability to cut straight to the heart of something that most people shy away from. He finds himself thinking about how true those words are, how they seem to apply not only to love, but to the way both of you approach life and work. He types slowly, his words carefully chosen.

"Patience, discipline, and faith. Sounds a lot like what we do every day, maybe we’re already living it."

As he sends the message, he sets the phone down beside him and glances at the book again. He’s aware of the irony - that for all the deflecting, all the jokes, he’s learning more about you through this conversation than he would have if he had simply asked.

The words of Plato, the discussions on love, seem to take on a new meaning - one that feels personal, one that makes him wonder if he’s been missing something between the lines all along.

"You know, this conversation feels a bit like Socratic dialogue. Just without the wine. Maybe I’m learning about love through you and Plato’s dialogues in a way Socrates might’ve appreciated."

He sends the message, a small smirk on his face. He knows how much you would appreciate the unexpected extra philosophical remark about Socrates even if he knows little to nothing about him apart from that his idea of love in Plato's book. To impress you he totally forgets how only just a few moments before he stated he hasn’t read his discourse yet. A few moments later, your reply comes through.

“No way! Aaron Hotchner now delves into the Socratic dialectics?!"

Now you smell the lie so to make sure you trick him with the next text "Well, maybe you should read something by Socrates next, he was quite the conversationalist, you would rely a lot to him, especially after all of this philosophical banter"

"Any recommendations?" He naively takes the bait

"That’s the thing, Unit Chief - Socrates didn’t write anything. He relied on his students to record his thoughts. It’s all oral and dialectical. The dialogues are his legacy, not written works, maybe that’s why it’s such a rich experience—like having an ongoing conversation with someone through the ages."

Hotch leans back, wishing these moments would linger forever, hoping the words you exchanged could be eternal just like those exchanged by the men he was reading about, now printed with black ink on the paper resting in his hands. He's surprised he doesn’t feel the tiredness of the week anymore or neither the need to sleep. Damn, he has so much energy he's sure he could run a whole marathon, but only if you’re out there watching him.

"Well, if our conversations end up like Plato’s dialogues, I think I’m in for a rewarding challenge. Just don’t make me drink too much wine before our next discussion."

"Unit Chief I thought you had self-control and didn't need to be babied like us mortals"

His phone buzzes with another message from you.

“Sorry if I ask, I’m curious - what got you interested in Symposium all of a sudden? I didn’t think philosophy was your usual reading material."

Hotch takes a moment to think, considering how to respond without revealing too much.

"You know, it’s funny. I saw you reading it a while back and it piqued my interest. I guess I wanted to see what you found so engaging about it. And honestly, I’m finding it pretty compelling - there’s a lot more depth to it than I expected."

His cheeks turn into a light shade of pink at your last response. "Unit Chief, do you believe you might need some professional insights on that speech you needed so urgently to write?"

"I definitely might need a hand - if I'm not wrong you do have a philosophy degree, don't you?"

Symposium might just become Aaron Hotchner's all-time-favourite book as well, after all.

[porcelana-r0ta]

The Curse of Sight, Part 7

DCxDP

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

[Ao3 Link] (Registered Ao3 users only)

Summary: When Wes Weston meets Tim Drake-Wayne, the dots start connecting. And those dots form a bat.

xxXxx

After a phone call with his mom to confirm that it’s alright for Wes to stay the night, Rebecca leaves with the AV equipment in a Wayne vehicle with a WE driver from HQ. (She also absconds off with a few extra Alfred Pennyworth cookies, but no one calls her out on it.) Wes is then left alone with Tim for a grand tour of Wayne Manor. 

The estate is large and sprawling, but Wes is nothing if not observant and adaptive, and he makes quick work of memorizing the layout. He’s careful to make mental notes of places that could potentially hold secret passages. 

Part of Batman’s whole thing was that he had a Batcave, right? Surely it’s connected to the Manor. The entrance is most likely on the first floor for easier access if the Cave is underground, which is the most logical conclusion given that the Batcave has to hold a computer with enough processing power to be the legendary Batcomputer, all the Bat-vehicles, plus any trophies Batman has collected in his lucrative career as a vigilante. Also, if it’s as much of a cave as the name implies, it’s got to be underground. 

Not that Wes wants to go exploring. This investigation is just so he can mentally note what areas to avoid and always have plausible deniability. 

“Oh, no, Mr. Bruce Wayne, sir, I didn’t see you come out of a bookcase secret passageway with bruises that strangely match up with Batman’s. You see, I was over on the bench in the Wayne Gardens, much too far away from the Wayne Library to see any secret nightlife activities. I’m just a simple teenage boy, haha, please don’t steal my kneecaps. Anyway, what did you think of My Immortal? ”

Yes. Foolproof and non-suspicious, two of Wes’s favorite things in Gotham. He even deflects into the Brucie Wayne persona in this imaginary scenario.

God. This is too stressful. Wes knows too many people with alter egos. He needs normal friends—he can’t keep being the normal friend for abnormal people. Maybe he should start going to the community center in his mom’s neighborhood and meet normal teens with normal Gotham interests. (Wes imagines the normal Gotham teen experience to be the universal vaping and smoking, plus minor vandalism and maybe even some pickpocketing in the Diamond District. He’d sidestep any vigilante-chasers or gangsters, naturally. He’s got to avoid the Bats!)

Of the first floor, there are the following rooms: the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, the parlor, the drawing room, Mr. Wayne’s office, the game room, the theater room, the servants’ quarters, the bathrooms, and the garage.

The kitchen likely has too much foot traffic to keep a secret entrance, plus Mr. Pennyworth seems too proper to let Bat-hijinks take place anywhere near his domain. The foot traffic would remain an issue for rooms like the living room, the drawing room, and the parlor. The theater and game rooms may be an option — both had bookshelves to hold board games, video games, DVDs, and VHS tapes, and bookshelves are classic rich people hiding places. The library is another potential place, even if it’s rather stereotypical. But maybe he should expect stereotypes from the same people with a cow named Bat-Cow? 

The servants’ quarters, only occupied by Mr. Pennyworth and not included in the tour, would be an unexpected place. It may be too far out of the way, though. The bathrooms could be an option: no one is going to interrogate someone for spending too long in a bathroom. But some people are nosy about what others keep in their bathrooms, and someone as paranoid as Batman would account for that. The garage is likely too much of a security liability given that it’s right there along the driveway for an easy getaway. 

That just leaves Bruce Wayne’s office, where it wouldn’t be weird for a CEO to disappear into for hours at a time, nor would it be weird for it to be off-limits for people to be in. Wes was only shown where the room was, not the inside. It’s totally normal to not be brought into your friend’s dad’s office. So normal, in fact, that Wes wouldn’t have even questioned it if he didn’t already know that the Waynes were the Bats. 

So, avoid Bruce Wayne’s study. Not a problem for Wes because he has zero reason to go in there in the first place. This sleepover thing will be a piece of cake. 

Right now they were in the game room, playing Mario Kart 8 on the Switch. The Waynes were wealthy enough that both Tim and Wes had a pro-controller. (Eat the rich!) Right now, Wes was beating Tim by a decent margin as Luigi, but he’s not sure how much of that is Tim letting him win. He’s only played Mario Kart a few times, and never on the Switch, so he’s not really world champ. It’s nice of Tim to fake being bad, though. 

“Damn, you win again,” Tim says, watching Luigi pass the finish line, followed by his avatar, Princess Peach, seconds after. 

“‘Cause you’re going easy on me.”

“What? No I’m not.” 

“You liar.” One of the best ways to lie is to pretend to be a bad liar. Make a few sacrifices with your integrity and no one will question you when you lie well about something that actually matters. His parents taught him that. “Play better this next round.”

“Are you trash talking me?” Tim is playfully offended. 

Wes scoffs, grabbing one of the sofa cushions and setting it against the armrest. He buries himself into it, swinging his legs onto the couch. He’s just barely tall enough to shove his socked feet into Tim’s ribs where he’s sitting. “Am not. I just know that you’re a little tech nerd, and that you can totally kick my ass. No way you haven’t obsessively played Mario Kart.” 

“First of all, I resent that.” He shoves Wes’s feet away. His ears are red. Still cooling down from outside? They weren’t so red a little bit ago. “Second of all, fine. Let’s do Rainbow Road.”

“Sweet, a challenge!” 

Tim selects the Special Cup, and Wes does semi-decently in the first three courses, though Tim only barely holds onto first. The last course is Rainbow Road, and Wes proceeds to fall off the track every thirty seconds. He crosses the finish line in a very humble tenth place. Tim, impossibly, does worse than he has in previous rounds, ending in fourth place rather than the calculated second to spare Wes’s pride of their previous Cups. 

“Hmm. That was humiliating.”

They both turn to look at the doorway, where Damian Wayne lurks, holding Alfred the Cat. 

“Don’t be rude, Demon Spawn.” Tim scowls. Wes stretches his feet out to nudge at Tim admonishingly. 

“Dude, c’mon. He’s right. That was bad.” 

“Weston is correct, Drake. And besides, I was talking about you.”

“Okay, that’s it—” Whatever Tim is about to say is cut off when Wes kicks him, harder than a nudge, but not enough to hurt for longer than a few seconds. “Wes! What the hell?”

He ignores Tim, “Did you want to play, Damian?” He gestures at the TV with his controller. 

The boy straightens up, and the movement makes Alfred the Cat wriggle free of his hold. She darts into the room, behind the sectional couch and out of sight. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am merely here to relay Pennyworth’s message that supper will be ready in thirty minutes.” 

“Oh, so you’re scared that you will do worse than me?” He raises a challenging eyebrow. 

“Tt. I could defeat you and Drake blindfolded.” 

“Prove it.”

Wordlessly, Damian marches into the room and swipes the controller from Wes. He laughs, kicking his feet off the couch and getting up to grab a third controller. When he turns back to the couch, Damian is already sitting beside his big brother, his back straight and his face neutral. He turns on the controller and joins them on the couch, leaving enough room for Damian to not feel crowded with a stranger. 

The kid reminds him of some of the more minor-league ghosts who like to annoy Danny for attention. Ghosts like fighting, they like arguing. Siblings shared in that trait, usually. 

Tim grumbles and switches to three person multiplayer, then asks, “What tracks do you want to play?”

“The same one you and Weston were on. I will defeat you both.” 

“Well, definitely me,” Wes says. Damian only sniffs in response. 

They speed through character selection, Wes keeping Luigi and Tim keeping Peach, and Damian chooses Shy Guy. After choosing their vehicles (Wes is the only one who chooses a cart instead of a motorcycle), they start the Special Cup. 

They quickly discover that Damian is a ruthless competitor. Wes lets out a frustrated groan at the third green shell that hits him, whereas Tim curses at his little brother. “How are you so fucking good? I thought video games were beneath you!”

“Jon has a Switch. He likes Mario Kart and Minecraft.”

“Of fucking course he does.”  

Wes wonders who this “Jon” person is. A civilian friend? A fellow superhero? He hates knowing superhero identities, but his mind runs theories anyway. 

Damian continues to win against them, and when that gets boring, he purposely keeps a middle-pace so he can collect shells. His aim is unfortunately impeccable. After twenty minutes of losing to his little brother, Tim calls it quits. “Okay, that’s it. We need to wash up for dinner before Alfred gets mad.” 

“Scared to continue losing, Drake?”

“Hardly. Go wash your hands, brat. You were holding the cat earlier.”

“She’s cleaner than you,” Damian insults. Then, before Tim can retort, he bounds out of the room. 

Tim turns to Wes, “Dude, seriously?”

“What? He obviously wanted to hang out with you.” 

“No he didn’t! He’s Damian. He wanted to spy on me and you so he can insult us better later when you aren’t around.” 

“Mh-hm.” Wes is doubtful. “I don’t know about that. He acts like how I did when I was in middle school and wanted to hang out with my older cousin.”

“It warms my heart that you’re capable of seeing the good in evil.”

“You don’t mean that, dude.”

Tim smiles, “I guess not.” 

After washing up themselves, they head downstairs for the dining room. They are greeted by the savory scent of steak. Wes’s mouth waters. Real rich people food. 

Bruce Wayne (Batman!) is already seated at the head of the table, Damian to his right. Tim grabs Wes’s hand and pulls him to sit on the other side, with Tim acting as a buffer between him and Bruce Wayne. 

“B, this is Wes Weston, my friend. He works in PR, specifically with our TikTok team.” There is no TikTok team, unless Wes and Rebecca count as a team. What is she supposed to do when he goes back to Amity with his dad at the end of the summer? “Wes, this is Bruce, my adoptive dad.” 

Well, only after the whole fake uncle thing, Wes thinks to himself. But he isn’t supposed to know about that. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Please, call me Bruce when we aren’t at work, Wes.” Bruce Wayne grins that Brucie grin, big and disarming. I’m onto you, Batman. You can’t fool me. “It’s great to see Tim with friends his age. I had a lot of concern after he dropped out of high school, you know, but—”

“Bruce, please. Stop embarrassing me!”

“I’m just expressing my love for my son, Tim.” He turns to Damian, “Don’t follow your other brothers’ examples. Stay in school.” 

“Of course, Father,” Damian says while Wes snorts. 

The Waynes are really zero to nil on children who have high school diplomas. Dick Grayson ran off (or was run off?) at age sixteen, Jason Todd was declared dead (though Wes suspects that maybe he really did die—is there a way to get Danny and Co. to look into that without spilling identities?), and Tim dropped out and created an uncle after his parents passed so he could become a full-time CEO and vigilante (Wes should sit down with Tim and talk about good coping mechanisms, and also never admit to knowing about the fake uncle or the vigilante activities). Hell, even Bruce Wayne is a medical school dropout!

They still at least had Damian Wayne and Duke Thomas, Wes supposes. Maybe they can be the Wayne kids who finally walk at graduation. 

As if on cue, Duke Thomas trudges into the room, clearly tired from daytime patrol as The Signal. Though, Wes is likely supposed to believe that Duke is out doing volunteer work or something of the like. 

“Hey, guys. New person.” Duke squints at Wes, then rubs his eyes. A pair of tinted glasses hang on the collar of his yellow shirt. He grabs them and puts them on.

“Hello, Thomas.”

“Hey, Duke.”

“Welcome back, Duke! Have you met Wes yet? Are your headaches acting up again?” 

“Nope,” says Duke, taking his seat next to Damian. “Nice to meet you. I’m Duke. And my head’s fine.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“Is Dick still here?” Duke asks. 

Bruce shakes his head, “He had to leave to make it back to Bludhaven so he’d be able to rest before his shift with the BPD tonight.” 

Wes translates that as He’s got Nightwing work tonight. But who knows? Maybe he really does have a night shift. 

“Ah, that sucks,” Duke says.

Alfred walks in pushing a cart of the mouth-watering steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, and roasted vegetables and starts to serve everyone.

Wes may have to sleep over more often. 

“Thanks, Alfred,” Wes says when his food is plated. 

“Of course, Master Wes.”

He wrinkles his nose at that, even though Alfred’s called him that a few times upon coming in for snacks after filming. Being called “master” makes him feel like some kind of egocentric wealthy elitist. 

“So, Wes,” Bruce Wayne, literally Batman, starts after everyone has been served. Wes straightens up tp better search for any signs of dinnertime kneecap removal. “You’re Penny’s son and that you intern at WE. How are you liking it so far?”

Normal dinnertime conversation. Excellent. Wes has been to dinners every evening of his life, so he should ace this. 

“It’s fun. I mean, I just did coffee runs and stuff at first, but it’s a lot more engaging now that Rebecca is running the TikTok and is using me as her Gen Z brain monkey.” 

“She’s not that much older than you.” Tim rolls his eyes. 

“The WE TikTok is doing very well,” Bruce compliments as if Tim hadn’t opened his mouth. “We should have started one much sooner.”

“I love the one you’re in. Wes, the one where you talk about the American public school experience,” Duke says, rubbing at his temple. Which is unhelpful because Wes directly made fun of Bruce Wayne in that one. “Sorry about the maybe trauma it inflicted.”

He winces, “I mean, it was fine. We were in a safe room the whole time. It genuinely was like the average American high school experience.” He cuts a concerned look at Bruce. The guy who literally can fire his mom and also rip out his kneecaps if he decides to take offense to something dumb Wes says. He just can’t help it—he’s an Amity Park teenager!

Bruce notices and laughs, “Now, now, none of that! I think it’s great that you raised awareness about school shootings. I’m very aware of my privilege, and I don’t have any hard feelings about it being called out.”

“That’s… good.” 

Tim nudges him from under the table with his foot. When Wes looks at him, he’s smiling. Wes’s stomach twists. It’s not an unpleasant feeling. 

Damian sniffs, “Well, nothing will compare to the appearances of Bat-Cow, Titus, Alfred the Cat, and Haley.”

“Everyone will love them,” Wes agrees. “People go crazy for animals.” 

“They would be wrong not to.”

“Wes, not to be rude, but are you from Gotham?” Duke asks. He squints from behind his tinted glasses. “You don’t have a Gothamite accent.”

“That’s not rude at all.” Wes racks his brain for reasons why the meta vigilante might look constipated whenever he looks at him. Is it an Amity Park thing? The Signal’s power set isn't 100% known—the only things confirmed by witness accounts are light and shadow manipulation. Is the electromagnetic radiation spectrum that Duke can see wider than a baseline human’s, thus allowing him to see more visible light? Can Duke see auras? Can he see ectoplasmic radiation? Can he see that radiation in Wes? 

He needs to be careful about what he says. “I’m from Amity Park, Illinois. So is my mom. But she and my dad divorced a few years ago and now I visit Gotham every other holiday and every summer.” 

“Oh damn, that sucks, dude.”

“Nah, it’s fine. They were super chill about it.” They had an amicable divorce. Wanted different things. His parents still text semi-regularly, and they will usually steal Wes’s phone for a few minutes when he’s talking to the other. They might still be together if his mom hadn’t wanted to move up in her career and his dad hadn’t been firm on staying in Amity, or if they’d both been okay with long distance. 

Still… it would be nice to be a complete family, again. Together and whole. Preferably in an Amity Park not infested with white suits or ectophobic ghost hunters. 

Ugh. He really needs to call his dad after work tomorrow. Maybe his cousin, too.

Dinner goes smoothly from there, and after, Tim drags Wes to the movie room to watch Lord of the Ring: Fellowship of the Ring before turning into bed. When the credits roll, he asks, “Are you cool with just staying in my room, or do you wanna stay in the guest room?”

Honestly, what kind of rich people shit is that question? (Ignoring that his mom owns a townhouse in Gotham City and is the director of Wayne Enterprises’s PR Department. He had humble beginnings!)

“Your room is fine,” Wes says. 

“You… just wanna share the bed?” 

Wes had seen Tim’s bedroom in the tour already. He had a California king sized bed. Sleeping in a bed that size would be just the same as sleeping in separate sleeping bags on the floor in terms of intimacy. 

“Yeah, that’s fine, dude.” 

Fast forward to them actually in pajamas and actually under blankets and actually turning off their phones for the night, and Wes is learning that it’s actually not fine. 

He’s hyper-aware of Tim’s form beneath the blankets, the same blankets Wes is under. And sure, they are on separate ends of the bed, nearly three feet between them, but still. 

He’s slept in the same bed as a few friends before, but that had stopped around middle school, when it was suddenly gay for guys to do that. Wes is secure in his sexuality, sure, but he was still in a small Midwestern town at the time, so he hadn’t exactly wanted to do anything to confirm any queerness about him. 

Tim, on the other hand, has been publicly bisexual for a while now. And he wasn’t in the room with Wes when he’d gotten his fitting and made his request that his suit reflect his sexuality, so he didn’t know that Wes was any flavor of MLM. (He’d been too insecure about his lanky basketball player frame to let a superhero overhear his measurements.) 

Is it weird that Wes knows Tim’s sexuality but Tim doesn’t know his while they share a bed? Is it creepy? Is it wrong? Should Wes say something? Or would it be even creepier to come out while in Tim’s bed? Fuck, is it hot in here?

He kicks a leg out from under the covers, allowing it to be exposed to cool air. It’s completely dark in the room, but he stares at where his foot should be. Should he have worn socks to make it not gay? Is it gay at all? What even is “it” at this point, anyway?

He forces a deep breath. This is probably not weird. It probably would be weird if he did decide to come out while sharing a bed with his friend, who is a queer vigilante and his boss and could have his adoptive father rip out Wes’s spine if he so wished. 

Right. So Wes needs to chill the fuck out and think of literally anything else. 

His first thought is unfortunately that time he fell off the monkey bars in the first grade and landed on top of Paulina Sanchez, who had cried and hated him until sixth grade for it. 

Even worse, his second thought is of his parents’ divorce, and he wants to slap himself. But he can’t do that when there’s a maybe-sleeping-maybe-not body next to him, so instead he takes another deep, quiet breath.

He thinks of Duke Thomas and the way he squinted at Wes. Right, light and shadow manipulation. But to what extent? The way he reacted to Wes might suggest he can see more than a regular human’s visible light spectrum. (More colors, like a shrimp?) If he can see ecto-radiation, then he can see that there’s something off about Wes, who has lived in Amity since the portal’s opening nearly a year ago. The average Amity Parker has a little ecto-contamination in them, but Wes’s may be higher thanks to his stalking of Team Phantom. 

So Duke might know that he’s a little irradiated. Not a big deal, Amity’s a small town. There’s no reason to assume that Duke will meet other Amity Parkers and start to ask questions. 

But what would happen if the Guys In White decide to outsource help and they decide that someone who can see more forms of light would be beneficial to the cause? 

….Fuck. He was supposed to calm himself down, not work himself up.

Wes settles in for a long night. 

xxXxx

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Ao3 is updated first BUT I upload onto Tumblr 10-30 minutes after uploading on Ao3, so don’t worry about missing out on early content or anything. Everything is updated within the hour :)

[cobaltsage]

I know my friends often think I’m paranoid for omitting pretty much every smart device outside of your standard phone and laptop from my life but honestly after playing Megaman Battle Network as a child, I know it’s only going to take a few very inspired people tired of corporate BS and experiencing a mental break to create a real world variation of World III.

Like. We’ve already heard of stories of people whose chastity cages got electronically hacked and force locked, and while that’s certainly creative, MMBN absolutely had way more simpler, and entirely possible crimes to commit.

Our fridges are online? Who controls that temperature. Maybe entire grocery stores will find their food either freezer burnt or spoiling.

Our thermostats? Well, it’d be a shame if somebody globally altered the temperature floor of the device to be boiling point.

Our cars are smart now? The literal first game had a chapter that merely took over traffic lights, it would only be easier to make the cars simply lock their users in and drive into each other.

Most data centers I’ve been to, even in multimillion dollar orgs, have dozens and dozens of servers protecting websites and the backup management processes are all handled by a single laptop that has a sticky note that says “do not close laptop” in a room that is virtually untouched for weeks at a time, except to check the temperatures of the cooling systems in the same room. As security, I can say I would have no idea if someone who came in for server maintenance was doing something suspicious or not, and even third party maintenance staff are often left to their own devices to work on perceived problems. Sure, they’re on camera, but so what if the next three people who work in the room are all going to be more third party maintenance staff?

Knowing that full well, I’m never going to buy a smart bidet for fear that it will end up with its water pressure settings altered, turning it into a power washer that ass blasts me to death.

[fluentmoviequoter]

My Fighter

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: When a serial killer you arrested breaks out of prison, you and your team are tasked with finding him. You lie to the team and meet with the killer, but Street rushes to help you and reminds you why he can't lose you.

Warnings: canon-typical violence and action (OC serial killer, depiction of murder scenes, mentions of blood and murder, threats), angst, fluff and comfort at the end. there are a few references from various episodes but no spoilers!

Word Count: 3.9k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“Street, hands to yourself, please. This is a workplace and I’m trying to make sure this raid goes well,” Hicks says.

Street ignores Hicks’ request, as well as Hicks’ obvious exasperation as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Street,” you whisper, shrugging one shoulder up.

“Fine,” he grumbles, removing his hands from your sides.

“Thank you,” Hicks sighs. “Now, you’ve got blueprints and Hondo’s breach plan is good. Deac, let’s not have another Schupatz situation, okay? Everyone stay where you’re supposed to be.”

“I’m still shocked you remembered him,” Luca comments.

“Everyone remembers big arrests,” Hondo argues. “And Deac’s just a good friend.”

“It’s true,” Deacon agrees. “First arrests are typically memorable.”

“Someone say something about memorable first arrests?” Rocker interjects from the doorway. “Mine was a drug maker. Not a seller or user, manufacturer.”

“Don’t get too cocky,” Hondo calls. “Our girl over here took down a serial killer for hers.”

“I got lucky,” you say softly.

“How so?” Rocker inquires.

“He killed one of my friends. Tried to cover his tracks, but I knew her well enough to spot every little inconsistency.”

Rocker nods before his team calls for him. As he walks away, Hicks goes over the details of your current case once more. Street’s hand returns to your back as a silent comfort after talking about one of the toughest cases you’ve ever worked on. Hicks doesn’t mention it this time but gives you an encouraging nod as you walk out of the situation room.

Hondo’s phone rings as you climb back into Black Betty after a successful raid. He furrows his brows and mumbles, “Someone’s more overbearing than usual,” before he answers the call on speaker.

“Commander,” Hondo greets.

“Back to the station. Now,” Hicks demands.

“Yes, sir. But the raid was good, so we’ve got another-“

“There was a breakout at the state prison,” Hicks interrupts. “We need 20-David on this.”

“We’re on it,” Tan agrees.

“Are you all here?” Hicks asks.

“Yes, sir,” your squad says together.

Hicks sighs, and you can picture him rubbing his jaw before he says, “Noah Oliguria broke out.”

Your eyes widen at the mention of his name, and you turn toward Hondo to make sure you heard Hicks correctly. Street moves to your side, and you know that you did. Your first arrest, the man who killed your friend, a serial killer who was supposed to be off the streets until he took his last unworthy breath, is now running free in Los Angeles.

“Where’d he go?” you ask quietly.

“He stole a van,” Hicks says, “we’ve been tracking it on traffic cams, but we need S.W.A.T. ready to roll the moment we have an opening.”

“He’s going to kill again.”

“We don’t know that.”

“I do. When I put the cuffs on him, he promised that someday he would kill again. He’s not out for tacos, Commander, he broke free to get back to what he knows.”

“It’s okay,” Street says softly.

He lays an arm over your shoulders, and you lean against him as Hicks tells Hondo more about what they know. You don’t care about how Noah broke out; you want to ensure he gets put back in. With Street beside you, your anger begins melting into fear. The last time Noah was on the streets of Los Angeles, a lot of people died, including someone you cared about deeply. That won’t happen again – it can’t, not while you can stop him.

“We’ll get him,” Hondo promises as he ends the call. “And you’re not alone this time.”

Your leg bounces with bottled anxiety as you sit outside the situation room. Dressed in your gear, you are ready to go. The rest of your team is inside with Hicks, but they decided it would be best if you didn’t have to relive the initial case against Noah. You remember it too well, anyway.

“Hey,” Street says as he lowers to sit beside you.

His hand lands on your knee, and you slow your breathing and movement at his touch.

“Hondo thinks we may have a lead. If you want to sit this one out, though, no one will blame you,” Street explains.

“I can’t sit here and do nothing, Jim.”

“I get it,” Street promises, nodding.

“You’re not helping,” you mumble as you look at him.

Street’s hand moves from your knee to the side of your thigh as you move. He furrows his brows at your comment, and you offer a small smile.

“You’re being really serious.”

“Oh, right,” Street agrees playfully. “Would you prefer a joke or just a generic sarcastic comment?”

You tap your chin as you think, but as your worry disappears (one of Street’s superpowers, you think), Hicks yells for 20 Squad to get ready to roll. Street’s hand slips into yours as you rush to Black Betty, and you can only hope to beat Noah Oliguria this time.

“Don’t,” Hondo demands as you step to his side. He extends an arm across your chest and shakes his head. “You don’t want to go in there.”

You turn away from him and press your fists harshly into your sides. Too late again. Last time you found one of Noah’s victims, it was your friend, and she had endured a bitter end until she couldn’t anymore. Despite your determination to stop him again, Hondo is right; you’ve seen enough of Noah’s work to know you don’t want to see anymore.

“He’s not going to stop, Deacon,” you say as he exits the building. “We don’t have time to go back to H.Q. and wait for a lead.”

“We don’t have to,” Street calls. “He left us one.”

You and Deacon rush toward Street, who lifts a blood-covered motel keycard. Noah’s, you assume. It’s not much, but it’s something. As you sit beside Street while Luca drives to the motel, you can feel your heart and stomach flipping with anxiety and memories you’d rather forget.

Street takes your hand and squeezes three times. Part of you wants to climb into his arms and never come out, but the other argues that you have a duty to the men and women that Noah has already killed and those he plans to. No one on your team would force you to sit this case out, but if Noah gets close to anyone you love, you won’t have a choice.

“Hondo,” you say. “Can I make entry?”

He nods slowly before agreeing. Noah has tried to taunt you from behind bars before, but if you see him face-to-face, you’ll let him know he will never get under your skin. You’re not scared of Noah Oliguria, but the idea of losing someone else to him terrifies you.

After you exit Black Betty, you run silently toward the room listed on the key. There’s an overturned housekeeping cart beside the door, and you nudge it out of the way. A blood-soaked towel falls from the laundry bin, and you don’t hesitate to kick the door open.

Street enters behind you, but your sudden stop causes him to grab your hips as he tries to stay upright. The scene on the bed holds your attention, though. Noah never seemed to have a type about who he killed. He simply liked the act, the blood between his fingers, a pulse fading under his touch as the life faded from his victim’s eyes. That’s why this scene is so wrong.

“It was too fast,” you murmur.

“Motives change,” Hondo points out. “He’s been locked up, maybe he- maybe he’s making up for lost time.”

“No, the first one was right.” You look around quickly before you decide, “He heard us coming. We just missed him.”

“That tracks,” Luca agrees. “M.E. said the first body had only been there about ten minutes. We’re not far behind him.”

“Far enough,” you snap. “We cannot let him kill again.”

Hondo looks at Street, who nods before grabbing your shoulders. He steers you out of the room with a loving but firm grip, and you let him lift you into Black Betty as you remember what Noah did on the other side of the motel wall.

“He’s going to keep killing,” you whisper.

You hold Street’s wrists as he kneels before you. He nods but doesn’t look away from you as the coroner and a detective arrive.

“You know it takes time. What he did to your friend, to you, was awful. Getting over that is impossible, but we can’t rush this,” he says.

“I know that. But… it feels like it’s my fault. I caught him once; why can’t I do it again?”

“It took you months.”

You shake your head and prepare to argue, but Street leans closer as his hands move to either side of your neck, his thumbs brushing over your jaw.

“Honey,” he murmurs. “It took you time, then, too. Be patient with yourself, okay? Those women, their blood isn’t on your hands, and you’re going to go crazy pushing yourself like this.”

“We’ll catch him eventually, right?”

“We always do.”

Street moves up to kiss your forehead before he sits beside you. The team joins you in Black Betty a moment later with another clue to chase. It feels like a breadcrumb trail, but you will always be too far behind, too slow to catch the man leaving the trail. Street keeps his hand in yours as Luca exits the motel parking lot and you gladly accept the comfort.

Your phone rings as Hondo explains the clue they found: a receipt for dry-cleaning to be picked up down the road in just under an hour. It’s an unknown number, but Hondo permits you to answer it anyway. With your helmet still on, you answer it and immediately switch it to speaker. You don’t speak before someone says your name.

“Heard you’re with S.W.A.T. now. Guess that puts a new meaning on the term ‘chasing’ me, huh?”

You recognize his voice immediately and try to end the call. Street grabs your hand gently and shakes his head, and Hondo motions for you to keep him talking.

“Noah,” you force out. “What do you want?”

“Ten years ago, you arrested me because I made some mistakes. That’s what you said at the trial. I didn’t make mistakes. Your friend was a fighter, and she wrecked her apartment. Someone leaving clues isn’t a mistake. Speaking of your friend… how’s her family?”

“What do you want?” you repeat slowly.

“To catch up. 12th and Maple, tonight at 8. Just you and me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll kill someone else. Actually, I have a better idea… for every half hour that you don’t show, I will kill another woman in L.A. How’s that for reason to come?”

“Pretty good,” you agree. “12th and Maple?”

“Right. See you tonight. Maybe wear one of those outfits that your friend liked so much.”

The line beeps as he ends the call, and you drop your phone into your lap. 

“You’re not going,” Jim says.

“Yes, I am,” you argue.

“No, you’re not. We’re not letting you go off alone to meet an escaped serial killer!” Hondo adds.

“And I’m not letting him kill more women!”

“He’s going to kill anyway,” Jim says. “And he may try to kill you. Please, just trust us and don’t go meet him alone.”

“We’ll ask Hicks about setting something up,” Deacon offers. “Maybe no one else has to die.”

“Okay,” you agree. “But… I think I need some time. Can I take a little while this afternoon?”

“Of course,” Hondo answers. “As much time as you need.”

“I’ll take you home,” Street offers.

“Thank you, but I- I need to be alone right now.”

Street nods, and you lean back for the remainder of the ride to H.Q. You’re lying, but think Jim believes you. Deacon’s right, no one else is going to die at the hands of Noah Oliguria, and you’re going to make sure of that.

“East Ducasse Alley off 12th and Crocker,” you say to yourself as you drive through the garment district for your 8 o’clock meeting. 

You changed the meeting place to ensure your team couldn’t arrest Noah before you got answers. They think you’re at home right now, and the meet has been called off, but as you exit your car and walk into the alley, you wish you’d told them the truth.

“Jim Street,” Street says as he answers the phone. His attention is on the screen before him until the person on the other end of the line speaks.

“So, I’ve heard. You’ve got good taste in women, picked a fighter… I guess we’ll see if she’s strong enough to fight someone like me, huh?” Noah Oliguria taunts.

The call ends immediately after Noah finishes. Street pulls his phone away from his ear and stares at the screen. He hasn’t heard from you since you let him know you got home, and either Noah thinks the meet is still happening, or you lied.

He opens his tracker app that lets him see where your phone is. Because of your job and its risks, you agreed to let your entire team see your location, though you can turn it off whenever you want. Lucky for Jim, you never remember the ghost mode capability. He sees the small dot with your initials on it at the end of an alley in the fashion district and abandons what he was working on.

“Hondo!” he yells as he exits the situation room. “She went to meet Noah! They changed the location.”

“How do you know?” Hondo inquires.

“He called me. Said we’d found out how much of a fighter she really is.”

“20 Squad!” Hondo calls. “We’re rolling!”

Tan raises his arms in question, but when Luca sees the concern on Street’s face, he yells for everyone to get to Black Betty. Time is limited, but you are family, so they’ll risk everything to get to you.

Noah slides his phone into his pocket as you near him. You stop with several yards between you and cross your arms over your chest in the dirty alley.

“I’m here,” you say. “What now?”

“You remind me a lot of her,” Noah replies. “When she opened the door of her apartment, I knew she’d be special. Even after she got me caught, she stayed special. You know why?”

“I’m not here for a trip down memory lane,” you snap.

“She was special because she led me to you. I watched you move around her place so easily, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if you’d walked in instead of her.”

“If you just brought me here to tell me that you want to kill me, I’m calling my backup to take you back to the cell you came from.”

“What backup? Your boyfriend Street was still at the station when I called. We’re alone, and we’ve got plenty of time for that trip down memory lane. I had to finish early because of your team once today, and I won’t let it happen again.”

Noah rushes toward you, and you bend your knees slightly to catch his shoulders before impact. He flips onto the ground and pulls you with him. As you fight for the upper hand, you see a knife, a gun, and something else under his shirt. He came prepared to kill you and to make it hurt. 

“You made another mistake,” you taunt as you kick him off of you. “I was never going to come alone.”

“Luca, a little faster!” Street yells.

“I’m going, Streeter,” Luca replies calmly. “We’ll get there.”

“We haven’t been ahead of him since the moment he walked out of that prison.”

“Street, you have to keep it together for her,” Deacon says. “If you go in there like this, you won’t be able to help anyone.”

“She thinks their blood is on their hands,” Street responds. “But if anything happens to her, it’s all on me. I let her go.”

“We all did,” Hondo adds. “But we’re in a position to help her before anything can happen. So, let’s keep it tight, stay liquid, and fight for our own.”

“30 seconds!” Luca alerts the team as he nears your location.

“Okay,” Street agrees. “Let’s do this.”

Noah’s knife falls from his waistband as he pulls you across the asphalt. You try to hide your yell of pain and use his own momentum to knock him over your head. Turning quickly onto your stomach, you begin to push yourself up before Noah moves the barrel of his gun into your face. You stop immediately, frozen on your hands and knees.

“I was right,” he says past a bloodied lip. “You’re putting up a better fight than her.”

“Then let’s keep going,” you reply.

“I don’t think so. Not here.”

Noah takes one hand from the gun and pulls a pair of handcuffs and a rope from his pocket. That’s what you couldn’t place earlier: the handcuffs. They look like they already have blood on them, and you wonder if it’s his or someone else’s. While he’s distracted and moving, you raise your hands and push his arms away from you. The gun falls to the ground, and you shove Noah backward and against the wall behind him.

He grunts before laughing, and you clench your jaw when you realize he closed one end of the handcuffs around your left wrist.

“I’m a fighter too,” he says lowly.

“You’re a coward with a gun,” you accuse.

“Don’t.”

“Or what?”

He kicks your shin, and your legs slide out from under you as you fall to the ground. With his knife retrieved from the ground, Noah steps back to look at you. Your gun is digging into your back, and you take the opportunity to tug against the handcuff. He’s standing on the other end, and as one hand moves beside Noah, you pull your gun from its holster. 

Noah steps back to your side and poises the knife above your chest. He raises it, prepared to plunge the blade between your ribs and debilitate you before he treats your death like a toy for his enjoyment until you break, and he has to replace you with another victim.

“Remember when I said you’d never kill me?” you ask. “I meant it.”

Noah’s face hardens as he tightens his grip on the knife. He raises it a touch higher, and just as he prepares to swing down, his eyes widen as a shot echoes in the empty alley. Noah drops the knife, and you ignore it as it lands on your stomach. His hand falls to the wound in his abdomen before he falls back. You tip your head back against the road and take a deep breath. Someone yells your name, and you sit up quickly with your gun still grasped tightly between your hands. The knife clatters as it falls from your movement, and you lower your weapon when you see Street running toward you. Hondo has his hand to his ear, likely calling for backup and an ambulance for Noah, who is still conscious and groaning in pain.

Street takes your gun and knocks the knife away from your side. He raises his gloved hands to your face and tilts your head gently as he searches your skin for any sign of injury. You hook your fingers over his wrists as you lean toward him.

“Jim,” you breathe out. “You came.”

He nods and you appreciate the silent promise that he will always come. Before you can think to ask, he retrieves a key from his pocket and removes the bloody handcuff from your wrist. He flips your hand to ensure the blood isn’t yours before giving you room to stand.

You lower your hands to the concrete and push yourself up while Street hovers beside you as you stagger with each movement. An ambulance approaches the end of the alley, but you don’t look toward Noah. He screams as Deacon applies pressure to his wound, and you turn toward Street.

“Get her out of here,” Hondo calls. “Hicks said she’s good to give her statement in the morning.” He looks at you to ask, “You good?”

“Can’t complain,” you answer. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Just give us a heads-up next time, would you?”

“No, we won’t have a next time,” Street adds.

You nod as Street leads you to your car. He takes the keys from your pocket and helps you into the passenger seat before climbing behind the wheel. You each have a lot to say, but he stays quiet as he navigates through LA and drives toward your home. 

Once you’re inside, changed, and comfortable in Jim’s arms, you have the space to talk and fall apart. He has a firm arm around your waist as the other holds your head against his shoulder. Your arms are wrapped over his shoulders as you breathe against him. You’re in pain, but nothing could make you separate yourself from Jim in this moment.

“I’m sorry I went without telling you. I’m sorry for going at all after you asked me not to,” you apologize against Jim's shirt.

Jim’s hand moves from your head to your back as he rubs comforting strokes against your spine. His hand slips under your shirt at the bottom, and you lean further against him with the unhindered contact.

“I’m not mad at you,” he promises. “Noah called me.”

“He told me he called you and you were at the station, so you weren’t coming. What’d he say to you?” you ask as you pull back to see Jim’s face.

“Basically, that he was going to hurt you. He said he was going to make you fight and see how good you really are. I… I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, listen. I don’t want to lose you, and that’s why I asked you not to go. Not because I don’t trust you or I’m scared of Noah, anything like that. But he was after you and I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too,” you reply softly.

“Then could you maybe try to act like it every once in a while?”

Street smiles, and your lips quirk up to match. You lean forward and kiss him, smiling against his lips as his hand travels across your back to bring you closer.

“I’ll remember that from now on,” you promise as you pull back. “And try not to do anything that could take me from you. I love you. I love you so much, Jim.”

“You know that none of this was your fault, right?” Street asks as he moves his hand from your hip to your cheek.

“Thanks to you, I do. You got me through today.”

“Kind of what I’m here for.”

“I see you chose sarcastic comments without me.”

“Well, you never answered the question.”

You shake your head lovingly and return to your previous position against Street’s shoulder. You love him, and you know he loves you; the comfort, reminders of what you mean to him, and how he treats you leave no room for doubt. Lying to him and risking your life, putting him in a place where he could lose you, wasn’t worth it.

“Can you say it again?” you ask, trailing a hand up Street’s chest and to his jaw.

“Say what?”

“You called me honey earlier.”

Street turns his face against your hand and leans into your touch as he says, “I love you, honey, and I’m going to tell you with every breath I have left.”

You smile shyly at the new pet name but take the opportunity to tease, “Hicks will love that.”

“Doesn’t matter, because I love you.”

Street pulls you into another kiss, and though you know life will never be easy, loving Jim Street is.

[nats-bottom]

SJ - New Product

Summary: Reader helps Scarlett test out a new product for The Outset.

Pairings: Scarlett Johansson and Reader

Warnings: None

Notes:

This is the first thing I've written since I've gotten back into writing! The others I've all published have all been from over a year ago, but this one is from just a few days ago. Hope you like it!

Go check out The Outset if you haven't already! I have a rare skin disorder and most things don't work for me and The Outset actually does! Highly recommend!

I also have accounts on Wattpad and AO3! The users there are @ paige_vers

Please give me requests! You can submit them here or on my insta, @ scarlettsoutset

ᨖᨖೱᨖ⧗ᨖⴵᨖ🕷️ᨖⴵᨖ⧗ᨖೱᨖᨖ

"Bzzzz Bzzzz" went your phone. You looked at your phone and saw it light up with Scarlett's face. She was at work for her skincare company, The Outset. You quickly answered, excited with every chance you have to talk to your wife. 

"Hello Scar!" you said as you picked up your phone.

"Hey love! How are you?" Scarlett replied from the other side of the phone.

"Better now that I'm talking to you. So what's up honey?"

"I was wondering if you could come down here and test out the new product? You know the one that we've been working on?" Scarlett asked.

"Yeah I'll be right there!" You say, starting to get your things ready to go.

"Ok, see you soon my love!"

"Love you baby!"

"Love you too y/n!"

You smile in to the phone as Scarlett hangs up. You head towards your car after you are all ready and get in. You turn on your favorite music, and drive down to the studio (idk what to call it), excited just to see Scarlett. 

The drive wasn't very long, only about 20 minutes since traffic wasn't that busy. You walked into the studio and saw your wife right away. She was in a blue and white striped top with black pants. She had her hair tied up and her glasses on. You love when she has her glasses on. She didn't notice you walk in, but Kate did. You motioned to Kate a 'shhh' with your pointer finger up to your mouth. You wanted to surprise Scarlett since she didn't see you. You walk quietly up to her, careful not to make a sound. You  put your hand up near her back and your mouth near her ear and whisper "boo" in her ear as you touch her back. She jumps a little and lets out a gasp. She quickly turns around and her eyes light up once she sees you. She engulfs you in a big hug and nuzzles her head in the crook of your neck, taking in your scent. You hug her back, enjoying every bit of it.

She lets go and takes your hand, leading you toward the testing area. 

"You ready?" She asked.

"Yes love." You reply.

She gets the product on her hand and starts to put it on your hand first, just to test it out. It felt cooling, and left you with a smooth feeling on your skin. 

"How does it feel?" She asked.

"Really nice." You respond.

"You ready to try it on your face?" Scarlett asked.

"Of course!" You say.

You feel her rub the cold cream on your face with her fingers, letting it melt into your skin. You ease into her touch, letting her spread the cream all over your face. You let out a small hum, enjoying her touch. Once it's all spread over your face, she pulls her hands away and does a quick pat on your cheeks. 

"Hey!" you say lovingly, giving Scarlett a playful look. You take the jar of cream and smear some on her face. She blushes and gasps. 

"y/n/n!" Scarlett says, surprised at the cold cream on her face. She takes more cream and puts it on your face, surprising you. 

"Scarlett!" you exclaim. You give her a peck on the lips. "I sure do love you, you know." 

Scarlett chuckles, "Yes I do, my love" she says as she gives you a sweet kiss. "So how does it feel?"

"Oh it feels great!" You say, winking.

"No not the kiss silly, the cream." Scarlett says, looking at you with a playful look in her eyes.

"Oh... That... It feels pretty good! I really like it! It's really smooth and cooling and doesn't sting or burn! It feels really nice."

"I'm glad you like it! It's supposed to be cooling and good for hydration. Not to mention it'll prevent wrinkles." Scarlett mumbles the last part.

"Hey, are you calling me old? Are you saying that I have wrinkles?" You ask, slightly accusingly.

"Noooo, I'm just saying that you might get them later, you know." Scarlett replies honestly, looking down at the jar of cream. "But you could say the same about me." She says, making eye contact with you again.

"Well then I'd love to get wrinkles with you, darling." You say, grabbing her free hand and rubbing the back of her hand with your thumb.

"Well you're stuck with me for a while, love." Scarlett chuckles and gives you a quick kiss on the lips. 

You stay at the studio until the end of the day, not only to help, but to spend time with your wife. 

[what-bot]

Program sense headcanons in Tron.

I have many so there's a readmore

Programs have different senses or level of sensitivity based on their function. They can change if upgraded; Tron shares some of his monitor senses with Beck using the disc

Programs designed to monitor a system or involved in communication have heightened senses, and a lot of processing capacity for them. Some programs are designed to get a broad idea of everything, while others are more specialised

Some see the program equivalent of shrimp colours - seeing radio waves is common in tower guardians or those who communicate with the internet.

Programs do not have a sense of smell

Less of a sense of taste than humans (they usually just eat energy, which tastes mostly similar. They can tell if it’s poisoned. Like irl, water from different taps tastes different but not by much.)

They DO have electroperception, and some have thermoception. Same with grid wildlife like bits.

A combination of the two above things lets monitors do that footprint-seeing thing that Dyson and Rinzler do (even if not directly linked in to be able to see system logs for that area)

Structures and vehicles give off different electrical frequencies. Programs whose function is related to those buildings can sense them, and receive signals from that which can hold information and helps them know where to go like they're ants following pheromone trails. e.g. programs in charge of the trains will have Train Sense

Messing with the above is totally what they used to control people in frame of mind

Programs also have their own signature they can use to tell each other apart

Electrical signals as nonverbal communication. Can communicate with Bits or Bytes this way

This thing that electric fish do called jamming avoidance

Programs can be linked with each other, common in counterparts or parent/child pairings (as in the computer version of parent and child), and share information with each other over the link like telepathy

Full black circuit-covering suits like Rinzler’s are stealthy both due to not giving off light, and masking the electrical signature of a program. They can disguise themselves as others using a similar principle

Users give off electricity, so they seem like a program to other programs on first glance, but those who know what to look for can tell the difference. Given it’s used in communication, programs can get confused talking to users as their electrical impulses don’t follow the same rules, but they can loosely interpret them with practice

Imagining Tron or other monitors getting sensory overload if network traffic is too high, or if in the outside world and standing among a bunch of computers/phones/servers/radio towers etc.

Programs in the outside world get pretty much none of the electrical feedback they’re used to, which can be unsettling for them

Idk how it would be different for Isos. I imagine there’d be a lot of similarities but their senses adapt/change based on their circumstances - getting stronger when needed and weaker when not

[transit-fag]

Hello Amtrak! As a car owner and user, my usage of the trains in MA and RI is very limited, but friend and I opted for taking the commuter rail from the Mansfield station down to Providence for Pride last Saturday to avoid traffic. This was a great experience except for when we tried to go home at 7:00 and accidentally boarded the Amtrak (Had no idea y’all shared the station with the commuter rail so we just thought this was the 6:58 prov/Stoughton line) Once boarded and a lovely gentleman came to scan our tickets, he pointed out we were on the wrong train (thank you kind sir!) He continues walking down the line and we stand up to exit the train. However, this is where my thrilling tale gets interesting! The door to exit the train car is closed and locked, so we turn to look back for help. The gentleman then shouts to us that we are not listening and to sit back down? Very confused and now embarrassed for being called out in front of all these nice people we sit back down. Reminder that we’re just trying to get from Providence to Mansfield and the Mansfield station is not on the Amtrak map. My phone is at 4% because I’m a garbage poor person who can’t buy a new iPhone and i am frantically trying to figure out where this train is actually headed as we are now being held hostage on it. Thankfully we’re heading north, but the next stop won’t be until Westwood! (This is many miles past Mansfield) The previously mentioned gentleman is nowhere to be seen and we can’t find another employee to unlock the door and let us out. We watch the actual commuter rail train pull into the station and leave without us as we are LOCKED INSIDE THE AMTRAK????? Train pulls out and we’re off. Fast forward to Westwood, we’re allowed off and then got to wait another 45 minutes at that station until the next train south arrives. Overall very mixed reviews as your train did have Wi-Fi so i was able to figure out where we were headed without my phone dying and leaving us truly stranded and was also very comfy. Unfortunately the kidnapping and holding two innocent queers hostage inside the train car was a little bit of a downer. Hilarious situation in hindsight though so 9/10 stars

This was a journey just to read

[wolfjackle-creates]

Answer My Call

As promised, this is the first chapter of @gilbirda's Wrong Number AU all fixed up. A lot of it is the same as the original version, but a lot has changed. It went from 3,059 words to 5,392. I'm gonna try and get somewhere with the next chapter of this, but no promises on time-frame. Also working on transferring at least the first chapter of all my WIPs over to AO3. This'll be the only time I tag a bunch of people for this as I'm gonna set up subscription posts.

Find the original prompt and fill here.

Find the Subscription Post here.

And the AO3 version here (locked to logged in users, reach out if you need an invite).

Story Summary: Jazz, Sam, and Tucker manage to help Danny escape the GIW, but they can't follow him and are under too much surveillance to communicate with each other. Sam snuck Danny a phone as he ran and Jazz sends him a text every day, hoping to hear he is all right. But he's not the one getting the texts.

Jason was away for several months on a mission with the Outlaws. When he finally returns home, he is surprised to find dozens of messages from an unknown number begging a Danny to tell her he's okay. Looks like there's not going to be a break between missions this time around.

----------

Jazz sat in a Nasty Burger booth and stared at her food. She'd ordered Danny's favorite, but her stomach was so in knots she didn't think she could eat.

All of this was her parent’s fault. If they weren’t so close minded and horrible, if they’d just accepted they were wrong…

Her circling thoughts were interrupted by a balled up napkin landing on the table next to her tray. Jazz was half to her feet ready to yell at whomever threw their trash at her when she saw Sam in a frilly yellow dress walking to the counter with her grandmother.

Huffing as if annoyed, Jazz settled back down and straighted the napkin. In messier-than-normal writing, Sam had scrawled the message:

I got him an old phone before he ran. His number is XXX-XXX-XXXX.

As surreptitiously as she could, she pulled out her own phone and saved the number to the encrypted folder Tucker had set up. Then she destroyed the napkin by soaking it in her unfinished pop and throwing her entire tray away, uneaten food and all.

Well, there was nothing else she could do in Amity. Might as well start the long drive back to Boston.

Upon reaching the edges of town, however, she realized leaving wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought. A GIW checkpoint had been set up and all incoming and outgoing traffic was being questioned.

Two agents approached her car before she could turn around and try a different way out. She did make them knock on her window before deigning to lower it just an inch, however. After what they’d done to Danny, she would never willingly play along with their games again.

“Ms. Fenton,” said the agent as soon as she realized she wasn’t going to open the window any further, “we need to search yourself and your vehicle. You are a known ecto-entity sympathizer and are suspected of assisting in the escape of subject P1. Vacate your vehicle immediately.”

“All I did was come back to my hometown to find my missing brother. I’ll need to see a warrant before you search my car.”

“Ms. Fenton, I don’t think you understand the situation. Due to the escape of the highly dangerous specimen P1, the town is under our a state of emergency. Mayor Masters has instated martial law to ensure the safety of all citizens. You can either vacate your car or you will be under arrest.” He grabbed a packet of papers from an inner pocket of his suit jacket and pushed one end through the crack in Jazz’s window.

Jazz took them and skimmed. The agent wasn’t lying; anyone caught breaking curfew or suspected of harboring or otherwise assisting a ghost would be arrested without bail immediately. All because her brother escaped that torture chamber. She stepped out of the car.

It took over an hour for the agents to search every inch of her car, purse, and luggage and convince themselves she didn’t have Danny hidden away somewhere. By the time she was allowed to go on her way, her jaw hurt from how hard she was clenching her teeth and her eyes stung with tears.

She hated Vlad. And the Guys in White. And the US Government. But finally she was free to leave.

And then she realized the white van was following her out of city limits. Really? Was she going to have to deal with them tailing her, too?

She ground her teeth and eased up on the gas pedal, moving to the right lane. Her father had taught her how to drive, but she’d learned better from the internet and recorded driver’s ed classes. She followed the speed limit exactly, only changing lanes to pass or allow others to merge on. Through it all, her focus remained on the white van behind her. She recognized Agent O as the driver.

Every so often his attention would slip and he’d wind up closer to her than intended. And then, finally, forty-five minutes after she started her perfect driving, she saw him yawn.

“Eat dust, creep!” Jazz shouted as she slammed her foot on the gas and jerked the steering wheel to swerve into the next lane. A chorus on horns followed her as she crossed the median and began going in the opposite direction. She had learned some things from her dad.

Two exits closer to Amity, she got off the highway and stopped at a Target for a burner phone which she activated at a local library. Then she got back on the highway east.

To her satisfaction, it took Agent O three hours to find her again.

-----

That night at a motel in who-knows-where Pennsylvania, Jazz double checked the locks on the door and that the curtains were closed before pulling out her new phone.

Her fingers trembled as she typed a message and sent it to the number Sam had given her.

Hey, Danny, it’s Jazz. Sam passed on the number for the phone she gave you before we were all separated. Please let me know you’re safe. Love you.

Jazz stared at the phone, hoping for a reply.

She woke with the phone clutched to her chest, but no new messages. Her breath caught and then she was curled around the phone crying.

“Danny, you’d better be okay,” she mumbled through her sobs.

But then her main phone alarm went off and Jazz forced herself up from the bed and into the shower. She could get through this. She had to.

An hour later, with her makeup applied and secret phone well hidden in her bag, she was back in her car and getting on the highway, a white van keeping pace behind her.

That night she was back in her dorm room in Boston. Her roommate tried to ask her questions about how her trip home went, but Jazz brushed off the concern. If she’d been honest, her roommate wouldn’t know how to reply anyway.

Instead, she waited until the other girl was taking a shower to pull out the burner phone and send another message.

Made it back to Boston. They’re following me now. Please don’t come here. It’s not safe. I know they’re keeping close tabs on Sam and Tucker, too. But they don’t know about this phone. Love you. Let me know you’re safe.

The next day, she got a phone call from an unknown Amity number during her Literature class. With a hurried apology to the professor, she gathered her supplies up and rushed out of the classroom as she answered the phone.

“Jazz speaking.”

“Hello, Ms. Fenton. My name is Detective Ramirez. I’m calling regarding your brother, Daniel—“

“Danny,” Jazz corrected automatically. “He prefers Danny.”

“Right, Danny. It appears he’s missing.”

Jazz’s breath hitched. She knew that, of course. But hearing a stranger say it so bluntly hit different. She walked faster, there was a single stall bathroom just a floor up.

“His teacher, a Mr. Lancer, reported his disappearance yesterday and your parents admitted they didn’t know his location either when we went to check on him. Do you know where he may be?”

“I don’t.” Finally, there was the bathroom. She rushed in and shut the door behind her, locking it before sliding to the ground. “Have— Have you figured out how long he’s been missing?”

“Near as we can tell, it’s been a week. Do you know why your parents wouldn’t have reported him missing?”

Jazz let out a mirthless laugh. “Are you from Amity, detective?”

A pause, then he said, “I am.”

“Then you know my parents. They were probably too busy trying to torture a ghost to notice Danny.”

“Would it be possible for you to stop by the station to answer some questions?”

“I’m in Boston for school, detective. You can come here or I can answer any questions you have on the phone. I will not be going back to Amity unless it is to see Danny.”

“Very well. Did your brother have any motivation to or history of running away?”

And so began an hour long interrogation. Jazz played her part to perfection. She cried, she begged, but she didn’t give him anything.

That night, after her roommate went to bed, she sent another text.

A detective called today to see if I might know where you are. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything. Maybe next time I’ll let slip some lies, send the GIW on a wild goose chase. Love you. Let me know you’re safe.

It became a ritual. Every day she’d keep her head down and go about her classes ignoring the agents following her and once a day when she could guarantee her privacy, she’d send another text to Danny. Each one ended the same way.

It’s been a week since you escaped. Did you make it to the realms? Love you. Let me know you’re safe. The detective actually came all the way to Boston to interview me. Can you believe it? I cried on him and begged him to find you and may have mentioned how much you loved visiting Aunt Alicia who lived off the grid. Hopefully that’ll distract them. Love you. Let me know you’re safe. Agent K tried to wait for me outside my Psych class today. I just met his eyes and glared until he said something into his walkie talkie and left. Love you. Let me know you’re safe. Today is your birthday and you're still not responding to me. I don't know what I'll do if you die a second time on me. Love you, let me know you're safe. Sam, Tucker, and I can't talk. We're under too close of surveillance. I think Sam is being home schooled now and Tucker got a scholarship and his parents sent him away from Amity. I don't know if it was the GIW or Vlad, but promise me you won't return to Amity. Love you, let me know you're safe. I got a call from the detective. They've basically given up the search. Of course they couldn't find you. I guess mom and dad made the call to have you declared dead. You're funeral is next week. Strangest part about this is it's 3 years too late. Love you, let me know you're safe. Dani was able to visit today. She’s safe and trying to find a way to the realms. We worked on finding ways to mask her ecto-signature and we’re finally happy with the results. I think she’ll be safe now. Love you. Let me know you’re safe.

Jazz didn’t mention how the study room they’d been practicing in was raided by GIW agents less than twenty minutes after Dani had left.

I’m back in Amity. Your funeral is tomorrow. I hate it here. I hate even more how much it still feels like home. Love you. Let me know you’re safe. They didn’t even show up. Love you. Let me know you’re safe. I miss you so much. I hate how useless I am. I’m not you. I can't build a portal or boo-merang to search for you. You'd better come home soon. Love you, let me know you're safe.

-----

The first thing Jason did upon returning to his Gotham apartment was shower. The second was sleep for a solid eleven hours.

And when he woke up, he made himself a huge breakfast, reveling in the opportunity to put a kitchen through it’s paces for the first time in months.

But the first non-essential thing he did was plug in his phone and turn it on. After months away, his notifications would be insane and he wanted to be rested and full before bothering to skim through the family group chats.

Unsurprisingly, his messaging app showed over two thousand unread texts. What was surprising, however, was that 71 of those were from an unknown number.

He opened that thread first and skimmed the most recent message.

Agent K tried to pull me aside to question me and search my bag twenty minutes before an exam. Asshole almost made me miss it! But I managed to run and got to my classroom just in time. Love you. Let me know you’re safe.

Jason raised an eyebrow and scrolled to the top of the thread. By the time he’d finished reading, his vision was tinted green.

Looked like he wasn’t going to have those relaxing few days before his next big case.

With a sigh he turned on his laptop and searched Amity. All he could find was a generic government website proclaiming it “The Most Haunted Town in America!” Every link on the page was broken when he tried to click it.

He ground his teeth and searched for “GIW” and “Agent K.” Neither yielded any useful results either.

By five o’clock he was nearly ready to scream in frustration and the green wasn’t leaving the edges of his vision. Looks like he was going to need backup.

He stomped out of his apartment, got on his motorcycle, and ignored all speed limits as he rushed through Gotham.

Traffic and noise decreased the further from Gotham proper he got until city streets were replaced by McMansions with their fancy landscaping and long drives.

He continued until he got to B’s home and made his way up the long drive. Though he quickly turned to the smaller path that lead to the kitchen entrance rather than continue up to the main doors.

After cutting the engine, he continued to sit on the bike for a moment as he stared at the door to the kitchen. Was he really going to do this?

He closed his eyes and phrases from the desperate texts filled his mind. With a deep breath he stood up and walked through the door.

As expected half an hour before dinner, Alfred was in the kitchen getting everything ready.

“Master Jason!” he exclaimed. “Give me just a moment.”

Jason watched with a slight smile as Alfred stirred the gravy and lowered the temperature. “Hey, Alfie.”

Alfred made his way towards Jason and pulled him into a hug. “Welcome home, my boy.”

“Got in yesterday. There enough food for one more? Who else is around?”

“There’s always enough food for you. Now, help me stir the vegetables. Masters Bruce, Damian, Duke, and Tim are all home.”

Jason hummed as he got to work helping with the last of dinner prep. “Is the replacement up to anything big right now? I was thinking of asking for his expertise on something.”

Alfred clicked his tongue. “You’ve only just returned from an extended mission. I haven’t even had the chance to check you over for new injuries yet. Can’t you rest for even a day?”

“Come on, Alfie. Don’t you know us better than that by now? No rest for the wicked as they say!”

Alfred gave him a Look. “You are hardly wicked, Master Jason.”

Jason looked back down at the vegetables he was helping with. “I think these are done. And you know I wouldn’t ask Replacement a favor unless it was important.”

“I know you know his name is Timothy,” Alfred said as he passed Jason a bowl. “But he is not working on anything time sensitive at the moment that I know of.”

“And you know everything.”

“Hardly. Now, help me set the table.”

Jason did as instructed and the two fell into an old routine.

Bruce walked into the dining room as they were laying things out. “Jason. When did you get back?”

Jason took a deep breath forced himself to stay relaxed. “Yesterday. Figured I’d grab some of Alfred’s cooking tonight.”

“How did your mission go? Have you filed a report yet?”

God, couldn’t he just ask how Jason was like a normal person?

Alfred stepped in before Jason could snap. “Master Bruce, you know I do not allow shop talk at the dinner table.”

“I’m doing great, B,” he said with fake cheerfulness. “Had the best breakfast this morning and slept amazingly, thanks for asking.”

“Jason—”

“I’m gonna get the last of the dishes from the kitchen, Alfred,” said Jason before Bruce could say anything more.

In the kitchen, Jason leaned over the counter and breathed as he counted to ten. He shouldn’t have come here. Not with the pits so close to the surface after seeing those messages.

But he was bat-trained and he couldn’t leave a mystery alone and he needed someone with better computer and hacking skills than he had. So here he was.

He could do this. It was just dinner then a question.

He grabbed the last two platters of food and returned to the dining room. Duke and Tim had arrived in the meantime.

“Hey, Jason,” greeted Duke.

“Hey, kid. How’s Gotham been treatin’ ya?”

“Same old, same old. Glad to see you’re back and in one piece.”

Jason grinned at him. “The other guys aren’t so lucky.”

Duke laughed. “I’ll bet.”

Tim piled food onto his plate. “You should’ve said you were back. Dick would’ve made the trip out here to join us. Barbara, too, probably.”

“It was a last minute decision. Where’s the demon brat?”

“Here,” said a voice from behind him. “Todd. You appear to be healthy.”

Jason blinked at the kid a few times as Damian walked around him and took his own seat. “Uh… yeah. Thanks. You appear… healthy, too.”

Nonplussed by the lack of aggression, Jason took his own seat and began serving himself as well.

Over dinner, the others filled him in on the major family drama as well as what had happened in Gotham while he’d been gone. Even Bruce seemed to be trying after his initial missteps.

But then they were finishing dessert and Tim got up to leave.

“Hey, Replacement, by the way, can I get your opinion on something? My computer skills don’t seem to be enough to get me the information I need.”

“Really? You’re gonna call me ‘Replacement’ at the same time as you ask for help? Fuck you?”

“Language, Master Tim.”

“Sorry, Alfred.”

“Look, Tim,” Jason corrected himself, “apparently someone contacted me months ago for help and I only just found out because I’ve been gone. It seems to be time-sensitive. Now, I can spend days or weeks more trying to figure this out on my own or you could probably do it in an hour or two.”

And of course Bruce had to butt in. “Who contacted you and what is this case?”

Jason shrugged. “Dunno. Looks like a case of wrong number, actually.

“A wrong number?” That caught Tim’s attention.

Jason hid his grin. Hook, line, and sinker. “Yep. She thinks she’s texting someone named Danny. I’m the one getting the messages.”

Tim sighed. “Fine. Give me a ride back to my place and I’ll see what I can do.”

-----

“What the fuck, Jason.”

Eight hours later and they were both tired and Tim still hadn’t gotten anywhere with his search. But he had fried two computers.

“It’s not supposed to do that, is it?” asked Jason staring at the Lazarus-green screen covered in bright blue gibberish. “Is that color combination even legal?”

“You’re worried about the colors? Dude! This isn’t even code. I don’t even recognize half these symbols!”

The computer let out an awful screeching-wail that had Jason covering his ears. Then it started to smoke and the screen when black. When Tim tried to check out the hardware, it had overheated so badly the plastic casing was melted.

“I think it’s time we try calling this Jazz woman.”

“Yeah. Would it be better to call her as Jason or Red Hood?”

Tim just raised and eyebrow at him and Jason sighed as he opened up his messages and hit call, setting it to speaker phone.

He winced when a woman picked up instantly with a cry of, “Danny!”

“I’m afraid this isn’t Danny,” said Jason.

He counted the seconds until the woman spoke again. Seven. “Please, just delete all the messages. If anyone finds out about them, I’ll be arrested. And the guys in white aren’t gentle with prisoners.”

Tim’s eyebrows rose and Jason bit his cheek to hold back the curses.

“You’ve got the wrong idea. I might not be Danny, but I want to help. You’ve reached Red Hood. I was unconctactable for the last few months while on a mission and I only just saw your messages. Red Robin is with me and we plan to help you and Danny. But we need more information.”

Another pause and then Jazz spoke again. “I’ll need some proof you are who you say you are.”

“Seems reasonable,” agreed Tim. “Give us fifteen minutes to get into costume. We’ll take a selfie. You can even specify the pose and any features you want included. Sound fair?”

“Fine. I want Red Robin to give Red Hood rabbit ears and Red Hood to give Red Robin Moose antlers."

Jason groaned. “Seriously? Can’t it be literally anything else?”

“Nope. I want to be sure you’re not just stealing something off the internet. I’ll also be doing a reverse image search on whatever picture you send, just to confirm.”

Tim laughed, the asshole. “Smart. We’ll send the photos soon as we’re changed and in position.”

“Very good. I’ll also have some questions for you, you understand. My record with those associated with the government has not been very good. Which is why my brother, his friends, and I never contacted the Justice League.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t associate with the government then, isn’t it?” asked Jason.

“That’s the only reason I’m even considering telling you the truth, Mr. Hood.”

-----

It ended up being half an hour before they could both get in uniform and agree on a spot where they could take the pictures. Jason finally convinced Tim they should pose next to his favorite grotesque and the pictures were sent off.

Five minutes later, his phone range.

“Cute gargoyle,” said Jazz before they could even get out a greeting.

“It’s a grotesque, actually,” corrected Jason on autopilot. He could feel Tim’s eye roll even with the mask.

"Why can't I access anything from the town of Amity or find any information on the GIW you mentioned? I fried three computers trying to track down information. Literally. Had to disable the smoke detectors."

Now it was Jason's turn to roll his eyes. Tim always got so intense when it came to research.

“You certainly don’t waste time. But before I answer your questions, I need to ask my own.”

Tim frowned, but there was no sign of frustration in his voice when he spoke. “Of course. What do you need to know?”

“What do you know about ghosts?”

“One of my teammates is a ghost,” said Tim.

“And there’s another one who works with Justice League Dark,” added Jason.

A pause, then a surprised, “Really? I didn’t know that.” She hummed and Jason wished he could see her face to see what she was thinking. “Do you know about the Anti-Ecto Acts?”

“The what?” asked Tim even as he started typing into his watch. “Wait, if I search for this, will my device burst into flames?”

For the first time, Jazz laughed in genuine amusement and Jason felt he was getting a glimpse into who she really was. The sound pushed the green back from the back of his head and his breath seemed to come a little easier.

“No, the acts are fine. Here, I’ve got the code number.”

Tim searched the number Jazz related. Thirty seconds after pulling it up, he let out a low whistle. “What the fuck. The League has no idea these laws exist. I can promise you that. Martian Manhunter and all Lanterns would leave immediately.”

“What’s it say?” demanded Jason, trying to read the tiny screen over Tim’s shoulder.

“These Ectoplasm Dependent Entities, are they the ghosts you mentioned?”

“Yes. More specifically, the ghosts referred to are sapient creatures from a parallel dimension called the Infinite Realms by its residents and the Ghost Zone by some humans. Ectoplasm, and this is an oversimplification to the point of being incorrect, is required by ghosts the way living creatures on Earth need carbon. Hood, the Anti-Ecto Acts declare all Realm Ghosts as non-sapient, excluding them from the Meta Protection Acts. It also states that they are to be turned over the to Guys in White, more formally known as the Ghost Investigation Ward and abbreviated to GIW, for experimentation and elimination.”

“Well shit. And I assume Danny is targeted by this group?”

“Got it in one.”

A chill went down Jason’s spine. “That’s what you meant by his funeral being three years too late.”

She sighed, all hints of laugher gone and Jason wished he could bring it back. “My brother is different. I won’t tell you more than that. He’s still alive, though. Or at least he was when he escaped the Guys in White about three months ago.”

Jason and Tim exchanged glances. She was definitely holding a lot back. So Jason decided to change tactics. “You mentioned another Dani, too. With an i?”

“She’s my brother’s clone. We consider her our little sister, but our parents don’t know about her. We haven’t been able to provide a stable home for her and she loves to travel and is more than capable of protecting herself, so we just keep in contact and hope she’ll come when she needs help.”

Tim perked at the word clone. “We can offer her safety,” he promised. “One of my teammates and best friends is a clone.”

Jazz hummed. “I'll let her know the next time she reaches out. No promises, though. She's even less trustful than I am.”

Jason took deep breaths. “How old are you, your brother, and sister?” She sounded young and had mentioned college many times in her messages.

Jazz hesitated. “We’re all teenagers. Dani was created three years ago, but was aged up.”

Jason spun and kicked the wall hard. Tim caught his arm to keep him from overbalancing. “Okay. Of course you are. Because adults can’t help but force children into roles they should never have to take.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Bit hypocritical of you to say that.”

“Yeah, well, look where it got me,” Jason retorted, voice a growl.

“I feel like I’m missing some context,” said Jazz.

“It’s nothing,” said Jason. “I just hate when adults put kids in danger or don’t help them get out of danger.” And it was definitely time to change the subject. “You mentioned two other people? A Tucker and Sam? Do they need help?”

“They’re not in danger like the Dannies. But the Guys in White suspect the three of us of collaborating with ghosts and are keeping a close eye on us. Our main phones are tapped and any messages we send will be read and all calls recorded. The instant they have proof we’ve assisted or plan to assist ghosts, we’ll be arrested and detained.”

“What can I do to access information on these Guys in White and Amity?” asked Tim.

“You need a computer that’s ectoplasm-compatible. I don’t have a spare, but Tucker would. He’s at a tech school in San Francisco.”

“What’s that mean, ectoplasm-compatible?” Tim was still typing away at his watch and Jason was jealous of his ability to read and listen at the same time.

“Tucker can explain it better than I can. But basically, things from our world don't work around ectoplasm. It gives off it's own form of energy and our gadgets, and bodies, can't handle it. But if something is exposed to low quantities over a long period of time, they begin to change. The ectoplasm is incorporated. This allows the device to display video and pictures of ghosts. Computers that are not ecto-compatible can't even connect to ones that are. An ecto-compatible computer, on the other hand, can access information from a non-compatible one.”

Jason couldn’t help but latch onto one specific word. “What do you mean bodies? Can humans become ecto-compatible?” The idea sent a shiver down Jason’s spine for reasons he couldn’t quite name.

“It’s complicated. Ectoplasm is dangerous for humans. Really dangerous. My brother and friends and I have done some research on how it interacts with living matter from this dimension and… Well, its far too complicated to discuss over the phone with people I don’t know if I should trust and who don’t have the requisite background knowledge to understand it anyway.”

Tim hummed in a way Jason knew meant he wasn’t satisfied and wouldn’t rest until he got all the information he could. “Would Tucker be willing to sell me an ecto-compatible computer if I reach out to him? How much would he want for it?”

Jazz laughed, but this time there wasn’t any happiness in it. “If you’re really going to help Danny, he’d give it to you for free. And if you can get him to trust you, he’ll show you all the backdoors he’s made into the Guys in White’s servers.”

“Fantastic. How can I contact him?”

Jason let them talk specifics as he stared out over the city. Not even twenty-four hours home and he was right back in the thick of things. When it seemed like Tim and Jazz were wrapping things up, he added, “I’d like to speak to you in person.”

“I’m in Boston,” she said with a laugh.

Jason made the calculations, adding time for a ninety minute nap. “I can be there in seven hours.”

“I’ve class in seven hours.” She sighed. “But I’ll text you a time and place. I need to make sure I get somewhere the Agents following me won’t be able to find right away.”

“I can go in civvies,” offered Jason. “I’ve more than a few fake IDs. Might be easier to hide what we’re talking about.”

She hummed in consideration. “I’ll let you know. I have your number after all.”

“That you do. I’ll head your way sooner than later so I’m at least close by when you manage your escape.”

“Very well. Then I suppose I’ll be seeing you soon. Will you both come to Boston or are you going to Tucker first, Red Robin?”

“I’m going to go to Tucker. I need that computer and access to the relevant information. Then we can start to plan. Before Red Hood leaves, I’ll make a few communicators so you can contact us on a secure line. And I’ll give one to Tucker, too. At least then you’ll be able to talk to each other.”

“Thank you.” Jazz’s voice was quiet and filled with emotion. It made Jason’s heart clench. No way was she faking that. But she gathered herself and her voice was strong again when next she spoke. “And Gentlemen?”

“Yeah?” asked Jason.

“If it turns out I was wrong to trust you? Your bodies will never be found. My friends and I have been keeping Amity safe from ghosts and ghost hunters alike for the past three years on our own. We have access to resources you can't even imagine. And if we are no longer held back by the fear of putting both Dannies in more danger, well, we can do a lot of damage."

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Jason. “You can trust us.”

“I hope you’re not lying,” she said before disconnecting the call.

Jason let out a whistle. “I like her.”

Tim huffed a laugh. “Of course you do. You know, this could only happen to us. What are the chances of a wrong number text reaching one of us?”

-----

Far away, in a tower in another dimension, a being smiled. His appearance changed from child to middle aged to elderly and back as he watched the lives of many on the mirrors that covered every surface of his home.

“Just a little longer, my Prince,” he said as the threads of time wove a pattern that glowed just a little bit brighter.

----------

Next

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[iwonderwh0]

The thing about cybersecurity within the context of dbh is that it is entirely possible that a significant percentage of things androids don't even need to "hack" as security measures in place of existing devices are made to stop humans from hacking them. ANDROIDS, however, may be made to be able to interact and exchange data with those devices BY DEFAULT, especially if device's manufacturer is CyberLife or one if it's filials/partners (I think CyberLife as a mega corporation is like Nestle that owns like 20+ different sub-companies like Maggi, Purina, Nescafé, Lóreal, Garnier, Aqua Panna... just to name a few)

Especially considering how androids are this really closed-up system that wasn't made to be accessed like computers. Quite literally everything about their inner software and ways to manipulate it is probably extremely proprietary, so end-user has absolutely no way to see what exactly androids are exchanging with other devices or what is it they are processing at the moment and how. Thing is, the communication between an android and other devices probably is encrypted but like, between androids and devices, so humans can only detect the fact of some packets being exchanged but can't really see the content of any of it. After all, androids are likely made to be easily compatible with all those smart home suite, but because humans aren't actually granted admin/root rights to their androids, it's "secure" for androids (any CyberLife android for that matter) to communicate with all those devices without additional authorization because they are already seen as authorized. Even those people who deal with android support and maintenance are probably only granted a fraction of actual admin rights, for troubleshooting and things like that.

Back to androids smoothly communicating with other smart devices. Even if their network traffic is visible, it is possible to hide the fact of them communicating by making it look like androids are communicating with other "middle-man" devices that have access to an actual target. So, in plain terms it means that android can get access to, let's say your phone by communicating to your smart air-conditionair or something that (of course) has its own app on your phone and air-conditionair is allowed to send data to your phone. So it will look like android is exchanging data with air-conditionair and air-conditionair is exchanging data with your phone, but in reality it's this android communicating with your phone.

[skkfujoshi]

Eat your young

It really shouldn’t have disturbed Atsushi as much as it did.Really,if it were any other circumstances,any other people, he wouldn’t have even been slightly bothered.

But,unfortunately,it was these people and these were the circumstances.With Akutagawa leaning his head on Tachihara’s shoulder,looking at Chuuya’s gloves in his lap and Tachihara playing some game on his phone while essentially at the mercy of their enemies.

Not that Atsushi or Kunikida would do anything without due reason but there was no way they could know that as certainly as Atsushi did.And yet despite that,here these two were,nonchalant.Even when they were just told,Tachihara had been downright casual about it.Even bragged about how he got the easier job.

The ginger groaned and turned off his phone with a sigh.

“Damn…Lost again.Akutagawa,could you-“ “No.” Tachihara tsked,running his hand over his face before catching Atsushi’s gaze.He furrowed his brows.

“What are you staring at,tiger boy?” “Nothing,nothing,just..”

Atsushi sniffed,eyes widening after a moment.

“You smell weird.” “You wanna repeat that,punk!?” “I…I don’t mean you smell bad just…Odd…Which I realize sounds worse…” “Ya think?!” “Look,all I’m saying is that you kinda smell like medical equipment and antiseptic!”Atsushi sputtered”I thought it was the hospital turns out it’s you and I’m sorry!” “How do you know it’s me!?Maybe it’s Akutagawa!” “Keep my name out of this.I don’t wish to be involved in your moronic dispute.But to be clear it’s not me.” “It could be,I mean you-“

They heard a loud slam against the metal as the ambulance truck came to a stop.

“Quiet down you three or I’ll come in there myself!”Kunikida yelled from the front

They went quiet after that,Atsushi realizing that they probably stopped at a red light,considering the smooth slow down.

Not much traffic either,since it was 1:30AM.It seemed Tachihara realized the second fact too easing Akutagawa’s head off of his shoulder as he stood into a crouch.

He peeked through the back door window and walked over to the door.He opened it and slid out with a whistle. “What are you doing?”Akutagawa asked,rubbing his temples “Getting some fresh air.”

Akutagawa and Atsushi stayed quiet for a bit listening to the mild,muffled bickering between their two colleagues,before that too went quiet and the vehicle began moving again.

“So…Did he get an operation recently or-“ “No.”

Akutagawa hummed and adjusted his coat’s collar. “You know what I smell,weretiger?” Atsushi lifted a brow.

“Hmm?” “Your fear.You’re worried for Kyouka and that illusion user aren’t you?”

Atsushi leaned back against the wall.

“Surprised you and Tachihara aren’t worried for yourselves.Do you think we won’t go for it if things turn for the worse?” “Do or don’t.It makes no difference to either of us.”Akutagawa said simply

Atsushi swallowed,letting out a nervous laugh. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing,just… I thought I was reckless.”

Akutagawa scowled,leaning back as well. “It’s not about recklessness ,weretiger.It just doesn’t matter one way or another.Laying down our lives is merely expected.Baseline,if you will.” “Expected?” “Do you not know what that means?” “I’m just surprised that’s all.” His rival scoffed.

“It’s pretty normal actually.I’d wager that it’s customary even amongst such “honorable” organizations as The special operations’s division and the military police.” “…You can’t be serious.” “What good is giving up something you find worthless?You detectives value your own lives so to die actually means something.”

Atsushi opened his mouth,attempting to form words only to find he had none. Akutagawa scoffed.

“The worst isn’t to ask you to die,the worst is to ask you to endure.Endure being undercover in enemy territory for months,being tortured,watching your friends die and moving on the next day…And the worst thing,killing those you love and not even flinching.” “Has any of that-“ “No,not yet…Hopefully never will.My point is that it’s all asked of us.In comparison,dying almost seems merciful.So if you and your colleague decide to kill me or Tachihara,possibly both of us…It won’t really matter.”

Atsushi let that fact settle.Akutagawa was right.Death was an end,once you die you won’t really care what happens after that.If it’s quick,it might even be tolerable.It’s the lead up,the dread of thinking “Is this all I have done?Will it all end here,before I could make any impact?”that leaves you awake at night in a cold sweat.

And all the things Akutagawa mentioned were just as dread inducing as that thought,maybe more.

He looked at the man in front of him.Even though he wasn’t sure of Akutagawa’s exact age he figured it was a pretty good bet to say they weren���t that far apart.

“How old were you when you joined the mafia?” “Fourteen.” “The same age as-“ “Kyouka,yes.”

Akutagawa looked away from him .

“It must’ve been hard.” “It was either that or the slums.I survived and it made me stronger.” “Don’t you mean-“ “Strong?”he replied with a scoff”No.Not yet…Not enough,anyway.” “I think you are.”

Akutagawa looked back at him,eyes wide like that of a startled cat.He opened his mouth and crossed his arms,looking away again.

“Fool.”he muttered

_

“Atsushi!”Kunikida yelled running up ahead towards the weretiger who was currently laying on the floor

Tachihara and Akutagawa chased after him,with Rūynosuke’s stomach sinking.

Surely not,surely it wasn’t that easy to take that nuisance down,if it was-

“Atsushi get a hold of yourself!”

Without warning,the weretiger pushed himself up with a groan,spitting out a-

Was that a fucking bullet?! Before Akutagawa could question it,he felt Tachihara squeezing his shoulder.

“Akutagawa…”his colleague warned

Akutagawa looked up and froze.

Children…Children with sub machine guns.And entire troop of them.

The-

He grunted as Tachihara pulled him back,shots coming left and right,wheezing deafeningly past his ears.

~

“Thank you for the save,Tachihara…Though I’d appreciate not being manhandled like a bag of flour next time.” “At least there’ll be a next time.” “Right…Are you alright?”

He shrugged,rubbing the back of his neck.

“Most of them missed me,don’t sweat it.” “I see.”

Akutagawa turned towards the two detectives,Kunikida’s head hung low,hand on the weretiger’s shoulder.The weretiger meanwhile seemed to be in deep thought.

“Akutagawa,do you remember the first time we fought?” What a foolish question.He might as well have asked if Akutagawa remembers his own name.

“Of course.What of it?” “You stopped my bullets with your ability then,right?Can you do that now to cover all of us?” “I doubt it.”he said activating his ability and putting one hand each on the side of Rashoumon’s head

Locking eyes with the two detectives again,he kept his hands apart as he lined them up with his shoulders.His hands reached just a few inches past them.

“See the problem?” “You can’t change the width of it?” “I could try.But I don’t think now is a good time for trial and error.” “And if those children spread over the whole width of the tunnel,likelihood is that at least one of us will get shot.”Kunikida concluded in his place

Akutagawa scoffed.

“Hardly ideal,no?” A few quiet moments passed,before Kunikida pulled out his notebook.

“I think I might have an idea.”

~ What sort of sadistic,sick being could do this?

The little girl stared back at them,tears in her eyes with a collar of grenades.

Akutagawa gritted his teeth.Even the mafia wouldn’t sink this low.Seems the demon moniker fit like a glove after all.

“Atsushi,find a different route and take these two with you.I’ll handle this.” The weretiger obliged,along with Tachihara.But Akutagawa didn’t move an inch.

“Akutagawa,are you-“ “I’ll stay here.” “Wha-“Kunikida began

Akutagawa met his gaze and though Kunikida glared at him for a moment,he seemed to quickly relent.

“Very well.”

Despite the worried looks they gave,Tachihara and the weretiger went on their way.

Kunikida and Akutagawa exchanged a look,before turning to the girl.They both bent down to her level,trying their best to do so slowly.

“Your brother will not come to harm.I’ll make sure of it.There’s nothing to fear.”

He smiled,reaching for his pocket.Akutagawa put his hand over the detective’s

“No offense,Kunikida,but I think I might have a better magic trick in mind.” “…Do you?” “I think so.”

He turned back towards the girl and tilted his head.

“Would you like to see it?” Her eyes widened but she nodded,ever so slightly.Akutagawa activated his ability,Rashoumon’s head peaking out from behind his back.It floated its way over to his side,jaw shut and teeth not showing.

“You see,I can make almost anything out of it.Pick anything at all and I might just be able to do it.” “A-A rabbit…” “Good choice.”

Akutagawa obliged,the fabric bending over and in on itself until it began to resemble something that could only be called a rabbit if one was being generous.

“Ah.Not my best work.Mind if I try again?”

She stood still,the tears beginning to dry.Akutagawa held in his breath of relief,trying not to look behind her where a small tendril of Rashoumon was bent, poised to hit her the back of her neck and knock her out.Once that’s done they ought to be in the clear.

Her eyes drifted left and Akutagawa tensed.Despite himself he also looked over to Kunikida who was pulling out his notebook.

No… “Don’t-“Kunikida yelled as Akutagawa threw himself on top of him

Akutagawa shut his eyes tight as the explosion sounded behind them.

A moment.Three.Five.

And then…silence. Akutagawa exhaled and opened his eyes and they widened in surprise.Rashoumon was thrown over him and Kunikida like a blanket sticking just a few inches above their heads.

Akutagawa released his ability,still shaken and stood up.He didn’t look at where the girl had been.

He didn’t hear footsteps behind him.

“We must proceed,Kunikida.” “How can you say that!An innocent child just died and you ask me to-“ “It was a trap from the start.The demon planned around your ability from the very beginning.He didn’t predict our collaboration so I thought perhaps I could curb the course of the events.Alas we were never meant to save her.” “And you know this how?” “Because that’s exactly what Dazai would have done.” “How dare you-“ “And in his stead,let me offer you a piece of advice.If we don’t move forward dozens more will die and this death will be a mere grain in a dessert.To stop here is to render it meaningless.”

A silent beat.Then a scoff,followed by a sound of footsteps.

“Smart man.”Akutagawa commented

-

“Seems like the real deal,but this is probably a fake too.If we follow this lead,it’ll just point us to the next ‘real culprit’.And then the next…It’s nothing but a wild goose chase.By the time we make heads and tails of the whole thing,it’ll be too late.” Ranpo said over the phone “So he’s using your ability against you?”

The phone beeped.

“Ranpo?Ranpo!?”Atsushi yelled “The signal must’ve cut out at the hospital…I can’t get in touch with anyone from the Black Lizard either.”Tachihara muttered

‘Pushkin’ perked up again.

“There’s one more thing.The man who supplied me,he left a message.He said ‘No more changing the rules.’ “ Atsushi’s blood froze.By ‘rules’ did he mean…Did he mean that mutual destruction was the only option?He looked to Kunikida,who judging by his pale face and wide eyes probably came to the same conclusion.

He turned to look across from them where Akutagawa and Tachihara stood similarly shocked.

At this point,intention didn’t really matter did it?If they all figured that’s what it was then that’s what it meant now.Before he could say a word more,both Kunikida and Tachihara leveled their pistols at one another.

“You brought two.Do you mafioso’s ever play fair?” “Only if our opponent does,but since you don’t we won’t either.” “I see…Sir,I suggest you get out of here with your siblings.”

The imposter ran off without another word.

“What do you mean by us not playing fair?” “Higuchi told us all about that illusion kid.How he nearly choked her out.He’s got plenty of bloodlust in him.And Kyoka…Well,I don’t have to explain that one,do I?” “…” “In case we shoot first,you smuggled in a perfect duo for assassination.”

Kunikida’s eyes narrowed further.

“I disagree.” “Oh?” “There’s a reason your leader agreed with Ranpo’s choice.You two are liabilities.I fought you both and neither of you would wait idly by awaiting orders.You’d be bound to ruin the whole alliance with your rashness.Tanizaki’s the same way,that’s why he was sent away.”

Tachihara hummed.

“Now that you say it that way…I suppose that tracks as well.Still,one of us will have to shoot,we can’t stand around here forever.” “Agreed.”

Atsushi stood there,frozen for a moment,heart thudding in his ears.

Then,from the periphary of his mind came a piece of advice.

“Remember,there’s always an optimal solution.Even in times of confusion like this.”

Of course.Atsushi swallowed,knowing exactly what he had to do.

First overall AU info post

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[shadyufo]

How much do you like selling on Etsy? I've been thinking about opening up a shop to sell my own taxidermy art on there. It's just that I've heard Etsy is known for shutting down shops randomly and people keep saying that Etsy's "dying"/on a downward slope. I also heard there are a lot of scammers... What are your thoughts?

Hi Anon!

My feelings about Etsy have definitely gotten sorta complicated over the last few years.

First of all, I love my little shop. I love getting to interact with so many sweet and lovely folks and I love getting to send my art and oddities all over the country. I’ve sold pieces through Etsy that have ended up in museums and classrooms, as props in movies and television shows, that have been centerpieces in peoples’ weddings, that were birthday gifts for little kids just getting into nature and science, and so many other neat and wonderful places with some really awesome people who I am forever grateful to for supporting my shop.

That said, in my opinion, Etsy is definitely not what it used to be and there are plenty of things I wish they would do differently to make the site better for sellers and buyers. I think their search feature needs a total revamp and they also need to crack down on all the sellers flooding the site with mass-produced merchandise. Their recent decision that AI-made content is totally fine by them is another serious bummer and a slap in the face to the real artists using their platform. The list goes on.

In spite of all that, if you want to open an online shop, then Etsy is still probably the best site to do it on, at least starting out. It’s a trusted, household name and they have millions of users from all around the world so you are going to be getting much more traffic than if you were just starting your own site from scratch without any sort of social media following.

You'll still likely want to grow a social media presence (if you haven't already) to help drive traffic to your site rather than rely on Etsy alone for this. A great deal of my own shop's traffic comes from Tumblr and what little I post on other social media. This is something I really should be better about as I've kinda shot myself in the foot by not utilizing them more over the years...but I just really don't like using TikTok or Instagram haha.

From what I’ve seen, vulture culture stuff-wise, Etsy mostly gets mad at folks who sell wet specimens or other more “gruesome” type of oddities and don’t blur the main listing photo or do something similar to warn folks that it could be something they might find upsetting. They also prohibit the sale of some animal parts that are perfectly legal to buy and sell provided you follow the laws around them. So if a seller was listing some of those items, while legal elsewhere, that might have gotten them in trouble with Etsy. Here's a list of what they don't allow. And here's a more specific list of their prohibited animal parts. Note bear, wolf, and zebra are on the list—it's perfectly legal to sell parts from some of these animals in some places provided you follow the laws around doing so, but Etsy doesn't allow it at all. I've had them remove listings for domestic dog and cat skulls in the past as well—the law there is in regards to selling dog and cat fur (which is illegal in the US) but Etsy seemed to think it covers bones as well which it does not.

As for scammers, don't click on suspicious links anyone sends you and watch out for people wanting to contact you outside of Etsy. Don’t swap phone numbers, email addresses, etc with people. Etsy has guides on their site on what to watch out for that it’d be good to read through.

So all of that to say that if you want to start selling your work online then I think Etsy is most likely going to be the best place to do it, at least starting out. If you want to just dip your toes in the market before opening an Etsy shop though you can always try posting a few items here or there on Instagram or one of the oddities selling groups on Facebook but in my experience at least, Etsy is still the best way to go. Then, once you build up a following, you can always start your own site or branch out beyond Etsy if you want to.

I wish you all the best, Anon! Hope you find wild success selling your work wherever you decide to do it <3

[t4tlottie]

i know we dont know much about iris yet, but would you be willing to make a c.ai bot about the small wip you just did where shes meeting your parents and keeps shutting down and you have to comfort her? If you do make it, could i be with a transmasc user?

link here 🔗 (idk how good it'll be since we don't know much about her 😭)

"Your girlfriend shut down again." You frown while looking at your mother, shoving your phone back in your pocket as you get up from the couch. "What? Where?" You had sent Iris to go fetch another plate of food as a little exercise, to get her used to your family. You didn't think it would be that stressful for her... "By the kitchen. She's causing traffic so you better hurry up and reboot her." Your mom crosses her arms and shakes her head, leaving you slightly embarrassed and worried for Iris. You rush over to the kitchen and find half of your family gently stepping around her and the other half (all the kids) bumping into her as they run back into the yard with their plates of food. Okay, maybe deciding to introduce Iris during an actual family event with cousins and nieces and nephews was the wrong idea. You should've just waited like you initially planned. But you couldn't wait to show off your girlfriend. "C'mon, Iris, I got you." you mumble to yourself, leading her stationary body back to your room for the second time to reset her. Once she's on your bed, you pick up the tablet meant to upgrade and shut her down. You press reset. "Iris, wake up." Her white eyes turn back into her green-blue ones, and she lurches forward with a gasp. You catch her and give her a lopsided smile. "Did I malfunction again?" she asks, looking down at your feet.

[mariacallous]

As TikTok anxiously awaits a Supreme Court decision that could determine whether it will be banned in the United States, users are preemptively fleeing the app and migrating to another Chinese social media platform called Xiaohongshu, which literally means “little red book” in Mandarin. As of Monday, Xiaohongshu was the number one most-downloaded app in Apple’s US App Store, despite the fact that it doesn’t even have an official English name. The second app on the list is Lemon8, another social media app owned by TikTok’s parent company, ByteDance, that is also experiencing a traffic surge from exiled TikTok users.

Over the weekend, thousands of people began swarming to Xiaohongshu, which is known in China as a platform for travel and lifestyle content and has over 300 million users. The newcomers, who refer to the app as “Red Note” or “the Chinese version of Instagram” and call themselves “TikTok refugees,” are relying on translation tools to navigate Xiaohongshu’s mostly Chinese ecosystem. Some say they are hoping to rebuild communities they had on TikTok, while others say they joined the app out of spite and to undermine the US government’s decision to ban TikTok over concerns that the Chinese government could use the app to surveil Americans.

“I would rather stare at a language I can't understand than to ever use a social media [platform] that Mark Zuckerberg owns,” said one user in a video posted to Xiaohongshu on Sunday. There are a countless number of similar clips in which TikTok refugees introduce themselves and explain why they decided to come to Xiaohongshu, many raking up thousands of likes and comments each. A spokesperson for Xiaohongshu could not immediately be reached for comment.

The Supreme Court heard oral arguments on Friday from TikTok and the US government, which respectively made their cases for and against a law passed last year that would force TikTok to sell its US operations or be banned by January 19. Experts said the justices appeared to think the law was constitutional and would likely allow it to stay, leaving many users feeling that the app’s days are numbered. While TikTok is unlikely to immediately disappear from the phones of people who have already downloaded it, it could be deleted from US app stores, causing many to panic and look for the next place to go.

Some users are predictably going to Instagram or YouTube, but others say they would like to stick to a platform developed by a Chinese company to protest the decisions by US lawmakers that led to this situation. “Telling me to download Rednote out of spite over the TikTok ban was the only push I needed actually,” one person wrote on Bluesky. Internet culture journalist Taylor Lorenz also shared a link to her Xiaohongshu account on Bluesky, calling the platform “the hottest new social app in America.”

At least so far, pettiness and revenge appear to be enough to motivate people to learn how to navigate Xiaohongshu, an app that is overwhelmingly used by Chinese-speaking people and was not designed with English-speaking users in mind. “I have no idea what I’m doing here. I can’t even read the rules,” one TikTok refugee who goes by “Elle belle” said in a post on the app.

"Hello everyone, my name is Ryan. I'm a TikTok refugee. The American government is banning TikTok so we are looking for an alternative … We are very sorry to interrupt you here. Hope we don't have to stay here for too long," a Xiaohongshu user using the name Ryan Martin said in a video posted yesterday seemingly addressing the app’s Chinese user base. He translated the statement into Chinese and used a robot voice generator to read it in the video, which has since been liked more than 24,000 times. “It’s fine, you are not interrupting. When you guys are active, we are sleeping,” reads one of the top comments in Chinese.

There are also dozens of live audio chatrooms on the platform where American and Chinese users explained to each other, probably for the first time in many cases, how their respective societies work and clarified common misunderstandings. One of the most popular chatrooms has been listened to by nearly 30,000 users.

While Xiaohongshu is not specifically named in the Protecting Americans from Foreign Adversary Controlled Applications Act that the Supreme Court is currently considering and could result in a US ban on TikTok, the law does stipulate that any “foreign adversary controlled application” may face a similar fate in the future. In other words, there’s no guarantee that Xiaohongshu won’t follow in TikTok’s footsteps in being blocked by the US government.

The TikTok ban might have catapulted Xiaohongshu to the center of attention in the US, but the app has been successful for a long time in China. Founded in 2013, the Shanghai-based company has operated one of the most, if not the most, trendy platforms in China over the past few years and reportedly generated over $1 billion in annual profits in 2024. To put it simply, it’s the hottest app in China that non-Chinese people have never heard of before.

It also has a sizable following among Chinese-speakers outside of the country, ranging from Chinese students overseas to Taiwanese people to diaspora communities in Malaysia. Restaurants, tourist hot spots, and travel companies around the world have started noticing the app because of how many Chinese tourists heavily rely on it for local information and recommendations shared by fellow Chinese people.

The app is starkly different from TikTok in a few major ways. While Xiaohongshu does allow users to post short vertical videos just like TikTok, the majority of the content on the platform is photo slideshows coupled with text, which is why people often view it more as a competitor to Instagram than TikTok. The app’s AI-powered grid-shaped feed (referred to as a “masonry grid” in professional tech circles) has been so successful in driving engagement that larger social media companies like Tencent and ByteDance have copied the design in their own products. Lemon8, the other popular social media app developed by ByteDance aside from TikTok, is widely seen as an attempt to emulate Xiaohongshu and its success.

In fact, the app doesn’t even have a good English translation of its own name: Xiaohongshu is the just the phonetic translation of its Chinese name. 小红书. While the literal translation “little red book” may remind English-speaking users of former Chinese leader Mao Zedong’s collection of speeches and propaganda slogans by the same name, it has a different connotation in China, where users interpret it as a source of reliable user-generated recommendations for mundane things, like which restaurant to go to or which cosmetic product to buy.

The recent influx of American users has certainly caught the attention of Xiaohongshu's existing user base. David Yang, a recent master’s program graduate from China currently living in Paris, suddenly found his Xiaohongshu feed full of American users on Sunday. He had previously seen some non-Chinese creators intentionally coming to the platform to attract Chinese followers, but nothing at this scale.

Now, when he scrolls his Xiaohongshu home page, about one quarter of the content is from so-called TikTok refugees, according to a screen recording he shared. “Some of them are asking what Chinese people think of certain issues, like the USA, LGBT, or other social issues. And some are inviting Chinese users to ask them questions. And some are just using the app like they use TikTok and post anything they find interesting,” Yang tells WIRED. The concentration of genuine personal content shared by normal people rather than polished influencers was refreshing, he added.

Chinese Xiaohongshu users are fascinated by the influx of new voices. Most of them, especially those who speak English, are extending a welcoming hand, liking the videos posted by TikTok refugees and following their accounts. Some are taking the time to try to explain how the app works to people who find it hard to navigate due to the language barrier.

Sarah Fotheringham, a TikTok user since 2021 from Utah, tells WIRED she's having a surprisingly nice time at Xiaohongshu despite relying on Google Translate to use the platform. For her first two days on the app, she has spent a few hours each day and posted four videos, the last one explaining the US school lunch to Chinese users. "People have reached out to offer help in every way, from navigating the app, adding subtitles to videos, and translations," Fotheringham says. "One comment on my video was from a Chinese user. She said, 'wow it's like looking over the Chinese wall.' And for me, it's been my first time seeing in."

“Most of the [new Xiaohongshu users] are probably in the curiosity phase. I think moments of cultural shock or controversies could emerge as time goes on, but that would be part of the process for them to know each other on a deeper level,” Yang says.