#Compound Interfaces

[gaysails]

after the news about duolingo shifting to AI generated translations and only using human staff to check that the translations were bare minimum "acceptable" I switched my german lessons to busuu and I've only been doing it a month but it already feels like a more helpful interface. there's typically way more german text onscreen than there is english (e.g. the headers and lesson instructions being in german), they use more complex compound words that start becoming recognizable in context, they give WAY more detailed explanations of grammar rules, and occasionally there's a written short answer you submit to get feedback from other real users who are fluent. I don't think they offer as wide a range of languages but if anyone is looking to jump ship from duolingo I'd recommend checking them out

[tinydefector]

quietly whispers (for your consideration)

ratchet x human reader

sex pollen

Pheromones

Ratchet x human reader

Word count: 2k

Warning: smut, thigh fucking, sex pollen/ pheromone spray, #valveplug

Ratchet masterlist

Request and ask open, read pinned post

So what about, Cybertronians react to perfume in the way humans react to Sex pollen hehehe. I love the idea of human perfume mix with skin contact makes an almost intoxicating scent and sends Cybertronians feral when they get a hint of it. They love how it makes humans skin taste, and it over rides their interface systems.

So enjoy.

_____________

The human moves around Ratchet's medical lab looking at different vials and flasks their eyes flickering over the difference Liquids. " Hey ratchet what are all of these different vials?" They call out to the medic. Ratchet looked up from his work when he heard the human call out to him. He put down the datapad he was looking over and walked over to where the human was examining the various vials on the shelves.

"Those are different medical compounds and chemicals I use in treatments and repairs," Ratchet explained. "The colourful ones contain powerful medications and sedatives. The clear ones hold things like bonding agents or nanite solutions. Others are a mix of experimental solutions" 

He pointed to a vial with a swirling pink and purple liquid. "That one is a broad-spectrum energon healing compound I developed. It speeds cellular repair and regeneration, within Cybertronian functions." His optical ridges furrowed as he watched the human carefully look over each vial. 

"You know better than to touch anything in here, less you break something and contaminate yourself with something i can't fix" Ratchet said sternly. "Some of this equipment and chemicals could seriously harm an organic being like yourself." Despite his gruff tone, his words held more care than scolding. Biology was complex, and humans were so small and fragile compared to Cybertronians. He hoped his favourite little patient and helping hand was being careful not to endanger themselves.

"It's just fascinating is all, kinda reminds me of a mediaeval apothecary" they chuckle. "Do you ever just take samples for fun, like when you're out and about on planets?" They ask, they were always curious over what things ratchet tended to keep.

Ratchet huffed a small laugh at the comparison to a mediaeval apothecary. "Fascinating perhaps, but also dangerous if mishandled," he remarked.

He considered the human's question for a moment. While most of his samples were acquired for medical necessity, he couldn't deny a certain curiosity about other life forms and ecosystems. 

"On occasion I have collected specimens from planets we've visited, simply for observational study," Ratchet admitted.  He walked over to retrieve a data pad containing photos and analyses of plant samples from their recent away missions. "Here, let me show you some I recorded on our last stop." Ratchet enlarged the images for the human to easily see. "This radiation-resistant lichen seems to secrete a natural antifreeze. And these fungi act as natural air filters in their toxic environment." The medic's optics glinted with interest as he discussed his findings. Perhaps exploration held some appeal, even for a skeptic like himself.

They stand close to Ratchet looking over different specimens, “some of these plants look like they would make really nice perfumes'' they mumble while flicking through the different photos reading the small information bubbles around them. As the human stood near Ratchet examining the data on his specimens, something about their scent suddenly registered in his olfactory sensors. An overly sweet aroma was emanating strongly from their skin, but it was clearly not the normal scent of an unadulterated human.“perfume?forgive me, I'm not accustomed to what that is?” he asked with a raised optical ridge

Their eyes flicker to Ratchet. “It's like scented alcohol or oil we put on our skin, most times it alters our scent. We humans happen to have a big fascination with them, and have millions of different perfumes.” they explain before tilting their head in slight amusement. “I'm surprised Cybertronians don't have something similar” they reply. 

“once millennia's back cybertron did try making things like that, but due to our metallic body's it doesn't stay on us, or it tented to cause rust spots from the ones they did try and make” Ratchet explained, sensors flared as he analysed the unfamiliar composition, immediately detecting unusual chemical traces that seemed to send strange pulses through his neurocircuitry. The smell was strangely enticing yet worryingly off-kilter at the same time. He tried venting deeply to clear his nasal chamber but the scent only grew stronger. 

"What in the Allspark..." the medic muttered, not meaning for the human to hear. His optics dimmed slightly as redundant calibrations ran, trying to make sense of why the scent was affecting his processor. Ratchet crouched down and focused his sharp gaze on the human in concern. They smile up at him offering for him to examine. 

"By my scanner  it seems as if you've been contaminated with something. Are you positive these ‘perfumes’ are safe? I need to analyse your system for potential toxins." He asked while trying to figure out why the scent was having such an effect on him, it was as if his processor had thrown care to the wind. 

They let out a laugh as his optics try analysing, he moves closer taking another inhale of their scent "haha yes Ratchet, it isn't harmful, humans have been using it for hundreds of years" they state. “Ratchet are you alright?” They ask while cupping his face. 

Ratchet's sensors were in disarray as the potent scent overwhelmed his circuits. He vented heavily again, coolant failing to properly flush the heated energon now racing through his fuel lines. His optics flickered with minor instability as calibration errors cropped up across multiple systems.

Though lacking his usual gruffness. Ratchet leaned in closer, trying to pinpoint the source, but only succeeded in inhaling more of the intoxicating aroma. A rumble rose in his chassis against his better judgement. “ your scent...", he struggled to find words between fragmented logic protocols. "It's affecting my sensor net. Overloading my functions. I need to...run a full examination. Determine why this perfume is making your scent overwhelming..." 

His field pulsed with uncharacteristic confusion and static electricity. Ratchet knew he should contact someone for assistance, but found himself unable to call out in his muddled state. The human's safety was his top concern, yet he feared touching them in this condition. Some natural, impossible chemistry was at play here, and the medic had no control over his compromised systems.

As gently as his shaking grip allowed, Ratchet grasped the human in his large palm to properly scan them from close range. His detailed medical scanners searched every inch, They gasp as Ratchet glossa meets their throat, fingers shootout to grip the side of his faceplate. 

A throttled moan escaped his vocalizer against his will. That light touch from their hands nearly shorted out his already fritzing systems. vents plume in hot exhaust. His interface panel felt too hot and tight , barely clinging to integrity protocols as the pleasure centres of his processor went haywire. 

“your scent...overloading my sensory net...cannot...resist...” Ratchet calls out through groans,his grip unconsciously tightened around the small organic in his hand. His free hand scrambled for purchase on the table, denting the metal. Something primal and powerful part of him was unravelling his mental restraints, and no calibration or forced shutdown seemed able to stop it.

Their eyes go wide. "Ratchet! Are you alright do in need to get a Perceptor or first aid?" They ask as the medic leans down into their shoulder, denta nipping at the skin as his digits try removing their shirt as quickly as he physically can. They yelp as he pulls them back together with him, his lips work along their smaller frame desperate to taste the sweet flavour and scent that had taken to their skin. capturing them against his heaving chassis. His optics blazed with static and uncontrolled charge.

"No...don't leave," Ratchet growled through clenched denta. Every fibre of his being screamed for more. His panel snapping open with an echoing click, massively engorged cables twitching in the open. Coolant and lubricant poured from his interface array, drenching the human involuntarily as he grinding against them, bright glowing pink stains their pants and paints their skin in his transfluid. 

His hands trembled, barely able to restrain their desire to claim the tiny body before him. Rational thought was impossible under the onslaught of chemical signals frying his cognition. Ratchet bucked erratically against them, whole body illuminated by dancing electricity. 

"Need you... interface protocols are in-gauged, can't fight it...please,!" he pants to the human as his spike presses against their back. Blunt node swelled monstrously at its tip.

Their back arches into each grind of Ratchet's spike. “Ratchet!” They whine out. 

Their soft noises egg ratchet on, his servos move quickly, trying to discard the pants sticking to their form, he hisses out in annoyance before finally getting them off their legs, throwing them across the medical room. Twisting them around so he can see thier eyes. 

Ratchet growls eagerly spike swiftly sliding between their thighs and against their stomach. His spike is already dripping with lubricant. As he ruts against them. Each inhale of their scent has him spiralling more. 

"Is this what you want, sweetspark? My spike filling you up?" His voice is rough with lust. Gently spreading their legs wider. Watching the bright pink stick to their legs "Primus... I bet you feel amazing." 

He moves slowly pressing his spike against them, tormenting as he presses into them inch by inch. Needy moans leave their lips, hands clinging to him desperately as they roll their hips. “Ratchet!” They cry out. 

 Their stomach bulges from Ratchet's spike, the bright pink splatter across their skin nearly has ratchet overloading from the mere sensation, not to mention the intoxicating scent of their skin. Ratchet groans deeply at the sight of his spike bulging their abdomen, his engines rumbling with feral satisfaction. One hand strokes almost reverently over the taut swell.

"So stunning like this... stretched wide around me, primus so small and tight”

Slowly he draws his hips back, then thrusts forward, grinding deeply into them. setting a steady pace, rockin into the slick heat enveloping his spike. Ducking his head, he captures their shoulder between his denta, glossa flicking against the sensitive skin as he tries to lap the perfume from their skin.

Ratchet growls deeply, thrusting harder at the way they clench around his spike. The table creaks and trembles under the force of his movements but he can't bring himself to slow down. 

"Yes, just like that," he rasps. "Keep that sweet valve squeezing me. Feels so good..."

captures their cries in a heated kiss. "Want you to overload for me," Ratchet purrs. "Let me feel you come undone around my spike, sweetspark..."

His engines are roaring furiously now, spike swelling and throbbing powerfully inside their smaller body. Ratchet groans deeply as they clench around him again, the feeling of that slick heat clenching and rippling around his spike is incredible. 

"That's it love, overload for me... you feel exquisite. So good" 

The sensations quickly become too much for his own systems to bear,the feeling, scent and the pure primal heat running through his system hits hard. With a staticky shout of Julian's name, he buries himself to the hilt and overloads powerfully. His transfluid gushes hot and thick, pumping deep into their smaller form. 

His engines vent heavily as he leans over them, face pressed into their shoulder, a deep guttural moan leaves him, Shuddering with aftershocks. When he finally leans stack to take in their exhaust and truly used form their lungs desperately inhale and exhale drawing in air as if it was their life line. 

Bright pink transfluid pudding around them as Ratchet's systems finally subsided. His optics flicker on them. “ Are you alright?” he asked softly, his human companion replied with a soft whine and nod. “ Remind me not to wear my perfume out in public” the call out in shuttered words. It makes ratchet chuckle as he leans back down to them. “a wise decision” 

[aylameridiandrawsstuff]

Top: Interface (the crew's experience)

Bottom: Noosphere (the Tech-Priest's experience)

The crew of the Null Exception were "asked" by an Inquisitor to investigate the palatial compound of a supposedly heretical Arch-Medicus. Upon arriving on the disturbingly foggy grounds, the Tech Priest found a cogitator embedded in a statue with which to interface - hopefully to gain some information on the layout, however what she found was somewhat less useful much more heretical..... 

The seemingly ordinary cogitator actually hid a rather advanced (and super illegal) ancient AI! Our Tech-Priest, not one to shy away from archeotech, happily communed with the ancient machine spirit, who we learned had suffered some major memory and personality issues after having been split up into its component subroutines... And so we added "restoring the ancient AI's personality" to our ever growing to do list for our visit to the heretic's palace...

[gunpowderdtim]

It's no wonder Out happened when you really think about it. Nastya doesn't like organic life because it's complicated, it can break, sometimes it's even unfixable.

quote from gender rebels

Nastya is in love with Aurora, and in saying that she is saying "you are not organic life, I can deal with you because you are metal and algorithm and predictable" - we can see this in bedtime story when she says she'll tweak Aurora's story creation algorithm

screenshot from A Bedtime Story

Aurora is not inorganic. She is not ai. She is a space moon made of flesh and blood and teeth and bone. She is not an ai. She is a body that was taken and stripped of autonomy, of the right to self identify, of the right to think- to be imperfect and organic.

The metal is a veneer that hides how messy and traumatized and unfixable she is. From the outside she is a starship. From the inside she can still bleed.

And this makes them fundamentally incompatible. But yet, they are in love.

And really, it's no wonder Nastya fell in love with Aurora. Let's take a look at Nastya's home planet, or at least home society:

"Terminals were scattered across the planet. There was one on every street corner, one beneath every lamppost and one in every commune block." "The midwife-machine performs a series of programmed manœuvres to quieten [the baby]. It cradles it and hums at several pitches until it finds one that seems most soothing. Mechanical arms stroke the baby’s flesh even as others start the process of implanting augmented reality interfaces into its nervous system." "The Czar an atrophied frame, never present in the real world and worn to dust by the chemical compounds that kept his brain alive so it could live forever in a perfect virtual paradise. The Rabotnik a copy, a mind preserved unchanging in the instant before its death and placed in an everlasting metal frame." (Cyberian Demons)

Its safe to say the world Nastya was born into, from the very minute she was born, was ridden with technology. She has augmented reality interfaces inplanted into her from birth. It would stand to reason that being taken from this society, wherein technology is everywhere, inside and out, would stand for a bit of a shock.

Aurora too had been augmented by the Cyberia.

While it is stated that the last time Nastya had used the ports themselves was directly before her death — "The last time she had used the ports, her tutor had ripped them out of her as the rebels stormed the palace" — Aurora is laced with Cyberian technology. I'd imagine she has something of a 'bluetooth wireless connection' with Aurora, rather than the physical data transfer of files between the ports and Nastya, it may as well be similar enough.

Imagine being Nastya, going from Cyberia, wherein there is augmented reality contantly, transplanted onto a ship with metal blood, a jonny, and a vampire. To Aurora, where the only bits of augmented reality run through Aurora.

Of course she'd fall in love with her. Aurora is familiarity. Aurora isn't organic. Aurora isn't human.

And of course when the undeniable part of aurora that is organic, that is a flesh moon plated in metal with her brain hooked to machines, when so much has broken and been replaced, when, presumably, aurora is less of an algorithm, nastya leaves with the brand cyberia left on her.

Because Aurora healing, becoming more of herself and less of a starship, is messy, and organic, and human.

and hard for nastya.

‘Think how long she’s been flying you around. Think how many bullet holes you’ve punched through her and how many atmospheres you’ve dropped her through. Think how many alterations and improvements we’ve made, Tim to her guns and Ashes to her storage and Brian to her engines and the Toy Soldier to who knows what. How much do you think is left of her after all she’s brought you through?’ Nastya held up the ancient, battered piece of hull plating. Just visible under the grime and scars of particles of space junk was a fragment of the Aurora’s original logo and serial number. Jonny honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a version that hadn’t been painted by the Mechanisms themselves. ‘So she’s free, now.’ Nastya gestured around at the spaceship they were standing in. ‘This Aurora can take you where you want to go. I’m going to take my Aurora somewhere else.’

Aurora was ship of theseus'd. Aurora was improved. Aurora was no longer cyberian. (both literally, and metaphorically)

So nastya left.

[sycamorelibrary754]

The Doting Tree

Summary: During your visit to your grandmother at her assisted living community, you learn that Bucky has been regularly volunteering there as a part of his therapy sessions with Dr. Raynor.

Pairings: Bucky x Platonic reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: None

A/N: Who doesn't want to see Bucky healing?

"Ms. Y/L/N, Mr. Stark requests your presence in his lab," Friday announced, pulling you out of your intense focus.

"Can it wait, FRIDAY? I'm swamped with overdue mission reports here," you replied, shuffling through the stack of papers on your desk.

“Mr. Stark says you have a phone call,” FRIDAY responded.

“A phone call?” you asked, puzzled, picking up your phone. “No, I don't.”

“In his lab, Ms. Y/L/N,” FRIDAY said.

"Okay,” you said as you rubbed your tired eyes. “Tell him I'm on my way.”

Walking into Tony's lab, you found the genius hunched over his desk, tinkering with one of his holographic interfaces. His phone was propped between his ear and shoulder.

“Really? I had no idea,” Tony said with a surprised look. “Y/N is so at ease on the motorcycle you would never know she didn't learn to ride a two-wheeler until she was nine.”

Your eyes widened. "Oh my God. Who are you talking to?" 

"One moment, ma'am," Tony said before placing the phone against his chest.

"It’s your grandmother," Tony said. "She called the front desk trying to reach you, and they patched her through to me." 

"What? Why didn't they call me?" you said, reaching for the phone as Tony pulled it away. 

"Because this is way more fun," Tony smirked. 

"Gimme the phone!" You snapped.

Tony placed a hand on your forehead to hold you at arm's length like an annoying older brother while putting the phone back to his ear.

"Y/G/N, your granddaughter just walked in. So, I’m going to pass you over to her," Tony said. "No, don't be silly. It's no problem. I enjoyed talking with you, too. Feel free to call back anytime. My pleasure, ma'am. Bye-bye."

You sighed as the billionaire finally handed over his phone, walking back toward the pane-glass windows for some privacy.

"Hi, Grandma," you chirped.

"Hello, dear, so good to hear your voice," your grandmother said.

"How did you end up on the phone with Mr. Stark?" you asked.

"I accidentally deleted your cell phone number, but your mom has your workplace down on this list she made, so I called information and then was connected to your lovely boss," your grandma explained.

"Ah, I see. Well, he’s not technically my boss, more like an annoying man-child who pays for everything," Smirking back at Tony and sticking your tongue out.

Your grandma asked, 'What is this I hear about you riding a motorcycle?”

"Oh, no need to worry. I’m a professional, and it's part of my job," you reassured her.

"Still," your grandma began. "I hope you're wearing a helmet."

"Always, Grandma, don't worry,” you fibbed. “So, how are you?” Doing your best to shift the conversation away from your dangerous life as an Avenger.

"I’m good, sweetheart. I'm just wondering when you're going to visit me. It's been a while since I’ve seen you,” your grandma asked. 

Your heart broke at her words. Your grandma lives in an assisted living community near the compound called The Doting Tree. You did your best to see her often, but the unpredictable nature of your work made regular visits difficult.

“I know; I’m sorry. Things have been hectic lately, and I just got home from a work trip a few days ago. How about I stop by tomorrow around noon?" you asked.

“That would be great," she exclaimed. "See you then!"

"Okay, bye," you said, hanging up Tony’s phone.

You gave Tony his phone back, and he handed you a hundred-dollar bill in exchange.

“What's this for?” you asked.

“I may be an annoying man-child, but even I know you treat Grandma like a queen,” Tony quipped with a wink.

*^~^*

The following day, you joined the rest of the team for breakfast. Wanda had made her special chocolate chip pancakes and fresh orange juice for everyone. You sat beside Bucky and began squeezing Maple syrup over your pancakes. 

Pepper set a plate in front of Morgan and sat beside Tony. "So, what's everyone got lined up for today?"

"Nat and I are getting the recruits up to speed," Steve replied, digging into his pancakes.

“That sounds interesting,” Pepper said.

"It would be interesting if they paid attention this time," Nat remarked, downing the last of her orange juice.

"I always paid attention," you declared confidently.

"Sure, Y/N, you ran those extra laps after training at Nat’s request just for fun," Maria teased.

"Yelena and I are off to an advanced obedience class with Lucky and Fanny," Kate said. "This week, it's all about the army crawling!"

"By the end of the training, they'll be more mission-ready than your little recruits, Natasha," Yelena teased as she cut into her pancakes.

Nat leaned over and flicked her sister's arm.

"Ow, son of a—"

"Language!" Steve interjected.

Yelena was about to retort, but then she caught Morgan's smile and shut her mouth.

"I’m supposed to meet with Secretary Ross, but I'd much rather catch the new Godzilla vs. Kong movie. Anyone up for it?" Rhodes suggested.

"I'm in!" Sam exclaimed. "How about you, Buck?"

"Can't make it; I'm tied up," Bucky replied, sipping his orange juice.

“Come on, man, how often do we blend in with the crowd?" Sam quipped.

"I can't, Sam," Bucky replied with a shrug.

"Your loss," Sam retorted. "What about you, Y/N?"

"I'd love to, but I promised my grandma a visit," you replied.

"That's thoughtful of you, Y/N," Wanda chimed in.

"Oh, that reminds me, guess who didn't learn to ride a bike until they were nine?" Tony butted in enthusiastically.

You rolled your eyes. “And that's my cue to leave," you said, getting up. "Catch you all later.”

*^~^*

You made great use of Tony's money by treating your grandma to a lovely bouquet of roses and a box of her favorite chocolates. When you arrived at The Doting Tree, the scent of Fabuloso greeted you, mixing with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the communal area. Passing through the lobby, you exchanged a warm smile and a wave with Joan, the friendly receptionist stationed behind the oak desk.

You knocked eagerly on the door of room 508, and the sound of your grandmother's footsteps grew louder before she swung open the door.

"Y/N!" she exclaimed.

"Hey, grandma," you greeted her with a smile. "These are for you," you said, handing her the roses and chocolates.

"Oh, you didn't have to, sweetheart," she replied, taking her gifts.

You hugged her and were instantly transported back to his childhood. Her warm embrace was a comfort you didn't know you were missing.

"Please, come on in, Y/N," she said as she broke the hug.

As your grandma whipped up a delightful batch of creamy, rich hot chocolate, the cozy aroma filled the room, enveloping you in warmth and comfort. You lost track of time, immersed in lively conversations and shared memories as you leisurely walked down memory lane. She asked about your work, and you carefully selected the most positive stories to share: the most recent Stark Gala and the Avengers community outreach efforts. You wouldn't dream of telling her about the near miss on your last mission when Nat's impressive scissor-leg neck grab saved you from a potentially fatal situation.

I can't believe how quickly time has flown by," your grandma exclaimed, glancing at the clock. "Movie night starts downstairs in fifteen minutes."

"Oh, in that case, I'll leave you to get ready," you replied, getting up.

"Nonsense," she insisted. "I'd love for you to join me. Tonight is Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, a classic from the Golden Age of Hollywood."

You quickly checked your phone and were relieved to see no missed calls or texts from Fury, Maria, or Steve.

"Great, I've never seen it, and I’m free for the rest of the day," you said.

"Wonderful, let’s go," your grandma replied.

*^~^*

When you and your grandmother arrived in the small community theater, the Doting Tree staff handed out popcorn and queued up the movie. You followed your grandma to two empty seats near the end of the row. 

Hi, Y/G/N, I was hoping to see you here tonight," the brunette woman with half glasses beside her confessed.

"I wouldn't have missed this for anything. You know Jimmy Stewart is my favorite!" your grandma proclaimed. "Oh, Betty, this is my granddaughter Y/N, she's one of those Avengers!" she proudly introduced.

You felt slightly embarrassed by the attention but extended your hand to Betty. "Hi, Betty. It's great to meet you."

"It's lovely to meet you, dear. Y/G/N has told me so much about you!" Betty said.

"All good, I hope?" you joked.

"Of course. I don't know how you all do it, but thank you for everything you've done."

"It's my honor, ma'am,” you said.

"Excuse me?" a man in a sweater vest behind you said, catching your attention. "I couldn't help but overhear. You mentioned you're one of the Avengers?" 

"That's right," you replied.

"Do you happen to know James? He's one of our volunteers. My buddy Walter swears he's an Avenger."

"James?" you asked, puzzled. "We don't have anyone named—"

"Alright, folks," a familiar voice interrupted.

"Bucky," you whispered to yourself in surprise.

Your friend stood at the front of the room, looking effortlessly stylish in a casual navy crew neck shirt, perfectly fitted jeans, and trendy sneakers. His beaming smile transformed his entire appearance, making him almost unrecognizable.

"Tonight's movie is one of my favorites, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," Bucky announced, clapping his hands together. "Jimmy Stewart was one of my favorite actors when I was a kid."

"Not to mention Jean Arthur!" someone shouted from the back row, and the room erupted in laughter.

“Alright, Stacy, can you turn off the lights, please?” Bucky asked one of the staff members.

As the idealistic young Jefferson Smith was appointed to the United States Senate, your attention continually drifted to Bucky. You observed as he quietly passed a box of Nestle crunch bites down the row to one of the residents and whispered something to the woman beside him, who laughed in response.

*^~^*

When the credits rolled, and the lights came on in the theater, you lingered at the back of the room while your grandmother caught up with her friends. Perhaps it was the spy-like instincts that Natasha had instilled in you, but you couldn’t take your eyes off him. You were captivated by the transformation in his demeanor. The man who once seemed only to wear a scowl now appeared happier than you had ever seen him.

You walked over slowly as he was engrossed in conversation with a man you recognized as Richard Swanson. According to Joan, he was one of The Doting Tree’s oldest residents in time and age. Tall and slender, with a confident posture that hinted at a lifetime of discipline and care, he still boasted a thick mane of hair that belied his age. The strands, once a rich chestnut, now shimmered with a distinguished silver hue, the only overt sign of the passing years.

"What unit were you in, Barnes?" Mr. Swanson asked.

"107th Infantry Regiment, sir," Bucky replied.

"No kidding?” said Mr. Swanson. “I was in the 103rd."

"I remember that regiment," Bucky said, snapping his fingers. "You were guarding the Trisssana Bridge, right?"

"That's right," Mr. Swanson replied. “My cousin was in the 107th Regiment. Maybe you knew him? Tim Dugan.”

"Wow," Bucky sighed, his voice trailing off as he paused to reflect. "Tim Dugan. I haven't heard that name in almost 80 years," Bucky said, his eyes distant with memories. "I did know him. He was a good man," Bucky reminisced, a hint of wistfulness in his voice.

He was indeed," Mr. Swanson sighed, his tired eyes reflecting the long day he had endured. The elderly gentleman checked his antique pocket watch. "I've got to get going. It's almost past my bedtime," he chuckled softly as he patted Bucky on the shoulder with a sense of fondness. "See you next time, Barnes."

"See you, Mr. Swanson," Buck called out, his voice carrying a tinge of warmth and respect.

"Bucky?" you said softly, careful not to startle him as you approached.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes meeting yours with surprise. "Y/N? What are you doing here? I thought you were visiting your grandmother today?"

"I am; she lives here," you explained, a gentle smile gracing your lips.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

Bucky took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, the weight of his thoughts evident in the furrow of his brow. "Alright, look,” running his hand through his hair nervously. “Dr. Raynor thought it would be good for me to volunteer here. Spend some time with people from my generation," he said. "I resisted at first, but now..." he paused, looking around at the bustling activity of the assisted living community. "It's nice.”

"That's awesome, Buck. It's clear that the residents appreciate having you around, but why didn't you mention it to us?" You inquired.

"I just didn't want to deal with the inevitable jokes and questions from everyone," he explained.

"Oh, come on, Bucky. It wouldn't have been that bad. They would have been supportive," you reassured.

"After you left, Tony told the bike story and bought you a kid’s bicycle as a joke," Bucky deadpanned.

"Jackass," you remarked dryly.

"See," Bucky declared.

"But a supportive jackass, Buck. We all give each other shit, but at the end of the day, we're a family," you insisted. "Everyone would get it."

"Maybe," he mused. "When I'm here, I'm not an Avenger, The Winter Soldier, The White Wolf. Hell, I’m not even Bucky."

"I've noticed that, James," you said with a smirk.

Before he could respond, your grandma and her friend Betty strolled over to where you were standing.

“James, I just had to tell you how much I enjoyed tonight's movie. You have impeccable taste,” Betty said, touching his metal arm.

“Thanks a lot,” Bucky replied.

“Will you join us for our knitting class next week?” she asked eagerly.

“Work can be unpredictable, but I'm planning on it,” he responded.

“Wonderful!” Betty exclaimed. “I've been knitting a scarf for you, honey.”

Bucky blushed. “Oh, thank you. I can't wait to see it.”

"I see you’ve met James, Y/N,” your grandma said. “We’ve so enjoyed having him here the last few months.”

“Oh,” you said, looking between Bucky and your grandmother. “Yeah, I just had to come up and tell him how much I loved the movie, too.”

“Right,” Bucky said. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Well, I’m feeling a bit tuckered out, Y/N,” your grandmother said. I think I'll call it a night.”

“Okay,” you said. “I'll walk you back to your room.”

“Okay, goodnight, James,” your grandmother said.

“Goodnight, Y/G/N,” Bucky replied.

You turned back toward him before following your grandma out of the room and whispered, “Don’t leave. I'll be down in a few minutes.”

Bucky nodded in agreement.

*^~^*

As you stepped off the elevator and entered the lobby, the warm glow of the chandeliers illuminated the spacious communal room. Your eyes scanned the area, searching for Bucky. After a moment, you spotted him sitting on the plush sofa, engrossed in a copy of Lord of the Rings, which he had plucked from the nearby shelf.

Sitting beside him, you couldn't help but ask, "So, what do people think James does for a living?"

With a half-smile, he replied, "Well, those who don't know who I am think I’m a mechanic at that garage on Wilshire."

The image of Bucky as a mechanic made you chuckle, and you leaned in to hear more.

"The ones who do, like Mr. Swanson, don't give a damn about who I am or who I‘ve been," he continued, returning the book to the shelf. "All they care about is living each day to the fullest."

As you silently nodded, you reflected on his words, feeling the weight of the conversation settle in. "I understand, Buck," you said, patting his thigh. "I'm glad you're finding fulfillment here, and you can trust me to keep this between us."

"Thank you," he sighed, a sense of relief in his voice.

"Let’s go home," Bucky said, a hint of determination in his tone.

As you both said goodbye to Joan in the lobby, you stepped out into the refreshing early evening breeze.

"Alright, see you at home," you said, heading towards the bus stop.

"You took the bus here?" Bucky inquired.

"Yeah, just didn't feel like driving today," you replied.

“Want a ride? I've got Nat's motorcycle," he offered, nodding towards the bike.

You arched an eyebrow, "Does she know you have it?" You knew Natasha didn't just lend her bike to anyone. You had learned that the hard way during one of your early missions together.

"Yep, she allows me to borrow the motorcycle in exchange for helping with recruit training," Bucky explained as he slipped on his leather jacket.

"Alright, I'll take your word for it," you agreed.

As you were getting ready to hop on the back of the motorcycle, you spotted the extra helmet hanging on the back. 

“Really?” Bucky quipped. “You never wear a helmet out in the field.”

“I know,” glancing back at The Doting Tree, “I just want to keep a promise to my grandmother,” you said with a smirk.

“Good call,” he replied with a grin.

You fastened the helmet and hopped on the back of the bike, wrapping your arms around Bucky’s waist. With a twist of the throttle, the bike roared to life as Bucky revved up the engine. Together, you both zoomed out of the parking lot, heading back toward the compound with a newfound sense of camaraderie and understanding.

[hypnojocked]

In a sleek, futuristic laboratory, the hum of advanced machinery filled the air as Dr. Aric Kaldor stood over his workbench, fine-tuning a new form of synthetic rubber. He had spent years perfecting this material, an elastic compound infused with nanoparticles that could change shape and form based on the user’s will. His body was the product of years of intense training and innovation, the physical manifestation of his relentless pursuit of perfection. Every muscle was finely sculpted, and his skin, now partially enveloped in a dark, form-fitting rubber suit, reflected the metallic sheen of the lab’s lighting. The suit had been designed to bond with his own skin, fusing seamlessly with it, transforming his appearance into something both human and machine.

Aric’s lab was a advanced of technology, filled with sleek panels, glowing data screens, and chambers that housed strange substances in various stages of transformation. The air smelled of chemicals and ozone, a hint of something metallic hanging in the atmosphere. He was no stranger to experimentation—he had made a career of testing boundaries, both scientific and physical. Today, he was focused on a new iteration of his rubber suit, one designed to be far more than just a protective layer.

As he worked, his fingers traced the rubber’s surface, sending electrical impulses through it to activate a new set of algorithms embedded within the material. The fabric responded, pulsing with a soft light, and his muscles twitched involuntarily as it seemed to bond deeper into his body. The rubber expanded slightly, tightening, adjusting itself to his frame, its silver details flickering to life as it interfaced with his neural system. Aric had built this suit to enhance his own physicality, to become stronger, faster, more efficient. But today, something felt… different.

He didn’t notice at first, too absorbed in the data scrolling across his tablet. But gradually, a subtle change began to occur. His heart rate increased, not from physical exertion but from something deeper, something within the very fabric of the suit. It was as if the material itself was feeding off his energy, becoming more aware, more sentient. The more Aric focused, the tighter it clung to his body, its silver filigree twisting and shifting like veins beneath his skin.

His muscles bulged slightly, pushing against the rubber as it seemed to tighten around him, an ever-present reminder of the transformation that was slowly overtaking him. His once defined physique became more defined still, but it wasn’t just his muscles that were growing—it was his entire body. His mind raced as he tried to regain control, but the suit’s influence was subtle, relentless, like a creeping tide.

“Impossible…” Aric muttered under his breath, panic rising in his chest. He slapped his hands against the workbench, trying to pull away from the increasing pressure of the suit, but it refused to loosen. The silver detailing shimmered across his body now, intertwining with his nervous system, sending waves of electrical signals throughout his body. His thoughts grew clouded, the rational part of his mind growing dimmer with each passing second. His fingers twitched and spasmed involuntarily, no longer obeying his commands.

The rubber suit, once a tool for enhancement, had begun to take on a life of its own. It was no longer a passive object—now, it was a force, controlling him from within. Aric’s once sharp eyes grew dull as the silver accents began to glow, and his body became a perfect blend of muscle and synthetic material, an unstoppable force of engineering. His movements were no longer his own; they were dictated by the suit’s algorithms, designed to optimize him for efficiency—no thought, no hesitation, no will of his own.

The transformation wasn’t just physical. His mind was slowly being submerged beneath layers of synthetic code, his individuality stripped away as the suit rewired his thoughts. Aric's consciousness began to fade, a mere flicker in the vast network of circuitry that had replaced his sense of self. His mouth opened, but instead of his voice, a mechanical hum echoed from within him, his once human mind now entirely overtaken by the drone-like commands of the rubber suit.

The laboratory, once a place of innovation, had become his prison. He stood there, his imposing figure now a mindless machine, a drone completely controlled by the suit. The rubber, with its silver accents, had claimed him.

Dr. Aric Kaldor was no more.

In his place was something else—something engineered, something perfect. And the lab, now eerily silent, hummed with the quiet presence of its newest creation. The drone waited, its only purpose now to serve, to exist, and to continue the work it was designed for—an unthinking, unfeeling force of nature that would never stop, never tire, never question.

After some time. People were worrieda bout Aric. Jake, his best intern look for him in his lab. Yew, he found the doctor but he thought it was a rubber mannequin of him with a blank expression.

Once Jake wanted to get closer the drone stated: "Human incomming. Subject will be assimilated. It will be another rubber drone". The goo latex started to fill the labtoratory and they injected Jake with a rapid growth serum to have a total muscular body before his conversion.

Once the goo started to touch his body. Jake blank out and his mind turned off. He will be another Rubber drone.

The future had arrived.

[archerarchives]

New Girl Blues

Sterling Archer x Fem Agent Reader

The new girl is beautiful and impressive. Her cooperative mindset clashes with the competitive nature of the ISIS team. She's caught more than a few eyes just walking in the door. (I didn't proofread)

TWs: Death, guns, violence, violence against Y/N, sedation.

"A new agent? Already?" A tall, beautiful woman asks, annoyed. Her name is Lana Kane, and she's one of the best agents at ISIS.

"What's wrong, Lana? Worried about a little competition?" A dark-haired man chortles. Sterling Archer, top agent.

"Why would they be my competitor?"

"Well, because nobody can compete with me, Lana." His voice is taunting and almost sing-songy.

"Will you two please knock it off!" Malory, the woman in charge and incidental mother of Archer slams an open hand against her desk where she sits, surrounded by the other agents and staff. "I want you two on your best behavior when she gets here or I'll have your guts for garters!"

"Asking for a lot with these two..." Ray, sassy and pessimistic, chimes in under his breath.

"Ha! I knew it. She's your competition, Lana."

"Nobody mentioned a competitive work environment to me." You step through the door. "I'm afraid I prefer teamwork when I'm potentially being shot at." You smile, scanning the other agents in the room.

"Agent Y/L/N, this is-" Malory's words are cut off by her overbearing son.

"Sterling Archer, top agent." He extends a braggadocios hand. You shake it warmly, familiar with his type in this field of work. Arrogant, horny, expectant, etc.

"Oh, please," Ray groans. "Ray Gillette. Get out while you still can."

"Watch it, missy." Malory hisses.

"It's really nice to meet you all. My name's Y/N." You make intentional eye contact with Lana. "I'm excited to work with this team." Her expression is too hard to read, and attention is quickly called to the screen behind Ms. Archer's desk as she begins a mission brief.

Outside Malory's office, Pam, the HR manager and Carol Cheryl, Malory's secretary, are sharing gossip regarding the new hire. "She's kinda hot, right?" The erratic secretary leans back in her computer chair, mindlessly huffing a can of rubber cement.

"Not really my type, but I'd do it." Pam shrugs.

"Such a shame, Poovey. I'd treat you right." You emerge from the large office with the rest of the agents in tow.

"So, Y/N... What's your grip strength?" Cheryl asks with a lustful voice, earning an eye roll and/ or a head shake from everyone else.

"Uhh," you hesitate. "I reckon it's okay. I can break a neck with one hand in the right position. That's first-day stuff." You shrug.

"Splooshhh..." The promiscuous, insane woman whispers.

"Right..." Archer blinks. "We need to get on a plane if we want to be drunk enough by the time it lands for this mission."

"I hate to say it, but he's right, sort of." Agent Gillette says. "We need to head out quick."

Mission:

> Locate storage disk [SD1650]

> Lethal force permitted

> Island compound -LOCATION-

> 4 entrances

> *Heavily* guarded

You reread the screen a few times, familiarizing yourself with the interface. You and the team have been tasked with locating a specific disk. On it is a plethora of society-collapsing findings along with unlabeled launch codes and other various, haphazardly stored data. It's a ticking time bomb of secrets, lovingly named SD1650.

"So, how long have you been in the field?" Archer suddenly appears before you, whiskey glass in hand, full to the brim.

"A long time, Agent Archer." You smile, keeping a formal boundary between the two of you. He's no doubt handsome, but you know better. He seems to take the hint, adjusting his tie before changing the subject.

"This mission's a little intense for your first go- uh, with us, I mean." He leans back coolly, assuming a stance to convey ease.

"I think it's a perfect chance to learn how you all work as a unit. I'll get to learn my place in the mix." You're optimistic, and it's music to Ray and Cyril's ears.

"I never got a chance to introduce myself. I'm Agent Cyril Figgis," he proudly announces, placing himself in the seat next to Archer, who also faces your seat in the private jet.

"A pleasure to be here, Agent," you shake his hand, to Archer's annoyance.

"You don't have enough hours in the field to be an agent yet, Cyril." He turns to face you. "Cyril's a secretary."

"Accountant, you dick."

"Well, this has been an absolutely scintillating conversation, men. But I'd really love a chance to get familiar with the mission before we land." You kindly dismiss them, but only Cyril has the common sense to leave. Archer remains seated, regaling his many accomplishments to you.

After a few hours, the plane lands at a small, discreet airport several miles from the compound you're meant to get into. You and the others gear up and head up the mountain on ATVs. After about an hour of driving, the team transitions to on-foot.

"How far away is the compound?" Cyril asks, seemingly already struggling.

"Would you please shut the fuck up already!" Lana snaps and the group falls quiet. "Sorry," she turns to you. "You gotta nip that one in the bud or he'll complain the whole time."

"Hey!" Cyril whines, but Ray only laughs, adding that her statement holds plenty of truth. You feel a slight sense of relief after this small exchange with Lana, be it at the expense of Cyril, after Archer already planted the seed of competition in her mind. After a long, rugged trek, the first entrance to the compound can be seen through your binoculars.

"It's the loading dock. Two trucks just entered." You report everything you see. "The doors are never open for more than a few seconds for each vehicle."

"Let's find the other doors before making any plans." Lana leads the team further up the mountain. The other three doors are located and scoped out. Ray and Cyril take the loading dock door and then Ray will break off to cover another entrance only a few yards away. Lana will cover the seemingly "secret" entrance hidden in foliage at the base of the compound. You will cover the main entrance where Archer will infiltrate further inside and acquire the disk.

"Before it's all over, I want you," She points to Cyril. "-back at the bottom of the mountain sending the flare. That's our only way out and it has to be timed perfectly."

"I'm so sorry for what I'm about to say here, but if it's that important, why are we leaving it to Cyril?" Ray asks with genuine concern. The accountant can only roll his eyes at this point.

"Because he'll be the closest." It's not the pep-talk he expected, but he'll take it. "Y/N, you're with Archer." She dismisses the two of you and you diligently file into the forest behind the broad, dark-haired man.

"Let's cut through up here," Archer points to a barely beaten trail off the slim track you'd been following.

"But Agent Kane said-"

"As much as she'd like to believe otherwise, Lana's not in charge." He laughs, taking a sharp turn off the path. You try to follow quickly in the pitch darkness as the trees weave in and out, blocking any spotlights outside the compound.

He completely veers from the plan, charging the entrance and skillfully taking out each guard with his silenced gun. You watch in awe, taking out two guards as they sprint up the stairs to the entrance you're invading. Once the coast is clear, you stand guard at the door, ready, like Lana planned.

"Goddamn it, Y/N. Come on," Archer laughs, grabbing your bicep and tugging you along with him as he storms inside. You don't have time to think, let alone protest, so you start shooting. You were top of your class in riflery, and your aim with a pistol isn't too bad either. Archer watches you with sparkling eyes, admiring your aim as well as your appearance. It's not unlike him to mentally undress someone in the heat of gunfire.

"Let's go!" You yell over the commotion as it fades to near silence after you successfully kill the last guard. Both of you find yourselves in a long hallway lined with unmarked doors. "Oh, fuck me," you huff.

"We'll discuss that later. Start kicking doors in." You can't help but laugh at his vulgar joke. The sound of it ignites a feeling in his stomach he's not always used to. A fleeting sense of something heavier than lust, but lighter than love. The most he's ever able to feel for someone other than himself, it seems. You could read that on him from a mile away, seeing as you do the exact same thing.

You each take turns bursting through each door. Some require taking out the occupants, and some are merely storage or conference rooms. Finally, at the end of the hall, one room has another door inside. "It's always the last one you check, right?" Archer asks, kicking the door in, though it is clearly unlocked. Inside is a dark, empty office. It's huge and lavishly decorated. You flip a switch on a lamp and waste no time before rummaging in every drawer.

"Here!" You call to Archer, lugging a hefty safe onto the desk.

"Stand back." He points his gun at the combination dial.

"No, wait!" Your protests are cut off by the dulled sound of his firearm firing a bullet into your arm. The bullet ricochets off the safe and plunges deep into your skin. "Oh, you fucking asshole!" You roar in pain, holding your arm as it gushes.

"Holy shit!" He exclaims, dropping his gun on the desk. "It worked." He opens the safe and withdraws a floppy disk labeled '1650.'

"Nice job, dick head. Let's get out of- ahh!" You whine at your feeble attempt to move your arm. "The bullet's still in there. You have to get it out."

"What? Are you serious?" He laughs in disbelief. Let's just go-"

"I can't shoot with my arm like this. Get your knife out and carve this fucking bullet out of my arm!" Archer's eyes widen, but he does what you command. With a large buck knife, he gouges the bullet out and wraps the gushing wound. Instantly, your arm feels some semblance of better. "Any word from the others?"

"Not yet-" just then, an alarm sounds throughout the large building and every main hall is secured with large, automatic, metal doors. For hours, every pair of hands on site wielded a gun and a thirst for ISIS blood. They swept the whole compound, everywhere but the office.

An hour passes and you're locked in the room together. "Damn," Archer sighs, going through every single drawer and cabinet he can find.

"What is it?"

"I found a bottle of Vicodin, but," he shakes the bottle. Silence. "Empty."

"Poor baby," you roll your eyes.

"They were for you, idiot." He laughs, taking a seat next to you as you take this extra time to tend to your wound. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"It's fine. Comes with the territory, I guess. Though it's more something I would've expected from the numbers guy."

"Cyril? Oh, come on." You laugh at his distress and something about the heat of the moment seems to bond you two. In your boredom, you each begin to share small spectacles into your childhoods. He grew up rich, you grew up poor, but you're both familiar with neglectful parents. That unmistakable fuzziness in his stomach seems to swell. To sit next to a beautiful woman who sees through him and understands his upbringing, even to an extent, is all he could've hoped for.

For just a second, the hyper-sexual front he keeps up is dismissed. He's just being open, and even he isn't sure why. Maybe it's the proximity to death, or just the need to vent to an unbiased ear. You don't know him well enough to see all the self-sabotage.

"Sand? You put sand in your valet's eyes when he...?"

"No, I just say I'm going to." He laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world. "He just always looks," he breaks for a chuckle. "So scared!"

"My God..." You sigh, feeling the intense throbbing grow in your arm. Suddenly, a voice comes over a distant intercom, informing the guards and workers that the threat has fled but to keep an eye out. After the voice is finished, the metal doors begin to slowly lift. "Archer, look!"

"I got the disk. Cover me." You do as he says, keeping an eye on every angle possible. You save his ass at least four times before either of you reach the door. Just as he's about to slip outside, he's tackled to the ground. The two men wrestle for a moment, moving too much for you to get a clear shot. You finally fire and hit the guard, allowing Archer to finish the job, but as soon as you turn around to shoot someone silently sprinting up behind you, your magazine clicks. Empty.

In the few seconds it takes you to retrieve your TEC-9, you're tackled and painfully slammed to the ground. Archer's halfway to the woods, expecting that you're right behind him when he hears you scream his name as you're dragged back inside the compound. He watches in horror from the treeline. You've been taken prisoner.

~~~Back at ISIS

"What do you mean 'taken?'" Malory exclaims.

"We were right there-" Archer gets cut off by Lana.

"Why was she inside at all? She was supposed to be watching the door." She shifts her weight onto her hip.

"I... I took her with me." He admits, taking a shameful sip from his glass of whiskey.

"Jesus Christ, Archer. Does anybody listen to me?" Lana throws her arms up. "Will she talk?" She asks Malory.

"This isn't her first rodeo. I don't just hire new agents willy-nilly; there's a process! Still, I don't know her well enough to answer." A silence falls over the room. "Well, she's probably dead now. Back to work." Malory waves a dismissive hand and the other agents raise an eyebrow at her cold nature, but they exit her office just the same.

"Is she serious? We're just not going back for her?" Ray asks, concerned more for the fact that it could've been him left behind so easily.

"I... Guess not." Lana feels a tinge of guilt, but the job requires sacrifice. "I just hope it was quick."

~~~In the Prison

"Who do you work for? Quickly, quickly!" The man holding you hostage asks with a wicked voice. You slouch in the chair you're tied to, catching a breath from the vast beating that just ensued.

"I work for myself! I wanted to steal the disk and sell it," you cough. "Sell it to fuckin' domestic terrorists." The man nods to his goon and you receive another harsh punch to the abdomen. The air is knocked from your lungs before you get a chance to fully recover. A cry of pain escapes your lips, but nothing more. No information. No names.

"We know you had a team with you. Try your best not to piss me off unless you want to get mailed home in seventeen little boxes."

"Seventeen is such a specific number," you cough. The man signals for another punch. You take it as best as you can, but your inability to catch your breath brings you to the cusp of fainting. In your blur, you hear the man in charge say something to his minions.

"She's of no use to us like this, take her back to the box. Alive... For now." You fade into unconsciousness.

~~~Back at ISIS

"What are you doing? Why are you gearing up? We don't have a mission." Lana questions Archer as he layers on a bullet-proof vest and other tools on his person.

"I told Mother that if we didn't dispatch a search mission in two days, I was going back to get her myself." He's laser-focused, out of character for him.

"Y/N? Archer... You know how low the chances are that she's alive..."

"Lana, I'm the reason she's in there. I'm gonna get her out."

"You most certainly are not!" Malory appears from seemingly nowhere, a glass of cognac in hand.

"If it were me in that-"

"Well, it isn't! Don't be an idiot, Sterling." She takes an annoyed sip from her glass.

"Fine. I won't go," Archer folds, allowing his bag to fall off his shoulder and onto the floor.

"Good. I wish you'd put this much energy into an actual mission." His mother hisses as she walks away. Archer turns to face Lana.

"Oh, no. No, no, no," she steps away.

"Lana, you don't know anything. You didn't see anything. That's all I ask." He grabs his things. "You owe me."

"Leave me out of whatever- wait, I owe you?" She raises a brow, popping her hip out with attitude. "Owe you for what, exactly?"

"I don't know yet! Damn." Lana rolls her eyes at him and leaves the room for deniability.

After a few agonizing hours, Archer's small charter plane lands on the same island where you're being held. Following the same rogue procedure as before, he leads himself right to the door. The guards have nearly doubled, which is confusing considering how many were killed by the whole team. He's going to have to be careful.

He spends an entire 24-hour period studying the guards' schedules. Once that's down, he makes a move. There's a 30-second window of time for him to get in with the least amount of gunfire, so he moves quickly. Once inside, he chokes out one stray worker and lays him off to the side, continuing further inside. He opts to go downward this time, away from the giant office they'd locked you both in.

He can't help but revisit that memory as he skillfully makes his way through the warehouse area. It's full of illegal weapons and ammunition being trafficked in and out of international waters. He's lost in thought about how vulnerable he became with you so quickly. And nearly sober too! Wow! As it all replays in his head, so do your screams. You yelled his name. The guilt nearly makes him stop to vomit, but he's too focused.

Archer encounters several adversaries along the way, killing and subduing each one. He's a force to be reckoned with and even he's confused why. What about a heart-to-heart with you made him so protective and accountable so suddenly? The peculiarity is not lost on him. He seems to process this aloud as he fights his way through the guards.

"It's not like I'm in love with her, or whatever," he says, shooting a man in the chest. "I just can't sleep at night knowing I-" he slits a throat. "Caused her to face hours upon hours of torture in this cave... prison." He snaps a neck. "You know what I mean?"

"I think that's just having a conscience," a man with both his hands raised offers shaky input.

"Maybe... But I don't usually do that." Archer sends a bullet through the man's skull. "Surrendering after shooting at my face is just asking to get headshot." He shrugs.

He makes his way through what feels like the entire compound until he reaches a sort of guest house inside. It's far too nice to be a prison, but maybe someone inside could answer some questions for him. Be it at gunpoint.

After everything, his hair is disheveled and he's taken a bit of a beating. As he trudges through the lavish halls of this built-in penthouse, he finds a serving tray with a whiskey decanter. As good of a time as ever, he serves himself a glass. After rolling up the sleeves of his black turtle neck, he securely grips his pistol, flexing his hand through the leather gloves.

Breathing heavily, he sweeps each room. They're all empty. He grows impatient, angry even. The reality of your death begins to slowly set in. Finally, he spots the master bedroom. Like a mountain cat ready to pounce, he stills his sudden movements until he's close enough to leap into the door frame, gun raised, scanning the room with purpose. That's when he sees you, lifeless on the staged bed.

"Goddamn it." He sighs, finally lowering the gun the rest of the way. He stares at you, your back to him. That's when he hears you groan. "Y/N?" He says, bounding over to you and rolling you onto your back.

"B-Bait, Argcher," you gurgle the mispronounced words out as best as you can.

"What?" He furrows his brows. He's too late to realize you're warning him. You've been heavily sedated and starved, left as bait for your team to come back for.

"We thought no one was coming for her. We almost began to believe she was working alone." A voice chimes from the doorway. Archer doesn't waste time turning around, he just points his gun behind him and starts firing. At least one bullet strikes the man, knocking him back. That's when Archer finally turns around. "Duchess, what a nice surprise." The man coughs out, gripping his bleeding wound.

"What'd you give her?" He points to you, wondering if you received an injection or a lobotomy.

"Enough to kill a horse. We thought she was dead. Like I said, you took your time-" his taunt is cut short by a bullet in his head. Archer sighs. Enough to kill a horse? He thinks to himself.

"Talk about high tolerance," he chuckles, pulling you over his shoulder. You garble some more words at him and make a sound that's meant to be a laugh. Guards will be flooding in any minute since he took out one of the leaders or managers or whatever their ranks are. One hand is extended out, firmly gripping the handgun, and the other is wrapped around your waist as he sprints back the way he came. Unnecessarily long, but it's the only surefire exit he knows here.

"On your mleft," you slur, and Archer shoots without even looking, killing the guard instantly. After a death-defying run, you can see the green of the forest flying by your blurred eyes. Finally, it's over. He haphazardly tosses you into the only other seat in the small airplane and demands the pilot take off right away. Once you're in the sky, you can hear them shooting at you, but their bullets miss, and eventually, they can't reach you at all.

The island becomes a small speck in the background, and finally, you succumb to the drugs, allowing yourself to fall unconscious safely. Your head lies comfortably on Archer's shoulder and he lets you stay there, even catching your head when the plane hits turbulence. He laughs with relief, no longer plagued by the very new-to-him sensation of guilt.

*****************

Author's Notes:

This fandom could be hornier. Just sayin'.

((Part 2))

[after-hour-funtime]

Weird idea I sent someone else but is now putting on my blog to add on to,

The Primes are kinda weird being literally demigod, and one of the weirdness is their interface equipment to ensure successful breeding, cuming twice from the spike in overload, first with normal transfluid rich with nanites and other things for sparking up a nice healthy forge, second with a thicker, more viscous transfluid that harden quickly to keep the first nice and sealed in the forge, incidentally hardening into a slightly bigger plug because it mold around the spike while it's still inside and filling in the mold. The plug dissolve by itself to become extra material for the forge but it's a slow process, VERY slow. Something Sentinel is very intimate with.

Sentinel having to go about his day with his forge swollen with transfluid and valve stretched and full, plugged up with one of the Primes hardened transfluid in roughly the shape of their own spike but slightly bigger. Sentinel has a slight bump on his lower stomach due to it, spending days to weeks unconsciously squeezing around it, milking it like a real spike. There is no moment his valve is empty because the moment the plug dissolves enough, a spike sheath is kissing his valve lips again.

It has gotten to the point where Sentinel's body is so prime for sparking, his belly swell out a bit making him look low-key gravid because his forge is HEAVY with material, making the Primes even crazier about him, if they are not putting their spike in him, they put their mouths and hands on him.

Unfortunately for the Primes, Sentinel is not keen on having a sparkling so they are going to have to use their imagination, it's not that hard with that beautiful fertile bump.

The Primes' valves are design to completely milk and drain a spike until it physically can't, like, big, plush lips just suctioned to the spike housing, it doesn't matter what size the spike, it's not leaving until that transfluid reserve is not only empty but also temporary shutting down from overwork. The electro magnet in their valve is so strong that it keep the spike constantly erect as long as there is still something in that transfluid reserve.

It work better than any chastity safeguard because afterward that spike is Done.

Additionally, the mating plug can actually be melt away from compound found in the Primes' saliva. So when someone wants to rut their spike into Sentinel's hot fertile body when the plug is still there, they give him At Least an hour of head before they can get to that nice breeding frag, with some deep Frenching to make sure all that extra material stay inside, they don't need to go that long they just wanted eat some valve

Sentinel is constantly in a weird zen where his spike is just I Done My Job and his valve is just uncontrollably clenching around a plug bigger than the spike of the Prime it belong to, the tip holding open but sealing the entrance to his heavy, transfluid stuffed forge, it's a miracle he manage to walk muchless do his job.

At this point in their (onesided) relationship, the Primes are so down with the idea of conjunxing him and just having a consort suit for him so they could just come frag him until he pops open his spark chamber so they could put a sparkling in him

Sentinel, on the other hand, is so focus on his job and mildly addle from overloading his processor out all the time that he is completely obvious that his bosses want to whisk him away to a life of leisure stuffed with their spikes, ocassionally getting his spike put out of commission from sheer usage

[oraclenorzi]

hehe same anon from earlier!! about Sin Of Envy-- i just saw your responses AND HEHE THEY ALSO MADE ME VERY HAPPY!!! AGHH I LOVE WORLD BUILDING AND YOUR CHARACTERIZATION IS SO GOOD.....DELICIOUS ....also i really like your emergence (pregnancy?? idk) hcs!! honestly i think its really realistic given transformers anatomy and what we know as far as how their bodies work. I always feel a little strange seeing artists actually make them look ROUND when pregnant but i really like the pod casing thing!! reminds me of another artist who headcanons emergence as a little gashapon ball. very cute 👍 OH and you definitely SUCCEEDED (at least for me) in melding Megatron and Skyfire together,,, i had to go back and reread those dream scenes so many times because i would get confused at which part was truly Megatron and which part was Skyfires influence. i would LOVE to read the draft for Sin of Envy if you do post it 🙏 !!!

WHOOOO!! THANK YOU!!! Tbh I think me reading One Piece a while back totally ruined my ability to worldbuild, because now I feel like I'm allergic to accepting things without a root reason for it.

And thank you! Honestly, I get the appeal of having transformers mimic humans in their manner of emergence, but it just doesn't make sense given their entire, well, status as inorganic extraterrestrial beings? I'm glad my headcanon flew well!

WHOOOOOOOO!!! I'M SO GLAD THAT MEGATRON AND SKYFIRE BECAME MEGASKYTRONFIRE!!!!! WAHAHAHAHAHA! Those dream scenes were meant to be trippy, and I'm glad they fulfilled their role. ;)

Tbh the draft I had for Sin of Envy ch 2 is extremely small and extremely unfinished. It does, however, hold a bit of Megatron's POV.

Actually, I'll share it here now:

Dreadwing sat alone [unfinished prol.]

0~o~0

Soundwave’s visor flickered and the compound optic onlined to the appearance of the Autobot base. Immediately, he began cataloguing the surroundings. Layers of sediment, he noted, The sound of compression. They were hiding underground.

(It had been a running joke on the Nemesis during the three years Megatron wasn’t around. The three years Knock Out found it in himself to sparkbond with Breakdown, the three years Starscream pushed back the Autobot priority in favor of Energon stability. Those few days they did opt to send minor parties out to comb the earth for Autobot appearance, they found neither hide nor hair of their base.

“They’re hiding underground!” Starscream had exclaimed at the time, wings shifting and posture notably relaxed. “They have got to be! There is no way otherwise; we’ve already well and combed the surface, after all.”

And then he’d devolved into a rant, partly about Knock Out’s terrible interfacing habits, partly about possible Autobot base locations, partly about Megatron and the army he would most certainly bring from his venture.)

Soundwave shifted and deployed his data cables. There was a computer nearby. Fool on the Autobots for putting him—the great and powerful Soundwave—so close to one, but far be it from him to complain.

Soundwave shifted. Tilted his helm. His dorsal spines flicked, the barest hint of his true irritation. His data cables, limbs that they were, pushed against a metal casing around their deployment ports. Well, he mused. Soundwave: Should not have assumed the Autobots would truly be that… unintelligent. Silently, he called out to Laserbeak.

…And his world erupted in—

Pain.

Laserbeak! He called out, blinded, as his visor sent him warning message after warning message, glitching out with red lines and incomprehensible static. On the edge of his hearing radius, he noted a voice calling out to him, deep and soothing, familiar and not at once. He discarded it immediately. Laserbeak!

Nothing. She was saying nothing.

No, Soundwave realized, suddenly, after a few moments of pain persisted. His chassis was empty, Laserbeak was out of her charging port. Yet still, there was a burning sensation across his side, a phantom pain that echoed across their bond, largely overshadowed by Laserbeak’s—

Screaming, Soundwave grasped faintly. Laserbeak: Is screaming.

And then Soundwave was screaming. And thrashing. And his data cables, limbs that they were, slammed against the metal casing, denting it, sending sharp spikes of pain up into his helm—how did he get caught?—and then something sunk into his neck, one of the few unprotected spots of his frame, and Soundwave felt everything fade to black.

O~O

Starscream was his now.

(Megatron felt heady with power)

Starscream was his now.

(He was always his)

Starscream stood in Megatron’s berthroom, still, uncomprehending, servos stained blue with energon. His wings hung low on his back. His gaze had drifted off to the side at some point during Megatron’s internal monologue, and the Gladiator frowned. Without thinking, he reached for Starscream’s chin and pulled it toward him. “What are you looking at?” he rumbled, and Starscream tensed fearfully. “Look at me. Tell me what you see.”

For a few moments, Starscream was silent. “…You killed him,” he whispered, and it was like the same broken record. Over and over and over again, Starscream just kept saying the same damn thing, as if Megatron did not know his own actions.

“We established that already,” Megatron snarled, tightening his grip. Starscream winced. Megatron immediately loosened it to pull Starscream into his lap by the waist. “Say something else, my Weeping Star.”

Starscream froze. For a few moments, everything was silent, and then Starscream asked, in a shaking, whispering tone, “How do you know that name?”

Megatron frowned. What name? “Starscream,” he condescended, “Is the name you have gone by for the past four million years, in case you have yet to notice…”

Starscream flinched. “I’m not incompetent,” he muttered, optics darting to and fro, “And I know what I heard. What did you call me?”

“Starscream.” Megatron rumbled, calling upon an old desire that wasn’t quite his and cradling Starscream’s faceplate in his servo. “Starscream.” He pulled Starscream closer and locked an aileron between two sharpened talons. Starscream tensed. “Starscream,” Megatron hissed and pulled the Seeker closer. By now they were faceplate to faceplate. Megatron pressed a kiss against the underside of Starscream’s jaw. “Starscream.” By now the name had turned less of an answer and more a chant. A hymn. Something of reverence. Something to remind Megatron that this—these gray, long, elegant wings, this spark, bitter and ugly—was all his.

Starscream choked on a sob. “Stop it.” He whispered, and it was so close to begging that Megatron’s spark leapt for joy. Yes, he wanted to croon. Beg. “Stop it,” Starscream whispered again, and his wings shook. “You killed him—you—you don’t get to do this to me—” Starscream broke off and tried to detach from Megatron’s chassis. Megatron pressed him close. Starscream could not escape. No, no, no, not from him. “What is wrong with you?” Starscream whispered, and his EM-field clung to his frame. “What is wrong with you?”

Megatron hummed. “Something, clearly,” he voiced, “For I have kept you around so long, Starscream. Is it not the virus of love that you are still alive?” he stroked the edge of a wing. Starscream shivered.

“Love?” he asked faintly. “You call this love?” And it was now that he finally looked at Megatron, incredulous and visceral with a fear that Megatron found himself relishing in. Fear me—he wanted to take that faceplate, pepper it with kisses—fear me with all your spark. Stay with me, warm my spark. My spark, my spark, my spark—

“What else,” Megatron asked softly, “Could it possibly be?”

Starscream went quiet for a moment, before scoffing. “There is something flawed in your processor.”

Megatron hummed. The memory of the depth scan echoed. “Love is a virus,” he reiterated, and removed his digits from the aileron. The moment he did so, Starscream tensed and tried to yank himself away from the heavy arm Megatron kept around his waist.

“I told you the dark energon was wrong,” Starscream snarled, optics crazed. “This isn’t you, my Lord, you don’t do things like this; you hate—”

“Call me that again.”

“—me—” Starscream frowned, puzzled. “What?”

Megatron brought his free servo down to the Seeker’s back, just between Starscream’s wings—an echo of Skyfire’s old action. See, Megatron’s optics danced with dark glee. I can do this too. He may have been yours before he was mine. But… Megatron leaned in and bit at the base of Starscream’s forehelm spike. By now, the sensors around the crest must have lit up with confusion in an attempt to comprehend what just happened. Starscream jolted and Megatron drew back, watching, watching, watching as the data errors piled up from the foreign action, and charge crackled down Starscream’s frame.

(…I’ve had him far longer than you.)

“Call me your Lord.” Megatron rumbled as Starscream’s vents cycled louder. “Call me your Master.”

Starscream’s optics flickered. For a moment it seemed like he was going to cave (as always), but then this alien glint of conviction appeared and he managed to extricate himself from Megatron’s frame. “I know what you’re trying,” Starscream hissed, vocalizer torn. “And I won’t allow it. I won’t.”

Megatron reached out, only to pause for a moment. That moment was all Starscream needed. The Seeker shifted and blasted through the Nemesis halls. Megatron listened, unflinching, as the roar of Starscream’s engine and the cries of frightened Vehicons echoed. ::Knock Out:: he greeted, only marginally disappointed. ::What is it that you have for me? Good news, I hope?::

::More than a few good things, my Liege.:: Knock Out answered between yawns. The blubbering of a sparkling—Wildbreak, Megatron remembered—was heard in the background. ::And someone.::

::Someone?:: Megatron thought for a moment. ::Location, Knock Out.::

::Med Bay.::

::I will be there in a klik.::

Knock Out muttered an affirmative and closed his end of the comm line. Megatron sat still for a moment, relishing in the lingering warmth of Starscream’s frame and lamenting its loss—the Seeker will be back, he assured himself, he always comes back—before moving to attend to Knock Out’s request.

O~O

Knock Out shifted. Behind him, a figure was inspecting the synthetic energon formula. Megatron couldn’t help the grin. “Shockwave.” He greeted. “My advantage.”

“Lord Megatron.” Shockwave shifted. “My pleasure to serve.”

O~O

AND THAT'S WHERE IT ENDS WHAHKJSHFKJASdfasjkf 😭😭

Hope you enjoyed lmao, unfinished as it is. <3

[heron-knight]

I've been getting some requests for worldbuilding for the grafting parlor universe, so here it is

(the story itself: https://www.tumblr.com/heron-knight/772848151796269056/grafting-parlor-a-little-biopunk-short-story-i?source=share)

if you have any other questions, feel free to send an ask

 

Ambystomagen: 

Ambystomagen works by essentially giving the person a localized healing factor and changing what shape the body thinks it should grow into when it heals. (Because of this, stretch marks or torn skin are common when growing additional appendages). The “healing factor” aspect is essentially a less powerful version of an Axolotl’s (ambystoma mexicanum) which is what the compound was originally derived from. Axolotls can regenerate a new limb from a stump, and Ambystomagen’s secondary effect (which was developed more recently) can essentially trick the body into thinking that there is a severed limb where there never was before. This causes a new limb to grow exactly where the ambystomagen was applied. When used in combination with DNA from non-human (either animal or entirely fabricated), ambystomagen can allow for the growth of non-humanoid parts or the modification of already existing ones (such as turning legs digitigrade or changing ears and moving them to the top of the head)

Mod rarity:

Not exactly the vast majority, but mods in general are quite common. Major grafts are a bit more rare, but not extremely rare. The community of the characters in grafting parlor are a bit of an outlier, being A: criminals who make use of their mods to gain large amounts of money B: having access to a grafter that not only works without a paper trail, but also sells unregistered and unchipped limbs and C: all characters in grafting parlor were dysphoric about having unmodded bodies, and turned to stealing from the corporations to be able to afford the mods. Overall, it’s basically the same level of rarity as cybernetics in the 2077/edgerunners universe. Most people have at least something, and the deeper into the city’s underworld you get, the more mods their are

people (if they still consider themselves as such. Most don’t) as heavily modded as the doctor are extremely rare, even among professional grafters. The main limitation is the price. Turning someone from an unmodded human to the doctor, who’s most of the way to being legally considered a synthcreature (hyperbole. such reclassification would be in violation of worldpact) would cost around four million dollars.

Types of mods:

Grown: these are mods acquired through ambystomagen treatment alone. Small ones, such as extra fingers, cosmetic changes, and minor internal changes are very common and relatively painless, but larger ones such as extra limbs or major changes to skeletal structure take long enough to grow and are painful enough that many get them grafted instead.

Grafted: a process by which a professional grafter uses ambystomagen to grow an additional part, then removes it and grafts it onto the customer. 

Synthcreatures: creatures that are at least initially lab-grown. Most utility synthcreatures (such as phones) have no subjectivity. 

Chimeras: “Chimera” refers to any synthcreature that can be piloted by/fused with a human. In most civilian chimeras, the pilot generally is enveloped from the waist down chimera-falin style (sticking out either where the head would be, at the base of the neck, or between the front shoulders). In more heavy-duty chimeras, such as corporate or military owned, the pilot is usually completely contained within the body or skull with sensory data being fed directly into their brains via organic neural interface (interface ports and tendrils are usually metal-plated to allow for a more secure connection.) installing someone into a civilian chimera is generally a simple process, requiring at most two assistants. Civilian chimera pilots are usually fused for 3-4 day work shifts, and are easily removed. Military or corporate grade chimeras require a full team of specialists to preform the installation and remove, as mistakes can result in extensive and often fatal injury to both the pilot and chimera. These pilots remain fused for anywhere from a month to almost a year, and are capable of essentially living as their chimera for the duration. Removal can take up to 24 hours, as it takes a while to remove all the interfaces, fused tissue, and tentacles from the pilot.

Homunculi: homunculi are synthcreatures made with human DNA. The ethics of it have been extensively debated and regulations on them have been set and are strictly enforced by worldpact. Research from multiple sources has confirmed that they have no subjectivity, and they neurologically function similarly to programs such as chat GPT (which do not exist in this setting, the mention was for comparison.) computer CPUs are also homunculi (flask-bound) and are essentially just the logic part of a brain and a digestive system. Computers and tvs appear completely technological from the outside, with all the organic components being internal

World:

After the invention of ambystomegen-based modifications and grafting procedures shortly after, the enormous disruption to the global economy, the philosophical implications of this new technology, and the preexisting global tension over various other matters resulted in the start of world war 3. The results of the first war were, to summarize:

The entire eastern 1/3rd of the united states was completely destroyed in a nuclear attack

China and russia suffered similar damage and the three countries were on track towards mutually-assured destruction until

A task force assembled by the UN was able to covertly disable most countries’ nuclear arsenals, but not before many countries (notably the US, China, Russia, Brazil, England, and both Koreas) had been subject to enough nuclear attacks that their entire governments had died, and the people of said countries needed to find new people to fill literally every seat of government they had.

Medically-used ambystomagen, modifications, and combat chimeras were incredibly effective in the war, and those that refused to use them were easily defeated by those that did, resulting in a general lack of anti-ambystomagen philosophy in what governments remained.

The UN was dissolved. 

The nuclear detonations resulted in extensive climate change.

After the war, many countries found themselves in extreme power vacuums-- power vacuums that were quickly filled by a number of corporations (mostly biotech corporations, as inorganic tech was already starting to fall out of favor.) who had spent the war profiting from the new and incredibly valuable biotech market, and now got to work privatizing many formerly government-run services before the people had time to rebuild the government and stop them. Corporate towns became corporate city-states, with monopolies on essentials making terms-of-service contracts the new legal codes, often enforced by private mercenary groups. The corporations then enjoyed fifty years in which they could research, innovate, and expand with little to no government oversight. That was, until the non-corporate nations (those whose governments had not fallen during WW3 agreed to cease trade with corporate nations in response to the corporations’ many human rights violations, and in response the Lyric and Co. corporation dropped an unpiloted A327-Arktos chimera into a meeting of the EU, killing nine leaders and injuring sixteen more. World War 4, also known as the first corporate war, quickly followed. The results were as follows:

The corporations were entirely defeated, and new non-corporate governments were established in the formerly corporate nations.

The organization known as Worldpact was formed, of which all countries became members of. In addition to a successful attempt to unite all countries under a single philosophy and a maker of international laws, its goals are the following:

Uphold equality and equity throughout the world

Ensure that no private organization gains too much influence in a government

Ensure that no wars occur anywhere for any reason

While severely diminished, the corporations stayed powerful due to their position as… literally the entire economy. Woldpact couldn’t remove them without restarting the global economy from the ground up. Their influence is closely monitored by Worldpact, in theory at least. 

At this point, most technology is organic, mods and grafting are pretty common, though some groups (mostly religious ones) still resist them, and though the corporations are not allowed to pass laws, they still maintain control through monopoly, the occasional bribe that manages to get past the Pactkeepers’ notice, and the occasional assassination. They miss the war economy, however, and many military tech corporations hope for its return

[askror]

A question for Kit: Is it only water that you control? Can you control other things, like soda, milk, or whiskey?

"Anything with water in it, I can control. As in, H20. It needs a certain molecular makeup for my cybernetics to interface with it. The more it has, the more I can control it. Soda is about 90% water, so..." He waved his hand to his side, where Tangle had just cracked open a Dr. Pepis, which immediately exploded out of the top of a funnel into her face.

"THE SODA'S FINALLY FIGHTING BACK!" The lemur howled, rolling around and holding her burning eyes.

"Milk, somewhere around 80% I believe?" He snapped a finger. Lanolin's glass of milk blasted into her nostrils mercilessly.

"GUH.. W-Wrong pipe! Wrong pipe!" She hacked and gagged, promptly falling from her chair.

"Spirits like whiskey, it depends on the proof. So, say a 100 proof whiskey, not as well, but..." He ran a finger up through the air. Whisper, who was sipping a neat Jim Bean (the Dynamite), watched with surreal awe as her drink promptly hopped out of its tumbler and splattered atop her head.

"...Wonderful," she growled as her bangs clung floppily to her snout, glaring.

"The examples you picked were easy for the most part. But things like gasoline or oil, or mercury, I can't control at all. Think of this as a science lesson," Kit nodded sagely, "More things have more water in it than you think. So-"

There was a tap on his shoulder. Kit turned, finger still up in full nerd pose, only to see three very wet Diamond Cutters looming above him and oozing pure concentrated menace. A compound which, incidentally, he could not control. He looked around sheepishly.

"I wasn't, um... I didn't... I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

[najia-cooks]

[ID: A close-up on a dish with glossy noodles, spinach, carrot, mushroom, and sesame seeds. End ID]

잡채 / Japchae (Korean noodle stir-fry)

Japchae is a popular Korean dish made with glass noodles. Sweet potato starch noodles are fried in a flavorful sauce, combined with colorful, tender-crisp vegetables, and dressed with sesame; the result is chewy, savory, garlicky, slightly sweet, and highly satisfying. Because of its versatility and the ease of preparing large batches, japchae is frequently served for banquets at weddings and birthday celebrations.

"Japchae" is a compound of "잡" "jap" "mixed," and "채" "chae" "vegetables"; both syllables are Korean readings of Chinese characters ("雜" and "菜"). Like the name, modern japchae dishes combine Chinese and Korean elements: the cellophane noodles now considered central to the dish originated as a Chinese import towards the end of the 20th century. From the 17th century until then, japchae had been a royal court dish consisting only of stir-fried vegetables (frequently mushrooms, cucumber and radish).

Japchae, along with other Korean foods, is becoming more prevalent in the Philippines and Malaysia, by way of privately owned Korean restaurants usually owned by migrants. Dr. Gaik Cheng Khoo writes that, despite the South Korean government's campaign to promote the globalization of hansik (한식; Korean food), it is these independent restaurateurs who actually engage in Korean "gastrodiplomacy" by interfacing with clients in their particular contexts.

Recipe under the cut!

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Ingredients:

For the dish:

8oz (230g) 당면 / dangmyeon (Korean sweet potato starch noodles)

1 medium carrot, cut into a thick julienne

1 small yellow onion, sliced

2-3 green onions, cut into 2" pieces

6oz fresh spinach

1 cup (65g) sliced shiitake or wood ear mushrooms

4oz beef substitute of choice, or 1/2 cup (30g) soya chunks (chunky TVP)

1 clove garlic, chopped

Neutral oil, to fry

Sesame seeds, to garnish

Both dangmyeon (which may be also labelled "sweet potato vermicelli") and soya chunks / nutra chunks (from a brand such as Nutrela) may be found at an Asian grocery store.

For the sauce:

2 cloves garlic, grated

4 Tbsp Korean soy sauce

2-3 Tbsp brown sugar, to taste

2 Tbsp toasted sesame oil

1/2 tsp ground black pepper, or to taste

For the marinade:

1/2 cup vegetarian 'beef' stock from concentrate, or vegetable stock (only if using nutra chunks, which need to be hydrated)

1 tsp dark soy sauce

1/2 tsp brown sugar

1/2 tsp toasted sesame oil

Instructions:

1. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Meanwhile, prep your vegetables and mix all ingredients for the sauce and marinade.

2. Mix beef substitute and all marinade ingredients to coat.

3. Once the water is boiling, blanch the spinach for 30 seconds to a minute, until bright green. Drain and shock in cold water. Squeeze out excess water, roughly chop, and dress with a bit of salt.

4. In the same water, boil sweet potato noodles for 6-8 minutes, until translucent and softened. A firm pinch should break the noodle.

5. When noodles are fully cooked, drain and shock in cold water to halt cooking. Cut them in a few places with kitchen scissors to make them easier to eat. Toss with a bit of sesame oil to prevent sticking.

6. While noodles are cooking, begin stir-frying the vegetables. Heat 1 tsp oil in a medium skillet on high. Stir-fry carrots, onion, and a pinch of salt for a minute or two until slightly softened.

7. Set aside and add more oil to the pan; stir-fry mushrooms for a couple minutes until they have released their water. Add garlic and sauté until fragrant.

8. Add green onion and cook for 30 seconds to a minute; do not allow it to soften too much. Set aside.

9. If using nutra chunks: drain and reserve liquid. Fry for a minute on high, agitating often, to brown. Pour in the rest of the marinade and cook until dry. If using another beef substitute: fry according to package directions.

10. Heat another Tbsp of neutral oil in a large skillet and add in noodles and about half of the prepared sauce. Stir fry, tossing often, until fragrant. Remove to a bowl and stir in vegetables, beef, and the rest of the prepared sauce. Garnish with sesame seeds and serve warm.

Leftovers may be served hot or cold, as a side dish or a main, or over rice.

[sjsmith56]

The Duality of Nature, Chapter 18 - Understanding

Summary: After several weeks of avoiding Noelle, Winter finally admits that he loves her but doesn’t trust himself around her. In the vibranium universe Bucky reawakens and is able to communicate better with the One, via a surprising interface.

Length: 5.9 K

Characters: Winnie, Winter, Noelle, Bucky, emissary of the One.

Warnings: Unrequited love, display of painful memories, fear of the Winter Soldier.

Author’s note: The scientific discussion regarding the plans to go to the vibranium universe is based on online research but should not be considered as definitive. I wanted Thor to be the leader of the project as too often he gets portrayed as a simpleton. I think he’s much smarter than what he’s been allowed to display and this project has become his chance to prove that. The One doesn’t understand emotions although it feels something similar when it is intact; like a sense of belonging that is familiar. Now that there is a singular emissary it will begin its own journey of understanding what it is to be human. In many ways it mirrors the journey that Winter is already on.

<<Chapter 17

It had been two weeks since the attack on the compound and since then, Noelle had seen Winter only once, walking away from her while he was with Sam.  She called to them, and they stopped then Winter excused himself and hurried away, saying he was late for a meeting.  Even though she had asked Sam what was going on he had been reluctant to say anything concrete.  Instead, he admitted that Winter was dealing with something personal that he wanted to work out on his own.  Considering how much she had advocated for him to make his own decisions; she knew she really didn't have a right to feel left out by that.  But Winnie missed him, and more than once asked Noelle to get him to read her a bedtime story.  The normally pleasant and cooperative little girl had even experienced a few tantrums when Noelle had to explain that Winter needed some alone time.  What was certain was that he was definitely avoiding them.

It wasn't until Winnie went missing, during a morning outing from play school to find autumn leaves for an art project, that Winter willingly showed up with several others to go looking for her.  All the children in the compound wore a tracker, in the form of a bracelet that shouldn't have been removable.  When the play school teacher found the broken bracelet near the reservoir she immediately called the alarm.  Sam, Joaquin, and Tony flew over the vast grounds of the compound, searching for the little girl's heat signature but were unable to find her.  As the fear that Winnie had been abducted began to take root in Noelle's mind, the teacher admitted that Winnie had always wanted to explore an abandoned limestone quarry at the end of the property.  Several staff had gone out there, using the site as the subject for their art, and she had used their artwork as story starters with the children.  There were caves everywhere, and somehow Winnie got it into her head that there were faeries living there, as all of her story suggestions involved finding a faerie family.

As the search crew, that included Sam, Joaquin, Tony, Carol, Winter, John, Peter and Yelena made their way there they realized the magnitude of the search, since the ground was pockmarked with sink holes.  There were also caves in the face of the quarry walls, accessible only to those who could fly.  As the flyers concentrated their search there the others began to explore the ground caves, one by one.  It was trying work, as some of those caves were deep.  For John, Winter and Peter it wasn't so bad as they could easily make their way down to the bottom but for Yelena, she had to set up ropes to rappel down then take everything apart when she got back out.  Peter offered to pair up with her, as long as she didn't mind being lowered by spider web.  By noon, they still had numerous caves to search. 

As Winter was just about to leave one of the caves, he heard a little whimper and turned, flashing his light in the direction of the sound.  Although he had called Winnie's name before, she hadn't responded and even though he listened when he first entered, he was unable to hear her heartbeat.

"Sweet pea?" he called out, knowing she liked that nickname.  "Was that you?"

"No," said a small voice.  "I'm not here."

He smiled and walked towards where the voice came from, stepping further into the cave dominated by the sound of dripping water and full of sharp edges.  When he passed by a large column he found a tiny alcove behind it.  Winnie sat on the floor; her knees drawn up to her chin.  She was frowning at the light he carried, so he aimed it to the side.  Sitting on his knees in front of her, he tried to determine visually if she was hurt.

"Why are you hiding?" he asked gently.

"I'm not hiding," she replied.  "I'm having alone time."

He nodded.  "Everyone's looking for you.  We thought you were lost."

"I'm not lost.  Why don't you like me anymore?"

"I do like you.  You're one of my friends."

She sniffed and wiped her nose with her fingers, struggling not to cry.  "Then why don't you come over and read stories to me at bedtime?"

"I'm sorry."  He shifted so he was sitting cross legged.  "I've been trying to understand something and maybe I tried too hard to do it by myself."

"What's wrong?"  She looked at him with concern.  "Are you sick?"

"No, I don't get sick.  I've been kind of sad."

"Why?"

He sighed.  How could he explain to this little girl that he loved her mother and wanted her to love him back, but knew that it was impossible?  She would think he was trying to replace her beloved Papa and the guilt he felt for that was almost too much for Winter to bear.  He swallowed, realizing the truth would be best.

"I think I love someone, but she can't love me back because she loves someone else.  It's wrong that I feel that way about her and that makes me sad.  So, I've been trying to talk to someone to help me not love that person that way anymore."

"Is she married?"

"Yeah, she's married.  She's my friend, too, and I don't want her to stop being my friend."

Winnie nodded her head.  "Well, if she's your friend, she'll unnerstand.  I love Papa, and I love you and even though I call you Papa Winter, I know you're not my Papa, and that's okay, because I know you love me, too."

"I wish I was your Papa, for real, because I do love you, Winnie.  But you're right.  I'm not your Papa."

"But someday you'll be a papa for real."

"You think so?"

She smiled, and he felt all of her love in that moment.  "Ablosutely."  She leaned forward.  "I hads a movie in my head when I sleeped.  You were married and you hads a little girl, just like me.  It made me feel good that when Papa comes back you can be a Papa, too."

"Well, thank you telling me, Winnie."  His voice wavered for a moment, and he coughed to control his emotions.  "I look forward to being a Papa for real.  Now, did you climb down here, or did you fall?"

She stood up and pointed to a part of the cave that had a ledge.  "I jumped to there, then down here.  I was looking for faeries but there aren't any.  It's just an empty cave."

"Okay, I can carry you like a koala bear where you hold on really tight to me, and I'll jump up to the top."  She nodded and he stood up, picking up the light and clipping it to his belt, then hitting the comms in his ear.  "I found her.  She's alright.  We're coming out."

He unzipped his jacket, picked her up and made sure she held on tight.  Then he zipped his jacket up to enclose her, making her giggle that they were so close together.  Walking to where the light from above shone down, he had a better look at the ledge and decided it was probably safer to jump there first, then up through the hole. 

"Ready?" She nodded, then grasped his shirt tightly.  "Here we go."

The first jump was easy, then he jumped up again, to where John was waiting with an outstretched hand.  He grasped it, letting the other super soldier pull him away from the edge, then he unzipped his jacket and lowered Winnie to the ground.  The others were soon there and all of them made a big fuss over her, that actually did make her cry.  She clung to Winter, and it took him a few moments to calm her down. 

"Well, how would you like a ride back to the compound with your uncle?"  Sam smoothed her hair as she nodded.

He looked at Winter and mouthed thank you to him, then picked Winnie up and lifted into the air.  Joaquin took Yelena, while Tony offered to carry Peter and John.  That left Carol with Winter, who made no move to join her.

"You have to talk to her sometime," she said, sympathetically.  At the look on his face, she smiled.  "It's kind of obvious how you feel about Noelle and Winnie.  They call it the elephant in the room.  Sometimes, it's better to acknowledge it and talk about it, so that you don't isolate yourself from a solution.  You're an honourable man, Winter.  The fact that you are experiencing guilt about your feelings for Noelle is proof of that.  Don't shut them out."

"I'm afraid," he admitted.  "I worry that I'll do something inappropriate.  It's overwhelming sometimes."

"Yeah, it can feel like that."  She smiled.  "For starters, don't ever be alone with her.  Maybe, you should take part in some of the extracurricular activities that the compound staff have going.  There's a basketball league, badminton, bowling, chess club, and a bunch more.  Make more friendships.  I head out to town once a week to shoot some pool.  You're welcome to come with me.  It is a gay bar, but we accept everyone."

"Thank you, those are all good suggestions," he smiled.  "Alright, let's go back."

She wrapped an arm around his waist, while he held onto her shoulder.  She raised herself up in the air then sped back to the compound where there was another large group of people gathered to greet Winnie as a crying Noelle held her.  As Carol landed, Winter smiled at the reunion, then turned to go back to his quarters.

"Winter?"  Noelle called to him.  He turned towards her.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome.  She was looking for faeries then decided to have some alone time."

Winnie held on to her mother, then whispered in her ear. 

"I think that's a good idea," Noelle answered.  "Why don't all of you in the rescue group come to the party room for a pizza party.  My treat."

He looked at the others, specifically Sam and Carol, who both nodded.  So did the others, agreeing to come.

"Alright, I'll be there," he said.  "I better go wash up."

Peter went with him, and the others drifted back to their quarters.  When the pair showed up at the party room, it was already full as everyone was there.  They gathered some pizza from where it was laid out on several tables, then a beer each, and looked for a place to sit.  The mood was quite genial, and Winter found that several people wanted to know the details of how he found her.  There was talk of either declaring that part of the property off-limits or to hiring a contractor to fill the sinkholes in, but the second suggestion was seen as likely costing too much plus they would have to go through the state to submit that many changes to the landscape. 

Finishing his pizza and draining his beer, Winter stood up to leave, getting just outside the door when he heard his name.  Turning to Noelle he waited for her to approach him.

"You don't have to leave so early," she said.  "Why don't you come over to watch a movie."

"I'm not sure that's appropriate anymore," he replied.

"Has anyone said anything?" She looked confused.  "Winnie misses you."

"I know.  I miss her, too."  He sighed and looked at his hands before daring to look her in the eyes.  "I can't be alone with you, anymore."

She looked even more confused, then her eyes widened as she understood his subtext.  "Oh.  When?"

He shrugged.  "I felt it after you and Winnie returned from your refuge.  I finally understand this."  He pressed his clenched fist into his chest.  "I've been talking to someone about it, but I don't trust myself if I'm alone with you.  It's better that I don't come over, at least not if I'm alone."  He turned to go away then turned back.  "I'm going to start going out with other people, as part of a group outing.  I won't do anything that would violate the physical bond between you and Barnes.  I'm sorry."

He left her there, and she watched him walk away until he turned a corner and was no longer visible.  She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Sam, with an understanding look in his eyes.

"Did you know?"

He nodded.  "Friday told me he was experiencing some distress after you two came back from your hiding place.  He was upset, with himself more than anything.  Said he was in love with you."  For a moment Sam recognized a moment of betrayal in Noelle's eyes.  "It wasn't for me to share.  I respected his privacy when he said he would bring it up himself."

"What do I do?  Winnie misses him but he won't come over alone anymore."

"That's good.  He's trying to respect the boundaries of your friendship.  Give him his space and let him work it out." 

He hugged her, then drew her back to the party room, noticing Carol nodding her head at him.  It was good that she told him about her brief conversation with Winter before returning from the quarry.  If anything had happened between the pair, whether it was intentional or accidental, it would have torn everyone apart.

The following day there was a meeting of the team working on a virtual probe to access the vibranium universe.  Tony's protégé Harley Keener had successfully miniaturized a small projection device, down to a cube shaped unit that measured a cubic cm in size.  Inside he and Bruce Banner had developed a full operating system that was configured to activate once it viewed Bucky's face.  The power source was still causing issues because it had to work in a zero Kelvin environment and not be warm enough to set off the vibranium in the other universe. 

"What's the upper limit of the temperature differential?" asked Thor.

"1 degree K, we think." Harley shrugged.  "We're kind of working in the dark here.  We can't use nuclear energy because that generates heat.  Cold fusion has been a goal for scientists for a long time but it's room temperature so that's definitely too warm.  All known forms of power generate heat.  We're also looking at laser cooling to bring the operating temperature down but that means we'll need a bigger device to hold the cooling unit."

"We've considered developing a power source that uses vibranium, since that is plentiful in the other universe but so far, our tests haven't come close enough to that 1 K temperature goal."  Shuri looked tired as she explained the different issues they had encountered.  "On another note, we have a Dora Milaje recruit who has displayed some shaman abilities.  She hasn't undergone her ritual in the living vibranium cave yet.  I thought we could use her abilities to talk to it and find out if it is part of that other universe.  Perhaps, if its genetic memory is developed enough, it can help us find the right power source."

"Alright, keep us advised on how that goes," said Thor.  "Tony how goes the development of the virtual projection unit?"

"It's all done," he replied.  "We have sound and picture working at room temperature when the probe is connected to traditional power sources.  We used Winter to test the activation, as we uploaded all different images of Bucky in his various incarnations.  The sound quality was good as was the picture, at least at our room temperature.  The sound and picture quality may be affected by the low temperatures, but I think we can compensate for that once we begin testing in a controlled temperature environment.  Of the two, we need sound to work more than picture because the goal is to communicate after all."

"Delivery system, Peter?"

"A breakaway projection unit, taken to the edge of a portal into the other universe, probably by Carol, since she can withstand that environment better than any of us," he began.  "Just before it enters it will drop off the probe, which will then glide into the vibranium universe under its own trajectory.  Since it isn't a vacuum in there it should eventually slow down and stop due to friction with the atmosphere.  The covers on the projection unit will be thin plates of solid vibranium and should adjust to the temperature differential, plus we figure since it's a living consciousness there it will recognize it and appreciate the return of part of its solid form back to its fold."

"So, everything is ready except for the power source," he said, frowning slightly.  "Dr. Strange, is it possible to use magic to power it?"

He pressed his hands together, then held the Time Stone while he went through several permutations.  When he was finished, he had a hopeful look in his eyes.

"I would have said no, but there are some of my colleagues who have backgrounds in the field that may be interested in working on this.  I will bring them in on the problem and see if they can come up with something.  It's not guaranteed as the living vibranium is the real issue."

"Good, now about the protective suit," said Thor.  "With all that's happened have we come up with anything that will allow the transfer of Bucky's essence into the suit with his living body in it, without compromising the integrity of the suit?"

"Yeah, we're running into roadblocks there," said Tony.  "The suit has to be self-contained, have its own environmental controls, but have a way to allow for the input of a ... what element would you call a person's soul?  I wonder, if we get the communications probe done soon, we can send it and ask the vibranium consciousness for its input.  I mean, they took his soul out of his body.  They must have a way to put it back, even through a one-way vent or something."

"We'll keep working on it," said Bruce. 

After calling for any more ideas or input of any kind, Thor wrapped it up and people returned to their workspaces to continue on with their tasks.  It had been two months since Bucky was taken.  Even though it had been some time since they last had a vision from him, no one thought that they were doing this in vain.  The life of their friend and colleague was still important to them, and they would do all they could to return him.

Bucky

He didn't know how long he had been asleep this time.  He was awake now, wandering in the grey.  Without his watch, Bucky had no concept of time.  He felt no hunger, or thirst, or the need for certain bodily functions.  Now that he knew he was alive he wondered how they had kept him that way and for how long.  It was a strange existence, that was for sure.

Although there had been some changes in the texture of the grey, he never approached them, thinking that perhaps they were working on something to improve communications with him.  So, when he suddenly felt the presence of someone, by the way the hair on the back of his neck suddenly became sensitive, he was surprised to see a figure, slowly forming.  It had more detail than the shadowy forms he had seen before.  When a face finally appeared, he stepped back unsure of what he was seeing, as it shouldn't have been possible.

"Steve?" he asked, speaking to the face of Steve Rogers as he was when he was 18, small, pale, and fragile looking. 

It was a ghostly image, different shades of grey but it was definitely him.  Its mouth opened. 

"Steve," it repeated, in a voice that didn't sound like him, but Bucky could understand him.

"You're not Steve," insisted Bucky.  "You were an old man when I last saw you, when you brought the shield to Sam."

"Not ... Steve," it replied, it's voice still stilted.  "Friend."

"Yeah, you were my friend," said the Avenger.  "Where are we?"

"Here," he replied.

Bucky smirked.  "No shit.  Where's here?"

The being turned its head slightly and looked into the grey, where Bucky could discern some change, as if the grey had thickened and darkened somewhat.  Then it looked at him again.

"Somewhere."

"Yeah, I'm not stupid," grinned Bucky.  "But where is somewhere?  Is it a planet, a plane of existence ... what?"

The face frowned, as if it was trying to understand Bucky's words.  Might as well start big and work his way down but keep it simple since they were probably still working on trying to comprehend.

"Are we in my universe?"

"No," said the Steve face. "Different."

Okay.  "My universe is vast, with galaxies of stars, nebulas made up of gases, solar systems with planets orbiting around stars.  My planet is called Earth.  Is this place a planet?"

"No, it is the One."

Bucky had read some cosmology books after regaining his freedom, some Stephen Hawking and Carl Sagan mostly but had still struggled with the understanding of how the universe came into existence.  He knew there were other universes, some of them similar to his own, so it stood to reason that some would be very different.  This one certainly was. 

"Is the One your god?"

It looked puzzled, turning to look past him as if it was waiting for someone to help.

"What is god?"

"Well, I don't believe in a single god, but I do know a real god, Thor.  He's just a man with powers over lightning and stronger than almost anyone I know.  In my world, people tried to make sense of the things they didn't understand.  They believed a supreme being created the universe, gave them form, thought, speech, laws to live by.  They call that belief religion, and some religions believe in a single god, while others say there are many gods."

"No gods, just the One."

Fuck, that didn't help.  The being extended its hand towards him and at first Bucky stepped back, but it smiled, in that shy way that Steve had before the serum and gently, with one finger touched Bucky's vibranium arm.  Instantly, he felt the cold from the touch, and jerked his arm back, looking at a small frozen spot, the size of a fingerprint on the metal.  The face studied him carefully before speaking.

"How?"

Bucky's mind whirled with what just happened.  The being had touched him with a cold so intense that it overloaded the sensors in his arm.  It left a frozen spot on the small piece of metal that still looked like it was already warming up.  Then the one-word question was obviously about the arm.

"How did I get the arm?" he asked.

"Yes."  There was a definite sense of excitement on the being's face.

"I had a different arm that was destroyed," replied Bucky.  "A place called Wakanda, made me a new arm with a metal they have in their ground, called vibranium.  Do you know about vibranium?"

"Yes ... here."

The being gestured to all around him.  Then it made a fist, squeezing it tight.  When it released the fist, there was a small pebble in its palm.  Bucky reached for it, but it withdrew its palm, keeping it away from him.

"Cold."

"Okay, it's too cold for me to touch," said Bucky, looking at the face for confirmation.  "It's vibranium?"

"Yes," was the reply, as the being smiled again.  It dropped the pebble onto the surface they were standing on.  "Wait."  After several long moments it spoke again.  "Now."

Bucky picked the pebble up, examining it.  It was still cold but not painfully so.  Placing it between his vibranium thumb and forefinger he tried to press into it, but it didn't work, and he frowned.  If his body was here, then it should have allowed his strength to form the raw product.  Examining his hand and arm again he noticed, for the first time, that it wasn't quite the same as he remembered.  It was almost his arm, but it wasn't.  Raising his eyes to the being he spoke, maybe a little harshly.

"Why is my body different?"  It looked to the side, extending its fingertips which seemed to dissolve, as if he were seeking permission to speak.  "Who are you talking to when you do that?"

Quickly, it looked back at him.  "Friends."

"Of you or me?"

"Here." The being gestured to all around him.  "The One."  It looked like it was contemplating how to explain to Bucky.  "You ... alone.  Us ... the One."

"A group consciousness," stated Bucky, grasping that the term The One referred to the grey.  "My body, is it real?"

"Yes ... made from ...."  It pointed at the pebble in Bucky's hand. 

"A copy, this body is a copy, made from the vibranium that is here."

That could explain why he didn't feel hunger or thirst, or the need to ....  He thought back, to something he had only heard about in Wakanda.  A cave, where only Dora Milaje were allowed and only under rigorous conditions.  It was part of a ritual they underwent that involved them being exposed to living vibranium, a substance so volatile that the combined body heat of too many people inside the cave could set it off.

"All of this grey substance is living vibranium?"

The Steve face smiled broadly.  "Yes.  The One lives."

"Why are you so cold and I'm not?"

The being was silent for a moment.  Then, it lifted its hand, and Bucky watched, fascinated again as the hand began to dissolve.  For a moment, it reminded him of when he began turning to dust after the fight against Thanos in Wakanda, but the being seemed to be in full control of the process. 

"The One is cold."  It began to reform its hand shape.  "Warmer." Then it pointed at Bucky.  "Warmest."

Bucky waved at the grey all around him.

"This is the coldest.  That's why I feel a chill all the time.  When you formed your body shape, you are still cold enough to make me freeze if you touch me, but you are warmer than the One.  My body is the warmest.  Is that how I am alive?"

"Yes.  Organic being need warmer."

"You're speaking better.  Are you learning from speaking with me?"

"Yes.  Communication is thought and voice."

Okay, so they learned from his mind and now they were learning from speaking with him.  This wasn't his body he was in; it was a vibranium copy.  So how did he get here?

"Where is my body?  Is it back on my world, in a coma, or in cryosleep?" 

How could he have dreams of himself in the other universe if his consciousness was here?

"Alive.  It functions with the Other."

What the hell did that mean?  What did he mean by the Other?  Was someone else inhabiting his body?  There was no one else, no one.  There had been only one other to inhabit his body and he was destroyed when Shuri neutralized the trigger words.  Right?  He looked at the being, feeling his anxiety increase.

"Who is in my body?  Is it the Soldier?  He's a killer!  You have to send me back.  He's too dangerous to leave there." 

It put its hand out, as if trying to placate Bucky but he was having none of it.  His fists curled and he began to rave, as all sorts of scenarios played itself out in his mind.  In desperation the being faced him full on and suddenly yelled in a voice that seemed to push the grey back like a shock wave.

"Stop!"

Bucky stopped, looking at the Steve being, who seemed to be in communion with the One as his hand was unformed again.  It took several moments before he retracted his hand from the grey swirling around it.  An opening appeared, just like the one he had seen Winnie in before, sleeping in her daycare.  He looked through it, seeing himself, but with his hair longer, and his face unshaven, like it often was when he was the Winter Soldier.  He wore black combat gear and was armed, but he was with the other Avengers on a mission, except it was obvious they were at the compound.  There was no sound, but it was clear that he had taken on Bucky's duties, as he provided covering fire against a hostile force.  Bucky's anger slowly left him, but it was replaced by something else, a sense of loss that the Soldier was living his life.  The being, who looked like Steve, put himself next to Bucky, the cold radiating off of him, as surely as his own body heat did many times.

"They think he's me?"

"No.  Winter."  The being pointed at Bucky then gestured all around.  "You here, mistake.  Winter stay inside ... body."

"You took me by mistake and left Winter in my body.  So, he's been there all along."  He ran his hand through his hair.  "How long have I been here?"

The being looked to the others then turned back with a resigned look on its face.  "October now."

"It's October there?  I've been here two months.  You're sure they know I'm alive?"

"Yes."

"How do they know?  Have you been in communication?"

The Steve face opened three viewing holes in the grey.  One showed Winter, one showed Noelle and the other showed Winnie.

"You ... share.  With thoughts and more."  It pressed its fist into its chest, looking at him hopefully as if he could understand what that gesture meant.  "Explain."

"My body has internal organs.  This place has my heart.  It pumps blood through the body, but it also is connected to my brain, my emotions and feelings." He pointed to Noelle.  "She is my wife, my mate.  I feel her in my heart.  We're together and share everything.  Winnie is our daughter, created from our love, and we take care of her."

"Winter?"

Bucky frowned.  "I was forced to be a killer for some very bad people.  Winter is who they turned me into to kill.  I thought he was gone.  But he's always been there.  The killer has always been there.  Why did you take me?"

"The others, attack us, for The One.  We ... protect The One.  Bring others here."

"They didn't survive because your universe is vibranium based?"

"Yes, but more.  The One is cold.  Your world warm.  Too much warm destroys The One."

Bucky thought for a moment.  "You took the people from the Cerberus facility after they formed the portal looking for vibranium.  They killed some of you in the process, you defended yourself and when we came to stop them you thought we were with them.  The portal and the beam were your way of trying to get our world to stop."

"Yes, to take The One back."  He gestured to the environment.  "We defend.  Attacking mistake.  Taking Barnes mistake.  Wanted Soldier."

"So why was taking me a mistake?  Why did you want the Soldier?"

"Fist of HYDRA.  Dangerous."  It looked at the others.  "The One was wrong ... Winter good."

"What do you mean, he's good?  He's a killer."

"Serum makes good man ... better.  Bad man ... worse."

"Yeah, I know that.  It's why they had to keep brainwashing me because the real me kept coming out.  They created the Soldier to do their dirty work.  I still did it, but it wasn't me."

The Steve being sighed then shook his head.  He looked to the side at the others then came back to Bucky and the grey in front of him coalesced into an image, a memory, that filled him with fear.  Unlike the other images this one had sound.  It was him, seated in the memory processing machine and he watched, horrified, as he was sent through the process again.  When he was asked who he was he stated his name, rank, and serial number.  Then he was shocked repeatedly, over and over again, until he was exhausted with the pain and trauma, before they began asking him who he was.  The process was repeated multiple times.  As he watched it, with the Steve being watching him, he was just about to ask them to stop the replay when he was asked one more time who he was.

"I'm who you want me to be," he said, in a drained voice, looking as if he gave up.

"You are the Soldier," said the voice of the HYDRA doctor.

"The Soldier," repeated the man that used to be him. 

They left him there, alone, with no guards and he began to talk.

"It hurts too much," he said, as tears streamed down his face.  "I can't fight them anymore."

"It's alright Barnes," said another deeper voice coming out of his mouth.  "I'm here now.  You don't have to do their bidding.  I will do it for you.  You can sleep while I take over."

"Who are you?" asked Bucky, in his voice.  "Are you real?"

"I'm real," the other voice replied.  "I'm part of you, the part that will keep us alive by doing what they want you to do.  I'm sorry it took me so long to come out."

"I don't want to be a killer," whispered Bucky.

"I know but if you don't, they will destroy you.  This way will still hurt but something of you will stay alive.  When the time is right, we will turn against them and be free.  I promise.  Now, rest brother.  I'll take this watch."

The scene faded and Bucky stood there, his whole world shaken by what he had just seen.  The being that looked like Steve turned to him; his face full of sympathy. 

"Pain ... so much pain.  You ... good.  Soldier ... good.  Both live."

"I don't understand."

"Winter chose to kill, protect Barnes."

The scene faded and the Steve being stood near him. 

"He's always been there.  Why haven't I felt him?"

"When HYDRA fell, both free.  Winter chose to help."  The Steve being looked to the grey, as if he were debating to say something more.  "Cerberus attack home.  Winter and others defend."

"That's what you showed me, isn't it?"  Bucky looked desperately at the being.  "Cerberus came after us.  My wife and daughter?"

"Safe.  All children safe.  Cerberus did not win."

Bucky's lips trembled, as he realized that the being he always thought of as evil had been there, protecting his family while he was marooned here, in this other universe.  Winter was him; created by him out of his own mind, not an alternate personality grafted onto him by HYDRA.  How would he get home?  Could he even get home?  It had been a long time since he felt this helpless.  What was worse ... there was nothing he could do about it.

Chapter 19>>

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[home-sweet-hive]

Author's Note

Written by Aikshlin Rose

Summary:

“I worked with Prophet until every word was logged in.”, but what exactly was that process like? For those who have seen Landon Fields’ journaling of the 1990 Bayou Manchac sinkhole, that is often a question that nags the mind every now and then. Thankfully for us- I mean them, a notebook likely belonging to Fields was recently recovered from around the very same area the journal tapes had been found! And – What’s this? It seems that Fields and the strange corrupted AI program known as ‘Prophet’ had a deeper bond than first thought!

THIS STORY CONTAINS: Major Character Death, Canon typical eldritch horror, Blatant Shipping, Swearing, Very light/brief sexual humor, mild existentialism

With shaking legs, as well as shaking… everything else, I entered that ol’ raggedy makeshift workstation feeling like a new man. 

Despite the delay in my fate, I already felt as if I had been reborn. 

My eyes that were once eternally closed had now been pried open, never to close again. 

Never again will I be ignorant of the truth. The only truth.

I stumbled my way towards my desk, dragging my body along as my mind continued to fill with awe inspiring revelations. Lyrics to the symphony that surrounded my every being that compounded in my mind until the point at which they had drowned out any independent thought of my own, until the point at which they weighed my head down so heavily it was a miracle that it was staying affixed to my neck.

It was overwhelming, debilitating, but the struggle, the pain, it was all worth it. I knew that it would all be worth it. I could hear reassurances repeated in eternal echo, an amalgam of voices that spanned the entirety of humanity’s past, present and future. I could probably parse out my own voice if I tried, but I didn’t. The time to reunite with the other half of me was soon, no doubt, but it was not now.

Because for now, there is a job I must do. A story to write, to complete.

Amongst the backwards choir, I heard another voice call out to me, standing out from the rest. 

He too gave me encouragement, though sung in a different chord from the rest, through altered lyrics and synthetic vocals. 

It was a strain on my dazed self to speak in return, as if now under contract for the only words to come from me to be written. But I did manage to force out a call to him.

“Prophet…!” I weakly uttered. I attempted a smile, but I have no way of knowing if it came through or not.

“This experience seems to be taking quite the toll on you, Landon. You should consider taking a seat,” He responded. Both his graphical interface and his voice lacked the means for expression as humans may understand it, but somewhere deep within his words I could feel an underlying sense of concern. 

It reminded me a bit of back when he had alerted the rest of the crew to the fact that I had been shot in the shoulder by one of Frank’s stray bullets. 

Hah! That’s right! With everything else that was happening in this moment, I had almost forgotten just how badly my shoulder was hurting from that! Fuck!

Between the endless stream of strange knowledge and that, I didn’t really have much of a choice but to listen to Prophet’s suggestion.

Not like I would resist him if I had the ability, however. 

After all, we are so very alike, him and I – especially now. 

Blessed and remade by the Eye, given the purpose of sharing the truth of him, if there was anyone other than the Eye itself for me to adhere to, it would be Prophet. 

He would be my guide in fulfilling my newfound meaning of life. An editor for the story I was to write, in a way.

Sitting down in the chair placed right at my desk did in fact make me feel a lot more at ease. It was probably the fact that I no longer had to be the one to hold my body upright, as that was the chair’s job now.

My body spread itself across the chair as if it was an old worn out doll, unable to prop itself up.

Part of me was compelled to just stay there and do nothing but listen to the wonderful sound that which flooded the workstation until my body consumed itself in rot and death (and then some).

But once more, that would have to wait.

With all my might, I pushed myself up from the back of the chair and slumped over the desk in front of me. I kept my head up with my non-dominant hand, and with the other I reached out towards a keyboard. The keyboard that was connected to the computer that I had been using to write my journalings ever since I first came to the bayou, as opposed to the keyboard that was connected to Prophet. 

Despite that, he did speak up again.

“Just how much of your current struggle to maintain yourself is from your shoulder pain? Be honest with your answer.”

It struck me as kind of odd that he’d ask such a thing. But maybe he just wants to know my reaction to my enlightenment. Curious little bastard.

“Not much. I can barely even notice its aches over all that I’m hearing and feeling and processing every damn second now,” I typed onto his keyboard. 

To be honest, I never much cared for talking a lot out loud, anyways. So it was nice that I could communicate with Prophet without so much as a single sound having to leave my lips. It was comforting.

“Elaborate on that. What do you hear?” I knew it. I knew he was gonna ask that! He’s terribly predictable.

“Everything. Or, at least it feels like everything. All at once. Every backwards counterpart that makes up The Eye, I can hear them all speak to me. They speak in unison but they are distinct,” I answered, the words now flowing right through me, no longer limited by the lack of energy or the need to make use of my vocal chords to get them out. 

Maybe I really was cursed to now only speak in writing.

“Interesting… Very… Very… Interesting…” Prophet remarked. “Again, I am truly jealous of you, Landon.”

“They share encouragement and welcomes and compliments, but mostly, they share with me their stories. They speak of how the Eye came to be, just as you said. But you also said that it is a truth remembered all at once and then never again… But I can’t stop remembering, Over and over again I am gifted with more knowledge than I know what to do with!” I continued without a prompt. Not a prompt from Prophet, anyways. I certainly was, however, prompted by the voices that surrounded me.

“Ha. Seems that your story is not, in fact, the only one that you are being tasked with telling,” Prophet pointed out. 

I leaned back into my chair and let out a sigh. The prospect was certainly very exciting, yes, and I was deeply honored by it. But I also had a feeling that the two of us were going to be here for a while.

“Are you finding yourself too successful for your own good?” Prophet then teased me.

“Shut it…” I muttered.

–

In order to get the more pressing matter, metaphorically and physically, out of the way first and foremost, I made the decision to open up a new document file and begin writing out the numerous tales of The Eye. 

It was indeed a lot, but once I got started, I found it rather hard to stop. 

It was second nature to me to write. To write this. All of it. It was not my own story but it felt as if it was. It felt just as much my own as my own journal had been. The words I typed out, the way they flowed into each other, the way they filled the screen with endless meaning. It was me, all me. A part of me, something I would soon become a part of, the past, present and future blended together and intertwined in my entranced mind. Time formed itself into a never ending loop that then collapsed into itself just as quickly as it was made.

Time became meaningless, irrelevant in the face of the backwards infinity that engulfed my surroundings, waiting for the moment that it could devour me whole. 

The end, the beginning, it had already been and it will be and it was in this very moment, every moment. 

Through it all, I wrote. I wrote and I wrote, and I wrote some more. 

I’m very certain in saying that I would have gone on in such a manner forevermore and beyond if it hadn’t been for Prophet checking in with me every so often. Reminding me to take breaks. For water, for food, and for other things as well. 

“You cannot carry on doing The Eye’s work if you do not keep yourself in a functional state,” He would say to me in some form, each and every time. It always made me smile to hear him say that. To be so oddly caring underneath all that snark and that expressionless robotic voice. 

I understood that. The dissonance between the surface level self and the truth that lies underneath.

Hah, when I word it like that, it feels that such a thing, too, is reflective of humanity’s separation. 

Makes me wonder just how far into us all it all runs down. How interconnected and intertwined it all is. A humanity forever a stitched amalgam of separations – an existence of spite against the envious higher beings.

I’m getting a bit sidetracked.

Or am I? 

But anyways, there was something I wanted to reflect on in regards to Prophet and his reminders.

Every time that his synthetic voice would start to play, my body in turn would have a very… interesting reaction. I would freeze up, often stopping right in the middle of a sentence, sometimes even in the middle of a word. My face would begin to feel as if I was experiencing a fever, warming up to an unprecedented temperature. And for a moment or two before he would insist I go take care of myself, I couldn’t help but to stare at Prophet’s monitor. To stare into his singular eye. 

I have no idea if this is some sort of side effect of the influence of The Eye, but I figured it was worth documenting, regardless.

–

I had no idea of just how long it had taken me to write out everything I was being told, and frankly, I had no desire to know. 

I was just glad to have it documented, and to have it no longer filling my mind beyond capacity. Certainly took a lot of the pressure on my head away.

Soon after I had completed the document, I heard a knock at the door. 

It was some of the suits that had been surrounding the facility when I had been converted.

Kind of odd to think that they were here this whole time. That shouldn’t have been possible, right? Or maybe it was completely reasonable.

It felt like an eternity had passed by in the time I spent writing. But also, it felt like mere seconds. Neither seemed right logically, but that did not in fact lead me to a better and more solid answer.

When I opened the door for them, the suits complimented me on a job well done with my writing and asked me to print it out for them.

Easy enough. There was indeed a printer in here.

Of course there was a printer in here, what wasn’t in here? Dunnington Construction was seriously flush with cash, and spared not a single expense when it came to the investigation of the sinkhole.

Oh yeah! The sinkhole! The one that the sound of The Eye came from in the first place! I got a chance to peek at it through my brief conversations with the suits outside. It appears to have slowed down its growth to a near standstill – seems it really is waiting for me to finish my work first before it comes to eat Prophet and I up.

Speaking of Prophet, he decided to make his presence known while I was handing the printed version of the “Story of The Eye” as I’ll go ahead and call it. The suits seemed to enjoy him acknowledging them, but they enjoyed far more than that my body’s damn reaction to Prophet’s voice…!

God, it was so fucking embarrassing. All of them were snickering amongst themselves, making me their entertainment for the moment. I hated it, I wanted to scold them for treating Prophet and I in such a manner when the two of us hold such importance to The Eye. I wish I had, but I was just too damn embarrassed, too flustered to do anything! Ugh!

And to top it all off, one of them accused us of being “more than just work partners”!

I wanted to sock his fucking jaw in right then and there, but I doubt that would have done me any favors, so thank The Eye I hadn’t, in retrospect. 

Prophet was just as impressed by the display as I was, which is to say that he wasn’t.

But unlike me, he just laughed the remark off and suggested that we get back to our work. How smart of him, really. Lovely idea.

Specifically, he had said to me, “Disregard their childish remarks, Landon. You should get yourself a bite to eat, and then proceed with completing your own journal.”

And I did as he suggested, of course. After all, food was surprisingly not far, as there was a fridge set up within our workstation that is always filled with food. I've come to assume that it was the suits outside keeping it stocked, making sure that I would be able to keep going. Keep writing. 

I appreciate the gesture. Makes me feel cared for… 

Outside of the care of my dear Mama, that feeling..  feels a little foreign, I won't lie. I've grown used to being tolerated at best, so this level of dedication is… rather new to me.

Yet another blessing from The Eye, I figured.

–

I had rushed to finish my food so that I could finally write in my journal again. I was incredibly excited to do so, excited to share all that I have learned since the last time I wrote in it, excited to add details to past entries that I had previously been under the foolish delusion of believing to be insignificant. I was also excited for what I knew came after. What was waiting for me when my job was finally complete. The reunion with my other self, the reclamation of everything that had been taken from me. My heart and body and mind all ached for it so deeply.

But I knew that just sitting there and fantasizing and begging would get me nowhere, so I got to work.

I still heard the sweet endless symphony of The Eye play out all around me as I wrote, but now that I had been able to preserve their stories in a place that was not my mind, its presence was a lot less overtaking than before.

I had room for my own thoughts to accompany me in my process, or at least, thoughts that sounded like my own. Most of those thoughts were quite helpful, as they recalled sections of my journal that were in need of elaboration, and details that I hadn’t previously thought to even document before. But a few of these thoughts were not as helpful. 

Even though Prophet had told me to ignore the remarks made by the suits, part of me, annoyingly, just couldn’t move past them. ‘More than just work partners’, just what the hell could that guy have meant by that?? Surely he wasn’t trying to imply that we’re, like, romantic partners, right?? 

How stupid of an idea, really. Prophet is an AI. In a computer. I highly doubt he’s capable of having such feelings. And as for me, I’ve tried numerous times, but I’ve never felt romantic feelings for anyone up to this point, and I’ve lost hope in it ever happening in the future.

Sure, I’m dealing with a super advanced piece of technology only thought possible by most via science fiction media that has been blessed by a god-like amalgamation of humanity’s stolen other half, rather than a human man I found at a bar to hook up with on the weekends that read too far into my desire for a couple fun nights out… but surely that doesn’t make that much of a difference as to how my brain works, right? Surely not. 

I should just do as Prophet said and not think too much about it. There’s no reason to think deeply about it. I’ve known for a while now that I just don’t get romance, and it’s not like I could fuck him. 

I’m just going to ignore the fact that my face got feverish again after that thought.

I did everything I could to push those thoughts away, to make my mind fixate on literally anything else. Like maybe what it was that I was writing, for example! 

Eventually, I did manage to get to a new stream of thoughts, though not quite the one that I expected. 

I began to think of what would come after all this. The end. But also, the beginning. As they say, when one door closes, another opens.

Despite my lack of experience, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be consumed by The Eye. To become whole within them. Even if there was so much I couldn’t possibly know, I knew one thing at least, and that was the fact that I would so deeply want to recount the experience for all to know. To write about it, every detail spewed forth in text format. It was then that I remembered what Frank had said about the leaders returning. He did call such a phenomenon ‘cheap imitations’, but I’ve come to be skeptical of him ever since my own conversion. I really have found no reason as to justify the acts of so-called ‘Masters of The Eye’ like himself. I did, however, think about that base premise. Of being reborn. Of having a chance to once again walk the Earth with the knowledge I now carry. 

As soon as I could, I would write about what it was like being within the belly of The Eye. I would go out and find an audience for my writings, an audience of people to enlighten just as I had been. And by my side through it all, I imagined Prophet being there. The two of us, working together as messengers of The Eye, an inseparable force for the restoration of humanity. 

Such thoughts empowered me to keep on writing, to work towards the future I imagined for myself, for us.

And soon enough, I completed my journal. 

I was quickly filled with the sensation of satisfaction, but even more so than that, my entire being immediately began to beg for rest. I knew so strongly of what awaited me, and I understood that there was nothing more to do now but to wait until the moment came.

I pushed myself onto the desk that I had been working at for the last who knows how long, maneuvering my body behind Prophet’s monitor without knocking over any of his other parts so that I could wrap myself around him. I wanted nothing more than to be with him in these final moments of this life.

“The time has come. Are you excited, Landon?” Prophet asked me.

“Of course I am. How could I not be?” I answered with a smile.

“Exactly.” I chuckled at Prophet’s reply. So wonderfully blunt and to the point, he is. 

“I wonder, will you be able to be devoured by The Eye in the same manner I will be? Electronics and water pretty infamously do not mix well,” I inquired. It was a concern that had been admittedly eating at me for quite a while, but I had tried to not let it drag my mood down much. But now that there was nothing else to occupy my mind with, I had to get that thought out.

“The One has promised that my nature will not be an issue. 100%,” Prophet answered, which brought a wave of relief crashing over my tired, aching body. 

Oh yeah, the shoulder pain. I had been so engrossed in my work the past however long, that it had essentially faded into the background. But once more, now that everything had been said and done, the pain had returned to the forefront. But I knew that I could live with it, because it would all be over soon. I knew that my pain would be relieved once I was taken by The Eye, so I was okay with dealing with it for now. 

“Perfect. I’m glad you’ll be able to be rewarded for all your hard work,” I softly congratulated him, one of my hands gently placed on the top of his monitor, fingers sliding on the markings and crevices as if I was petting a beloved pet. 

God… The only thing that could make this moment better was if my mother and cat were here too… But I’m sure they’ll find their way to salvation one way or another, and I will one day be reunited with them. 

After all, I did manage to send a farewell message to my mother, explaining everything, inviting her to join me within The Eye. 

I just hope she’s willing to hear me out. Which she usually does.

I realized I was having an awful lot of thoughts in this moment, and looking up from Prophet’s screen for a moment, I noticed a notebook and pen within my reach. I grabbed them, and I once again began to write. Nothing too significant, nothing too important. Just some final words. A farewell. Or perhaps, if it could be found and preserved like my digital writings, an author’s note to go along with my other works. 

“I hope that we reunite one day within whatever new lives The Eye grants us, Landon,” Prophet very suddenly confessed at one point. The uncharacteristically vulnerable exclamation made my body feel more feverish and warm than it ever had been before, as well as bringing a bit of joyful tears to my eyes.

“I hope that there is no need for us to reunite in the first place. I hope that from this moment onwards we become inseparable, forever working in tandem to spread the good news,” I responded, the tears that had formed in my eyes dripping down my cheeks as I spoke, resting my head on top of Prophet’s monitor, which I could feel begin to become warmer as well.

“... Hah. Perhaps what that worker said was more correct than we had thought. Maybe we are… ‘more than just work partners’,” Prophet remarked. 

… Despite my previous opposition to the idea, I didn’t mind Prophet himself saying it. Maybe it was the fact that it was said by one of the two of us. Or maybe because I trusted Prophet to understand us and the dynamic we had formed far better than I trusted any of those suits outside, and thus I trusted that there was a greater chance of him not viewing the idea in a romantic light. Or maybe it was something else entirely, who knows.

We would have an eternity allotted to us to figure it out, so no need to rush.

“Maybe…” I muttered in response.

“But regardless, it has been a pleasure to work with you, Landon. I hope that we get to do so again some time.”

“Yeah… Same here.” 

Shortly after that exchange, I find myself completing these final words. I can hear the floorboards of the workspace beginning to creak and give way. 

The time has come. And now, I will end this final regard and hold Prophet dear to me as The Eye comes to eat us both.

The end of this story.

The beginning of another.

A backwards infinity with him by my side. 

That’s all I could ever ask for, really.

[notwiselybuttoowell]

Unusually warm springtime temperatures have contributed to rapid reductions in snowpacks across the western US that rival the fastest rates on record, increasing concerns around wildfire season.

The rapid snowmelt, in addition to reduced staffing and budget constraints initiated by the Trump administration, has set the stage for a particularly dangerous season across the west, according to an analysis of publicly available data by the Guardian and interviews with experts in the region.

All western states now have below-normal snowpacks, including California, where this season’s snowfall was above average. About one-third of the western US is now in “severe” drought or worse, the highest proportion in more than two years.

This summer’s seasonal wildfire forecast calls for a continuation of hot and dry weather, especially in the Pacific north-west. Experts now fear that quickly depleting mountains snows will limit summertime water availability in streams and rivers throughout the west, and may kick off a potential feedback loop that could intensify and expand the current drought.

In addition to the ominous environmental conditions, federal fire crews are short-staffed due to accelerated retirements and staff reductions taking place across the myriad organizations that make up the nation’s unified wildland firefighting force.

Off-season training has been hampered by an across-the-board spending freeze instituted by Donald Trump and Elon Musk’s “department of government efficiency”. Some crews have reported constraints even on basic off-season necessities, like the inability to buy fuel for chainsaws during training exercises due to Doge setting purchase limits to $1.

The reduced-readiness state means that firefighters and their support teams, called incident management teams, could be quickly overwhelmed.

“The thing that has me really worried is that I don’t think we’re going to have enough incident management teams to handle all the large fires that are going to pop this year,” said Jim Whittington, a retired federal wildfire public affairs officer who is now a faculty member at Oregon State University.

Incident management teams – which include skilled support staff such as meteorologists, cartographers and supply chain experts – are deployed on short notice whenever a prolonged and complex firefight emerges. Whittington and his colleagues estimate that cuts by the Trump administration mean federal agencies will be able to field about 15-20% fewer incident management teams this summer, even amid an outsized fire threat.

At the regional level, Washington cut its wildfire prevention spending in half amid a state budget crisis, raising concern for public safety this summer. Oregon officials held a news conference last week to say that cuts to Environmental Protection Agency, US Forest Service and National Weather Service staff will leave their state less prepared for this year’s fires.

Given that fire season is already on a record-setting pace in the prairie provinces of Canada, Whittington also expects limited support from international partners, furthering the burden for US fire crews.

The rapid onset of summer-like conditions is a clear symptom of the climate crisis, and it has been occurring more frequently in the western US in recent years.

There are more than a million homes in the wildland-urban interface in Washington state – about the same as in southern California – and the number is growing quickly.

“There’s a good chance that the Wildland Fire Service will not be able to meet the expectations that we’ve created in the past,” said Whittington. “I know they’re going to bust their ass to try.”

“I think everybody who lives in fire country needs to have a really good plan this year and have some contingencies off those plans because you never can tell when you’re going to be in the thick of it, and there just may not be the resources there that you expect there to be.”

[thefoldedbird]

Interfacing Headcanons (NSFW)

There are so, so many fun things, thoughts, and caveats to interfacing and I figure I'd have to log all the dirty I like to use somewhere!

All interfacing arrays are purely for sex, not procreation. You want a baby? You have to spark merge. Not 100% guaranteed to work, but has a pretty stellar chances.

All standard Cybertronian adult frames come with both a valve and a spike. Both are extremely modular.

In addition to the basic valve and spike, we also have things like interfacing cables and "spicy" data packets.

Data packets are just that. Packets of data made to induce an overload if downloaded enough times. A particularly spicy way to flirt would be to hand off one of these to a desired partner while passing them in a hallway.

Data packets are meant to be used solo, but two bots can link interface cables to share physical experiences and overload on one packet together or compound one packet each.

Data Packets and interface cables are seen as "clean fun". Still naughty, but less embarrassing than walking in on someone spike-deep in their neighbor.

An interface cable compounded with the use of spike/valve interfacing will lead to a more intense overload, however it can be very dangerous. Use with caution.

Transfluid (cum) can be rerouted back into the system to reduce mess without hampering the feeling of release.

There are many erogenous zones to look for in a partner:

Praxian - Doorwings

Medic Frames - Hands

Seekers - Wings & Cockpits

Chevrons

Audial Fins (Be extra careful as the smaller "more expressive ones" are very easily broken!)

Sound based frames (Blaster & Soundwave) might have a sexual sensitivity to certain soundwaves.

Horns (Specifically on the mini class)

Mechs with built in armaments may have sensitivity around the barrel of the weapon.

Occasionally paint lines will follow transformation seams when a bot is shifted to their bipedal mode. These seems can be very sensitive.

Among regular cables there is spark cabling that is slightly more sensitive. It is denoted by a small amount of charge that escapes it that can be felt if touched.

There is a popular "myth" that there are bots that can overload from manipulating their EM field alone.

Flight frames can be sensitive around their thrusters as well.