#what is file number in passport

[yashhhhth]

What Is File Number In Passport | Niva Bupa

Discover what is file number in passport and its importance for tracking your application and verifying details. Learn how this unique identifier simplifies passport-related processes. Secure your travels with Niva Bupa's comprehensive travel insurance.\

[emmg]

Lucanis is 100% the passport dad of the group. He has a color-coded folder of everyone's documents, a pen, a backup pen, and snacks. He’s already memorized the gate number, and honestly, he’s just tired. Tired of all of them.

Meanwhile, Harding and Taash are at the duty-free perfume counter, trying to huff their way into new allergies. "What if I sprayed this directly into my eyes?" "Only one way to find out."

Davrin and Assan have declared war on a vending machine that ate his money.

Emmrich is in the VIP lounge, where he’s sipping a $20 coffee and having a full-blown academic debate with Johanna who happens to be taking the same flight. It’s about something absurd, like "Does the number of airport Wi-Fi bars correlate with societal decay?" Hezenkoss did not come to play, and now the barista is their unwilling moderator.

Neve’s at the bar. She’s on her third martini and halfway through some case files, glaring at anyone who so much as looks like they might strike up a conversation. She’s also definitely pretending she doesn’t know any of them.

And Bellara? Bellara is just gone. Like, not even in the airport anymore. Somehow she’s ended up in a completely different country. There’s a 50/50 chance she’s fine and living her best life, or she’s single-handedly causing an international incident. Wherever she is, she has absolutely no regrets.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Where to Run

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @deansobssessedgirl

Synopsis: you’re on the run from the British Men of Letters, and you meet your big brothers for the first time.

Entering the United States unnoticed had gone better than you thought it would. As soon as you got through passport control, you dug into your backpack—the only luggage you had brought with you, and it contained all you owned—and pulled out two pieces of paper. You considered them both for a long moment—one, an over a decade-old letter with the name of a small city in black ink in the middle of it, and the other a list of cities, one circled in red.

The list would take you to a nearby Men of Letters bunker in Lebanon, and the letter…

The letter might just lead you to your father.

…

“And you’re sure we haven’t already been to this one?” Sam asked his big brother as they pulled up to a storage facility.

“Of course I’m sure. I would’ve remembered one so close to Lawrence,” Dean said.

“What do you think dad kept in here?” Sam questioned, his curiosity getting the better of him as Dean led the way to the right storage room.

“Who knows?” Dean shrugged. “Let’s just hope one of these works.” He jangled a small set of keys on a ring that John had left in the car—they contained a spare key for the Impala as well as John’s old truck, and several storage facility keys. Dean had thought that he and Sammy had been to all of John’s secret storage places, but after scanning John’s journal for the hundredth time, he caught sight of an address scratched in the corner of a page with a storage number.

“It’s this one,” Sam spoke up, grabbing the keys from Dean and trying a few before one finally worked.

The room was small, but packed full. Sam and Dean—after carefully scanning for traps—split up and began to go through their father’s things.

“Hey, I think this file cabinet’s locked,” Sam said from one corner. Dean lifted his head, but didn’t go to his brother’s aid, too busy going through a box of odds and ends.

“Or you just didn’t pull hard enough—maybe if you had any muscle in those noodles—“

“Ok, ok,” Sam interrupted with a scoff. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t dismiss Dean’s theory—he yanked hard on the file cabinet, and it jerked open in a cloud of dust. Coughing, Sam reached down to shuffle through what was inside. “Hey, there’s only one file in here.”

“Fascinating,” Dean said in a tone that said exactly the opposite.

“There’s a birth certificate inside,” Sam said, and suddenly his voice caught. “With…with dad’s name on it.”

“Dad’s birth certificate?” Dean asked, mildly intrigued.

“Dean…not dad’s.”

“What?” Dean was by Sam’s side before Sam had even seen him move.

“Y/N Winchester, born to John Winchester and…Jane Doe.” Sam frowned, his brow crinkling. “I wonder why dad would use his real name when the mother used a fake.”

“This can’t be real,” Dean insisted. “I mean…I know with Adam…but another one?”

“Let’s see,” Sam mumbled, putting the certificate inside and checking the rest of the file. “Pictures.” Sam held up a stack, which Dean immediately snatched from him. Sam ignored this, because he’d found his own details to focus on. “And letters.” Sam grabbed the first letter from a stack of dozens, and began to read. “Dear John…our girl turns one today…”

Dean tapped Sam’s shoulder and held up a photo of a little Y/H/C girl blowing out a singular candle on a pink cake.

Sam moved onto the next letter, skimming it.

“Dear John…I put Y/N in gymnastics because it’s the only way I can get her to work on strength training and endurance.” Sam’s brow crinkled in confusion, but he was distracted when Dean held up a photo of the same girl, a few years older, in a gymnastics leotard on a balance beam.

“What do you think she meant by training?” Sam asked. “Do you think she was a hunter?”

“Could be.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe that’s why she signed her letters Jane Doe.” Dean pointed to the bottom of the letter, where “love, Jane Doe” was written.

Sam was about to pull out another letter when his fingers froze on the paper.

“Dean…”

“Hm?” Dean asked distractedly, still going through photos.

“Dean look at this.” Sam flipped the paper around, and on the back of it was a watermark—an indicator of who made the stationary.

It was the Men of Letters insignia.

…

“Lebanon, please,” you said to the taxi driver. “I’ll direct you to a more specific location when we get there.”

The man shrugged, unbothered, and began the journey.

You desperately wanted to go to Lawrence in search for your father, but you had to be realistic—you hadn’t eaten all day, you were jet lagged and exhausted, and you needed a plan of action. You needed to recover and regroup, and you needed to do it in a secure location; you needed to feel safe. In fact, you were so wound up that you flinched when the radio came on.

“—o one seems to have any information on who is causing the recent string of murders. The chief of police has offered no comment, other than a warning that the people of Lawrence should stay indoors when possible, and be alert. But there’s no denying the oddity of the case—the mass murderer seems to have some kind of vampire ideologies, with each of its victims drained completely of their blood. In other news—“

“Hey, driver!” You called out, and he glanced over his shoulder to indicate he was listening. “I changed my mind. Take me to Lawrence.”

…

“It’s gotta be another djinn.”

Dean would’ve groaned if he didn’t have a mouthful of hamburger to swallow first.

“Not those again,” he said after a gulp of beer washed down the last of his burger. They’d finished going through John’s things—Sam taking the file of your pictures and documents with him—only to leave and stumble upon a case. Dean had wanted to stop at a diner on the way back home, but he hadn’t expected to walk past a news stand to see a paper with “vampire killer” written across the front. It took Sam less than ten minutes of reading the paper, as well as a little time on the internet, to render the paper completely wrong.

“It doesn’t fit with a vampire. No teeth marks, no signs of struggle, the bodies were found in a different location from where they were taken—it’s definitely a djinn.”

“Ok, so silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood.” Dean sighed. “We happen to have one of those?”

“I think we still have the one we used last time in the trunk,” Sam said.

“Then let’s get going.”

…

You picked up a machete after being dropped off by the cabbie, hoping beyond hope that the radio had been right (even if they were kidding) about it being a vampire—there were several monsters known to drink blood, and if it was anything other than a vamp then things might get tricky. Normally you would be more prepared, but it wasn’t like you could get your weapons through customs when traveling to America, and you’d had to travel light so you could move more quickly. The British Men of Letters worked quickly, so you couldn’t take any chances. And buying up strange kinds of weapons near an old Men of Letters bunker was definitely too high a chance to take, so all you could do was hope that it was a vamp.

You’d done so much research about Lawrence that you barely even have to wonder where the creature might be hiding out—while researching Lawrence, you’d almost automatically noted the places where a supernatural being might be inclined to hide, so all you had to do was see which one was closest to the bodies that were dropping.

Then you were ready to hunt.

…

“I’m telling you, this has to be it. It’s nearly equidistant to all the bodies, and it’s the perfect place for a djinn to hide out.”

“You don’t have to sell me on the location, I believe you,” Dean told Sam. “But you do have to tell me how to get there.”

“Turn right here…yeah, and a left at that stop sign, and then we’re there.”

“So are we just not gonna talk about it?” Dean asked after a beat of silence as he followed Sam’s directions.

“Talk about what?”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe our little sister?”

“I don’t know what to say, Dean,” Sam sighed. “There’s no address anywhere in the documents or the letters, and we don’t even know her mother’s name, or if Y/N even goes by Winchester. Her mother used an alias, it makes sense that the kid would go by one, too. We have no reason to believe that she’s going by the name on her birth certificate, so we don’t have the first clue on how to find her.”

“Well it feels like we have to do something,” Dean argued. “I mean we don’t even know if this kid knows about dad—for all we know, she thinks he’s still alive. She deserves to know.”

“Why the sudden interest?” Sam questioned. “You didn’t seem all this interested when we found out about Adam.”

“That was different,” Dean sighed. “With Adam…Adam was just some normal, innocent kid who saw dad once a year for a baseball game and knew nothing about the life. This kid—Y/N—with the talk in those letters about training, and the Men of Letters insignia…she’s in this life, Sam, I can feel it. And since dad’s not around anymore…I think it’s our job to make sure she’s ok.”

“And I’d be happy to do that,” Sam insisted. “If only we knew how to find her. But for now, let’s do what we can do—take out this djinn.”

…

The sight of a car in the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse worried you—even if it was a beautiful car.

“Chevy Impala,” you mumbled to yourself. “67, I think.” You shook yourself, moving your mind back to the task at hand, rather than the conversation you were having with yourself. Hopefully the car here didn’t mean that its owners were anywhere near the warehouse—the last thing you needed was some innocent people getting in the way and getting hurt.

Seeing no one around, you hefted your machete and headed inside.

…

Dean gestured at Sam to be quiet as he peaked around a corner. Signaling that the coast was clear, Dean led the way through the warehouse, the silver dagger gripped in his steady hand. Dean was just signaling Sam to wait so he could check around another corner when—

“Hey!”

“Jeez—what?”

Dean stopped himself just short of cutting not a djinn, but a Y/H/C girl wielding a machete that was aimed at him.

“Hey, easy.” Dean took a quick step back, raising the knife and his hands in the air. “We’re not—“ Dean’s words died in his throat when he got a good look at your face.

“Dean,” Sam breather from beside him. “It’s—“

“No kidding.”

“What are you talking about?” You demanded, lowering the machete just a little bit. “Who are you guys, what are you doing here?” You didn’t want for an answer. “You have to get out of here, there’s a—“ your eyes fell to the silver dagger.

Sam’s gaze followed your own to the weapon in Dean’s hand before he looked back at you.

“It’s not a vamp,” he said, gesturing at your machete. “It’s a djinn.”

You lowered your machete completely.

“You’re hunters?”

Dean couldn’t keep the astonished smile off his face.

“And you’re Y/N Winchester.”

The machete was back up in an instant.

“Who are you?” You demanded for the second time. “Men of Letters?”

“Easy, easy,” Dean said, taking a step back as you advanced on them. “I’m not—“

“Guys!”

Sam’s warning proceeded the arrival of the djinn by a split second—just enough time for Dean to dodge the blow that the djinn tried to land on him.

“Hey!” Your call turned the attention of the djinn, who grabbed hold of your arm before you had the chance to move away. He twisted your arm behind your back until your machete was crashing to the ground and you were crying out in pain.

“Here!” Dean’s call came a second before the silver dagger was hurtling at your face. You snatched it up with your free hand and twisted it so it was facing the djinn a moment before you plunged the dagger into the djinn’s side. He howled with pain and released your arm, giving you an opportunity to spin around and stab again, this time in the neck.

The djinn went down without a sound, and the thud of his fall echoed through the empty room. For a long moment, only the sound of heavy breathing could be heard. That is, until Dean took a step towards you.

“Back off!” You yelled, raising the blood-soaked dagger.

“Are you serious?” Dean scoffed. “Hey, I just helped save your life.”

“I’m not going back!” You were starting to look panicked as you backed away from the brothers. “So-so just tell Lady Bevell, or Ketch, or Mick, or whoever recruited you that I’m done! I’m not a part of the Men of Letters, and I never will be!”

“Hey, hey, easy,” Sam soothed. “We’re not Men of Letters.”

“Then how do you know who I am?” You challenged.

“Because of John Winchester.”

Sam’s response froze you in your tracks.

“J…John Winchester?” The dagger was slowly lowering. “You know him? You know where he is?”

The hope in your eyes was like a punch in the gut to both brothers. However, it was gone in an instant and replaced with a harsh suspicion as you raised the knife higher again.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“That’s how we know who you are, kid,” Dean insisted.

“Here—“ Sam’s hand was halfway to his pocket when you pointed your knife at him and he froze. “Easy, ok? I’ll go slow.” He slowly reached in, and you relaxed slightly when he pulled out a small bundle of papers. “We’ve got letters that your mom sent to him, with some pictures.” Sam held them out, and you hesitantly took them, thumbing through the stack while occasionally glancing warily at the boys.

“They stop,” you mumbled.

“What?” Dean asked.

“The letters, they stopped…at least ten years ago.” You looked back up at the boys as you spoke. “Is…is there more, or…”

The despair on the boys’ faces spoke for itself. Your lip was already quivering as you tucked the letters away, still holding onto the knife but keeping it pointed down.

“Is he…is he dead?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “About ten years ago.”

Sam could tell you were trying not to cry, trying to act like they hadn’t just ripped the rug out from under you.

“You know, I—I didn’t even know him—“ your voice cracked. “But I…gosh, I re-I really wanted to.”

You let Dean take the knife from you after he put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Um, so.” You wiped your hand over your face, trying to brush away any stray tears as you tried valiantly to pull yourself together. “So how did you two…”

“He’s…he’s our dad, too.” Sam said. Your eyes widened slightly as you absorbed this information.

“Wait, you…were you…from his wife?”

“You knew about her?” Dean asked.

“Not really,” you admitted. “John…dad, he…he never liked to talk about his past, but he did mention his wife in one of his letters…he said her death was what made him become a hunter.” Your lips quirked up as you remembered. “He said if I ever saw a yellow-eyed demon, send it to hell for him.” Your eyes went back to Dean and Sam. “Is…is that how he died? Hunting demons?”

“Kind of,” Sam said. “It’s…it’s a long story.”

“What about you?” Dean said suddenly. “If you know Lady Bevell and the rest, and you know they’re here recruiting, then you’ve got something to do with the Men of Letters. Not to mention their insignia on the back of those letters.”

Just the mention of the Men of Letters had you on edge again.

“Maybe we should talk about this at a more secure location,” you suggested. “There’s an old Men of Letters bunker not far from—“ you cut yourself off when you caught the look between the two brothers. “What?”

“We know,” Sam said. “We’ve been living in it.”

Dean noticed your fingers twitch, as if you were thinking about reaching for a weapon.

“And I’m supposed to believe you’re not Men of Letters?”

“Our grandfather was one,” Dean said. “He left us a key.”

You seemed to consider this. Dean watched as your eyes got a faraway look, and he knew you were trying to remember something.

“Mom said that John was from a line of the Men of Letters. It was one of the ways she tried to get him to join.” You shook yourself of the memories. “Fine. I’ll go with you, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Dean couldn’t help the way a smile twitched just slightly on his lips before he dropped it.

“Fair enough.”

…

You were quiet the whole way to the bunker, and although your brothers had questions they sensed you were tired and on edge, so they refrained. Dean kept glancing at you in the rearview mirror the whole way, and he was happy to see the way you slowly put your guard down—mostly out of exhaustion—as you relaxed into a light slumber.

You awoke with a start when Dean pulled into the bunker’s garage, the echo of Baby’s engine reverberating loudly.

“Home sweet home,” Dean crowed as you stepped out of the Impala. You didn’t say a word as he led you inside, but the moment the three of you settled down around the kitchen table, you finally started to talk.

“John met my mother on a hunt. She was just visiting America, vacation or something, but she happened to stumble on a case. They met…and well, I came along.” Both brothers noticed you skipping over the details, for which they were grateful. “But while mom was still pregnant she tried to convince dad to join the Men of Letters.” Sam noticed the way you kept switching between dad and John, as if you either weren’t sure what to say, or you weren’t sure what the boys were comfortable with. “He didn’t like the idea, and he didn’t want that for me, either. They fought about it, and mom left the country to go back to England. She was still pregnant…” Dean saw your fists clench and unclench as you blinked rapidly. “Dad, he…he never saw me in person. Any-anyway, she still wrote to him, and she let me read his letters. She said he deserved that much, at least. Dad was always telling me hunter things—I think he was hoping I’d end up a hunter, like him.”

“Why did you?” Sam spoke up. “I mean, if your mother raised you with the Men of Letters…”

“She kept a lot from me,” you said. “The…morally ambiguous parts.” At Dean’s strange look, you scoffed. “Ok, let’s be real, the straight up evil parts.” This got a grin from both brothers. “But she, uh…” the lightheartedness in the room was gone in an instant. “She died last year, and well…people stopped lying to me. I realized all the crap they really did, and I ran.”

“And what, they’re after you?” Dean questioned. “I mean it’s not like the mafia, right, I mean you can just leave.”

You nearly laughed out loud.

“I wish they were as sloppy as the mafia. No, you can’t just leave, especially not me—just because I’m a kid, doesn’t mean I couldn’t have over a decade of Men of Letters’ secrets stored in my brain. That’s why I came here, I…I wanted to find dad. To find family, protection.” You took a deep breath. “I want to be a hunter, not a Man of Letters.”

Dean found himself speaking before he even thought about what to say.

“Why do you have to be either?”

“What?” You said at the same time as Sam. Dean glanced between you before continuing.

“You’re just a kid—you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You don’t have to be either, you could be whatever you want.”

You blinked up at Dean, as though the thought had never occurred to you.

“I…I don’t…”

“Look,” Dean began. “Don’t decide just now. John may not be here, but we’re family too, kid. There’s an empty bedroom down the hall, you should get some sleep, get settled in…then maybe we could talk about this hunting stuff, ok? The important thing is, you’re safe here. Let’s just say we don’t like the British Men of Letters anymore than you do. They’re not getting in here, and they’re not getting to you. Everything else can wait for later.”

You felt a smile—a true smile—etching its way into your face for the first time in so long. You looked up at this man—your big brother—and you couldn’t help but feel that everything was going to be ok. Whether you decided to hunt or not, or whether the Men of Letters came after you, you knew one thing for sure—

You really had found your family.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe

[miauentity]

I usually dont talk abt OCs bc Im shy but today i thought it would be fun to show a TNMN neighbor version of them which i did a month ago

Theyre my ocs, but not necessarily a TNMN oc if that makes sense 🤨🧐

whats more---- i also drew their nightmare versions!

the lady in blue is my pfp if u have noticed file folders, entry requests, passport assets and office preview below the cut

file folders - superficial but substantial information about them

passports (all the numbers-- phone, passport and expiry date-- all mean something)

entry requests

office view (i had a lot of fun making the 4th folder 🥰🥰🥰🥰)

omg they were roommates..

[suguru-getos]

| Aftermath | Keigo Takami x f!TherapistReader |

-> chapter one

summary: hawks who has just lost his quirk in the war & coping with his life as a quirkless man, decides to finally listen to his own self & seek therapy. why did he choose a quirkless therapist? maybe to seek solidarity— or maybe, he hoped you’d not judge him.

warnings: therapy, childhood!trauma, bnha!spoilers, mentions of inner child healing, keigo talks about his childhood, mentions of toxic!parenting, cocky!kei as always.

a/n: don't mind me giving my comfort character and my loml some healing lmaooo <33 i had sm fun writing this istg it made my heart warm. this is a slow burn fic, and the reader is a self-insert on some points because i can get self indulgent tehee!!

You wandered aimlessly, looking around the suite-like cabin and then down the skyline. Tokyo was always beautiful, even now when winters had just started to greet. There was a foggy blanket of clouds covering the labyrinth of buildings and you could never get over it. With your next client, it was obvious your thoughts were along the lines of… an Angel flying out in the skies keeping everyone safe, now reduced to someone without wings. Still an Angel though, but that's what you think. Maybe he doesn't.

You grimly sighed when your eyes wandered at the clock, there were still 30 minutes to your appointment, normally… someone like you would never get the opportunity to deal with heroes so popular. Hawks was a no show after the war, people thought he had died. People thought he left Japan for good. Though a faint glimmer of hope always made you want to believe he's still around. To your surprise when he was your client, you felt a knot on your stomach churn with anticipation and excitement.

You sat on your velvety chair, the lights dim and comfortable to the modernized architecture of your office. You gulped, opening his file and looking at the passport photograph of him. The scar he got in one of the fights in which a villain named Dabi publicized his kill was there, siren eyes staring into your very soul were there. How could you even try to open up someone who looks so ethereal and so threatening at the same time. You feel just as nervous as your first time, the personality that Hawks carries eating away at you slowly. You shook your head, jerking the thoughts away. Be professional, he is a client and you're doing your job.

If you hadn't been so dazed by your favorite hero and your crush; you were quite a number yourself. Cut-throat, not afraid to walk the talk, stern, fierce, kind and disciplined. People respect you and you command it when they don't. Not afraid to force someone to bend the knee if they indulge in animosity with you. It's just… Hawks was someone you admired oh-so-much! You had his merch and posters after all. Not that he would get to know that, oh no. That'd never happen.

Takami Keigo, 26, Born on December 28th. Blood group B+, MBTI-> ENTP, Schooling and training and everything was blank. Difficult, this would be a difficult case to deal with.

How did you fangirl over him? Well, that's perhaps for another day.

"Excuse me, Ma'am. He's here." Your assistant opened the door with a knock and you felt your stomach sink, biting your lip nervously and clearing your throat to gain composure.

"Hey there doc!" there he was, with his magical grin and long palms raised up to his eye level as he waved. Wearing denims and a loose fitted white T-Shirt. Casual, cute, confident.

"Oh hello Hawks!" You manifested the same energy, greeting him respectfully by standing up and bowing a little. "Jeez, can't get rid of the name yet huh?" He chuckles, though your mind has already starting to process if it was a fake one, the carefully crafted hero chuckle or was he genuinely this chill.

"I don't think so, whether or not you do hero work, you own the name." you responded with a smile, ushering him to take his seat. Oh he manspreads, leaning back and getting comfortable. Makes you wonder if he can see through the cracks of your personality just as you're trying to see in his. Who will unfold who first…

You closed the client book you had, looking into the beautiful goldens of his eyes and making eye contact. "So, I know the first session is usually the most awkward one. People try to get to know their shrink before letting themselves to open up." You glanced, and Hawks looked like he would devour you whole. He looked invested in your words, not in a faking concentration way… in a 'I will listen to what you have to say' way.

"Allow me to share some stuff about myself then, my name is Y/N. I am a therapist good morning. Apart from that, I like to participate in various hobbies like kickboxing, journalling, playing games, spending time with my cat, yada yada. I am an INTJ, I think MBTI has started taking the same wavelength in Japan as Korea huh? Everyone's obsessed with em' I think."

"Well" Hawks clicked his tongue, clearly unamused by your introduction, it was brief and curt. Not a fair deal for someone who will unravel him… then again, you are his therapist, not vice versa.

"I think so too, do you know, a lot of the fans pretend to be INTJs because they tend to be compatible with ENTPs?" He chuckled, rolling his eyes. God he does know everything… there was a whole article about this. "We could do the quiz together if you have your concerns." "Shyeah- no, I don't. Just sharin' yknow?" he winked, noticing how you nervously pressed your legs together. He was wearing Killian's Angel Share, and Bad Boy… one of your favorite scents & the effects were almost affecting you almost at a subconscious level.

"Mkay, gotcha! So, anyways… I don't want to force you to open up, take your time in it. Let's start simple. How are you?" You asked Hawks, and for a moment, the barest of seconds, you could see his eyes turn to a void. "Yeah, good, never been better you know? Vacationing now that I have a sick ton of money with practically nothin' to do. Ain't gonna waste it otherwise by being depressed."

You clicked your tongue, oh he would not open up huh? Well, not that you expected this to be an easy ride either. "Yeah, of course. Money does help… helps everyone. At the end of the day I'm sitting on this chair to be paid a hefty by you." You hum, crossing your legs and getting comfortable too. This would be a fierce mental war already. From the determination of a hero and from a healer who's been sought out by the same hero.

"Then again, it isn't everything."

Oh except if you could tell that to childhood Hawks, it was… it was everything. His eyes pale with the answer a little. "Led a very comfortable life haven't you?" He smirked, giving you a miniscule opening.

"Yeah, luckily." You responded, smiling… "Clearly you haven't."

Hawks stood silent at that, and that was an answer enough.

"You were a rich kid since you started your agency, was this your teens or childhood?" Before Hawks could decipher, the session had already begun.

"Well, I was the viral news subject after they found out I was Thief Takami's son." He raised a brow, and you nodded. "Shitty murderer dad, mum?" You felt bad on being so professional, but you also felt Hawks would push you away if you were too kind. Some people have stopped treating him as a person ever since All for One had taken his quirk away.

"Mum was well, absent, mentally." He responded, and shrugged. "Dad was abusive, used to beat me up as a child and mum was too engrossed in her own shit I suppose. Happy for her that she has a new life with a new husband and new kids." It was amusing how Hawks didn't sound salty about it… it could only mean detachment to the finest. A befitting coping mechanism.

"You didn't have to go through that, I'm guessing if I needed to ever, talk to baby Hawks, I can't have a childhood photograph?" You glanced hopefully. "Nah, not a single childhood photograph. Dad was too paranoid of things and mum didn't care."

"We usually uh, have this exercise you know? That you'd keep a picture of your childhood self at your bathroom mirror and remember who you're talking about whenever you feel self-doubt." You smiled, looking into his eyes with empathy but no pity.

"Well, too bad." He chuckled, embarrassed and definitely not liking this emotion.

"Who cares at the end of the day, it's just the first few years of your life." He responded again balming his own thoughts more so than talking to you.

"Yeah, but every phase of our life is important. When your father abused you, hit you, didn't you feel enraged? Or scared? Or both?" You bit your lip, trying to mentally detach as much as possible.

"I felt nothing. I just wanted to not end up like them. If I was as angry as him, then I would become like him. Even my childhood self knew I'm better than that." There was pride in his eyes when he said so.

"True, yes, however… no expectations from your mum to save you?" Hawks shook his head no, shrugging. "She'd get beaten up too."

You nodded, not writing anything down on the paper just yet.

"Alright, I want you to do something for me." He raised a brow when you said that, "I don't want us to traverse further until you try doing this, mkay?" You grinned, "Imagine someone coming to your home, breaking the door at the moment of your abuse, that someone is you. The big, pro hero, you. Then, I'd like you to hold little Keigo's hand, and take him out. How about that?"

Hawks gave you an expression which was a mixture of 'How absurd' and 'Interesting'.

"Do that for me, and do that as many times and in as many scenarios you feel like you needed to be protected. You needed to be healed from." You coo softly… meanwhile Hawks' brain lagged at you saying 'Little Keigo'. So far he thought you didn't know his name… despite it being telecasted worldwide. No, you just refer to old Keigo as Hawks, but little Keigo isn't Hawks… he's just Keigo.

Was he reading too much into this? Would you soon bridge the gap between little Keigo and Hawks? Would you call him Keigo too?

The alarm clock chimed, time was over. You glanced at it and then back at him. "Well, guess you wouldn't be bored anymore, of me." "Hey, give yourself some credit little Shrink." he winked, smirking, "You're really good at this, can't wait to see you next time." "Don't come until you don't do what I asked." "Sure thing jeez."

With that, he left, and you could almost kill yourself at the way you tried to imagine little Hawks in pain. No, attaching to clients is the biggest NO. Yet, you can't help but feel positive tingles at the thought of him doing that little exercise and telling you about it.

Until next time, Keigo Takami.

[solradguy]

I saw your post about the Internet Archive and Archiving GG stuff for future Generations and i wanted to ask some stuff regarding the Archiving, i hope thats ok

Probably the dumber question but do you know if Daisuke has ever been involved in the Archiving of his series? I know the series started as a Passion project for him but Idk how active he would be with helping archive or fill in missing pieces, especially in the english world.

Just as a General question, are current online archiving groups mostly relying on being connected to one another in some way to reestablish fallen sources? Since very little of the internet if any is as stable as we like to believe and any service storing data may shut down somehow any day like Drive, when one host site does go down do the archivists rally together and find a new spot or do you kinda have to hope people can find the new host?

Also are there any larger scale Archivist groups someone with less ability to physically help could donate to to help preserve our online histories?

thank you and apologies if you dont like questions

Hello! Questions are fine ^^ Sometimes it takes me a million years to reply, but I don't mind them.

My answer to this got kinda long. Excuse the readmore.

We don't have any strong evidence either way what the condition of the official Arc System Works library of Guilty Gear media is like, but there have been a few times where the images they've used for things have been worse than the images us rogue archivists have. This ML illustration is definitely one they either no longer have the physical/original piece for, or they might not have a way to rescan it, because the file they use when they reproduce it is pathetically tiny. Example from the Steam release of Strive's bonus Digital Artbook:

Compared to other illustrations in the same book (two pages here):

This Ky from the website for the 20th Anniversary Pack release of Missing Link for the Switch was taken from the Guilty Gear Bible:

We know this because... He's on page 12 in the Bible and...

...they didn't erase the page number off his shoe.

So, at the very least, some Missing Link era works are likely gone/lost/destroyed/etc. It's possible some GGX thru GGXX artworks are lost too, but we don't have a concrete catalog of XX works because they never released a complete artbook for XX. It's also rumored that Keep The Flag Flying's original master file is lost but I've never been able to find a source for that. Daisuke has never reached out to any of us about our image archives and we've never offered.

Archiving is very much a western concept and it's a common thought in Japan that saving copies of another person's works is extremely bad; I've been chewed out and blocked by Japanese fans for it. It's just a cultural difference, I don't take it personally. If ASW contacts us about it though we'll definitely give them our files or take down anything they request of us. We don't want to poke the bear and risk the entire archive if we can. They seem to be turning a blind eye to our archives though, as long as it's not an upload of something extremely recent (I got DMCA'd for the Strive Artworks Archive scans).

The core of the Guilty Gear archive group works on the new GG wiki and/or are admins of the new wiki, so we're in pretty close contact with each other. Most of the archive is in my hands and, unfortunately, my hands alone. With the announcement of the Internet Archive v Hachette ruling, we've been planning on making copies of my GG archive hard drive and sending it out to the other archivists in our circle. I don't have a PO box, I can't do this for people outside the group because I don't want my physical home address to be that accessible.

That said, there are redundant digital copies of a lot of files and I have a backup hard drive of the main GG archive drive; the main drive is a relatively new 2tb Western Digital My Passport external drive and the backup is a 1tb WD My Passport that's a little older. A lot of people have downloaded copies of the files currently online (via my masterpost) and can reupload something if it goes down even if I'm not around to do it. We rely on Archive.org a lot but aren't against using Dropbox, Google Drive, mega.nz, Neocities, file.garden, or, if we absolutely must, Discord. I do not like relying on Discord and Discord files are generally extremely temporary.

The files that aren't in the archive include software or game asset rips, image files, music, and random bits and bobs. I'm working on getting the images up on the wiki but everything else is kind of in a weird zone where I don't really know what to do with it.

As for donating to support broader archivism: We use Archive.org (and their Wayback Machine) the most, so donating to them would benefit both the GG archive as well as hundreds of thousands of music, literature, research, and art groups too. Their donate page can be found here: https://archive.org/donate?origin=iawww-TopNavDonateButton

Supporting your local libraries, museums, and conservatories also supports archivism. Most of these places accept public donations of any amount and could probably direct you to other local archiving groups/associations.

Donating to Wikipedia also supports broader archivism to a lesser extent. They write about events as they happen, with sources/citations, and older versions of this information is permanently available on every article and file without having to rely on things like Wayback Machine. Their donation page is here: https://donate.wikimedia.org

I also have a donation page via Ko-fi and any money donated with a note about it being for Guilty Gear will go back into Guilty Gear (via book/magazine purchases for scanning, usually). Donating to one of the above groups would be better for archiving as a whole though. My page can be found here: https://ko-fi.com/somnivagrious

Hope this answers your questions!!

[lolitakirstein]

Hey Neighbor Pt 8

A/N Sorry this is long with a lot of dialogue don't even know if it's good ugh

{previous}

cw: mentions of weapons wc: 1.5k

Toji

“A phone call in advance would’ve been nice,” Toji says, allowing his visitor to enter. 

“Couldn’t wait,” the man states, his hands clutching the briefcase behind his back. “This just came in and requires extraordinary expertise and precision.”

The two men walk to the kitchen, both taking seats opposite one another. Though in the intimate setting of his house, Toji knew he was here for business. “I take it you don’t want a drink.”

The man chuckles, “Perhaps once this is completed.” He sets the briefcase on the table and enters the 3-number key. “I would however like to see my godson. Where is—”

“SHIU!” Megumi rushes in excitedly. 

“Ah, there’s my boy,” Shiu bellows in equal excitement. The stoicism and business facade immediately fade.  He picks the child up with a grunt and sets him on his lap. “You are getting big, pup.”

Megumi giggles at the nickname. “I’m not a pup, I’m a wolf.” He mimics a wolf’s howl. 

Shiu pats his head, “Ah, the mighty wolf. Mostly prone to travel in large groups.” He glances up at Toji. “Though some are known to stray from the pack.”

Toji glares, aware of the obvious dig. 

“We’re not alone. We got you, Shiu,” Megumi’s comment breaks the tension. “And we got y/n,” he lowers his voice and leans into Shiu, “That's dad's girlfriend.”

“I see,” Shiu again stares at Toji, this time with a look of both confusion and annoyance. 

Toji responds with an eye roll. “Megs, go to your room for a bit. Gramps and I have some business things to do.”

“I am not gramps!” Shiu quickly blurts back, which sends Megumi into a fit of giggles. Toji, however, isn’t up to joke. He gives Megumi the look that quickly tells the child that this isn’t playtime. 

Once Toji hears the door to Megumi’s room shut, he takes a deep breath. “So, what are we looking at here.”

Shiu opens the briefcase, presenting Toji with a thick manila folder. “The usual. But the window of opportunity we have—”

“Me.” Toji corrects.

“You have is very small. Meaning—”

“I have one shot.” Toji finishes in a bored tone. “What else is new.”

“This target has been of interest for some time. Most who have gone after him are usually shot within a 500-foot radius.”

“So you need a sniper?”

“I did say we needed precision.”

“What’s his deal?” Toji asks, flipping through the folder. Pictures from CCTV footage and shakey smartphones paint a very broad image of the target—tall, slender build, blonde. 

“Big name in tech, took over after his father died. The other son is scorned, but you know we don’t go into too much detail, nor do we ask. They hire us and we do our job”

“I do the job,” Toji corrects, again. 

“And you do it well.”

“How long will I be gone?” Toji continues flipping through the files, pocketing the provided fake passport and plane ticket. 

“3 weeks, we want you to have ample time to scout the area. Where he goes and when. There can’t be any mistakes.”

“And my son?” Toji looks up from the papers. 

“Of course, he will be staying with me. You may be on the outskirts of our society, but we still wish to protect our own while they are working. Our in-house nanny is superb at her job, both as a sitter and protection. I provided you with her credentials as well.” he gestures to the pages. 

“That’s a long time away” Toji remarks. “How much is this man paying?”

“Though he’s not as wealthy as his older brother, his father left him a good chunk of money in his will—”

“How much,” Toji was getting impatient. 

“$500,000. And to show his confidence in you and apologies for the short notice,”  Shiu turns the briefcase around to Toji. “He made a downpayment.”

Indeed, the briefcase was lined with stacks of crisp 100s. Toji swallowed. He can’t remember the last time a client had paid a portion upfront. Collateral maybe, but never cash. 

“$300,000. Thats—”

“60%. That’s suspicious. Are you sure this isn’t a setup? Are you sure these aren’t fake or marked?” Toji gently runs a finger over the bills, feeling for the telltale sign that it's fake. 

“We had eyes on the bank.” Shiu answers, confidently. “So are you in?”

“Mind if I check,” Toji asks, still not convinced.

Shiu gestures to the money, “Be my guest. Though I’m rather insulted you would think I would fall for a scam.”

Ignoring him,  Toji walks to the hallway closet. The small space housed various coats and toys of Megumi’s. He pushes aside the clothes. The wall at the back of the closet would appear normal to anyone else–basic wood paneling. Toji traces his finger along one slat of the wood, finding the slight give and pressing it. 

 A small portion of the wall retracts, revealing a safe locked by a keycode. After entering the key code, the thick metal door opens. Inside are various passports, stacks of cash, guns, and accessories. He pushes aside the knives sheathed in sleek leather. Once finding the detector, he returns to the kitchen. 

Toji turns on the LED, aiming the purple light at the briefcase. The bills show up clean. “Nothing,” Toji grumbles.

“I told you,” Shiu crosses his legs. 

“Doesn’t mean the ones underneath aren’t or the one in between” Toji continues to scan the stacks, all turning up clean. After his meticulous searching, Toji turns off the light. “I’ll put it through the counter, check every single one–”

“You’ve always been thorough,” Shiu jokes, standing and straightening his suit jacket. “So are you in?”

Toji mulls it over. Finally, after a few moments, he complies, “Yeah, I’m in.”

“Great the car to pick Megumi up will arrive the night before. Flight information and itinerary are all there.” Shiu strides to the door, opens it, and stands on the front porch. His eyes are on y/n’s house. “Is she aware yet?”

“No, not yet,” Toji joins him on the porch.

Shiu widened his eyes. “What is causing the delay.”

“I” 'm trying to leave this way of life, why would I want to bring an innocent woman into it, regardless of contracts.” 

“She is rather…fawn-like. But I think with proper training she could be a great addition to carry on her family name,” Shiu takes a long drag, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Or perhaps the two of you could produce—.”

“Megumi can carry my name just fine in a life that doesn’t consist of looking behind his back.” Toji retorted, narrowing his eyes.

“Of course. Megumi is an exceptional child. Regardless if his mother wasn’t of our kind, and remember, I fought for you harder than anyone to be able to live outside of this society. Luckily, the higher-ups thought you to be such a precious asset the thought of losing your…services is why you now live so comfortably on the periphery.” 

“Comfortably,” Toji tsks, “worrying about my son every second; how I’m going to be able to know he’s safe once he starts attending public school.”

“You could easily come back which would guarantee his safety at our school.” Shiu bargains. 

“I told you. I’m done with that life. Megumi will get a choice in what he wants to do with his life. He deserves it and so does she,” Toji jerks his head gesturing to y/n’s house. 

“She seems very…present in your life, already. Even Megumi seems to think so.” 

Toji rolls his eyes, “She’s been here a few times, that’s it. She watched Megumi one day and—”

“You put her in charge of watching Megumi? Very trusting of you.” Shiu interrupts, his cigarette dangling from his lips. 

“It was a few hours,” Toji said. “And he needs some female interactions every once in a while. I can’t play the role of mother very well.”

“Already considering her for a mother figure,” Shiu continues, smiling wryly. 

“Are we done here?” Toji turns back to the door, wanting to end the conversation. 

Shiu knows when to quit, at least, because he tips his head goodbye and lopes down the stairs, heading for his black sedan. 

He turns halfway before getting into the passenger side door that is being held open by a man in a similar suit though 30lbs worth of muscle heavier. “I do suggest you make her aware of your agreement with her grandmother. You know how our dear Mrs. Ruth hated a procrastinator.”

Toji doesn’t respond, instead, crossing his arms and waiting for the car to drive Shiu away. 

“And do not underestimate how powerful the two of you could be together. A child from two strong lines would be world-renowned.”

Again, Toji didn’t respond. He watches the driver return to the driver's seat and drive off down the road. Once sure he was indeed gone for good, Toji reenters his house. 

He doesn’t know how to broach the subject of his agreement with y/n. But 2 things were for damn sure. 

She would get a choice, unlike him. 

There was no fucking way any child of his, either the one he has now or any in the future, would be ever handed over to the people he was trying to leave behind.

[batbux]

untitled janet/talia, Bruce's bio kid Tim AU -> no choice but to love you pt. 4

FIRST | SECOND | THIRD | FOURTH | FIFTH | SIXTH | SEVENTH | EIGHTH | NINTH | TENTH | ELEVENTH | TWELFTH | THIRTEENTH

AO3 Link (a little behind, but better edited)

---

“This is outrageous.”

Bruce sighed, head propped up on a fist and still looking through the results of his last hour or so of intensive research. He felt more than he heard Talia move behind him and begin threading sharp nails through his hair soothingly. He might be tempting to take the comfort at face value, but knew she was likely only reading over his shoulder again.

Bruce hadn’t handed Janet’s little gifts off to any of his people. He could do it himself, after all, and something about her story had rang true enough that Bruce wanted to initially limit the number of people that knew. He couldn’t justify not telling Talia, however, and had called her on his way down to one of the labs on the lower floor.

Talia dealt with things best after she got her initial gut reaction out of the way and could be logical about the whole thing.

She strolled into WE even before the rapid DNA test was finished, not a hair out of place. She sat with him until the results came back confirming that the owner of the provided DNA sample was definitely the biological child of Bruce Wayne. And then she started pacing while Bruce got to work.

For her benefit, he clicked over to the basic background he’d run on Janet Drake. Talia sniffed derisively at the attached photo, the one she’d provided for her passport.

“You really laid with her, beloved?” she asked, voice appropriately morose.

Bruce didn’t believe it for a second. “What, like you wouldn’t have?”

“You are avoiding the question,” she said, similarly avoiding the question. “Why her?”

“We weren’t together at the time. I was traveling without Dick or Alfred and ended up in Cypress for a few days. I witnessed her get off the phone and throw her wedding band into the pool and offered to buy her a drink,” he explained and shrugged. “We were both from Gotham and homesick. I asked, but birth control can fail.”

“Or she lied.”

“She didn’t.” Bruce began pulling up medical files for Talia to peruse. Her hair dragged across his neck as she leaned in to see better and he couldn’t resist tilting his head to rest against her. “I pulled her medical files. She had an IUD at the time of conception and had to fly back to Gotham to have it removed. He ordered bed rest and even so the chance of a miscarriage was so high that she was warned not to name the- the fetus.”

“The baby,” Talia corrected for him. “Your baby.”

Wordlessly, Bruce straightened and pulled up a picture of little Timothy Jackson Drake. Unlike most heirs of Gotham’s elite, pictures of the boy were few and far between on social media or in the press. So, naturally, Bruce hacked into Janet’s cloud in hopes of finding more.

He did, but not by much. Travel logs put the Drakes out of the country for a good chunk of the year and only a very broken trail of nannies left to mind the little boy while his parents were off globetrotting. Only their housekeeper had been with the family for more than a year.

And they wanted another, Bruce thought despairingly.

“He looks like you,” Talia said, an almost sad twist to her mouth making Bruce want to lean in and kiss it away. “Exactly like you. Jack Drake must be a fool.”

“I was bigger at his age,” Bruce said carelessly, carefully spinning around to face her. She let him take her hands and look hard into her eyes. “Listen to me. This doesn’t change the love I have for you or Damian. This was an accident, yes, but there��s no reason being angry with Janet or Tim.”

Talia’s own piercing green eyes searched his face while he tried to work against his training and remain open and honest. He owed her transparency. He owed her the world for sacrificing her entire life when she abandoned her family and the League.

“What does this Janet want with us?” she asked after a long moment, taking her hands back from Bruce. She instead wrapped them comfortably around her baby bump.

“She said that Tim’s parentage came into question when she and Jack tried for another baby.” And because if he could be petty with anyone, he could be petty with Talia, he added, “Because I guess having a child fixed their marriage so well in the first place.”

Talia’s eyes strayed back to the screen where Tim’s picture was still prominently displayed. “He does not look like a miracle worker, but I suppose I will have to reserve my judgments until I meet the boy at least. I notice that he does not, in fact, have any siblings.”

“Jack’s infertile,” he said. “Or close enough. When he found out, he ordered a paternity test and filed for divorce the next day.”

“Quick. Efficient.”

“Janet tells me that he’s the one that wanted children and that she doubts her ability to care for Tim on her own.”

“He means to leave her destitute?” Talia asked, leaning over Bruce to click back to his profile on Janet. She scrolled through to look for other pictures, faculty IDs and visa photos and whatnot. “She’s attractive enough. She may join my harem if she so chooses.”

“But it was a problem when I slept with her,” Bruce complained. Talia flashed him a dangerous grin. “No, the divorce proceedings do seem fair to her. I think that it’s more that she doubts herself as a mother. I think she fears what damage she could do to him as a single mother that didn’t want a child in the first place.”

“She knows of your other rescues and seeks to leave him on your doorstep, then.”

“Talia,” he growled. She patted his cheek condescending.

“Relax, beloved. Jason was the one to label himself as such and Richard already loathes me,” she said. “I mean them no ill will.”

“He doesn’t loathe you.”

“He does and it works for us.” She gave an elegant shrug. “And what of Jason? You’ve only just acclimated him to our lifestyle and now you mean to add another right before Damian arrives.”

“I’ll talk to him tonight before patrol,” Bruce promised. “Jason likes other kids and it isn’t like Tim is moving in tomorrow. Janet and Tim are still living with Jack for now. With any luck, we can figure out a joint custody agreement that works for everyone. In the future Janet wants to give me primary custody, yes, but she wants to be a part of Tim’s life.”

“So we will be co-parenting with this woman,” Talia sighed dramatically and Bruce very lovingly didn’t point out that five minutes ago she had been inviting “this woman” into her harem. “While you no doubt ply her support at every opportunity. I implore you to wear a condom this time, beloved.”

Bruce straightened in his chair in indignation.

“You impregnated her through an IUD last time,” she continued. “Who knows what you could do with the woman if she’s not using birth control this time.”

Bruce, very lovingly, did point out her hypocrisy now. “Talia, you were just inviting her into your harem. I feel like you’re projecting.”

“I would never turn a straight women even if they were truly beautiful. If they are happy settling, who am I to take that from them?”

“I don’t know for sure how Janet identifies, but I can say for sure that she’s slept with at least one woman,” he said. Talia looked delighted. “Apparently she was out of the running for paternity pretty soon, though.”

“I can work with that,” she declared and gently lowered herself to his lap. He took her added weight effortlessly, wrapping his arms around her to secure their precious cargo. She kissed him, long and sweet. Against his lips, she whispered, “I am angry. I know you do not place much value on blood ties, but I…”

“I know,” he whispered back, pressing his forehead against hers. “But thank you for trying.”

“I am,” she said. She tried to breathe through the lump forming in her throat, but pressed together like they were, Bruce must have known. “I do try. It doesn’t come easy for me, but I try.”

“You make the choice to be here with me every day. You’re working so hard and I see it, Talia, I do.”

She had no words for that, so she just curled against him as best she could with little Damian between them. Not the first of Bruce’s blood sons anymore, but the first of hers and cherished all the more for it.

[memphisnovels]

Evermore

Chapter 37. It's time to go

Previous chapter

Masterlist

I can't tell you how much Nadia means to me <3 I'm so excited to share what's to come with you!

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: a whole lotta angst, hurt no comfort, Nadia & Pietro,

By the time I’d returned home, New York had begun following in Vienna’s footsteps, the warmth of spring rearing its head as the last of the snow melted away.

In the light of day everything looked different.

The compound was eerily silent, my swift footsteps seeming raucous against the immense quiet. Beneath my bed, within an unassuming cardboard box that lay behind other various bits and pieces was a black duffle bag. Inside was a selection of passports, fake documentation, cash, a burner phone and a few items for disguise. Perhaps there was one positive to my tumultuous childhood, I was always prepared. This go-bag was my perfected kit, containing everything I needed to disappear. I quickly shed my outfit, changing into jeans, a plain white top and my brown leather jacket, unassuming and easy to ditch later. I grabbed the gun I had hidden beneath my pillow and one of the ones held in the back of my closet, sliding one into the back of my jeans and jamming the other into my bag along with some ammo. When I had what I needed I slung the bag across my body and began toward the door, though I paused beside my nightstand, glancing down at the frame sitting there. A picture of Natasha and I that she’d framed for me.

What’s more you than your own face?

I smiled at the recollection, pulling the photo out and stowing it away along with one other picture that had been in the drawer. When I was done, I forced myself to keep going. I only had one last order of business at the compound, and I needed to get moving because it wouldn’t be long before Ross and co. arrived. My stomach turned as I stepped into Pietro’s room, chest tightening as I glanced over his haphazardly made bed; his worn-out sneakers, I walked passed all of it, ignoring the familiar smell of his cologne and the memories that hit me from being in here. Shoving aside the clothes in his closet I quickly found the files I was looking for, all of the notes and communications, everything linking him to Hydra and slid them under my arm. I made quick work of moving to the office and putting every page contained in the folders through the paper shredder. Again and again, I watched the paper turn into ribbons of white, the letters muddled and cut and unintelligible. When it was all shredded, I opened the lid of the machine and shred it even further by hand, making sure there was no way to read what had been there. I tore the bits of paper until there was nothing left of Pietro’s agreement with Hydra.

Pietro and Wanda were pardoned by the government for their part in Ultron’s crimes because they switched sides and helped save a lot of lives. If the United States government found out that he’d been colluding with what was considered a terrorist organization, they would not be so quick to forgive. I wasn’t sure that being Avengers would protect them from the consequences of that.

My phone had not stopped buzzing since I arrived, I pulled it from my pocket quickly seeing dozens of messages and calls from Anna and a bunch of unfamiliar numbers. At the very top sat a missed call from Nick Fury as well as a voicemail notification. I pressed play as I finished destroying the documents.

“Nadia, I know that you’re all a little busy down there at the moment, so I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important. You’ve told me many times to leave the past where it belongs, but basically, I didn’t listen. People tell me I have trouble letting things go, anyway, I kept digging into your past and… just call me back as soon as possible.”

Nick had a flare for the dramatic, though, I’d never heard him sound like this before. He spoke quickly, disbelief intertwined within each word. My finger hovered over his contact but then I glanced at the clock and hesitated, I’d been here too long already and no doubt my phone would be under surveillance, the second I made a call Ross would know my location. Whatever Fury wanted to tell me would have to wait.

I finally left the compound then. Destroying the evidence was the last order of business I had there, the last thing I needed to do. My last endeavor to protect Pietro Maximoff. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

From there I headed straight to the location I’d arranged with my contact; before I arrived at the private airstrip I ditched my phone on a bus heading into the city. In an hour when the vehicle reached the outskirts of New York City a scheduled text message would be sent from my phone pinging its location.

The message was to Anna, and it contained only one word:

Red.

It was a codeword we’d decided on years ago, simply put, it meant that there was trouble and whatever device that had sent the message was compromised. I trusted that this message along with what she’d inevitably find out had happened at the airport would be enough context for her.  

I’d thought about escape just about every day for the last 20 years. In every room I entered I mapped out every possible exit and had a plan for how I would get to it. My mind was always calculating, formulating a plan. Call is self-preservation or a survival instinct, whatever it was it had ingrained itself into the very fabric of my being. The problem was that I’d gotten too comfortable, not just at the compound but in my relationships, my friendships, my daily routines. I’d begun to let my guard dwindle. I’d allowed myself to trust and be trusted and most importantly I stopped scoping out every possible escape route. So, now, this is what I’m left with. This contact of Natasha’s that had me meet him in an old private airfield just outside the city.

“Nadia, I’m guessing?” The man offered me a brief wave as he stepped in front of me. “I’m Rick, we spoke earlier.”

I glanced down at his outstretched hand, a moment of silence passing between us before I slowly accepted it, shaking once before letting go. Thankful for the motorcycle gloves he wore, unsure I could bear any further human contact right now.

“Thank you for meeting me, did you get what I asked for?”

He tilted his head side to side, gesturing for me to follow him as he began an old rusty hangar. “So, given the time constraints I was a little strapped for resources, but I got you a short-term solution while we work on the long term one.” He pushed the large metal doors open to reveal a tiny little plane.

“Cute.”

He nodded. “Very cute, it’s a Cirrus SR22, it’ll get you to The Bahamas but no further so no dawdling. I’ve got you’re landing coordinates all mapped out, you’ll land in another private airstrip that’s expecting you. The guy you’re meeting there is a friend of mine, he won’t give you any trouble. You already know the rest and I’ll be in touch when I’ve got another next safe house for you.”

I caught the keys he threw to me, stowing them in my pocket as I threw my duffle into the back of the plane. “Thank you, really.”

He just nodded again. “It’s all good, I owe Natasha, any friend of hers is good people in my book.” I smiled at that, though hearing her name worsened the ache in my chest. “Hey, you know it’s pretty hot on you right now in the city, you must’ve really pissed some important people off.”

I swallowed heavily, pulling the door to the plane open before turning back to face him. “Pretty much, but it’s not the first time and it probably won’t be the last.”

He laughed at that. “Fly safe, seriously though, head straight to those coordinates or that thing will burn out.” Was the last thing he said to me. I raised an eyebrow at him, glancing back at the plane over my shoulder.

“Good to know.” I mumbled, climbing aboard.

For the next 4 hours I replayed all of the events from the last few days. What Barnes had said about the lab in Serbia where I’d been kept and the one in Siberia where those other super soldiers remained on ice, waiting to be activated. I thought of the hurt on Pietro’s face as I stepped over that line and the feeling of that Beam from Tony’s suit hitting me right in the chest; the searing agony that had nothing to do with the burst of light and everything to do with the look in his eyes.

…

It was night when I landed in the private airstrip in Nassau. A man with long dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail was there to greet me as I stepped out of the plane.

“I’m Alby, you must be Rick’s friend?”

 “Yes.” I nodded, slinging the duffle bag over my shoulder. He tossed me a set of two keys, one for a house and the other I assumed was for a car but then Alby gestured behind me to a light blue moped.

I sighed heavily, too exhausted to argue. With a thank you to the man before me, I tightened the strap of my duffle bag and climbed onto the bike, sliding the helmet on. Rick had already told me the address of the safehouse and there was a map in my bag. Before driving to the place, I’d be staying I stopped at a local pharmacy and grocery store to grab a few things I’d need.

The little cottage Rick had given me the address for was lemon yellow, but I paid no mind to its exterior as I slipped inside, immediately shutting all of the curtains and securing all the windows and doors. When I was satisfied that the house was secure, I laid my supplies out.

I took a bite of an apple that I bought, holding it between my teeth as I mixed the hair dye in a small plastic bowl. As I ran the brush over each strand of my hair Pietro’s voice was in my head. I thought of that night in New York all those months ago when he’d told me he wanted to be my boyfriend. I thought of lying in the grass with him in Central Park, the sun pressing into our flesh. He had tried so hard for so long to get my attention, to get me to admit that I felt something for him, no matter how hard I’d pushed him away, how mean I was to him. He’d been infuriatingly resolute in his efforts. I wondered if he regretted it all now; I wouldn’t blame him. My stomach sunk at the thought. I had tried… hadn’t I. Tried to keep this all together, I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t want it to end this way. Even when I knew what he’d done, what he’d told Hydra, I’d still held onto him, when I felt him slipping after Lagos I held on tighter. I thought of what he’d said to me at the airstrip.

This is bad, Nadia, even for you.

Because I am bad, that is what he’d meant.

I wondered if he’d thought that all along or if it had merely grown. I supposed it didn’t really matter.

I wasn’t trying to be bad. I didn’t want to be bad. I had tried not to be.

Wasn’t this the right choice? I couldn’t have lived with the other choice, that was what Steve had said and he was right. I couldn’t have lived with it if the accords stopped us from helping people who needed it.

I thought of Rhoadey plummeting down toward the ground. Was he even, okay? I hadn’t had the chance to find out. The burning sensation in the center of my chest had not ceased for even a moment, I swore I could still feel the beam of energy hitting me, over and over again.

I wiped the tears from my face, and only then did I realize how shaky my hands were. When my hair was covered in the dark liquid I dabbed it onto my eyebrows as well. I couldn’t escape the thoughts darting around in my mind, not just of Pietro but Barnes as well. The things he’d told me clung to my skin. There were pieces of me that I remember, many little pieces that had come back to me and yet the time spent in Serbia was practically non-existent in my mind. I supposed it should not be so shocking to me, to not remember a chunk of my life. Then I thought of the white room where I was strapped down to a chair while the ballet played, I wondered if that all happened at the Hydra base where Barnes and I first met. It was incredibly frustrating to feel so disconnected from the memory, to have such an unyielding blind spot in my mind.

Dark water pooled around the drain as I rinsed my hair absentmindedly watching the spirals of diluted color.

It was warm here, humidity pressing into my flesh the moment I’d stepped off of the plane. I had barely even noticed. In New York the air was still a little chilly even as winter gave into spring. I wondered if the warmth of Nassau could thaw the icy cold that was pressing into my chest, but I decided it was unlikely.

I looked into my own eyes in the mirror as I towel dried my hair, now at least my appearance matched how I felt; nothing like me. When I was done, I dressed in the pajamas that I’d found folded neatly in a set of drawers then I slid beneath the covers and pulled the duvet up to my chin, ignoring the discomfort of laying on my back. There was a prevailing silence in the room that unsettled me as I stared up at the ceiling that was only just visible thanks to the slither of moonlight that crept in through the window. After a long while of suffocating silence I turned onto my side and pulled the duvet over my head.

For a week I remained within the lemon-yellow walls, never drawing the curtains open to let the sun touch my skin, never breathing the fresh sea breeze, only drifting aimlessly around the bedroom like a ghost or laying, shrouded in the darkness of the duvet, replaying the day in at the airport, again and again. Rhoadey falling hitting the ground, Tony aiming his glove at me, the look on his face, Pietro’s voice.

“Go on then, hurt me.” 

The cupboards were stocked with non-perishables that I occasionally ventured into the kitchen for, though hunger wasn’t much of an issue when I’d become so sluggish.

On my 8th day in Nassau, I ventured into the sitting room. I ran the tip of my finger over the spines of the few books haphazardly strewn across the small side table, blowing the dust from my finger when I pulled it back. I opened and closed my burner phone a few times, checking for any new messages from Rick. There was nothing, every single time. I paced the floor in front of the couch and when that didn’t quiet my mind, I turned on the television, sitting down when I saw a picture of my face pop up. Natasha’s picture came after causing me to still, she’d switched sides too. I wondered where she was now, she must have evaded Ross if they’d listed her as a fugitive. Sam, Wanda, Clint and Scott hadn’t been so lucky I guess since they weren’t mentioned. I stared at my picture in the corner of the screen for a long moment before promptly switching the TV off and standing up and making my way to the kitchen and yanking various drawers open to rifle around until I found what I was searching for. When my fingertips dragged over the cold metal I pulled the scissors from the drawer, making my way to the bathroom. For the first time in days my head was clear, the sound of snipping the only one filling the room. Dark brown locks fell to the floor around my feet.

When the ends of my hair barely brushed my shoulders, I dropped the scissors into the sink and then I left the house for the first time in over a week. The sun nearly blinded me as I stepped out, immediately putting my hand up to shield my eyes. The sound of the ocean filled my ears, salty air filled my lungs as I took a deep breath. I lingered on the front step for a while, eyes closed, head tilted back as the warmth bathed over me. It was like the sway of the waves called to me, lured me closer, down the steps, through the gate and toward the shoreline

The feeling of the sand between my toes, the waves crashing against one another, it all melded together in my mind. Soft fingertips tapped my cheeks, my nose, dusted curls from my eyes. The sun was setting, casting a perfect reddish pink light over everything. My back was propped against a pair of legs that rocked me back and forth, my hands held by someone else’s. Humming filled my ears followed by the smooth melody of a familiar voice.

“The monsters gone, he’s on the run and your mommy’s here.” She sang to me, tugging my hands along to sway. “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful girl.” She pressed a feather light kiss to my nose causing me to giggle. The reaction caused her to press a flurry of kisses all over my face. I managed to wriggle out of her grip, running along the sand as she called after me between her own laughs. A glance over my shoulder revealed her to me, or at least a glimpse of her, a phantom of blonde hair and warm smiles. She made grabby hands at me as she reached out, calling out again and again but I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying. It took me a moment to realize she was addressing me by a name that was inaudible to my ears; it came out jumbles and incoherent.

I tried to hold onto the memory, to stop and listen a little closer, to really hear what she was saying but the harder I tried the more distant it became.

“No, no, no.” I murmured as the moment dissipated into nothingness.

I fell backward into the sand, gripping it in my fist and then releasing it as I laid back on the warm sediment. Staring up at the endless blue above, an abyss of sunny days that seemed to taunt me, laugh at my solitude.

“Close your eyes; have no fear, the monsters gone, he’s on the run and your mommy’s here…” I swallowed the lump in my throat, closing my eyes tightly. “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful girl.” All I could picture was the same memory, the blonde woman, the sunset, nothing else came. I decided to try something else. “Stars shining bright above me, night breezes seem to whisper…” I felt my eyes begin to sting. My throat was dry as I sang to myself. “I love you.” When nothing new made itself known to me I began to feel frustrated and honestly a little stupid.

It had worked before, listening to the songs had prompted my memories before why not now?

For the remainder of the day, I laid there in the sand, staring up at the blue sky above, the splotches of clouds.

Serbia. That is where I was kept, for months I’d been there. Time that was practically lost to me now. I thought of the ballerina’s twirling across the stage, the sweat beading on my forehead as I laid on that bed in Brazil, paralyzed by the flurry of memories. It was supposed to be easier now, Norris said the mental block in my wind was cracked, I should be able to remember, so why could I still feel the barrier, I knew I had more access now because where there had been nothing but a cold blank spot in my mind where nothing lived now things dwindled in the shadows, just out of reach. I wasn’t sure what was worse.

When I sat up the sun was nothing, but a mere suggestion hinted at along the horizon. I rested my chin atop my knee, watching the waves crest and break.

I opened the burner phone that Rick had given me, pressing the only number on speed dial. The phone rang 3 times before the line connected, there was silence at first, I knew he was just being caution, in case I’d been made, and the phone was stolen.

“I need a favor.”

He hummed. “Another favor?”

“I want you to ask your contacts if they heard about any hydra operations based in Serbia over the last 20 years, if they don’t know anything call the number, I send you and tell the woman who answers that you have a friend in common that wants to know if she’s heard about it. If she asks questions just tell her ‘Red’. I can pay for any information you find.”

After another moment of silence, he agreed, and I hung up before texting him Anna’s number.

I wasn’t sure if I was ready for this, or just how painful it would be to uncover the past that had evaded me for all these years. But at some point, while I was laying there in the sand, that same woman’s voice that had stuck with me all those years humming in my mind, I realized just how badly I needed to know. No matter what it was, or the toll it took on my mind. I had to know what was taken from me.

And I wouldn’t stop until I did.

[lazyscience]

Voter suppression shenanigans afoot at the Circle K Capitol again. Despite the fact that there is NO evidence of immigrant voter fraud, and it is ALREADY illegal to vote in elections for noncitizens, this mess if it becomes law will require ALREADY REGISTERED VOTERS to provide either a valid passport - which only about a third of US adults have - OR a Real ID/equivalent military or federal employee ID AND a birth certificate -to document their citizenship at at the polls.

This idiocy is first of all burdensome, because if you don't have a certified copy of your birth certificate it costs between $20-30 and takes a month to get by mail if you don't have time to go to a vital record processing center during business hours (many people are not gonna be able to get time off to do that, and may not have ready access to a printer and a notary public to send in a request by mail - I'm using MN state requirements here as an example, your state might differ in some particulars). A passport can take MONTHS to be processed, and costs around $200 depending on whether you want a book or card, and whether you have $85 or so to shell out to expedite processing and shipping.

This will of course disproportionately affect

young voters - I mean, a lot of them have never had to interact with a system that doesn't allow you to just put in a credit card number and call it good as opposed to mailing notarized documents,

poor voters/seniors on fixed incomes, for whom time off, travel and administrative fees are a burden when everybody's already feeling the pinch of shameless greedflation

voters with insecure housing situations,

voters who have discrepancies between their birth documentation and state ID (married women, trans people)

It'll also impose a significant increased administrative burden for election commissions and judges (which are already hard to get enough of) , and because that increased paperwork isn't gonna file itself, a considerable unfunded mandate for the states that they don't EXPECT them to be able to absorb easily.

You know what to do. Call/write your senators and let them know in no uncertain terms to knock this shit the fuck off, this is shameless voter suppression in action and if they allow this to get voted into law, they have only themselves to blame if they're unemployed in January. It's unlikely that it'll pass - but unlikely isn't impossible, and this fucking year, I'm not giving it any more chances to screw us over. It's important to make sure your senators and reps know that you do not give a fuck about made-up immigration boogiemen.

[fox-buried-in-maple-leaves]

Detainee

With all these truths in the light, it's up to somebody unexpected to come to the rescue.

taglist: @cerasus--flores, @hamausagi

“Amir? What do you mean my brother has been detained? For how long?!” 

Mismatched eyes widened but not of surprise, rather, anger. 

“Three months?!” 

She got off the bed, holding her phone against her ear with her cheek and her shoulder as she threw open her closet to grab her suitcase. “Get me where he’s being held.” She paused. “I don’t care if it's top secret!” Hemera hissed into the phone, she dropped her suitcase on the floor, now opened. 

“Mount Sinai roof? An hour? I’ll be there. Bring me the file.” … “I don’t care if you have to crack it, get me that damn file.” She hung up her phone, tossing it behind her on the bed as she threw random clothing into her bag. She bent down, moving to close the bag, but she paused. She’d need identification.

Passport, social security, her entire wallet, and her law degree, framed from her living room wall. Good enough.

But it wasn’t just that. Hemera bent down, tucking her hair behind her ears as she pulled open a floorboard in her closet. She quickly punched in the numbers into the safe she had hidden, waiting for the beep before she pulled it open. 

Expecting it would be a lie. But being ready for anything? Hemera was always ready. She pulled out several files stamped by various organizations. Two of which showed the stamp of her own law firm. She packed those too.

And then she was gone, leaving her cushy Toronto apartment locked and secured as she headed for the hospital.

“This is Poeiva.”

“And we can trust them?”

Cypher nodded at her as she sat down beside them in the jet he’d borrowed from the Protocol. 

“What’s happened with Gri- Achlys, isn’t right.” Monarch shook her head, arms crossed over her chest as they leaned back in the seat. Cypher left the two alone, heading to the cockpit to get them in the air before he could engage the autopilot.

Hemera took a notebook out of the front of her bag, clicking her pen. 

“Tell me everything you know.”

-

Hemera buttoned up her blouse, tying her tie carefully as Cypher maneuvered the jet on the landing pad. “They’ll try to get rid of you.” Monarch warned, watching the lawyer tie up her dark brown hair with a plum coloured elastic. Hemera nodded, braiding and tucking the blue strands of her hair into her ponytail.

“I’m used to that.” 

“But there are no governments who can help you if anything goes bad.”

The woman scoffed slightly as she pulled the thin black belt through the loops of her skirt. “I’ve been threatened by my own government. Nothing scares me.” She pulled the belt through the golden buckle. 

Monarch hid their smile, looking towards the cockpit as Cypher landed the jet. It soon slid open, revealing the man in question. “Are you ready, barrister?” He questioned and she unbuckled herself, standing up, suitcase handle in hand.

“Ready, Amir.”

He hit the button beside the door, allowing for it to open. “We’ll show you where to go, but we have to keep ourselves out of the line of fire.” He advised, rather, warned as Monarch also stood up. Hemera nodded, she understood perfectly the situation she was in. 

It didn’t take long before a man found her near the entrance of the base, judging from the briefing Monarch had given her, this had to be their leader, Brimstone.

“How did you get here?”

“Commander Byrne, a pleasure. I’m Barrister Hemera Hajime.”

The man stopped cold in his tracks, steely eyes widening momentarily before they narrowed at the woman standing in front of him. 

“Any relation to Doctor Achlys Hajime?”

“I’m his sister. And he’s my client. Bring me to him immediately.”

“I don’t know how you got here, but you have no jurisdiction. You need to return to Canada immediately.”

Hemera shook her head, standing tall despite the attempts of intimidation. “Canada may have no jurisdiction over this little island of yours you’ve found in international waters. But my degree is still very much recognised in all nations of the world, including where we currently are.”

“As such, my client has a right to his lawyer.”

“He’s a prisoner of war, he has no rights.”

The woman scoffed, she let her suitcase fall to the ground and then bent down, unzipping it to pull out several folders. “According to the Geneva Convention Relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War, that would be the third convention.” She stood up, thumbing through some papers. “Article 77 states that all POWs maintain their full civil capacity, as such they maintain a right to counsel.”

Brimstone stammered, surprised by her preparedness. But how did she get so prepared?

“Do not fuck with me, Commander. I am not in the mood, my hair cannot take this humidity, and I’ve been awake for sixteen hours. Show me to my brother’s cell immediately.”

“Who revealed the location of our base to you?”

Hemera waved her hand. 

“Irrelevant.”

Brimstone pinched the bridge of his nose. This was a big security risk, but on the other hand, if Hemera could prove Grimshaw’s innocence, he’d be in a much better position. He lowered his hand, looking her up and down as she once more zipped up her suitcase.

“Come with me.”

“Happily.”

He brought her to the room they originally had Grimshaw detained in, a simple interrogation room. “I’ll go get him, stay here.” He instructed and she sat down, sorting her files while he went to fetch Viper and Sage before he could bring her to Grimshaw.

Hemera waited patiently, flipping through the information she had on her, alongside the notes she’d gathered from Monarch. It was pretty damning, she knew that. But she also knew Achlys, and she knew he would never put others in harm’s way this way.

The door opened and Hemera barely had time to react before a woman slammed her hand on the table, green eyes narrowed. “How did you get here?” She demanded to know but Hemera sat back in the chair, a small smile on her face.

“Hello, Doctor Callas.” She looked beyond the angry chemist. “Wei Ling Ying.” She greeted as Sage also entered the room alongside Brimstone. “I assume Brimstone has caught you both up to speed?” 

“Answer my question.” 

Hemera sighed and stood, so she was eye to eye with Viper. “I won’t be. Attorney-Client privilege. I was hired to represent Doctor Hajime, and I will not be revealing any further information. Especially not to..” She looked the woman up and down. “You.”

“What she says is confirmed by the family personnel files we have, Viper. We cannot force her to tell us anything.”

Viper growled and stood straight, arms crossing over her chest as she stepped away. “So we just give her access to him? What if she helps him escape?”

“I’m a lawyer, Doctor Sabine, I will be doing my due diligence, as I see you haven’t. Given he hasn’t been offered counsel for..” She looked at her folder. “Three months, six days, and eleven hours.” 

Sage stepped forward, hands clasped in front of her. “Barrister, may I ask how much you know?”

Hemera turned and partially sat mostly leaned against the edge of the metal table. “I’m a lawyer for Radiants specifically. I’ve heard rumours. Mentions of lookalikes, confusion on similarities. I long ago made the assumption that multiple universes may be possible.”

“And with the possibility of multiple universes, I posit there may be multiversal threats.” 

“How do you know so much?”

Hemera merely smiled, but before she could respond.

“So are you aware then that he’s not even your brother?!”

And it was like a switch got flicked, her mismatched eyes narrowed, smile pulled into a scowl. Anger radiated off of the lawyer like an indescribable chill. 

“I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?”

“The man we have in the basement isn’t from this world, the brother you’re so desperately trying to exonerate isn’t yours.”

Hemera reached behind her, picking up her notebook, she flipped through it.

“No, who you call Grimshaw is from Omega-Earth. A world on the brink of total collapse. Valorant Legion is the name of your Protocol’s counterpart.” She looked at the three of them from over her notebook.

Viper looked pissed, Brimstone refused to make eye contact but his face was pulled into one of neutrality, Sage looked visibly uncomfortable albeit calm.

“See, the reason I believed those Radiants who told me of the lookalikes is because when my brother came back from Everett-Linde. I knew it wasn’t my Achlys.” Hemera admitted in a quiet tone. “There were things he didn’t know, choices he made. Small things our parents didn’t see, things his friends chalked up to being the only survival story of that damn place.”

She breathed calmly, in, out. “But he is still my brother. And I know the sacrifices he’s made.”

“He’s a traitor through and through.”

“That’s your belief, Callas. But I know him better than you could ever hope to. And nobody would put themselves through the pain he does just to keep you able to call yourself a hero.” She did air quotes around the word ‘hero’. 

Viper quirked a dark brow, as if waiting for her to continue. But it wasn’t Hemera that spoke up, it was Sage from behind the agent. “Are you talking about his.. How do I.. Medical history, I suppose?” And Viper looked at the other woman over her shoulder, surprised by information she clearly wasn’t made privy to.

Hemera tossed the notebook down and picked up a different folder, one stamped by Sinai Health. 

“Rapid cellular decay, followed by-”

“Rapid cellular regeneration.” Sage finished for her. 

“What does that mean, Sage?”

“It means that Grimshaw heals by sacrificing his regeneration and obtaining more decay. His cells… Rip themselves apart and stitch themselves back together. It’s barbaric, and painful.” 

Viper only scoffed, attention turning back to Hemera. “His Radiant abilities mean nothing in comparison to his actions against this team.” 

“On the contrary, his Radiant abilities go to show how much he put forth on this team. He could have simply chosen a different set of them, but he chose specifically to use them to heal. Something you, Doctor, have forgotten how to do.” 

Hemera was able to counter every medical point with a point of her own. She’d studied his file when he got home from the incident. Kingdom was very insistent on their investigation of him after what had happened. Files she had obtained with his permission just before he disappeared without a word. Disappeared for this.

“The Achlys you have in containment may not be the brother I grew up with, but he is the brother I have now. I know familial bonds are beyond you, Doctor Callas, but I refuse to sit idly by and have you question me for hours when I have actual work to do.” Her attention turned back to Brimstone. “You are the commander here. Bring me to my client.”

Brimstone sighed but he obliged. “Sorry, Sabine, but she has grounds.” 

“You’re making a mistake.”

“I do not think we are.” Sage piped up softly.

Hemera kept her head high, folders tucked under her arm, as she was led down to the holding facility. She ignored the curious glances from agents she only vaguely recognised, and she certainly ignored the blue stare of somebody she was positive destroyed a city at some point? Then, maybe it was that woman’s counterpart? Hemera had much to think about, but little time.

“Monarch, open up.”

Brimstone knocked on the door, taking a step back to wait. The door clicked several times then hissed at it slid open, revealing the familiar agent on the other end. But Hemera was a lawyer, and lawyers love lying. Her expression maintained cool and collected as Monarch let the two in, having been abandoned by Sage and Viper.

But when she saw the cell behind the agent.

Her eyes widened as she stepped past them, rushing to the cell, she pressed her free hand against the brightly lit glass.

Achlys stepped forward, mask and bandage removed, he looked terrible. His tan skin was pallid, his form was solid, but the way it wavered, she could tell it hurt to maintain. The bruises and scrapes on his visible skin hurt her heart. 

“Hemera..?” His voice was raspy as he weakly lifted his hand, pressing it against the glass, against hers. “What are you doing here..?” Achlys inquired, but as he did so, his form flickered, dissipating into several wisps before violently reforming.

She frowned, watching him weakly fall back to the small bed in the room. “You have all these lights on him?” She turned her attention back to Brimstone, clearly displeased. “You’re killing him! Turn these off immediately.” She demanded, and Monarch wasted little time configuring the controls to turn the room dark.

Achlys audibly breathed in relief from within the now dark cell, as if he’d been given water after days without it. Hemera looked into the dark cell, unable to see him now, but knowing he was there. “I’m going to exonerate you, I promise.” She swore, turning away from the glass to look at Brimstone. 

“I’m aware that it isn’t my place here, but everything Grimshaw has given us so far indicates that somebody else is the traitor.”

“Then why won’t he tell us who?”

Grimshaw was quiet in the cell, honestly, he may have fallen asleep. Hemera wasn’t sure, she wouldn’t put it by him.

“Because he weighed the options and gathered that the risk of telling the truth would be more dangerous than having him locked up. Obviously.” Hemera moved closer to the door, where the only LED strip was that could provide her light.

She sat down, opening her folders to read through them.

“That was exactly what he told me.” Monarch confirmed, doing their best not to read the confidential information on her papers, but she snuck a peak or two at the information written down. The things Grimshaw hid in the dark.

“Achlys.”

“Yes, Emmy?”

“The traitor.”

“I will not tell you either. They are more important than I am.”

Hemera narrowed her eyes, pausing on his words. “More important than you?” She clarified, looking towards the dark cell. His red eyes opened, a soft glow against the darkness. But the colour disappeared quickly.

“Yes.”

“So it isn’t Brimstone or Viper.”

Monarch tilted their head, attention turning to the woman on the floor who went back to looking at her files. “How do you know?” She inquired, surprised by the woman’s inference. 

“If they were of the highest caliber of importance within the organization, he wouldn’t emphasize the person in question only being more important than him. Therefore, it isn’t those two, and I doubt it to be Sage.”

Brimstone was taking notes on a tablet, listening intently to what the other three had to say. It made sense, somebody more important would have just as much information on the transfer as Grimshaw did.

It was several hours of questioning, back and forth, without Grimshaw ever spilling the identity, instead clarifying the gravity of problems that would occur if he were to. But the things he said both matched up with Hemera’s files, and Brimstone’s. And without Viper in his ear, Brimstone began to crack in his opinion.

Too much of the evidence was circumstantial, and too much of what he said made sense. He was able to answer each question posed calmly and concisely. 

“I would never put this team in harm’s way.” Grimshaw promised and Hemera looked up to watch his unstable form press against the glass. 

“I believe you, Achlys. They’re your family.”

Dark wisps pressed against the glass, sliding down, as if a hand and fingers. “I’m a doctor first.” He spoke so quietly on the other side of the glass. “That is why I defected from my original team. I could not stand to see any more destruction after I witnessed what happened at the facility. My world must find another way.”

“Your research was on the effects of cross world teleportation, right?” 

“That is correct, Monarch.”

“What were your findings?”

Grimshaw paused.

It was a good minute before he replied.

“Rapid cell multiplication, mitosis at an impossible rate, and subsequent cell death. The radianite exposure of the teleportation was killing the employees slowly.”

“Is that why you hid the plans?”

“Yes, sir.”

Brimstone stopped typing on his tablet, finally looking at the unstable form in the cell, the wisps of black smoke and the barely visible skin. “I’ve heard enough.” He decided, looking down at Hemera who was expectantly looking at him. She had successfully proved her point, and maybe not Grimshaw’s innocence, but the fact none of what they knew could hold him the way they had been.

“Release him, Monarch.”

Her eyes widened, unable to hide her smile as she bounced to the control panel. Some of the lights turned on, but the cell door slid open, allowing Grimshaw’s form to spill into the room. Hemera stood up, legs numb as she ran to him.

He solidified in time with her colliding into his body. “Achlys.” She buried her face in his chest, arms wrapping around him. Achlys brought his hand up, pressing it against her back. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in trouble sooner?” She chastised, but her tone was anything but malicious. 

She was worried.

“Don’t exactly have access to a phone, Emmy.”

“You could have sent someone sooner!”

Grimshaw paused, tilting his head as he looked down at her. “I never sent anybody.” Hemera’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked up at him. “I’ve been under surveillance, you can ask Brimstone, I haven’t sent anybody.”

“That’s true.”

And Hemera lowered her head, laying it against his chest instead. She understood, they took the risk of their own volition because he was not the only one who considered this team their family. She would keep their secrets for them, as best as she could. But there was one thread untied, one thread that hung loose.

“I received a call the other day.”

“I assume so if you’re here-”

“No, not regarding this..”

“What do you mean, Barrister?”

Hemera released her brother, but stayed close to him as she turned towards Brimstone and Monarch, both of whom looked at her curiously.

“I received a phone call from Amir. I.. I never met him in person but my Achlys informed me of him when they met. I thought it was your- our Amir, I guess. But-”

“Alpha and Omega, we’re Alpha. Well, not him.”

She nodded. “I thought it was Alpha Amir, Cypher you call him? But before entering the facility I was greeted by him. I guess he saw me coming.” She laughed, and it was accepted. He would. He had eyes everywhere. “And I asked about that phone call.”

“Omega Amir contacted you?”

“I- I mean it would have had to be! He introduced himself by his full name and he talked about you and- I was so confused because..”

“Hemera! Just say it.”

“He said Vera died! In an accident and- and you needed to come home.”

But their Vera had died a long time ago, when she was told, it didn’t make sense. Not entirely. But then, this all made her realise the obvious. Vera’s counterpart.

“I need to go to Omega immediately.”

“What?!” “Huh?!”

Grimshaw flinched at Brimstone and Monarch’s in sync reactions.

“There’s a lot I still haven’t told you.. The little things about my life there, outside of Kingdom, outside of Legion.” 

[trixree]

i LOVe being trans omg so 2 years ago my ~identity~ got stollen and I had to jump through HOOPS with the IRS to prove that I Am Who I Say I Am, Please Let Me File My Taxes and they were like "ok! please retrieve this handy PIN number from our online portal to file your taxes electronically" and I was like "excellent, I will do this" and i log on to their silly website a few months back and I run into something called ID.Me which is a ~tool~ that the ~government~ uses to verify your identity via a 2 step process: you upload a photo of your drivers license and then take a "live selfie" and the software compares the two photos

DO WE SEE THE PROBLEM YET FOLKS???

I got my DL photo taken when I was freshly 16. My mother had me put on mascara and lipstick for it. I had very long, dyed blonde hair that I wore down and around my face. I cannot stress enough that I look nothing like that person anymore: I look like a misplaced Make A Wish boy. So the identification verification FAILS because the algorithm is CONFUSED by my BOYISH, SICKLY CHARM but don't worry! There's a second option! :):):):):) Just jump on a video call with three original copies of state identification! You can mix and match with your social security card, birth certificate, drivers license, or passport! I don't have a passport, nor do I have my original birth certificate. So I had to paper file my taxes this year. Again.

I didn't change my name when I transitioned, I didn't change my sex marker, I did not even medically transition. I shaved my head, changed my wardrobe, and stopped basically doing drag for my mothers' or anyones approval. I told my parents about the Trouble I was having and my mom tried to say "well, it's because you don't select F when you do those forms" and I laughed because yeah I do, I've never selected anything else (what would I even select? "I dissent"? Is there an NB option on all gov forms now? Cause I missed that memo) because I'm not fucking stupid and then she followed up, "well, when you give your pronouns..." WHAT PART OF THIS PROCESS ASKED FOR PRONOUNS? NONE OF IT. LITERALLY NONE OF IT. All the information I entered into the forms matches verbatim what is on my license down to literally every detail: name, sex marker, etc.

Now I'm trying to apply for unemployment benefits and GUESS WHAT MY STATE UNEMPLOYMENT WEBSITE USES TO VERIFY YOUR IDENTITY??? ID. motherfucking ME. GUESS WHO'S STILL TRANS? ME. FUCK.

Yeah so I gotta go in-person to get my DL photo changed and to file for unemployment. Both places are on opposite sides of the city and it will be over 100 degrees tomorrow. FUCK my life.

[stevishabitat]

BE READY IN A FLASH

CREATE A SURVIVAL FLASH DRIVE

If there were a fire, flood, or other disaster that destroyed your home, where would your important documents such as birth certificate, passport, deed, licenses, permits, etc be? Protect yourself by scanning all your important documents and storing them on a Survival Flash Drive.

Purchase a USB Flash Drive (also called memory sticks or thumb drives due to their small size)

Use a permanent marker, sticker, or label to put the word "ICE" (In Case of Emergency) on it

Scan your important documents using a scanner, and store the files on the Survival Flash Drive

WHAT TO PUT ON YOUR FLASH DRIVE

All Government Issued IDs, Licenses, Permits, and Certifications for Each Family Member

Driver's License/ID

Passport

Veteran/Discharge Papers

Birth Certificate

Marriage Certificate

Work Permits / Licenses

Social Security Card

Gun Permit

Immigration Papers

Important Non-Government Documents

Medical Records

Bank Accounts

Contracts

Vaccination Records

Credit Card Accounts

Wills

Health Plan Information

Insurance (Home/Auto).

Power of Attorney

Advance Directives

Real Estate / Mortgage

Divorce/Custody Papers

Business Records

Rental Agreement

Restraining Orders

Other Important Information

Current Photos of Each Family Member and Pets

Important Family Pictures

Emergency Contact List with Addresses + Phone Numbers

KEEP IT UP TO DATE

Remember to keep the information on your Survival Flash Drive current by updating it regularly.

PASSWORD PROTECT/ENCRYPT THE INFORMATION

For an added level of security, you can password-protect the files or encrypt the drive using software like TrueCrypt. Keep in mind that emergency workers would have a hard time opening protected files.

STORE IT IN A SAFE LOCATION

Store your Survival Flash Drive in a small sealed plastic bag to prevent damage from the elements. Attach it to your key chain, put it in your purse, put it in a fireproof waterproof safe, put it in a drawer at work, or put it in the glove box of your vehicle. Keep a copy wherever you think it will be safe and available in an emergency away from your house (in case of fire or flood).

SPECIAL MEDICAL CONDITIONS

Create a document on your computer that includes all the details medical personnel may need to know in an emergency. Name the document ICE (which stands for In Case of Emergency. Save a copy of the ICE document on your Survival Flash Drive.

This document is in the public domain. It may be copied and distributed freely

[catdotjpeg]

On February 19, I am going to turn 23. I’m anxious that the day will come and the war will still be ongoing, but then again, I’m not entirely sure I will live long enough to see it. Before the Israeli war on Gaza, I lived a peaceful life, going every day to Al-Aqsa University in pursuit of my studies. My school has now been bombed by the Israeli military even though it was full of displaced Palestinians from northern Gaza. The bombing campaign killed a number of the displaced, turning the place I used to study, laugh, and feel joy into a horror movie. My friend and classmate, Nadia Abd El-Latif, was killed during the Israeli onslaught due to a direct Israeli airstrike on her house. The same thing happened to other friends and colleagues — Mahmoud Al-Naouq, Yousef Dawwas, and Muhammad Hammo. 

My teacher, Refaat Alareer, was killed in the same way, as was my cousin’s husband, along with her seven-year-old son. All of these deaths have left me drained. After over a hundred days, Israel’s war is still ongoing, and my soul feels worn.  These 115 days make up 2,760 hours spent living with acute fear and anxiety, with no idea whether we’ll be among the survivors or not. But since the bombing began in October, I have been trying — in vain — to think of a way out of Gaza. 

[...]

During the beginning of the war, a friend of mine helped me to file a visa application to Qatar. She was hoping that Qatar would grant me a visa, which would make leaving Gaza a bit easier. She promised to host me in her house until the end of the war. Hesitantly, I agreed, reluctant to leave my family in such dire conditions, but the point was moot, as Qatar rejected my visa. I was very disappointed, expecting Qatar to agree since it is an Arab country with strong relations with Palestine.  After the rejection, I started to look for another way to escape Gaza, especially when the Israeli army launched its ground invasion of Gaza. I witnessed the unbearably cruel treatment of Palestinian civilians by Israeli soldiers, and I saw the outside world’s cold reaction.

[...]

Egypt has closed its borders with Gaza many times during the war and has made the price of leaving Gaza unbelievably high. Since my mother is half-Egyptian and half-Palestinian, this was incredibly heartbreaking to me. Egypt is an Arab country neighboring Palestine, with which we share a common history and culture. How can they do this to us? There are many Palestinians in Gaza who have Egyptian blood and hold Egyptian nationality. Yet even those Egyptian citizens residing in Gaza are being asked to pay at least $1,500 to be let through the Rafah crossing to escape death. Over 80% of people in Gaza live below the poverty line, and many wouldn’t be able to pay even $100. What is even worse is that if you do not have an Egyptian passport, the current going rate to pass through is $10,000 — and even then, if you somehow manage to find the money, you’ll still have to wait for days or even months to leave. Recently, the Egyptians claim to have decreased the amount to $5,000 per person, yet the struggle remains the same.  A small number of wealthy, influential people in Gaza can, in fact, pay such amounts to leave. Others are resorting to seeking donations through crowdfunding platforms like GoFundMe and LaunchGood, and I do not blame them. They have no other way to avoid the bombing and save their lives. 

Many displaced families have sought shelter in my grandparents’ house during the war, as we reside in Rafah, where many displaced Palestinians are now living in tents. Three of these families were able to legally coordinate with Egyptian authorities to leave Gaza.  Hala Ihsan Abu Ramadan, 32, was displaced from the very north of Gaza along with her family four separate times until they finally reached Rafah. After collecting money through GoFundMe, Hala reached out to the Egyptian “coordinator,” who was a friend of her sister Heba’s manager. The coordinator asked for $5,000 per person, for a total of six people — Hala, Heba, Heba’s husband Hassan, their brother Abed, and their parents. Their father is a cancer patient and has not been able to receive any medical check-ups or chemotherapy sessions since the beginning of the war due to the overcrowding of Gaza’s hospitals.  “My father has to leave Gaza,” Hala told me. “His life is on the line. If my father does not get treatment, cancer will spread throughout his entire body. He will die very soon if the situation remains the same. We contacted the Egyptian coordinator, and he confirmed that my father’s case was designated urgent.” 

Hala added that, as recently as today, her father’s name has not shown up on any of Egypt’s lists of people allowed to evacuate Gaza. “I mean, if my father’s case is urgent, and he has been waiting since December 30, how much time do urgent cases take?” Hala asks me. The Egyptian coordinators ended up raising the price required of Hala and her family several times, first to $6,000, then to $7,000, $8,000, and finally, to $10,000 per person. Appallingly, as of the time of writing, none of her family members have been allowed out of Gaza.  Hala’s cousin, Saleem Abu Hamdah, whose mother is Egyptian, has not been allowed into Egypt even though he paid $1,200. His wife and three children were allowed into Egypt, however, after paying those same so-called “coordination expenses,” along with his parents — leaving him alone in Gaza.  Another woman I spoke to, Samar, requested that her surname be withheld for her own safety. She has an Egyptian mother-in-law, and was asked to pay $4,000, whereas Samar was asked to pay $2,000. As of the time of writing, neither of them has been let out of Gaza, even though they have been in communication with coordinators since the start of the war. Only Samar’s Egyptian mother-in-law has been given permission to leave Gaza, but she refuses to leave behind her two sons, their wives and children, and her daughter, along with her daughter’s children. 

[...]

As for myself, I cannot leave Gaza. My family’s financial situation cannot cover such high “coordination” expenses. I am reluctant to launch a GoFundMe campaign due to all the stories I’ve heard — none of the people I know who paid coordination fees to travel to Egypt have truly been able to leave Gaza. Maybe if one of the families sheltering with us were given actual permission to leave, I would consider launching my own fundraising campaign. Until then, I don’t believe there is a real way out, and I don’t see the outside world pressuring Israel for a ceasefire.

-- From "Egyptian officials are charging Palestinians a massive ransom to escape the Gaza genocide" by Shahd Safi for Mondoweiss, 29 Jan 2024

[sand-lily]

I JUST GOT MY CoE!!!

(like just now now)

they still didn't tell me when my training date is, where my hotel is, when i can check in to the hotel, or APPARENTLY how long I'll be staying

(my contract says 1 year, but the CoE says 3years,, so idk what to put on the application , if they dont answer by Friday I'll just put 3years, then i wont get in trouble if i do renew the contract but it wont be an issue if i only stay 1 year)

im NOT buying another hotel if i can help it, SO i do wanna know when i can check into the training hotel so i can buy my plane ticket for that day and put that as the arrival date on the application, according to maps and reddit the shinkansen is only a few hours to the city i need to be in from the airport, so im taking that instead of doing a layover in japan,,

so i need to know WHEN i can check in so i can do the math to know WHAT flight to take, and since im technically losing a day across time zones, thats going to be hard for me since normal time math is ALREADY hard for me

i already have the passport photos, i already have the envelopes, i already made the shipping labels (just gotta print them), i already signed the disclaimer (gotta print), I already filled out the application minus those 2 things im not sure about (and gotta print),,

so my plan is to go to the library and print all the stuff at once, and sign it at the library, then go from there to the post office to drop it off, and then from there back home (shit has to be planned when you don't have a car and public transit only comes once every 2hrs)

the CoE is valid for 3 months from tonight, so im HOPING they want me there the last week of june or mid july so i can pack up my apartment, call my bank, get an esim card for my phone company (this is the only phone number I had my WHOLE LIFE and I don't wanna lose it so i MIGHT pay for international data to keep it), take care of my pets, break my lease unfortunately, get a transit card (apparently you can buy them online BEFORE going to Japan and have it shipped to you),

and quit my new job i JUST started last week unfortunately,, ive only done training so i dont even think i can put it on my resume, HOWEVER, i did pass CPR + baby CPR so i can put that on my resume if they have the certificate on file (idk if they filed it yet)...but if i have another month, I'll be able to have childcare IN A SCHOOL experience (asst teaching)

ig i WONT be able to save up to pay off my credit card, or get my hair braided, and i WONT be able to afford business class like i wanted,, i just hope i get a window seat, i WILL NOT sit in the middle if i can avoid it, i also dont want an isle seat just in case i sit next to somebody who doesn't speak English and they feel nervous about asking me to move so they can use the toilet... i really dont wanna talk to ppl like that

i also also need to look for headphones with a type c connector, because i heard those exist,, my Bluetooth headphones dont work very well on airplanes and i MISS wired headphones severely (i WILL NOT take them out of the box until im at the airport tho, i WILL NOT risk losing them before the flight, as i tend to do)

i also also also need to go through my music library and delete the songs i always skip and add in the new ones ive been playing on repeat via YouTube, im NOT paying for plane wifi , i also x3 need to figure out how to download Libby books like PDFs since i cant use libby outside of America and i want to keep reading books on the flight

ig im un-makeovering my apt tomorrow, time to put doors back on hinges and remove contact paper and fill in nail holes and everything,, it took me like 3days to do everything up and i did it with a butter knife instead of a screwdriver, so it should take less time to undo it with my new electric screwdriver ,, i think my sister is going to try and steal my bedframe, shes already laid dibs on the couch

they BETTER NOT charge me ANY fees considering i paid a TRIPLE deposit to move in here without a cosigner and thats the whole point of a deposit

anyways i got a lot to do tomorrow, so i gotta go to bed at a REASONABLE HOUR, NOT 2AM

and if anybody wants to help me pay off my $1400 credit card bill (ive been using it to pay rent and buy groceries since nobody wants to hire me, unemployment is only enough to pay the minimum + my phone bill so i dont get late fees)

here are my PayPal and cashapp,, im not good at art AT ALL, but if yall want commissions for something so that i can earn the money (i can only do traditional art), I'll do that too,, or i can proofread something? creative writing is actually my forte believe it or not

anyways

cashapp: https://cash.app/$firellily

(the pfp is a pic of my cat)

[newtonsheffield]

Sorry please feel free to ignore this but NHS cards aren’t a thing! You go up to a and e and they ask your details and you pop up on their system with ur info from ur gp office!!!

Weird. Google said they were a thing. You should at least have an NHS number given from your GP right? Which is weird to me that it's managed by your GP to begin with honestly.

In Australia our health system is called Medicare and we have a card from the national government. Looks like this and it carries like 15 to 40 ID points/100 usually as well when applying for passports or Driver's licenses. Very important.

Nothing to do with our GP but it's per family. So like I used to be on my parent's Medicare card but then when I left home I applied for my own card and my medicare number changed but the files merged. It carries our vaccine data and any other health services we've accessed and it's essentially how the government is billed for our care.

So if you ran my medicare card number, you could see that in 2004 I received a meningococcal vaccine during a school vaccine program and in 2008 I was vaccinated against HPV also as part of the school vaccination program.

Yes! in Australia for some vaccinations a form gets sent home, a bunch of nurses show up at your school on a day and they vaccinate everyone in a certain age group whose parents have agreed to it like it's a school lunch (A system that we do not have in Australia. Everyone brings lunch from home pretty much.) it's the easiest way to catch kids because parents don't have to pay a consultation fee (Though Public GPs are completely bulk billed and there's no Co-pay just depends what your doctor is) and your parents don't have to remember to take you. Great for parents who work a lot or low SES kids that might not otherwise be able to access the service.

Anyway, this has taken a tangent but pretty much our medicare card is an identity document and yah. We all have one.