#may my virtual machine rest in peace

[stary-night]

Microdosing on messing with dark magic that I don't understand by using Linux commands from random users in Ubuntu form in a desperate attempt to fix my virtual machine

[staybabblingbaby]

Janitor AU (Ambush Part) a1 d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Reader is a member of the cleaning staff at JYP. With a decent history of managing to avoid the idols on staff, Reader keeps to themself and keeps their head down. A chance encounter with SKZ in one of the practice rooms may change that...

Word Count: 1,293

Notes: LMAO Just saw that I already posted this and just didn't put it on the ML. RIP. I'm keeping this one instead of the old one <3

I remember spitting this out really fast and then hitting a dead stop and hating everything about it. Not sure what that was about, it's a pretty standard first attempt for me. Not feeling editing notes rn, so just. have at.

This was pretty heavily inspired by a BTS fic on Ao3 that was MUCH smuttier and about a Brat, but I can't remember the name anymore. If it reads as familiar to anyone, will you please tell me what it reminds you of? I'd love to give proper credits.

Original Notes: This is the first one that really looks like the w.i.p it is lol. The beginning is super awkward and I'll probably redo that entirely. This concept is inspired by another fic, but I'll have to hunt it down bc I can't find it rn. I saw that one and went "I want that but without the smut" and so I wrote it lol. This one needs a lot of work, but I probs got frustrated bc it looks like I left off in the middle of sentence lmao.

Warnings: None that I know of?

Masterlist link |

You hum lightly to yourself as you pull your hairband up from where it rested around your neck and push your hair out of your face. You double check that you have the appropriate ‘cleaning in progress’ and ‘wet floor’ signs up and turn to hijack the sound system every practice room was equipped with.

This was the most envied privilege of your assigned areas - you got to blast your music loud and proud as you cleaned instead of hoping your headphones can go loud enough to be heard over your machines without bursting your ear drums. It was envied in your opinion anyways. You wouldn’t trade areas for anything, even if the stink of sweat was overpowering sometimes.

You can’t help your amusement at the thought that there were some fans of the idols you worked for that would adore having to smell their stank every day. It was just an occupational hazard for you, though.

You’re sure being janitorial staff is no one’s dream, regardless of which building you happen to be cleaning. It works for you, though. You wouldn’t say it had been remotely in your life plan to be scrubbing huge mirrors, or airing out the smell of sweat from the JYP practice rooms, but you enjoyed the peace it allowed you.

Two years out of college, with an unrelated degree, in a country you’d never dreamed of moving to, and you still wouldn’t trade it for the world. The twists and turns of life that had lead you here hardly mattered anymore.

Besides, you don’t see the idols as much as you’d assume for someone who cleaned their practice rooms for a living. It was another privilege of yours, if anyone were to ask your opinion. Not that anyone asked you much of anything, aside from your supervisor. Your quiet existence as just another cog that kept everything running smoothly was soothing to you.

You could be loud and take up space outside of work. Not that you really did, but you could if you wanted to. Maybe you should. You were still virtually friendless a year and a half after getting this job. You only really spoke to your coworkers, and barely at that. Your homebody tendencies continue to sabotage your social life.

You had plenty of online friends, it was fine.

You’ve digressed. No idols equals privilege of your area. Right.

You knew several of the newer folks spent a few weeks after their hire giggling to each other when they got to see the idols just casually hanging around and doing their jobs, but you’d avoided them from the start.

At first it was just because you were shy and many idols had a bit of rbf going on. You’d been incredibly intimidated by both their beauty and their success, and your Korean hadn’t been as eloquent as you’d have liked it to be. By the time you’d spoken to enough trainees to relax around the idols, you’d still been unsure with your Korean. And then when you’d gotten that in order it’d been so long you simply felt awkward.

You’d been working in the building for a year and a half and had done a spectacular job at crossing paths with as few idols as possible. You weren’t about to seek them out now. You’d been sought out yourself a time or two, by idols that were close to the trainees you spoke with more frequently. Apparently you’d been labeled “the nice janitor noona with the snacks” and curiosity and food were fabulous motivators.

It didn’t happen frequently. When you’d asked about it, you’d learned that apparently you were being gatekept by the trainees. Ostensibly so they could keep your snacks for themselves, but you liked to believe they just liked you.

You finally get your phone connected to the speakers and start to blast your work playlist. You can’t help doing a little dancey-dance as you begin to sweep, mop, and wax the hardwood floor. What could you say? Your playlist was simply bop after bop.

You’re in the middle of dipping your mop handle low and pretending to sing along to Fall Out Boy when the door creaks open slowly.

You straighten quickly but there’s no way the person at the door didn’t see you goofing around.

“One sec!” You call out quickly, forgetting to speak Korean in your haste. You dash over to the sound system to pause your music, your ears ringing in the silence. When you turn around you’re confronted with the amused eyes of one Lee Know of Stray Kids.

“Ah, Lee Know-ssi!” You bow quickly but politely in greeting. “I’m sorry, this room is being cleaned right now, it’s not available for practice.”

Lee Know gives you a slow nod, looking like he was holding in a laugh.

“I know, I saw the sign,” Lee Know replies, tilting his head at you. You secretly let out a breath of relief at that. For a second there you’d thought you’d forgotten. “I was just curious who was playing music loud enough to hear outside.”

You immediately fluster at that, waving your hands in front of yourself, “Ahhh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to disturb!” You gesture at the floor machine sitting pretty in the corner of the room with your supply cart.

“I’ll be waxing the floor in a bit, usually the machine is loud enough to cover it. Hadn’t gotten there yet, though.” You laugh nervously, popping your wrists and fingers just for something to do with your hands.

Lee Know shakes his head, waving your apology aside. “No, you’re good, I got to see something fun out of it.”

You’re sure you flush bright red, and you cant help but bury your head in your hands with a groan. You can hear Lee Know stifle a laugh, but you’re too busy languishing in your humiliation to pay attention to him.

After a moment you peak at him from between your fingers. He still looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh at you.

“If I bribe you with snacks will you erase this from your memory?” You plead with him. He raises an eyebrow at you and hums consideringly.

“Depends on the snack.” He finally concedes, prompting you to start towards your cart, much more at ease with a potential solution in sight.

“I’ve got a couple kinds,” You start to explain, “Everyone likes to ambush me for them, so I’ve learned to come prepared.”

You hear another huff of laughter from far closer than you were expecting, Lee Know having wandered over while you were distracted with rummaging though your cart. You have to move several things out of the way before you can grab the small basket containing your prize.

You may have gotten used to being ambushed for snacks, but that also meant you’d gotten used to hiding them so that you’d at least get to eat some of them. You swore the trainees could smell when you had their favorites stocked up. Animals, the lot of them.

“Who’s ambushing you?” Lee Know questions with amusement.

“Everyone who knows I have them.” You reply with false despair. “The trainees have a sixth sense for them, I fear.” Lee know snorts at that and you grin at him with equal mirth.

“Ah, yes, as a former trainee, I can confirm that they do.” He tells you somberly. You click your tongue and shake your head.

“I knew it.” you say, “They only love me for my snacks. And here I thought they just liked to talk.” You place a dramatic hand over your heart, acting hurt and betrayed.

Lee Know chuckles at you, but doesn’t respond as he leans in to

[thetonethetollandthethunder]

Scythe chapter 21-25!! (UNFINISHED)

-Oh god it’s the tweaker part ughhhh this makes me so uncomfyyyyy

-i would NOT survive a day in goddard training, i cant handle pain

-When ur neglected you tend to enhoy attention

-this is basically torture

-oh god when yove gone through most of ur life relatively painless this musy feel lolr hell

-at least volt is thete

-he will want too

-“rightmindedness is overrated,” goddard said. “Id rather have a mind thats clear than one thats right”

-death by fire will happen a lor more often

Chapter 22

-again more compassion by not gleaning kids

-longing!!

-TONISTS!!

-“thar which comrs cant br avoidrd”

-g sharp or a flat

-the primordial ooze makes me sickj

-GODDARD

Go back over this chapter

Chapter 23

-ooo searchin time!!

-“my oh my, youve been picking through my brain, it would say if it were allowed, with a virtual wink. Naughty, naughty.”

-citra being very clever!!!

-“the woman, not the dog. The dog couldn’t care less.”

-mention scythe fields

-stop being fatphobic citra /j no but thid book has a weird issue with fat ppl ive noticed

-BENNNN

-“Grandma of death”

-“or if they’re murdered, thought citra” GET YHOSE GEARS TURNING

-OUGH THEY DONT EVEN KNOWW

-god the disconnect citra frels is just ARGH

-DHE DID CHOOSE THOSE COLORSS

-“Guilt is the idiot cousin of remorse”

-Susan!!

-CITRA IS SMARTT

-FUCK YOU GODDARDDD

CHAPTER 24!!

-god rowan,,

-“never lose your humanity,” scythe faraday had told him, “or youll be nothing more than a killing machine.”

-FUCK YOU GODDARD!!

-god thw way goddard uses the same exact phrase ans how its so different is just OUGH

-If hes a visionary id rather be blind

-RAND HE IS UNDERAGE STOP

-God I forgot how creepy this part was

-“we became unnatural the moment we conquered death”

-now i dont like to use the word cult but the book always talks abt backwards and cult-like the tonists are, but im seeing that the new order is more cultlike if anything

-“im decent to everyone,” rowan pointef out. “In case you havent noticed, im a decent person.”

-AAA FUCK YOU GODDARD

Chapter 25

-OHOHO I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN MARSSS

-technically the thunderhead does find a suitable planet

-love smartass rowan

-ah goddard and his ego, like pb&j

-chomsky ans his flamethrower

-massacre it is

-“im not one of them”

-“were angels of death,” said scythe goddard. “Its only fitting that we swoop in from rhe heavens”

-“knock knock” rand

-“guess youll miss the punch line”

-rowan trying to help ppl!!

-“”boo!” Said scythe chomshy.”

-“break stuff.” “Why?” She winked at him. “Because you can.”

-“i am your completion! I am your deliverance! I am your portal to the mysteries beyond this life! I am your final word! Your omega! Your bringer of peace and rest. Embrace me!”

-“welcome to life as a god,” this after Goddard said, “yesterday you were gods. Today you are mortal”

-“May the thunderhead help us all”

-they do end up escaping it!!

[nccrum0]

Favorite moments in chapters 212 and 213

I'm so excited for this whole arc, I'm loving all the character interaction and the side character content! Here's just a few of my favorite moments, if I could I would post the whole chapter lol

Right off the bat is Shohei being the big-brain that he is and showing some promising leadership skills (and of course Ikoma in the corner.

Then we got Taichi being an example of what not to do lol

And then we got more Suwa content and with his hair down he looks super hot.

And the first bit of fanservice seen by Ikoma over here as well as a bit of world building with the deconstruction machine.

And a little more interaction between Kazama and Raizou, this is the most I've seen of Kazama is ages. My heart <3

Also... Ikoma only being a God at cooking to get some chicks (and of course the others being jealous of his greatness).

Just more Ikoma panels.

Another Ikoma panel

And finally, the pinnacle of the chapter, Suwa with his hair down and the 21-year-old finally getting a pa el together. My life is complete I may rest in peace now.

All jokes aside im super happy with all the content we get with these chapters and I'm excited to see how the Hyuse situation will turn out and how the virtual rank battles will as well.

[asklittlepip]

Due to the size of this post, links will be sparse, but there’s a LOT to go over!

My last day and a half was spent dealing with failing hardware and attempts to prop up my system better to avert outright PC death. Guess I’m gonna have to look at upgrading to a new machine very soon, but it’s a bit annoying since new AMD chips and NVIDIA cards are all due shortly as well. The latter, well, I can keep my 1070 Ti and just change that later, if I can’t wait..

Oh and the whole “Microsoft bought Zenimax / Bethesda” thing happened! I have a few thoughts on that, as you might imagine!

First off, it’s the absolute best possible result, believe it or not. Microsoft has been on good terms with both Bethesda and Nintendo for years now, and it’s really just Sony’s spoiled attitude about cross-platform to blame for the failures of that on their system. So when you consider this, MS owning all these franchises is a positive for the vast majority of players and won’t change anything on their availability. The Xbox Game Pass will actually become an even better value, and since it IS cross-platform, it helps consumers too.

Think about the other corporations with billions to throw around, like Apple, Amazon and Google. None of them are game companies, and all of them (especially Apple) have horrendous policies and love exclusivity deals, which hurts everyone else. Actual game devs like Activision, EA, Epic, Ubisoft would all have been terrible too. Lootboxes, exclusive clients and rootkits galore!

It probably won’t happen for at least a year or two, but I’d expect Bethesda’s own network to be folded into Xbox’s, so that’s another benefit and one less thing for us to worry about having to install or get hacked. This would also play better with both Steam & GoG’s storefronts, as if it’s needed, it can simply launch “under” them far more easily. Azure cloud services are second only to Amazon’s as well, so instances where their servers are down should be next to zero.

Another benefit? Quality control. Microsoft has an absolutely massive QA department, and since they make Windows and the Xbox itself, they’re in a great position to ensure compatibility issues are as minimal as possible. And what has been the number one issue plaguing Bethesda’s games for decades? Yup. Plus the general resources of having all that money available to do things like make major engine revisions without NEEDING to drain funds or rely on sales of something else as badly. That’s precisely why Obsidian and inXile accepted selling to Microsoft, as they were living game-to-game, essentially.

And that brings up the final point. With all three of these studios under the same banner, it is now possible for not only something like a Fallout: New Vegas 2, but there would even be a team around that could make a 2D isometric Fallout as well! And even if none of THAT happens, you’ve got almost everyone from all the prior games together again! The big exceptions being Chris Avellone, who can be hired as a contractor, in the same way that SquareEnix gets Nobuo Uematsu for specific titles now, and Adam Adamowicz, may he rest in peace.

After Bethesda’s recent mistakes and outright fuck ups, I think that, while any reader here knows I ain’t exactly a fan of megacorps, this is pretty much the best situation for virtually everyone involved. Sony might lose out, long term, but seeing how many sales Fallout and Elder Scrolls games have gotten on the Playstation platforms, I don’t see them vanishing from their catalogs. If Sony gets the stick out of their ass, then even that won’t be an issue either! I can personally confirm that there are indeed talks (nothing concrete yet though) to get the Xbox Game Pass service on the Switch, as MS has no problem selling games on competitor systems. Only Sony hates it, and when you’re even more old-fashioned than Nintendo, that doesn’t bode well.

This is a surprisingly ideal outcome. What the hell, is 2020 over or something? We’re not allowed to have good news this year..

[cxhnow]

Chloe x Halle on Sister Style, Working With Beyoncé, and Finding Creativity 

Chloe x Halle’s creativity is thriving, even during the pandemic. The two sisters have just had to think outside of the box in terms of executing the projects they’ve undertaken during lockdown.

The singers released their new album, Ungodly Hour, back in June and have pulled off several amazing at-home performances to go with it. This poolside performance of their single “Do It” is a must-see, and was entirely shot in their backyard in L.A. The duo have also been experimenting with fashion along the way, wearing hot-off-the-runway Balmain looks for their Instagram Live chats, and custom Zana Bayne cage dresses for their part in a virtual YouTube commencement special.

In addition to serving up their new music and performances, Chloe x Halle also became Fendi’s newest campaign stars. They helped creative-direct new images and a video, which pay tribute to the Italian label’s Peekaboo bag. (You guessed it, the campaign, titled #MeAndMyPeekaboo, was shot at their home.) It’s the latest undertaking that proves this duo can truly do it all as a two-woman show, both in front and behind the camera.

The two sisters tell Vogue that navigating these unprecedented times has been an exercise in creativity as artists. If things were “normal,” they would be miles away from each other. Being at home together has allowed them to focus on their work. “My sister and I would have been in two different countries, and we didn’t really know where we were going to put out this album,” says Chloe. “I’m just grateful that we’re at least together in one space, and we can do it together.”

Below, Vogue caught up with Chloe x Halle to discuss their personal style as sisters, what it has been like having Beyoncé as a mentor, and what the rest of their summer looks like (Psst: More performances could be coming).

Tell us about your vision for this new Fendi campaign, which you both helped create.

Halle: “We have always loved Fendi. They’re the perfect mixture between sexy and classy—you can wear Fendi bags with anything, especially the Peekaboo bag. We wanted to incorporate that into our vision. We did [a campaign video] to a song that we have on our new album, Ungodly Hour, called “Busy Boy.” The song has a lot of sass, attitude, and playfulness to it. We did it at home in our backyard.”

Chloe: “We shot it all in one day. It was fun. It was hot outside, but we had fun playing with the clothes.”

What has been inspiring you both in the realm of fashion lately?

Halle: “Something that has really inspired me during lockdown is how creative people are getting with their fashion. Even though there’s not anywhere to go to really show off these cute outfits, I just love how stylish people are getting. They’re not letting it stop them from still having fun with fashion and being playful. It’s all about expressing yourself. That makes me feel good whenever I get to do that, no matter who sees it or not.”

As sisters, how is your style different from each other? How is it the same?

Halle: “Our style has always been different from each other because we both have really different body types. For me, I don’t have as many curves; my beautiful sister has an amazing bum. I always try to wear whatever makes me feel comfortable and brings out my petite little curves. I’m always trying to dress up my body in that way. I feel like my sister is really expressive when it comes to her style.”

Chloe: “For me, it just depends on the day. Some days I want to feel a lot more edgy and sexy, and other days I want to feel flirty, cute, and cuddly. It really depends on my mood. That’s what being a woman is all about, having different layers to yourself and being able to change—being strong yet delicate at the same time.”

Do you guys share clothes a lot?

Halle: “We actually do share a lot. As sisters, we’re always raiding each other’s closets. I’m always looking for some of Chloe’s tops because I feel like all of my tops are a bit boring. If we have something to do or have an interview, I’m always like, ‘Girl, can I just see what you got?’”

Chloe: “I feel the other way! I feel like you have better tops. Now with quarantine and interviews, all you really need is a cute top and then you can wear sweatpants. It’s all about the tops now.”

In addition to your style choices, you both have been creative in terms of approaching your at-home performances too. Has that been an exercise in creativity?

Chloe: “It’s definitely been a way to exercise our creativity. We give all the kudos to our amazing creative director Andrew Makadsi. He really helps our vision come to life; we’ll collaborate and send a bunch of references, and he’ll just take it to another level. It’s really cool how we can articulate our vision while still staying at home, having fun, and keeping it simple. I’m just happy that I can quarantine with my best friend and business partner so that we can do fun stuff like this.”

How have you both managed to stay creative in general during the pandemic?

Halle: “Staying creative in this time is actually really easy. It’s really inspiring when you’re enclosed with the people that you love and your family. That’s what truly makes me happy. Quarantine has allowed me to connect with myself and realize my greater purpose and what I want in life. Just kind of self-reflecting and meditating—that builds up a lot of inspiration. Even though sometimes it may feel uncertain, we’re trying to stay positive and hopeful. Using every inch of happiness and positivity that we can to light our inspiration fire. But also giving ourselves breaks, and realizing it’s okay to just chill and not do anything some days.”

You have both used your platform for activism these past few months, especially around Black Lives Matter. Why is it important to continue doing so?

Chloe: “For my sister and I, it’s something we can’t turn on and turn off because it’s our everyday lives. It’s our livelihood. We have always grown up knowing, because we are Black women. I am very happy and grateful that the world is finally paying attention to this underlying racism that has been going on for years and years, and I’m hopeful that change will finally happen. Just my sister and I going out there and creating in a male-dominated industry, and letting our voices be heard, we’re standing for all Black women and our brothers. Just being ourselves and letting them know that you can do anything you put your mind to. We’re always thinking about that, and how we can uplift our community in any way we possibly can.”

You released your new album, Ungodly Hour, in June. Now that it’s out in the world and you’ve reflected on it, what does it mean to you?

Halle: “Ungodly Hour means everything to us. When we were in the process of making this album, it actually flowed out a lot faster than usual. Our last album, The Kids Are Alright, took us three years to make. For Ungodly Hour, it took eight months. That is a very short amount of time for us, because we’re perfectionists and we always want to get something right. We’ll do it over and over again. For this album, we had so much to say and we knew exactly what was on our hearts, whether it was us talking about our insecurities and figuring out how to love every inch of ourselves, or exploring love and relationships. It’s this whole journey of finding ourselves, but also knowing who we are at this point in our lives. Releasing this album during this year of change has also been an eye opener. I feel like we always release albums when something is happening. We released our last album, The Kids Are Alright, when all the women’s marches were happening in 2018. And now, with our community of Black people, we’ve always been fed up, but other people are realizing it. We just really hope that [the album] has brought some healing and some peace to our community, and to everyone who decides to listen. That’s all we want.”

Beyoncé has been a mentor to both of you. What feedback did she have for this album, and what have been your biggest lessons from her?

Halle: “I feel like Beyoncé collectively teaches everyone who is a fan of her. She’s always been our inspiration since we were younger, so being able to be on this journey with her and have her guide us along as a fairy godmother is really beautiful. Just being on tour with her and watching how hard she works every single night—she gives it 150%. It’s like, wow, somebody can literally be better than a machine, and still be such a humble and beautiful person inside and out. I truly believe the reason why she is where she is today is because she has such a great heart and is just a kind, regular person. Those people get the farthest in life. We’re always being taught things by her. She had very positive feedback for this album. She barely had any critical notes. She was just congratulating us and saying how proud of us she is in this project. We’re really happy to have her support.”

What does the rest of your summer look like?

Chloe: “The sky’s the limit. I hope more people receive the album, even people who’ve never heard of us before, and we keep kicking butt with the visuals and growing every day. We’ll be staying home quarantining because, sadly, the cases are getting worse here in America. We just want to stay safe, but also have fun at the same time. We’ll be chilling in the sun in our backyard.”

[supernova1us]

Transformers Cyberverse season 3  Eps 1-20 plot breakdown (MAJOR SPOILERS!!!)

So I have just managed to watch eps 1-20 of season three of cyberverse.  They are airing in rapid fire in the UK and getting uploaded to a few places on line.  Anyway, here is a rundown of the storyline and plot of the season so far.  

Major spoilers ahead so turn back now if you don’t want to it ruined

 So, first off the season has multiple arks and does periodic time skips to get from one to the next. It is also my opinion that this is by far the best season of the series and when you watch it you will understand.

The four part opening arc has the return of the autobots to cybertron.  The first ep mostly follows chromia and perceptor, who becomes blind, escaping prison but mostly sets up the following events. The ark returns but is destroyed by the cons, but the autobots called it and escaped.  Here we come to meat of it, a full on clash between autobots and decepticons.  

I feel whole heartedly that the “battle of cybertron” may be the biggest and most hardcore and intense on-screen battle in transformers history. It even puts the battle of autoboot city to shame in my book. It wasn't just teams or forces clashing but 2 whole armies going at it full force for three episodes. There was death, consequences, highlights for main characters but plenty of screen time for the generics. It was a real war like I don't think Hasbro has given us before. This was definitely a highlight of the series and has really elevated it in my view.

Anyway in the end, wheeljack destroys vector sigma to thwart megatron and the allspark is restored to the core. To spite optimus, megatron makes shockwave destroy the allspark.  Shockwave extracts his spark and enters the allspark and poisons it from within. Cheetor is forced to sarcrice himself to do the same and restore the all spark.  Weith that the autobots win the war.

In these eps we do have many new characters intros and a few deaths.  We are introduced to whirl, kup, skywarp(a female now), alphastrike(a renamed strika), dead end, repugnus(there are a bunch of him).i might be missing a few. For deaths we of course have shockwave and cheetor, but here is also prowl who takes a shot meant for optimus(it doesn’t seem serious in the moment but he never shows up again, so yeah).  We also have bludgeon, though not dead, finally getting justice for killing slipstream by being sent to Unspace.

We also have one other death of note; drift.  He reveals that rather than a con who became an autobot, he has been a loyal decepticon mole the whole time. He hunts down the scout team with the allspark and duels with hot rod before both sink to their deaths in some corrupted energon muck. Hot rod would later escape but no such luck for drift.  I actually hated this turn for him because it goes against everything the character has always been based on;  Just bad writing.

 So, by ep 4 we are thrown headlong into the new story line with no reveal how we have reached this point. The quintessons have invaded and conquered the planet, imprisoning all the transformers in a virtual reality of a constantly replaying parade.  So yeah, there are heavy, heavy, heavy allusions and straight lifts from the plot of the matrix movies.  It’s all a pretty fun ride though.  There is also a beast machines vibe as well.

The only free bots are perceptor, hot rod and clobber(who I love now), who hide and sneak into the simulation to try to rouse their comrades.  Their resistance is eventually joined by soundwave(who attempts to take command), dead end and whirl. They also meet up with maccadam, whose bar is strangely invisible to the quintesson scanners. We learn this is because the bar is part of the larger form of Iaconus, a berserker war titan in stasis below ground.  The team eventually meet the quintesson judge in charge, the quintesson scientist and free all the imprisoned bots.

We also learn that the quints are interdimensional beings that judge universes and destroy those they deem unworthy.  A full on rebellion forms to fight the quints and their forces.  A long, hard battle but it is won, though rather than see the fight through, megatron ditches to explore the multiverse. It is then that a worse threat is revealed; each universe has a new quintesson judge born from creatures of that universe.  The new judge is revealed to be a converted starscream, who told the quints about cybertron, along with two other aliens who form his other heads(one wants to probe everybody and the other wants to eat them). He surprisingly brings the transformers low before we get a titan battle between iaconus and a mind controlled croaton.

The day is eventually won by a returned megatron, looking worn and badass(double fusion cannon, missing eye) from his dimensional hijinks(and has his own matrix of leadership). The new judge is seemingly destroyed by he and optimus and maccadam dies during the titans battle(which he apparently foresaw and embraced). An uneasy peace is reached, half the planet to each faction and war if it is breached.  

The remaining few eps, which again isn’t the end of the series, just what has been released yet, is a mixed bag. There is an ongoing search for the scattered fragments of windblades mind, which was splintered by her freeing croaton from starscream. The autobots are trying to rebuild their side of the planet while the decepticons half is like a slum.  We also get hints that megatron is on the watch for something ominous he encountered in his travels.  We get two new characters; thunderhowl, a BW silverbolt type knight of old who swears himself to the autobots. There is also Wildwheel, a gunslinger who has an intense grudge against optimus and seems to look to join the cons.  He is cowboy themed because he was one of the autobots who fell from the ark as it crashed and awoke in the wild west and blames optimus for his being forgotten.

a special note is that in these eps, clobber has switched to the autoboots, which I just love because of how awesome her and hot rod were as partners in the whole quintesson arc. aside from the quintessons themselves that was my favorite aspect of that storyline. I also kinda ship them now, no regrets :) 

So yeah, that’s the basic story so far and its pretty damn fun and can’t wait to see where else it heads. 

for the rest of the season, based on the episode descriptions, there is more windblade searching, territory clashes between the factions and the ultimate threat of a being called The Other(probs who megs was looking out for and I hope to be unicron)

[arinaco]

Crime without punishment

Translated and edited by @Nadezhda932

You can also find it here: https://www.teampurplelion.com/crime-without-punishment/

Greetings, ladies and gentlemen.

I present to your attention a phased analysis of all the scenes with the participation of our beautiful Romelle. At the same time, I will add a few conclusions about what could actually happen.

The story begins with Keith and Krolia following the trail of the blue quintessence.

Krolia catches a signal, and this signal leads them straight to the Galran base.

Focus on the size of this base. It’s big… but it hardly reaches the size of even a city. A sort of large multi-story building.

They decide to scout this base. Not having met any security system, they penetrate into it and find a certain space with an illusion.

Large open space, meadows, flowers, trees. And the complete absence of signs of life. After wandering there for a while, Keith hears a girl washing clothes near the water.

That is, he didn’t find anything or anyone else. Only her. Moreover, if he managed to find her so quickly, then the space around wasn’t so big.

It means that:

a) Keith and Krolia found Romelle fast enough, which indicates the size of this base because they could go in any direction;

b) the only thing Keith heard was Romelle washing clothes in a stream. They found no other signs of the presence of intelligent creatures.

And by the way, an interesting point: in Romelle's story, a huge - simply gigantic - statue of Lotor is mentioned, and we know that it really exists, since Honerva talks with the Alteans near this statue. Keith and Krolia weren't far from the settlement, but when they went out into an open area - a meadow - they didn't see a huge statue that should rise above the houses and trees. Wherever this statue stands, but certainly not where Keith and Krolia arrived.

The remaining events are retold from the words of Romelle.

She says that she lived in a peaceful colony with her parents and brother, then only with her brother, and she never left her peaceful settlement before meeting with the Blades.

She claims that all her life she lived at this base. And that a bunch of Alteans live here too.

I remind you: when Keith and Krolia entered this base, on the scale of the whole settlement it turns out that they found Romelle almost immediately, and there were no other signs of life here except Romelle herself. Not even the security system. It’s an absolutely empty base.

Excuse me, where are the inhabitants of the rest of the colony? Even in a remote village, even in the middle of the night, some kind of movement takes place. And they appeared in the daytime, when it’s usually the height of work. Where are the millions mentioned by Lotor and seen by us in S8?

Instead of a whole colony, we meet only one girl who, in the midst of high technology, washes clothes in a stream. Apparently, on this base there is anything but a washing machine.

That is, from this moment on, Romelle begins to lie. Because she was alone at the base where Keith and Krolia arrived.

Let’s continue.

When the brother flies away, he leaves her a communicator. And at some point, this device gave a signal and led Romelle to the fallen ship.

That is, the ship flew in, broke through the ceiling of the base, fell down, and nobody noticed it. Only Romelle.

Have the inhabitants of the colony sharply developed selective deafness? Can you imagine what a rumble was supposed to come from a ship that broke through a thick ceiling?

And you know, I have big questions about how such a small ship managed to break through the dome and not turn into a metal pancake.

When Romelle looked inside the ship, she saw her emaciated dying brother. That is, it’s assumed that he piloted this ship.

And at the same time, she tells the Blades that none of the inhabitants of the colony knew how to use these ships.

“None of the Alteans in the colony would know how to fly one, even if we desired to”

Further, according to Keith’s story, they flew to the satellite, found a base there without any security system and half-dead Alteans in capsules.

And what do we have here?

That exhausted Bandor:

— got out of the capsule;

— crawled from the capsule to the hangar;

— managed to open the hangar;

— having no piloting skills, he managed to raise a ship into the air (which, of course, is easier to steal from a secret base than a car from a parking lot) and flew away on it;

— managed to direct the ship exactly to the place where Romelle lived;

— and all this in the presence of Lotor, who at that moment was at this base and rushed in pursuit.

You know… for me, it looks like sheer nonsense. Was there a door open button in the capsule? Or did the dying Bandor turn out to be stronger than the other hundreds of dying Alteans and managed to break through the glass and get out? And I won’t even talk about the hangar, which opens as easily as a window leaf.

This sad story caused even more sad WTF. It’s sad because of the stupidity of grateful listeners. Who were so expecting some meanness from Lotor that they’re ready to believe even such nonsense.

And after her tearful tale with pure innocent eyes full of sadness, the first thing that Romelle demands is to shoot all the cannons at the ship with Lotor.

“What are you waiting for? Open the fire!”

«I told you such a sad story here, I blinked sweetly with my eyes! Are you still waiting for something? Shoot, now!»

And that… gives us an interesting contrast, which we’ll meet further in the series. This is the contrast between what Romelle tries to portray to the public and what she does when she doesn’t control herself, or when she isn’t paid attention.

When she communicates with the paladins, she constantly portrays a cute little fool.

“..and now you’re simply moving on?”

But as soon as she forgets about holding onto her face, something amusing begins. 

“Great!”

“What are you waiting? Shoot him!”

Where are you, dear innocent girl Romelle? Why is there a fighter who rejoices in the battle, and then calmly knocks the hatch and throws the enemy off the ship to certain death?

Sorry, but a country girl from a peaceful colony won’t behave like that in a combat situation. Just remember how Hunk, who studied at the Garrison, behaved in the first season.

A resident of a peaceful settlement in this situation will either sit in a corner and whine, or run in circles and yell «Aaah, we gonna diiie!».

And by the way, this frame also raised questions for me:

“Some of these ships are likely to belong to Lotor’s fleet”

Beauty, tell me one thing: you have lived all your life inside the base and you have never seen the ships, except for several Altean ones. How do you know what Lotor’s fleet looks like?

Interesting question, right?

New episode. Visiting a druid.

Once visiting «the survived Blade», Romelle doesn’t behave well-mannered.

“This place is disgusting” 

 But it’s not that. The fact is, that having caught herself she begins to lie openly, instead of just apologizing and saying that she didn’t want to offend him.

“Oh, well, “disgusting” is Altean for “lovely”” 

 Even taking into account the fact that she plays the fool, we get… lies as a lifestyle?

You see, for an ordinary person who’s used to telling the truth, a certain moral strain is required for a lie. It’s hard to lie without experience.

For Romelle, lying is as natural as breathing.

The next scene is also wonderful. When Kolivan says that they found absolutely nothing other than an empty base by Keith’s coordinates. Look at the reaction of Romelle.

The complete lack of surprise.

And really, why should she be surprised? The base was empty, wasn’t it?

In the next episodes of S7 Romelle is virtually absent. It’s important to remember, and it’s absolutely reasonable. She simply follows Coran and does nothing, since she’s a civilian.

But then Launch Date (S8 Ep1) comes.

Romelle, along with Allura, looks at Luca. And immediately says a lot of interesting things.

She knew Luca. They didn’t get along, but she respected her for inner strength and a desire to be a part of something greater than herself.

“…and a desire to be a part of something greater than herself”

And yes, this is a very remarkable moment.

Millions lived in the colony of Lotor. And among these millions, Rommelle is incredibly «lucky» to have an acquaintance who turned out to be a pilot of the white mecha.

What an amazing coincidence.

And the way she told information about Luca… would you like me to translate Romelle’s words to what she actually meant while talking to Allura?

—  You know, back on the colony, Luca and I didn’t always get along: Luca doesn’t like me, so you shouldn’t be surprised to it;

— But despite that, I always respected Luca: but I still treat her well, I’m a good girl and you can trust me;

— She had <…> a desire to be a part of something greater than herself: she’s a fanatic, so don’t believe her words.

And Allura understood exactly what Romelle wanted to say.

“If she was so desperate for something to believe in…”

“… it may have made her susceptible to being manipulated”

I’ll skip the scene where Romelle’s insisting on a date, but I’ll keep it in your thoughts. Romelle knows that Allura awaits Luca’s awakening with awe, and Romelle must wait for this too – logically, she should be worried about the fate of her people (remembering S7 – not a bit).

But the date, of course, is more important. Romelle literally begs Allura to agree, declaring her concern. By the way, after that episode Romelle never shows a desire to support Allura during the difficult period of her life.

Then the girls go looking for a dress for Allura, where Romelle demonstrates a picturesque lack of taste, which doesn’t at all coюmbine with her own, quite ordinary Altean clothing.

The next scene is with Luca. Romelle’s fawning, asking her where everyone is. But why should she fawn in front of a person with whom she, in her own words, is not in very good relations?

” I’m so glad to see you’re alright, Luca.”

And then she’s quite sincerely surprised that Luca knows about her act. Romelle didn’t take into account the variable represented by Honerva.

“What?”

There’s no Romelle in the next episode, but I just insert a frame with that bunch of Alteans who, as it’s said, lived freely at that base. And with whom Keith and Krolia managed not to meet.

“Today, the light of the universe shines inside our most brave”

The next significant appearance of Romelle occurs only in Day 47 (S8Ep7). Allura took her to communicate with pilots of white mechas, rescued by members of the Coalition.

So, we have six pilots of white mechas who refuse to make contact.

Romell persuades a pilot named Tavo to take the side of the Coalition, to which the man – absolutely calmly, emotionlessly and judiciously – responds that Romelle can go to hell.

“You and I grew up alongside one another”

“We were said that you’re a traitor, and I can see now that it is true”

Moreover, Romelle says that they grew up together and Tavo doesn’t deny it.

And then the fun begins. Interview with Romelle.

She says she knew all six pilots.

“Yes, I lived alongside them for many deca-phoebs”

But not even this is the most entertaining.

When she’s asked why the Alteans took up arms against the paladins, Romelle with sincere misunderstanding declares that she doesn’t know. Although it seems that Luca directly told her that the main reason was the killing of Lotor.

And even more. She says that humans should be sympathetic, because the Alteans were haunted nearly to extinction. That they’re afraid.

“But you must understand: my people were haunted nearly to extinction”

And you know, this is ridiculous. Because modern Alteans could learn about the persecution and extermination only from history books and educational films.

«Children, read about how St. Lotor saved the Altean people and write an essay on this topic.»

Thousands of years have passed since the establishment of the colony. Not a single Altean lives as much under ordinary conditions. The generation of those who survived the persecution has died. Moreover, many generations gave birth to so many Alteans that there are now millions of them. And they lived in full board at Lotor’s paradise. Full, dressed. Better than the rest of the universe.

Alteans aren’t scared. They’re in righteous rage.

All that Romelle says is sheer lies. And she just amazingly depicts emotions.

And by the way, about the pilots: there are millions of inhabitants in the colony. Why is Romelle familiar with those Alteans who were put in white mechas? Don’t you think that seven different Alteans are somehow too much, taking into account Romelle’s statement that the Alteans don’t have any defense forces and that they don’t know how to pilot ships?

How many questions… who would answer me?

I don’t see the point of further commenting on the series. For one simple reason: after Clear Day episode (S8Ep8), there is NO ONE normal animation with Romelle in the series. There are no full-fledged replicas, only static pictures. Sometimes moving static pictures. The animators tried to create the presence of Romelle where she initially wasn’t. She turned into a literal cardboard.

And I can say why.

In Clear Day, a conversation between Lotor and Allura was to take place. And it seems that this conversation had unpleasant consequences for Romelle.

Now a little bit of my conclusions.

I can’t imagine why Lotor built this empty base with all the amenities which Romelle occupied – but I can explain why the Blades didn’t find anything.

They didn’t find anything, because Lotor protected his objects from external search and they couldn’t be found so simply. Keith and Krolia were able to find the base with Romelle because Romelle made sure that they had this signal.

Therefore, no one discovered a real second colony on a neighboring green planet. After all, it remained protected.

And Romelle knew all the pilots… because they were her colleagues. Lotor had defense forces, and Romelle served in these forces – along with Tova, Luca and the rest. Romelle was a trained fighter and pilot.

What happened to Bandor is unknown, but Rommelle herself stole her brother from the capsule and took him aboard. Perhaps out of good intentions, but in the result he died in her arms. Because, most likely, it was strictly forbidden to remove Bandor from the capsule. Remember that all Alteans in capsules were still alive.

And I think that she planned to bring her brother to this empty base. The base was fully active, but abandoned. Perhaps the base was simply mothballed as unnecessary, and Romelle turned it on again. That is, the flight with a landing was real – Romelle ran away from Lotor, and then hid in the midst of an illusion. Lotor obviously had no desire to run and look for her in the illusory forest (and he could just turn it off – the base was empty!) And simply left, ordering the laboratory robots (not combat ones!) to repair the base.

Ultimately, Romelle got angry at Lotor, blamed him for everything and decided to take revenge by any means. Ruthlessly and calmly. And the paladins became pawns in her skillful hands.

You know, there’s such a series, She-Ra. And those who watched both She-Ra and Voltron are very fond of finding similar characters: Lotor, Shiro, Allura, Haggar, Zonerva-like ship…

Romelle also has her own analogy.

Double Trouble. Oh, yes.

Flutterina (Double Trouble) and Romelle. Find ten differences.

I like Zarkon with all his madness. And I like Haggar.

I love villains with principles. But I don’t like unscrupulous bastards at all, no matter how charismatic they are. It makes no difference to me how cool Double Trouble is, I just dream of Shadow Weaver dipping their face in a puddle.

And it’s unfortunate that in the series that we received, the main character Allura died tragically, and the unprincipled bastard Romelle won and remained unscathed.

[morris-magus-merry-miller]

Chapter 2: Goddess in the Glade

Our band of valiant adventurers set out that very same day on the road to Port Town. As we traveled, Candy and I compared notes, for it happened we had something in common—a love of the culinary arts. She traveled the land with a rickshaw, set up with implements for cooking, baking, and keeping her finished products heated or cooled. It’s quite the astounding set up, one I would love to copy if not for my small legs. I don’t think Nathaniel would appreciate being asked to lug around such a thing either. So alas it must remain but a dream, however while we venture together she has agreed to let me bake our group treats in the mornings while the others prepare their various morning spell rituals and such and such.

I was originally going to go with a classic—croissants—but then Candy and I discovered that Vigo had never had any sweets before. In his life! Ever! Can you imagine? I certainly cannot, even with my vast and boundless imagination, it boggles the mind! So Candy and I were in agreement that our first order of business had to be introducing Vigo to the many wondrous treats this world had to offer.

I consider myself to have quite the knack for cookies and cakes, while Candy makes quite an astounding pie. Between the two of us, I am certain we will round out Vigo’s experience with the many flavors of baked goods available.

On our second day of travel, John and I stopped for some…necessary relief, let’s say. The two of us made for an area deeper in the woods, to be certain we were out of sight of the road to avoid any embarrassing mishaps.

There we met the most fascinating and beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes upon in my many years of life. The two of us came upon a small woodland glade, a beautiful peaceful place where the sun filtered down through the trees upon a small stream. Before the river, the being was kneeled, drinking. As we accidentally stumbled upon her, she turned to face us.

She was humanoid, in a manner. Her upper body was much like a human woman, although quite a bit taller than most humans—taller, I think, than even Issac. She towered above myself and John. She had long black hair that flowed down her back, framed by two mis-matched horns—one that appeared to be a stag’s, and the other a rhino’s, but upon the side of her forehead like the stag horn. Upon her back were four wings, as mis-matched as her horns. A wasp’s, a butterfly’s, a whippoorwill’s, and a dove’s. Between them all sat a deadly looking scorpion’s tail. Her legs were not humanoid, but were more like that of a satyr. One was a goat’s, and the other a zebra’s.

The strange beauty greeted us, and introduced herself as Elpida. When she extended a hand to shake, it was a lioness’ paw, and her other hand was a hound’s. She was pleased that we were willing to stay and talk, rather than fleeing at her unique visage. For his part, John seemed about ten seconds away from asking her on a date. I was just content that she was willing to let me write this meeting, and even created an illusionary visage of herself standing in place so that I might sketch her—as you will see below.

Elpida was without a doubt the most fascinating creature I have ever laid eyes upon. She told us that each piece of her mis-matched visage was a gift from one of the major gods. The wings, from Calistria, Desna, Pharasma, and Sarenrae. A set of spider arms she could summon on command were from Norgerber. Her eyes, when she leaned forward enough for me to clearly see her features, had irises red and segmented like a fly’s, which were from Urgathoa. Her form was stuck as it was due to Zon’Kuthon, whose gift made it impossible for her to use any polymorph type magics that could change or disguise her striking figure into something less noticeable.

When I asked if she was some kind of goddess herself, she answered no—she was closer to a psychopomp. A rare and unique psychopomp who was not hidden from mortals as such beings normally are, and who had been granted miraculous powers from the various major deities of our world.

I think I can rightly say John and I stumbled upon the rarest of stories today. While we may never see her again, this meeting will be etched into my mind for the rest of my days. And I have written every detail with as much accuracy as I could muster while being quite stunned by this being’s very existence.

Author’s note: suck it, I got a description of a rare and powerful almost never before seen being and a first hand conversation with her, if that isn’t a grand part of a ‘most interesting story ever told’ I don’t know what is!

Note to self: Remove author’s note from final draft and do not taunt the devils you are trying to impress, you idiot.

 Elpida asked what brought us to these travels, and withdrew a tad when we mentioned Dualwood. It turned out she was familiar with the dragonfly man, whose name she revealed was Ulong, and she was aware of what he had done to the town. He had come to her first, once upon a time, asking if it was possible to do. She kept making excuses for him, that he has his reasons for why he’s doing what he did, but also said she found it understandable that we were angry if those John cared about where in that town.

She left us in a hurry, with well wishes and a magical gift—a blessing of her own design that would allow us to ‘strike true’ in a time of dire need. Then as quickly as we’d come face-to-face with the mystical, she was gone, vanished with some teleportation magic or another.

  We met with the others back on the road and told them of what had happened. They’d felt the effects of the blessing as well, so it seemed Elpida had extended it to them as well. None of the adventurers amongst us had seen or heard of such a being before, but we were glad to have stayed on her good side.

Thus we set off on the road once more in high spirits. The next day we were to arrive at Port Town fairly early. However just in time for a quick snack, we came upon a newly opened WcGronalds. We debated whether or not to go in, but upon discovering that Vigo had never had ice cream before Candy and I insisted that we go. After all, we lacked the means to make ice cream ourselves. We may well have missed our only opportunity to introduce Vigo to it, and that would have been a grave and unforgivable tragedy.

It was strangely dark within. When Vigo pushed open the door, four clown ghouls spotted us and rushed for the door, their disturbingly large shoes honking with each step. Vigo—wondrous wizard that he is—didn’t even flinch at the sight. He let loose an inferno that encompassed all of the undead horrors, reducing them to ash without so much as blinking. The mighty goblin stood victorious, and was rewarded for his efforts by the WcGronald’s employees, who had hidden themselves safely within the freezer. Vigo was given all the ice cream he could eat, and they let Candy take the entire ice cream machine so that we might make frozen treats on our travels. An excellent boon for a job well done, if I might say so myself!

 It wasn’t long afterwards that we reached the illustrious and bustling city of Port Town. Here we parted ways with dear Amelia, who said we could always reach her with the Stones of Farspeech if needed.

Vigo, despite his glorious display against both the zombies and the gibbering mouther previously, seemed rather offput by the crowded city streets. He stuck close to us, positively buried in Gordon’s wooly fur.

 Note to self: maybe edit that out if this ever gets published. If Vigo reads it you’re a dead man. You’ve seen his magic. He’ll kill you with fire. And lightning. Fire-lightning.

Note to self 2: Can Vigo read?

 We went looking for an inn to rent some rooms to use as our base of operations as we looked for Ringwald. While we were at it, John parted ways for a time. He said he already had a place and needed to check in. We agreed to let him know which inn we ended up holing up in over the very incredibly useful Stones of Farspeech.

Not long afterwards Vigo pointed us in the direction of a lovely inn he spotted.

 Note to self again: Obviously Vigo can read, he transcribes scrolls all the time, and he must have read the inn’s sign. That was a very rude assumption on my part, although it is true that many goblin tribes believe that writing can steal your soul so it isn’t a completely uncalled for assumption…

 We approached the innkeeper, a lovely woman named Paige Sterling, right as she was kicking out a hooligan who apparently used to have a permanent room, but who had abused his privileges one time too many. Paige offered us his room at a discounted rate to teach the foolish rabble-rouser a lesson. Candy tossed her a platinum rather than a gold, and in exchange the delightful young woman offered to give us all rooms instead of being cramped up in the single room she’d originally offered. Her only catch was that Peanut and Gordon needed to be stabled, as there wasn’t room for a bear and a ram in the inn, but she offered a ticket which she told Vigo and Issac to show the stablehand, which would get them a free stay on the house.

With rooms secured we asked Paige if she’d seen anyone new in town who matched Ringwald’s description. She hadn’t, but she pointed us in the direction of one Captain of the Guard Terrance Gladshire, who may have heard something she had not. I took the initiative and informed Vigo, Issac, and John that we would be departing the inn to speak with the captain, and to meet us there. Yet somehow Candy and I reached the guard’s station at the same time as Vigo and Issac. John did not arrive until later, when we were already speaking with Sir Terrance Gladshire.

Terrance was a young man, whom the guards below him didn’t seem to give quite the respect he deserved. From the word around town, crime was virtually non-existent with Terrance leading, yet those under him treat him much like a child they get a kick out of teasing. It would seem one of his parents was in the position before him, and the older guards knew him when he was younger, so the view of him as the captain’s ankle biter hadn’t quite faded from memory as of yet.

 Regardless, we met with the captain, who told us that Cleric Ringwald had been in their custody until recently. She had come seeking sanctuary, believing she would be safe under the guard’s watch. They’d reluctantly agreed to lock her up—from the look of it the jail cells weren’t getting much use anyways. However the next morning she had vanished, with only a note left behind, indicating she had been taken to the Unbound Hollow, a series of caverns that used to be a tourist attraction until a tribe of Duergar moved in and people began disappearing in the area. Terrance felt there was reason to believe the Duergar were responsible for kidnapping Ringwald, as well as a number of his men. We knew what we had to do—the future of Dual Wood depended upon us finding Ringwald after all. Captain Gladshire offered us compensation should we be able to rescue his men while we were seeking the cleric, to which my companions heartily agreed.

 And so we set out, to the caverns a short walk from town. Before us loomed the dread Unbound Hollow. The mighty adventurers readied themselves to enter the cavern, with certainty in our hearts that we would find and rescue the captive cleric, and return the world to its rightful order. And with that, we stepped into the cavern.

 ...

 ...

And immediately fell through a trap waiting for us within the entrance.

[otheroutlandertales]

Anonymous said: Modern day au where Fergus and Marsali are members of opposing biker gangs.

This is the last chapter of this story. Catch up here on Part One and Part Two.

Sadly, it is also my last regular publication on this blog. I have written a longer post elaborating on that on my personal blog, but I want to take a quick moment to say thank you on here as well - trust me to go out with a bang (although, which is unusual, in this instance I say that without innuendo)!

The Borders Between Us

by @wunderlichkind

Three

She’s never been comfortable in hospitals. The harsh lighting and sterile smell, the hushed noises – all of it reminds her of too many motorcycle accidents, too many visits after gang fights, too many of Laoghaire’s diagnostic appointments. Marsali squirms in the uncomfortable chair, staring at her own reflection in the small room’s window, unable to see the dark parking lot beyond it. A ghost stares back – someone she has to work to recognize as herself. Her hair is unruly, her eyes are ringed with dark circles, her expression somber, haunted almost. She hasn’t slept in nearly two days, hasn’t been well-rested ever since she left Fergus’ apartment.

Laoghaire stirs in the bed and Marsali jumps in her seat, but her mother doesn’t wake and she takes a deep breath. Her eyes are still scanning Laoghaire’s body, taking inventory of her broken wrist, her bruised cheek, the tear at her hairline, the swollen left knee – something she’s been doing several times every day since the fall down the stairs, something she can’t seem to shake.

„Miss Fraser, have you thought about exploring other options for your mother? It might be time to find a nursing home for her, for both your sakes,“ the hospital’s social worker told her the day before, her stuffy office filled with the sound of a ticking clock. Marsali only nodded and accepted the bunch of brochures, eager to escape the too small space, the implications of considering such a solution. The words haven’t left her, though, and neither has the feeling of uneasiness.

She sighs and stands, resolving to channel her inner unrest into movement, to temporarily fill the icy hole in her chest with coffee. She takes the long way down to the cafeteria, which is closed at this hour of the day, but has a coin-operated coffee machine much better than any of the hallway vending machines on this floor. She stares at the white walls, the bland hospital art, the petrol green room number signs. She counts the steps as she descends the stairs, but it does nothing to calm her. The strain on her nerves is almost unbearable. Marsali is sure that any minute now she’s going to snap when she rounds the corner opposite the hospital entrance and almost collides with Dr. Taylor.

„Oh, Miss Fraser, you’re still here? Shouldn’t you get some rest?“

Marsali manages a wry smile. „I could ask ye the same thing, Dr. Taylor.“

The doctor laughs, a genuine, friendly laugh that shows her white teeth and the dimples in her dark cheeks. „I’m on my way out, actually. I’m glad I bumped into you before leaving, though. I’ve been meaning to tell you that we’ll have your test results ready by tomorrow and I’d like to see you in my office, say 10 am?“

She waits for the string of her nerves to snap, waits for the impact of the doctor’s kind words to hit, but instead of the violent crash she’s expecting, there’s only a feeling of surreality. For a second, Marsali has the impression that she’s watching herself from a distance, eerily indifferent to her own numbness, her own shock. She has to force herself to nod, to mumble her assent.

Dr. Taylor is already walking away, but she turns again after just a few steps, finding Marsali still rooted to the spot.

„How’s your mother?“ she asks, and there’s real sympathy in her voice, a hint of worry in her dark brown eyes.

„She’s... not great,“ Marsali answers honestly, her voice cracking a little on the last word. Dr. Taylor nods.

„You get some rest, okay? And I’ll see you tomorrow,“ she says and it sounds like an order and a reassurance at the same time, like something her father might say to her. It makes Marsali smile despite herself.

„Aye, I’ll see ye tomorrow.“

The fight with Fergus. Laoghaire’s fall. The possibility of having to place her in a home. Her own test results. Marsali’s mind is a battleground, a tangle of fear and pain and nerves, a virtual hell. It’s why it seems almost cruel, an unlikely twist of fate, when the moment after the door has fallen closed behind Dr. Taylor, it opens again and the quiet of the nightly hospital is broken by loud shouts for help.

Her body reacts before her mind is able to register the whole picture, and she takes in details while already moving; their jackets, identifying them as Hell’s Angels, the strained muscles in their shoulders, evidence of their struggle to hold up the slim figure in their middle. The blood on his face. The pain in his eyes.

She reaches him just when they set him down on a chair, one of them gesturing wildly at the woman behind the welcome desk.

„Marsali?“ he says and it’s a question, his voice quiet, disbelieving.

Her own voice is everything she would have expected it to be in her conversation with Dr. Taylor. There’s despair, terror. There are tears.

„Fergus. What happened?“

___________________________________________________________________

It seems all hospital offices are too small for comfort. Dr. Taylor closes the door behind Marsali and gestures for her to sit, moving to open the small window as if she can sense Marsali feels trapped. A cold breeze wafts in and Marsali is grateful for it; a reminder that the world keeps turning, that the seasons are progressing.

„Before I let you know the results of your blood tests, I want to go over the facts with you one more time,“ Dr. Taylor says as she sits down behind her desk, her calm gaze focused on Marsali, who just nods.

„You’ve decided to have your blood tested because your mother has early onset dementia, which can be hereditary. However, the results of this test will not conclusively tell you if you’ll suffer from the same disease.“

Marsali nods again. She knows all this, she’s had a lot of time to get informed.

„The test identifies certain genetic markers. People with mutations in certain genes are statistically more likely to develop early-onset dementia. We know your mother has tested positive for one of the markers,“ Dr. Taylor pauses and sorts through the papers on her desk.

Marsali grits her teeth together, balls her hands so tightly she feels her nails cutting into the flesh of her palms. She holds her breath. She’s aware that no matter the results of the test, she could always develop the disease. She’s aware how little reassurance a negative result really holds. But she wants it, needs it. She needs to know that she can live her life without the sword of high risk hanging over her neck.

„Miss Fraser.“

Marsali hasn’t realized she closed her eyes until she opens them to meet Dr. Taylor’s smiling gaze.

„You do not have any of the mutations, you tested negative for all the genetic markers.“

And Marsali breathes. She breathes in the cold air wafting through the still open window and Dr. Taylor reminds her again, that the test results provide only an indication of what may or may not happen. And Fergus is lying in a hospital bed, bruised and battered, two floors up, because he deliberately got into a fight with some of her father’s men. And Laoghaire is lying in a hospital bed, bruised and battered, three floors up, because she fell down the stairs to the basement when Marsali hadn’t locked the basement door. And the hospital’s social worker is looking through nursing home brochures with her father five doors down.

But Marsali breathes, and for the first time in days, she feels like the air is reaching her lungs. She feels like there’s a tiny sliver of hope. And where that tiny sliver grows, a plan slowly starts to take shape.

___________________________________________________________________

It’s raining when the procession of bikes reaches the cemetery, the roaring of motors drowning out the splatter of water against stone for just a moment before the bikes stand as still as their riders.

Black is their everyday color, and only their somber expressions hint at the special occasion. The pastor has held gang funerals before, but never one like this, he realizes with worry, when he stares at the mix of Mongols and Angel signs on the jackets of the assembled. They’ve come together, and it seems they’ve come in peace. He hadn’t really believed in it until now.

„Hatred stirs up conflict, but love covers over all wrongs. Proverbs 10:12.“ The pastor’s voice raises over the cries of heaven as the heads of the assembled men and women rise at his words.

„We lay to rest your children,“ he continues, „who, despite their youth, knew the truth of God’s word in their hearts. Marsali Fraser and Fergus St. Germain have loved deeply. Their love crossed borders, and stood safe in the middle of a stormy sea of conflict that finally consumed them. Let us remember that love and let us honor it by calming the conflict between us.“

Jamie Fraser is a wall of stone, a picture of hard edges. Claire softly squeezes Jamie’s hand, her face hidden in his shoulder, and after a moment of hesitation he squeezes back.

„Marsali and Fergus’ love has endured great conflict. It is now, on this day, reason and incentive for us to come together as they have, to cross borders as they did. May you be united in love and grief for your children as they have been united in love for each other.“

Nobody moves when the pastor ends his speech. The rain is too loud in the silence of their shared grief, too warm on their icy skin. It’s a day to be marked – the day they buried Marsali and Fergus, the day they’ve let a semblance of peace enter their hearts.

Jamie and Claire are the last to leave the cemetery. Jamie’s phone rings just when he sits down on the bike’s saddle and he shuts off the motor again before picking it up.

„How did it go?“ she asks and he thinks he must imagine the tinny quality to her voice – modern technology doesn’t bother with distance as much as the heart does, after all.

„All according to plan, a leannan,“ he assures her, and Claire smiles at him. „Ye’re safe?“

„Aye, Da, we’re safe.“ She sounds full of wonder, as if stunned this crazy plan of hers has worked, has somehow spit them out safe and sound on the other side of the border.

„Yer Ma?“

„They say she’s adjusting well. We’re going back to visit her on Sunday. I have a good feeling about this, Da.“

It takes him a moment to answer her, emotions warring in his chest. The pastor was right, he decides for himself. There have been too many wrongs in this story, too many obstacles in his daughter’s path. But however winded the way, however dramatic and unusual the means, love covers all the wrongs.

„Me too, Marsali. Me too.“

[jswdmb1]

Jesus Just Left Chicago

“You might not see him in person

But he'll see you just the same...

You don't have to worry 

cause takin' care of business is his name”

- ZZ Top

Like most people, I avoid the topic of religion.  Not because I am uncomfortable discussing it, but because most everyone else is.  I also don’t do it because getting into a conversation about religion has virtually no payoff.  Most folks are set in their beliefs, and that’s fine by me so why waste the time and aggravation going through my beliefs when the other person doesn’t care.  The only problem with this approach is that not everyone feels the same.  Some like to share their beliefs and I have been provoked into discussions when I don’t agree.  What my stance is on the topic, I’ll share in a minute, but I want to first share why I am bringing it up in the first place.  It has to do with another taboo topic, death, which I have been grappling with a bit lately and the events of the weekend caused even deeper reflection on the subject.  

Even though it has been a couple of years, I think my subconscious is still processing the deaths of my dad and mother-in-law.  Before I go any further, if my essay to this point has made you uncomfortable, my ramblings on death aren’t going to make it any better, so you may want to stop here.  Anyway, while I have accepted the loss of them both in many ways, the part I have not been able to get over is their actual act of dying.  I think that aspect hit me particularly hard because I was present for the removal of their bodies after they died.  I wasn’t actually with either when they expired, which I think made it worse.  I think at least in that instance you can witness their passing and gain closure to the extent it can be achieved.  Simply seeing a dead body does not provide such closure.  If you have never been in this position (and I hope you never are), it’s hard to explain what it feels like, but it’s not like an open casket wake because you just see the person in their natural state and it’s harder to take that way.  Worse, is that the image sears into your brain and becomes your everlasting memory of that person.This is pretty deep stuff, and I chose to often make the thoughts go away with a stiff drink (or two, or three) and defer the wrangling with my emotions.  Once I went sober, I began to work on the issue, but it is too big to handle and I would still push it away.  Problem is that it keeps creeping back and the last couple weeks have been a particularly bad stretch.  

Within one month the birthdays of both will have passed along with my parents’ 50th anniversary sandwiched in between.  It got me back to thinking about them both more and more, but unfortunately it kept coming back to those last images I had of each.  Finally, last week, I really started letting my mind go where it needed to go.  Without going into details, I spent a lot time reflecting on their deaths and the aftermath I witnessed and did it by reading how others I am familiar with have died. There is a particularly macabre and wickedly fascinating website called findadeath.com that goes into the details of the deaths of celebrities.   While I agree that this is a weird and creepy way to spend some time, seeing that famous people end the same way as the rest of us made me somehow feel a little better about what I saw with those close to me. As a matter fact, compared to the horrible deaths of many celebrities (side note: if I ever get famous I won’t go near a bathtub ever again), we were fortunate that our loved ones died peacefully.  This really hit home with the tragedies in El Paso and Dayton this weekend. I can only imagine how difficult those scenes had to be for those that were there on the scene and in the aftermath.

How this all connects, I promise I will do soon, but I should probably mention at this point that I do not believe in organized religion of any kind.  I was raised Catholic, but nothing about that religion is congruent with my actual views on life, so I spent most of my adult years drifting away until I just quit all together.  When people hear that, they automatically assume that I am an atheist.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  I most certainly believe that a spirit guides this vast universe.  I  just don’t agree that we are necessarily that important in the grand scheme of things. The universe was here a long time before we came along and it will be here long after we are gone.  To assume that the human race is key to the whole thing seems foolish to me.  That doesn’t mean that I don’t believe the spirit intervenes once in a while.  At a minimum, I believe that certain individuals have been inspired to make a difference.  People like Buddha, Mohammad, and Gandhi in the east, or Abraham Lincoln and Dr. Martin Luther King in the west.  Obviously, Jesus fits the bill better than anyone.  

Clearly, Jesus was a man of compassion and did his best to show others the way, but I think it’s fair to say his message wasn’t too popular at the time.  Often, I think (as many do) about how he would react to the issues of modern day man.  Specifically, I wonder how he would feel about the subject of guns and how they are used by us to kill one another. I think it would be an interesting sermon, don’t you think?  If he were here, right now, and saw what happened this weekend, is there any way he wouldn’t immediately condemn the main vehicle for this death and destruction which are guns?  And as bad as those two events are, it is nothing compared to the senseless gun violence that happens in cities like Chicago every day.  I just cannot imagine any other reaction by him than utter disgust that we would not just allow such weapons to exist, but encourage their production and use.  

And what would he think of those who lead us that neither condemn the use of such weapons to inflict mass suffering or even seem terribly bothered by it?  And don’t you think he would have a bit of a problem with the organized religions that fully endorse these same candidates turning a blind eye to their support of guns (along with a host of other mean-spirited planks on their platform).  My guess is that he would go back to the temple and throw those money-changing tables over again because the whole thing is sick.  It certainly made me sick to hear the news of this weekend’s events when I have been doing everything I can to understand death in the first place.  Now we have people willingly seeking death out in the most violent way possible and basically getting a free pass to do it by supporters of guns.  It’s disturbing on every level.

I promised that I would connect all of this, and I think I may have failed. These are massively deep subjects and tying them all together is an impossible task.  Worse, I am not entirely sure that finally confronting my experiences and feelings about death has done any good.  Maybe it is something we simply are not supposed to understand. For now, I’ll try to put it back on the shelf and take it down another time when maybe I am readier for it. What I can’t ignore is the senselessness of guns in this country and the callous support of them by the Republican party (let’s just call them out here, don’t know why I am avoiding it) and the religious organizations that endorse their candidates (I’m looking at you Catholic Church).  I guess for now we will have to rely on grass-roots support of parties/candidates that agree that guns are a problem and want to something about it.  I will also continue to show my disgust with organized religion, specifically the Catholic Church, by actively renouncing any association I have with them.  It may not make me popular with my family and friends that are still strongly Catholic, but I don’t feel as if I have any other choice.

I’m guessing nothing in this post will make me very popular. Certainly, it is not the feel-good stuff you typically see in social media, but I never promised any of that in this forum.  At a certain point, after seeing such horrors like continued mass shootings, it needs to be acknowledged and I can’t stay quiet anymore.  Politics and religion may be the third rails of our society, but they shouldn’t be off-limits when certain factions are directly responsible for the not just the allowance of death machines but the active promotion that enables their proliferation.  You may not agree with everything I write, but hope we can at least agree that needless deaths should be avoided at all costs.  If so, please at least consider the topic of gun violence and where the candidates and organizations you support stand on the topic.  If you think they are part of the disease and not the cure, then speak up, especially if you are a Republican. Ask why they feel a need to allow these weapons to legally exist and how that position is in any way supporting the public good they have been entrusted with. Also ask your church leaders why they would openly support politicians that facilitate the breaking of the 5th commandment in the worse way possible. Until that pressure is applied, nothing is going to change, and I don’t think we can live with that.  And if you are not sure if you should get involved, ask yourself a popular question that has become a cliche: What would Jesus do?

Peace, Jim

[astrodances]

Early Presents

FF.net link || AO3 link

Well well well, it looks like everyone is posting their presents early for @ducktalessecretsanta2018​, eh? :D Puns aside, I’d like to wish a very, very happy holidays to @epos-da-cookie! ‘Tis I, your secret santa! I may have taken some liberties with your request and combined it with the love of skeletons that I noticed on your blog. I won’t say much more than that, except that this is basically some Webby + triplets fluffy bonding combined with a late-night mystery adventure, mainly from Webby’s POV. Enjoy, my friend!

“SLEEPOVER!”

“Sleepover? Who’s coming over?”

“No one, it’s just gonna be us!”

Three sets of skeptical eyes landed on Webby. The boys had been having a rather peaceful, lazy evening in their shared room when she’d burst in with the announcement.

“Isn’t that...basically what we do every night?” Huey questioned, his finger marking his spot in his Junior Woodchucks' Guidebook while he shrugged his other hand in the air.

"Maybe what you guys do," Webby retorted, before bringing her hand up to motion to herself. "But I'm in my own separate room by the end of the night. So come on! Granny said that as long as we stay away from the Christmas tree and the decorations, we can take over pretty much the entire downstairs!" She clapped her hands twice as if to say, "Get to it!" then raced out of view from the doorway.

There was silence as the triplets looked at each other from across the room–Huey from where he'd been reading on his bed to Louie, who'd been skimming over the Ottoman Empire website at their desk, to Dewey, who'd been hunched over a pile of paper all day with a set of markers working on who-knows-what. After a second, they all shrugged one-by-one, signifying their willingness to join in on Webby's fun. It's not like they were going to do anything else that night.

Within minutes, the three of them were standing in the entryway to the living room downstairs, their jaws dropped and their willingness transformed into something way beyond eagerness. A buffet table of snacks and sodas lined the far wall besides an old-fashioned popcorn machine, and at least three stacks of movies and video games rested in between the four bean bags that had mysteriously replaced the couch. There was some epic music seemingly pouring into every downstairs room, and nestled on top of each bean bag was a new 7800-series dart blaster–the latest and greatest in the line.

"Merry early Christmas!" Webby proclaimed as she squeezed in between the boys, wrapping her arms as far as she could around their shoulders.

"Webby, what is all this?" Dewey asked in as much awe as he could manage, as his face was squished against Louie's from Webby's sudden hug.

"An early Christmas present from Granny and me!" With a final squeeze, she let them go and walked forward into the room, raising her arms as she spun about. "Since Uncle Scrooge is out at some holiday party tonight, and you guys didn't have any plans tonight anyway, Granny helped me put together the ultimate sleepover so we could test these bad boys out," she explained, patting her own dart blaster.

The triplets ran excitedly into the room, and together the four of them opened up their dart blasters. Webby was the first to finish setting hers up, her hands swiftly loading each dart with the grace of a seasoned expert. As she turned around to start explaining the details of the evening, her blaster cradled in a carrying position, she was surprised to have the air knocked out of her as Huey, Dewey, and Louie tackled her into a group hug, all four of them landing on her bean bag from the momentum.

"Thank you, Webby," Dewey said, with Huey and Louie echoing his sentiment.

After the initial shock wore off, Webby returned the hug with an internal squeal of glee. This moment alone made the past week of planning and secret-keeping worth it, and she savored each second of it.

As they all stood back up and grabbed their blasters, Louie asked, "So, what's the plan?"

Webby tilted her head forward, a sinister grin winding its way onto her face. "The plan, dear Louie, is to survive." She would've chuckled at the way Louie's face drained of color, had she not been trying to keep up her serious demeanor. "The stakes? Last duck standing gets to choose the first movie we watch and the first video game we play. The rules? Only to stay away from Uncle Scrooge's rooms and the Christmas decorations. Otherwise, everything inside and outside on the first floor is fair game. No teams, and no safe zones."

Before any of them could protest the lack of safe zones, she continued. "You have until the end of the next song to establish a base camp as your starting point. After that, it's–" Here, she cocked her blaster for dramatic effect. "–game on. GO!"

She sprinted out of the living room, Louie and Dewey hot on her tail while Huey went in the other direction. Louie split off in his own direction after the foyer, and Dewey in his after the first hallway.

Webby already knew where her base camp was going to be; she'd had it scouted out for three days now. Deep in the depths of Scrooge's Wing of Secr-garage was a particular configuration of old storage boxes that, to her surprise, had a pocket of space between them, creating a natural fort that was easy enough for her to flip into, but virtually undetectable to the passing eye from the outside. Base camps were not immune to open fire, but with this location, she had nothing to fear in regards to that.

After checking her base over, Webby paced outside it, waiting for the song thumping through the speakers to end before she raced off, eager to put distance between herself and her base before anyone could find her near it. And eager to find her first victim.

Aside from the extra adrenaline rush, that was one thing to be said about the music: it gave everyone an equal tactical advantage. No one could hear each other coming, unless they made a loud noise. It heightened the senses. It heightened the element of surprise.

Still, Webby moved as deftly as possible throughout the mansion, her feet lighter than feathers as she peeked out from corners before somersaulting behind furniture. She made it all the way back to the hallway outside the foyer before she caught any movement: a flash of green hoodie heading for the back door.

"Oh no you don't," she whispered to herself.

In one quick motion, she leapt out from her hiding spot behind an end table and shot Louie with two darts, one to each shoulder blade. He stumbled to the ground out of surprise, and Webby quickly picked up her darts before leaping over him, reaching the back door first. But before she could open the door, a single dart flew past her face and stuck to the glass pane. She barely saw Dewey's reflection in it as she yanked the door open and bounded down the steps to the backyard.

The moon was full and bright up above, providing ample lighting to see, but not necessarily be seen. It made the light dusting of snow on the ground look ethereal, like a true winter wonderland. The three ducks made their way outside and ran about without a care in the world, with Huey soon joining them once he realized where they were. They were all still in it to win it as they ducked behind trees and dodged darts with leaps behind shrubbery, but the cold air added a sense of wonder and joy to the game, a sense that left them laughing and taunting each other between shots.

They were the Duck family, and the night was theirs.

Until Huey tripped inexplicably, that is.

His sharp cry of pain led Webby to believe that one of his brothers had gotten in a really good shot, but when she reached the row of bushes he was hidden behind to assess the situation (and possibly gain a few more points), she saw no one but him, and no stray darts either. Only Huey wincing as he rubbed his leg, and the end of a bone sticking out of the ground.

All thoughts of the game immediately abandoned, Webby immediately knelt down beside Huey and called out for Dewey and Louie to join them. The other two rounded into view with blasters blazing, but Webby simply batted the darts away until they took in the situation.

"Huey! Are you okay?" Dewey asked as he and his brother joined the other two on the ground.

Louie looked between Huey and the bone. "What happened?"

After a moment to gather himself, Huey opened his eyes and nodded towards the bone. "I was just running and...I tripped on that." He moved his hands to reveal a scraped-up knee that was sure to bruise. "I'll be fine, but that is just plain creepy."

Webby left his side to inspect the bone. The end was big and knobby, and the rest of it seemed to extend far into the ground. A femur, if she were to guess at first glance. She knelt down and dug away at the dirt surrounding it, then, with some wiggling and prying, she pulled it clean from the ground. Yep, it was a femur alright.

"Guys, look!" she exclaimed as she turned back to the boys with the bone resting in her palms. Louie immediately flinched back, appalled by the sudden presence of an unearthed limb in his face.

"What the quack was that doing there?" Dewey questioned as he helped Huey sit up straighter.

Webby turned the bone over in her hands. "I don't know, but look: the part that was underground is covered in a pretty thick layer of dried mud. It must've been there for years. Maybe even decades."

"Uh...maybe we should show this to Mrs. Beakley?" Louie suggested.

"Uh-uh, we need to investigate this. Look!" She pointed towards the ground a few feet away from them. "Footprints."

Indeed, there beneath the light layer of snow that had gathered were a set of footprints, hardened by time and an average, unassuming size. They trailed towards the bone's resting place from who knew where on Scrooge's estate.

Webby slid a sly smile towards the triplets. "Boys, I believe our plans for the evening just changed."

"Aw, but I was winning the game!" Dewey lamented, his chin dropping to his chest in begrudging forfeit as the other three rolled their eyes at him.

After Huey insisted that he would be okay long enough for a quick adventure, the group got up and began backtracking the prints. They traveled further and further into the woods behind McDuck Manor, traversing slopes and tree trunks alike. They had all brought their dart blasters along, just in case, with Webby carrying hers in one hand and the femur in the other.

Eventually, the tracks led them to a thicket of bushes near the corner of the property line, with two trees towering in front like sentinels. The branches of the bushes looked quite old and worn out, with no foliage to be seen anywhere. It was as if Scrooge's groundskeeper hadn't touched this area in ages.

The tracks disappeared beneath the wood, and Webby crept forward to poke away at some of the branches with the bone to see where they led. To the group's surprise, they found a wooden cellar door. Its handles were weathered with rust and a splintered hole had been punched through the center of it.

"Riiiight, so...get Beakley now?" Louie insisted again, looking hopefully between his siblings, only to be disappointed when they shushed him and kept moving forward to enter the cellar. "Ugh, fine. But I so get to choose the first movie then when we get back."

"No, you don't," Dewey answered without missing a beat, leaving Louie to groan in protest.

One of the new features that made the 7800 blasters so brilliant was the addition of a 2-mode targeting light–one normal light mode, one night-vision mode. The four of them each turned on the normal light on their blaster once they realized there was absolutely no light in the cellar aside from the moonlight pouring in from above.

What the light revealed left chills running down their spines.

The cellar looked like a cross between a medieval dungeon and a vampire's lair. The walls were made of stone and a small hallway followed from the bottom of the stairs, with two heavy wooden doors lining the walls on either side, and a single door at the very end of the hallway. Aside from an old table with a cabinet on top of it next to the stairs, there was nothing but cobwebs and doors.

"This place looks like it was built before Scrooge got here," Huey observed, swiping a finger across the layer of dust on the table.

"All it's missing are the torches," Louie joked.

Webby ignored them both. Something felt off about this place, aside from the obvious. Surely she would've stumbled across it herself in all the years she had lived here, if not some sort of record of it in the archives. Did Scrooge even know about this place? Did her Granny? Or Duckworth?

"I think we should split up," she declared amid a chorus of "huh?!" and "are you crazy?" from the boys. She turned toward them, shaking her head. "Just for a minute. We'll each take a room along the hallway and see what's in them, and whoever finishes first can start in on the room at the end. We can get out of here quicker that way."

The three of them looked dubiously between each other before nodding one by one in reluctant agreement.

With the plan in place, they each took a door: Webby and Dewey the doors to the immediate left and right of the door at the end, and Huey and Louie the doors closer to the staircase.

Webby's door took some extra pushing to get it to open, but she eventually did, immediately bringing her blaster and the bone up to ward off any sudden danger. Yet a cursory glance around the room revealed nothing of interest. It was small, and almost looked like a storage shed. There was a bench off to one side, and a half-empty wall of tools on the far side. Nothing more than some tools, some rope, some rusty hedge clippers. Maybe this used to be Scrooge's gardener's tool shed in the early days of McDuck Manor, simply abandoned to sands of time?

A scream pierced through Webby's thoughts, and she raced out of the room to find Dewey and Huey looking back frantically at her, before they all turned towards the room at the end of the hall, its door wide open.

"LOUIE!"

The three of them rushed inside the final room, nearly tripping over each other as they waved the lights on their blasters around until they landed on Louie, who was curled up in a catatonic ball next to the door, his face frozen in sheer terror.

"What's wrong?" Huey asked him as he dropped to his side. He got no response, which prompted Webby and Dewey to look around the room with their blasters for the answer.

Webby was the first to find it.

"Uh, guys?"

Dewey gathered by her side and shined his light alongside hers so Huey could see it as well.

There, leaning against the opposite wall with its limbs sprawled out on the ground, was a duck's skeleton. Its entire left leg was missing from the hip down, and Webby gasped in shock as she dropped the femur in her hand with a thud.

The skeleton had a snapped noose hanging loosely around its neck, and it was dressed. Derby hat, brown coat, and red sweater. Cracked spectacles. Faded and decayed, but unmistakable.

No one dared to read the marker above the remains out loud, yet neither source of light could seem to stray away from it:

HERE RESTS SCROOGE MCDUCK 1867 - 1967

"Guys, h-have we been living with...a ghost?"

[atlasuncomfy]

Straying the Beaten Path Ch. 01

Rating: Teen+

Chapter Warnings: Mild, infrequent language

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Summary: For almost fifteen hundred years, Romano Vargas has tried time and time again to prove to the world, and himself, that his existence was not a fluke. And, time and time again, it became increasingly clear that perhaps that is exactly all he is: a product of luck. So, when he gets a call from Germany that the Allies are after Feli, he decides to-once and for all-seize his fate.

He would never admit this aloud, not even if you held him at gunpoint and demanded he do so. But among the many things he missed dearly about living with Spain, the one Romano Vargas longed for the most would be the quiet of the Spanish countryside. Now more than ever, not for the first time, with the drum of machine gun rounds and the moan of fighter planes overhead filling his ears—as well as his trauma-laced nightmares—he wished he could return to the days of his childhood and continue to live in total, uninterrupted silence. Things were simpler then: wake up to the sun warming his chubby face, eat chocolate con churros for breakfast, work in the tomato fields, and so on. (And, when Spain taught him about siestas, a few of those were thrown into the mix, as well.) He learned to value the easy-going lifestyle of the Spanish and doing things at one's own pace.

Thus, the ringing of his phone on this, or any, morning was entirely unwelcome.

Romano groaned, clearly annoyed by the unwanted sound invading an otherwise peaceful slumber. For a moment, confusion reigned as the temptation to slip back into sleep gently coaxed him along. His bleary vision faded in and out of darkness, yet the incessant ringing danced at the edge of his subconscious, only just keeping him away from tantalizing sleep. In a feeble attempt to ignore such noisy intrusion-and so early in the morning! -he pulled the covers over his head. It didn't take long, however, for him to realize this was one war he would not win (and he knew quite a bit about those sorts of losses). Ever reluctantly, Romano Vargas rolled out of bed and began the dreaded quest for silence, dutifully uttering curses along the way. Oh, how sleep loved to tease him, and oh how the caller would pay dearly for interrupting their ritual time alone.

The source of the sound—a clearly aging rotary phone whose darkened hues of gold still reflected every bit of the shine and brilliance of the man who gifted it to him—sat seemingly innocent atop his deep mahogany desk. Strewn about it were various war-laden documents, stressfully scribbled notes, and of course: his beloved photo of a family from long ago. A family that would never again be. He gave pause, regarding the tattered still of memory as he did many a time before, before shaking himself. Clearly, someone needed his attention; these days no one bothered to call unless someone wanted something from him, anyway.

For a moment, Romano considered the other body he shared the meager bedroom with: Feliciano. A glance backward, and he fondly noted his younger brother's sleeping form curled up and burrowed in an impressive mountain of covers. The sound of soft snoring and steady breathing made its way into his ears; all was still calm. He debated taking the call here, as sudden conversation posed a risk to waking the resting man. Although, he knew with absolute certainty that the harsh ringing would eventually wake even Feliciano Vargas, a god among even the heaviest of sleepers. On a whim, Romano's fingers wrapped around the device's familiar neck, and with the choice made he allowed his own croaky voice to join the morning's sounds. "Pronto," he muttered, warily eyeing any sign of stirring from his brother. "What do you want so early in the goddamn morning?"

"That's certainly no way to greet your commanding officer, Herr Vargas," came the sharp reply, coated with an unmistakable, gruff German accent. "Especially after trying my patience and making me wait so long. You would do well to remember holding your tongue, lest you find yourself losing it—do I make myself clear?"

Despite contrary belief, Romano was no fool. He knew full well what Ludwig and his superiors were capable of should he mouth off a step too far from usual. Such came the horrors of war and being forced to align with such monstrosity. Unfortunately for his German associate, who he knew for a fact was chasing after Feliciano, Romano also was no coward. "My apologies, commandante," he allowed, sarcasm lazily dripping from his tongue, though with notably less malice than before. "To what, then, do I owe the pleasure of this phone at such a delightful time of day?" It wasn't lost on the Southern Italian just how important this conversation was. Communication between national bodies during times of war was exceedingly rare, especially unencrypted. There simply was no need; anything of importance that needed to be said could be passed along via their respective leaders.

Unless, of course, it was an emergency. So, if Ludwig was calling him now…

"Forget it; it doesn't matter. Time is of the essence."

"Well then, with all due respect, just spit it out already—"

"British forces have begun invading Sicily, you fool!" There was a beat of stunned silence—then two, then three—and the snapped response all but hung densely in the air, threatening to suffocate them both. Before a word of apology could even begin to form on Romano's tongue, however, Ludwig continued. "Italy informed me some time ago that his Southern half would be staying with him for a few weeks—are you still there?"

Despite the dire situation at hand, Romano couldn't help but bristle at being referred to as a southern half, effectively demonstrating the lack of autonomy he seemed to have over his own person. I'm a personification, he thought bitterly, a pawn in a game. The least you could do it acknowledge the one moving the piece, potato bastard. "Yes," he murmured nonetheless, barely able to register the question with all the deafening thoughts racing through his mind. "Yes, I'm still in Florence, with Feliciano. What do you want me to do, commandante?"

"Protect Feliciano with your life. Flee Italy as soon as possible."

"Scusa?"

"Do not argue with me, Vargas," came the sharp reply. "There is no time for it."

Any ounce of subordinate fear Romano had abandoned him in favour of protective instinct. "Make time, then! I can't just tell my brother we're leaving without a good explanation, testa di cazzo!"

"Du hältst jetzt die Klappe! You are a macroregion: a subdivision defined only by traditional politics, globalization, and leading a legacy only comprised of tasteless Americanized film caricatures. Whether or not you are taken by the Allies holds little bearing, save wartime formality, as you hold virtually no worth in terms of political bargaining."

"But Feli does."

"Exactly. Mussolini will be forced to bend at Allied will, as he would need to quickly regain Italy by any means possible—including surrender."

Romano sighed, casting an accusatory glare toward the heavens. For all our country's legacy of dutiful worship, he thought, you really enjoy shitting in my dinner, eh? His earlier fatigue returned to his bones tenfold, this time joined by a faint migraine and an ache marching down his spine. "Message received, commandante. I mean nothing; Italy means everything."

"Indeed. I'm glad you finally seem to understand the severity of the situation." Upon only receiving a half-hearted hum in affirmative, Ludwig continued. "Even if it costs you your life, you must not allow Italy to fall into enemy hands. He is far too valuable to our cause, to his country…" To the heart of Germany himself, although both men knew better than to voice it. "Once Southern Italy has fallen, it will only be a matter of time before they begin heading North. Fortunately, you will have a four-day head start to find somewhere safe for him until the Allied forces are driven out."

If they can be driven out, with the way this hopeless war is going. "Capisco, commandante. We'll leave tonight at dusk. Was there anything else…?"

A pause. "Would it be possible—I only wish to speak privately with Feliciano. It may be some time before I can talk to him again. If this is to be the end of our communication, I want it to be on good terms."

It took everything Romano had not to scoff at that. Even in the depths of cruelty and madness, it seemed only his dear young brother could surface any microscopic amount of humanity Ludwig had left. And, of course, his gut instinct was to end the call right then and there. But he knew how it would break Feliciano if something were to happen and he couldn't properly say goodbye. With Nonnuccio and Holy Rome gone—well, the younger man wouldn't be able to handle the heartbreak a third time. "Let me go wake him," he ceded, feeling every bit like some faceless courier sent between Romeo and Julian. Then again, what else was new? Setting the phone to the side, without bothering to wait for a response from the German, Romano stilled, trying to relish the few seconds of quiet he had left before the weeks of uncertainty ahead.

"Lovi?"

Startled, Romano whirled around; it seemed despite his best efforts, his little brother finally awoke. "Damn it, Veneziano, don't you know not to scare me like that? We're at fucking war, for Christ's sake."

Feliciano, in his infinite sainthood and for all the hostility thrown toward him, only smiled. "Well, good morning to you to! I'm glad to see you up so early with so much energy, fratellone!"

Ignoring the playful ribbing, Romano handed his younger brother the telephone's neck. "Make it quick. We've got somewhere to be soon, so come find me whenever you lovebirds are done." He didn't wait around for a response, hastily moving to dress himself and begin packing. On his way out of the small bedroom, he could hear Feliciano's soft murmuring, no doubt using what little time the duo had left together to tell the German everything and anything. They both knew that this war was coming to an end—a bad one. The Allies made very clear that they were not interested anymore in negotiations or mercy of any kind, especially now that American was eagerly joining in. For all the two of them knew, this could be the last time they ever spoke to each other.

As he closed the door, there was a twisted part of Romano that rejoiced at the thought of his Northern half finally getting to experience a taste of his entire lost childhood. You can't have everything, Vene, he thought. The journey ahead would prove to be tense, indeed.

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[erregent]

( under a readmore cause it’s long.

i guess??? this is the start to a gavcentric redemption fic with some ree.d900 on the side. i have maybe three more chapters planned out but i haven’t finished it yet. )

--------

they’re probably going to put on his tombstone ‘dumb shit.’ 

nothing else. no date of birth, mother’s name, none of that. just, here lies a dumb fucker. 

laying on his back in a wet alleyway, struggling for breath around the blood in his mouth, gavin reed thinks it’s probably for the best. 

he was supposed to call for backup but since when the fuck has he ever needed backup? no partner necessary, he may be shit at office work but out here, in the field, was where he got his kicks. a perp wanted to bust out the third story window and try to outrun him on the fire escape? good. 

gavin was not far behind, huffing around smokers lungs but spite was enough to keep his legs moving, keep the high teen in his sights as he darts up stairs one more floor to the roof of the apartment building. 

“that’s enough, kid,” he remembers saying, training his gun at the perp’s back as he contemplates jumping off, “there’s nowhere to go.”

“i can’t--- can’t go to prison, i can’t---” he was high, confused. just a fucking teenager. for some reason gavin thinks of the boy’s mother. where she was now, and if she knew what her boy was doing. did she even care.

he couldn’t tell you why, but he remembers putting his gun away. offering up both hands empty like some sort of peace offering.

“you can still get out of this alright, don’t be fuckin’ stupid. just turn around, and get over here.”

“they’ll kill me! they’ll kill me...i can’t--- no, nono--” 

“who’s they? talk to me, kid, i can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

the kid eventually turns around. wet tear tracks on both cheeks, snot dribbling over lips, and hands clutching a beretta.

gavin didn’t have time to say a word before hearing the pow pow of gunfire. 

choking, gasping, he knows he’s shot before he even looks down but when he does, the world spins, and he’s falling over the ledge.

shoulder catches the edge of the fire-escape, shattered. body rag-doll, he manages to land on his back just so he could graciously choke on his own blood. 

so yea, he’s a dumb shit. he didn’t even call for backup. 

you try to do something nice, and it gets you shot twice in the chest. 

-----

somehow, he wakes up. 

he has no idea when, but he wakes up. 

the harsh lighting, the stale sick smell, the soft ‘beepbeepbeep’ lets him know he’s in a hospital. it’s not the first time he’s woken up in one and the detective doubts it will be the last. but this is certainly the first time he can hardly move once consciousness returns to him. 

everything hurts. literally everything, even the follicles of his hair feel sore in his head, and he’s hovering somewhere between drugged beyond recognition and not nearly doped enough to withstand the discomfort. 

all he can manage is a low groan of pain, flexing fingers to see which ones work and which don’t. 

his entire left arm is casted, gavin can barely turn his head enough to see the thing, it goes up to his chest where gauze springs from underneath. it’s wrapped tight, tight around his torso and down to his navel, though gavin can’t see past the sheet thats been brought up to his armpits. he’s sewed up, tucked in, and left here. 

“detective,” a voice calls from the doorway. at least he gets his own room. 

the soft glowing LED in the nurses temple under blond curls would have made gavin scoff if he weren’t so broken. he groans again. a fuckin’ android. he forgets they’re allowed to do whatever they want now, regardless of model and make. 

“please try not to move so much. honestly, i’m surprised you’re awake. you’ve only been out of surgery for three hours, your body is still adjusting to the changes,” she’s rummaging through a virtual clipboard, the skin on her hand peeling back to interface with it directly. 

“you took two gun shot wounds to the torso. one made a clear shot, it hit nothing vital. the other punctured a lung and broke one of your ribs. your shoulder and arm were shattered from impact after you fell, and required extensive surgery and reconstruction to repair. do you remember where you were before here, detective?”

gavin groans. his mouth tastes like sandpaper and actual, literal asshole. it’s too dry, he rolls his tongue around but it feels two sizes too big. he manages to croak out “case,” and not sound totally out of it, to his defense.

“yes, we were informed by your department you were chasing a suspect. though i am not authorized to talk to you about legal matters, i just need to confirm your mental faculties are still in order. you fell almost three stories, detective. the only reason your skull was not crushed on impact was the loss of momentum your body sustained hitting the fire escape on your way down.”

he manages a scoff this time. guess he’s lucky for the shattered bones.

“what is your name?”

another noise, he grinds teeth around the ‘g’ sound.

“g...avin. reed.” 

“yes, that’s very good. i have more questions for you, and you willneed a debriefing, but you still need rest,” she’s coming to his bedside then, futzing with the fancy IV machine whirring away there. she hits a few buttons, pumps him full of morphine, and suddenly gavin feels really warm and he wants to sleep.

he does. 

-----

it’s the first time in twelve years, gavin sleeps longer than two hour increments. 

the next few days come in blinks, and trying to keep track of time is utterly useless. there’s a potted plant at his bedside one time he opens his eyes. a succulent, some weird desert lookin thing and he knows it’s chen. he likes this kind, barely have to do shit to keep it alive. he passes out trying to move his arm to touch it.

the next time he’s awake, there’s flowers. a single arrangement, freshly pruned peace lilies harsh white like his whole fuckin’ room with a little blue ‘k’ on an equally white card in the middle. if he could, he’d knock the whole thing off on principle. fuckin prick.

the third time he can actually remember anything, he’s sitting up more. that same blond nurse is back, checking about his vitals and tidying the room. there’s not much to do, even in his haze gavin can tell there has been little traffic here. the detective isn’t shocked by the notion. he’s not known to have friends. 

he’s awake for more than fifteen minutes this time, and gavin knows what to expect. a half hour into consciousness, one of his own is buzzing into his room. he’s expecting chen, maybe anderson if the captain wanted to let the old man gloat. he’s not expecting fowler himself to walk through the door.

his gut plummets like a shitty wooden roller coaster at the sight of him. dark blue button up. black slacks. badge at his hip. but no clip board, no pen. he’s not here to talk about the case.

“reed,” fowler begins, hands in his pockets as he walks toward the large window to gavin’s left. it’s hard to turn his head that way, considering his shoulder was in pieces not long ago, but he manages to get the man in his peripheral. 

the silence that follows is maddening. gavin wants to claw his god damn skin off. 

“fowl-”

“you could have died, reed. you very well should have.”

“i had it under con-”

“if you try to undermine what this is, so help me.” perhaps it’s just the morphine, but gavin swears fowler’s hands are shaking in his pockets.

“listen. you’re a good detective, gavin. you and i both know that. it’s why i wanted you back on the force after the whole android awakening,” fowler has finally turned to face him now though stays by the window. his voice is level, but terse. he feels like he’s being scolded by his father.

“you bitched and moaned about what cases you wanted, you bitched and moaned when i brought in the other rk unit, and you bitched and moaned when i tried to pair you with him. for months. and i’ve listened because you got results. i don’t give a shit if you’re everybody’s best friend, so long as you do the job and you don’t get yourself killed. but you fucked up big time, reed. and i can’t have it happen again.”

“captain-”

“you are not dying under my watch, gavin. you hear me? not because of your inflated ego and some shitty pride!” 

gavin swallows at the tone of fowler’s voice, would have flinched back if he could. for once in his miserable fucking life, the detective agrees, and nods.

“yea. yea i hear you.” he hates how weak he sounds. he’ll blame it on the fatigue.

the tenseness fowler carried in his jaw loosens some. shoulders slack. gavin can see the clenched fists in his pockets ease. he’s said the right thing. gavin wasn’t made a detective for nothing. 

“good. cause you’re getting a partner when you get out of here, and i’m not hearing another word out of you about it.”

ok, so he’s not fired. that’s awesome. but...fuck. he doesn’t even have the energy to ask who. he likes to think he’d be all teeth and gums about this, being the squeakiest wheel he can be to get the grease, if he weren’t still in recovery. 

“get some rest. we’ll interview about the suspect when you’re not drugged off you ass,” his captain makes to leave, but stops by the doorway just to shoot gavin a rarely seen, but always infuriating smirk, “should probably keep you on it, though. you’re a lot nicer when you can’t bark.”

fowler leaves. 

gavin, through grit teeth and optimal discomfort, manages to knock the peace lilies off the table.

[bluerose5]

Development Part 2

Word Count: 2,533

Rating: Teen (Rating May Change Later)

Warnings: Violence, Blue Blood, Machine-like Connor (Just a warning, but he does refer to deviants as ‘it’s in this chapter.)

Summary: Connor takes on the RK200 combat simulation. It turns out worse than he expected.

(Read it here or on ao3.)

At his authorization, the training room plunges into darkness.

It takes a bit of time for the system to actually kick in, dark blue lights coming to life within the room, one by one. They crawl from the center of the floor, spreading like a ripple, farther and farther until they scatter up the walls and into the ceiling. Dim and dull, they offer little as a way of lighting, created to guide him towards the center of the room.

Connor takes the small connection plate off of the wall. For a moment, he rotates it within his grasp, testing its weight in the palm of his hand.

Reaching behind himself, he locates the corresponding piece on his compression suit, twisting the disc into place over the cervical region of his spine. The disc is meant to dive deep within his programming, providing false stimuli in order to create an environment as immersive as possible. It will also help Connor remain in the training area during the simulation, along with administering live impact feedback. With a resounding click, the disc locks into place.

A brutal shock travels along Connor's spine in response, the simulation technology successfully integrating with his systems, synching with the control panel on the wall.

Connor grinds his teeth at the lingering sensation, invasive to the point of discomfort.

In order to distract himself, Connor walks out into the middle of the room, testing his range of motion as he goes. Then, once he settles in the middle of the platform, he walks deliberately on its surface, watching while the concave surface shifts to accommodate his movements. He remains firmly in place.

With everything as it should be, Connor stops long enough to pull out a virtual menu from the control panel. He swiftly adjusts its size and scrolls through the training of other models listed. Some have already been completed in all aspects, all checked off with MISSION SUCCESSFUL. There are only a few that Connor is still required to do before his deployment, but he has the utmost confidence in his skills.

Until he scrolls to that one. A smudge on a nearly spotless record.

MISSION FAILED.

All because of this one model.

Connor feels a mixture of burning heat and cool appreciation. The warring sensations leave him momentarily reeling, and his confusion with how to deal with them only fuels his determination to finish this, nestled firmly within his chest.

Connor gives several swipes of his fingers, and a virtual assistant chimes in overhead when he chooses the RK200's simulations.

Its reminder is a familiar one. One that gives Connor the motivation for his next choice.

"Reminder: this model is a prototype," the assistant informs him, its tone light and airy. "It has been designed with several state-of-the-art features in mind, and it is equipped with expansive combat knowledge, unlocking another training route for you to explore."

Although he heard this spiel before, the information never fails to confuse Connor.

Why would Kamski program a caretaker model with combat knowledge, of all things?

The official answer from his files had something to do with "being able to defend his owner," but Connor found exactly 133 logical flaws throughout his filed explanations. From what Connor understands, the board wasn't too happy with the extents that Kamski was going to with his new models, but they did relatively little to stop him, finding his defenses valid enough.

Unfortunately, Connor isn't as lenient as they were.

At least, not with this.

Guided by that fierce sense of determination, Connor cuts off the rest of the assistant's speech by tapping on the combat setting, leaving all of the other options up to randomization.

Between one blink and the next, the real world carefully falls apart, only to have a virtual one take its place. When Connor next opens his eyes, it's to a dark strip of stores, sequestered away in a less active region of the city. Nightfall lingers, sticking to everything it touches, and all that can be heard is the pitter-patter of rain on pavement, followed by the subtle swoosh of cars passing by. What streetlights remain are barely functional, flickering on and off in uneven patterns, so the only available light source comes from the nearby stores.

Connor scans a few passersby, receiving his primary mission from the control panel.

APPREHEND THE DEVIANT

Another objective comes through before he can make a move.

ELIMINATE IF NECESSARY

"It won't come to that," Connor murmurs. Not for the simulation, but for himself.

He doesn't understand why saying the words help him feel better about this, help him feel more confident, but they do.

Starting from left to right, Connor carefully scans the scarce amount of people that are  busy shuffling about, some in obvious states of inebriation and others not. While the rain pours down around him, plastering his hair to his face, Connor continues to pour over the people around him, including the ones going in and out of the shops.

It takes a minute or two, but he eventually sees it.

There, across the street from himself, is the deviant that he's hunting. It curls in on itself with its arms crossed defensively over its chest. Its hoodie casts shadows onto its face, and its expression is hidden from plain sight, all except the slightest downturn of a pair of lips.

Fixing his tie, Connor watches this replica of "Markus" while it continues on, trailing slightly behind on his own side of the street.

Connor dims the light that emanates from his LED and other identifiers, and he crosses over onto the other sidewalk as soon as he can. He remains a set distance behind the deviant, just enough to proceed without raising suspicion.

When Markus eventually turns into a stray alley, Connor readies himself, following after.

He stops at the mouth of the deserted alleyway, but Markus is already there, watching and waiting, biding his time.

He lifts his face, enough so that Connor has little choice but to stare into its eyes.

Soft green eyes, eyes silently asking for a second chance.

The stark contrast between him and all of the others is evident.

When Connor trained for all of those other models, those deviants always had something about them that struck Connor as wild, for lack of better words. Each one was irrational in its own right. Desperate, crazed, emotional, murderous... But not this one.

No, this RK200 stares at him with an unmatched level of calmness. He stands tall with his hands spread out, not in surrender, but in a show of peace. He is confident in his deviancy, certain of himself in a way that Connor has never witnessed.

And when he speaks, in that warm and welcoming voice, Connor unintentionally parts his lips around a shaky sigh.

"You don't have to do this," the deviant says, raising his voice over the pounding rain. "You can let me go."

As if sensing his doubts, the control panel chooses that moment to remind him of his mission, now that he's faced with the RK200.

APPREHEND THE DEVIANT

Steeling himself, Connor slowly shakes his head, never once taking his eyes off of the rogue android. "I can't do that." Connor swallows past the lump in his throat. "If you want any chance of survival, you need to turn yourself in."

"Well now, you see, I can't do that," the deviant echoes, taking a bold step forward. "Because we both know that any chance of my survival died the second I deviated." He takes another step forward, but Connor remains in place, unmoved. "I don't want to hurt you, but I refuse to be a prisoner when I have done nothing wrong."

"Unfortunately, that's not your decision to make," Connor says, cold and distant.

Markus smirks, but it lacks any humor or arrogance, filled instead with an underlying grimness.

"Then so be it," he says, raising his chin in an unexpected show of pride.

For the longest time, both of them simply stand there, drenched from head to toe, appraising each other with no intention of making the first move. Faced with his hesitance, Connor's programming eventually starts to close in from all sides. It presses on, tighter and tighter, until Connor has only one path to follow through with.

He preconstructs several plans of attack and settles on the one with the highest probability of success.

Upon execution, however, when Connor is mere seconds away from delivering the first blow, the RK200 knocks his fists aside with an alarming swiftness. Each successive punch or kick that was supposed to lead Connor to a quick victory inevitably fails, but the deviant continues to block and dodge, never once going on the offensive, outside of a few distancing shoves.

When Connor fails to land the next punch, he snarls under his breath and increases his pace.

Markus meets him, hit for hit, and that's when Connor realizes that preconstruction will do him little good here.

They struggle some more, locked in what feels like a never-ending dance.

But when Connor sees an opening, he takes it.

The next few punches hit their mark, striking Markus in the face and torso without restraint. Enough to slow him down, but nothing more.

In a few instances, Connor finds himself slipping free of his programming. An unwilling spectator watching someone else guide his body, bound to obedience.

With each collision of his fist, Connor flicks between reality and this outside state.

He has to remind himself of one important detail, hoping that it clicks.

Not real. Punch. Not real. Punch. Not real.

That's when Markus sends Connor flying across the alley. His head connects with the brick wall with a sickening crunch. Connor shakes his head, feeling warmth seep into his hair.

System diagnostics report the damage, but that will have to wait.

Markus chooses then to try for his escape.

But Connor's faster.

With a leap in his direction, they end up sprawled across the ground. Markus scrambles to get away, but Connor grabs onto his heel, dragging him back.

They struggle in the growing puddles, their hands becoming slick, but Connor manages to gain the upper hand again.

He straddles Markus' chest, and his hands and elbows rain down, over and over and over again. Relentless, brutal. With only one goal in mind.

This time, Connor is practically ripped out of his body by force. He cocks his head to the side, watching the events unfolding before him.

He tries to take a step forward, but he's stopped by an impenetrable wall. Words are written there, ELIMINATE IF NECESSARY, but Connor ignores them.

Every hit that connects with Markus' face causes a hole to expand in Connor's chest, so Connor steps forward in opposition.

He places a hand on the wall, then gradually applies pressure. A crack splinters through the foundation, but Connor is brought back into his body before more damage can be done.

While Connor's blood washes through his hair, Markus' thirium stains his knuckles, slick and hot to the touch. A crunch of material causes Connor to stop, and he stares down at Markus' face, where the inner skin is exposed in several places. In one spot, Connor's knuckles had broken through his cheekbone, and thirium gushes free from the face wound, staining the ground blue.

Not real, not real, not real...

The words do little to soothe Connor now, but he doesn't have to kill Markus. That's a secondary objective. A conditional one. He only has to do it "if necessary." An arrest is preferred. It gives Connor a chance to speak with him intact.

Connor's programming is doing its best to justify why he stopped, but he becomes so caught up in these thoughts that he hesitates way too long for a deviant of Markus' caliber.

Before Connor can even comprehend what's happening, Markus pulls him abruptly against his chest.

Connor realizes the counter a second too late. He's powerless to do anything while Markus traps Connor's arm and leg on one side, using his other for leverage.

Next thing Connor knows, he's lying on his back with Markus hovering over him, fist raised.

Green eyes meet brown, and —for a moment— Connor can't breathe.

Markus stares at him with blood pouring down his cheek, sluicing steadily down his throat. Connor watches the trail, entranced, but Markus doesn't give him a chance to respond, jumping up to his feet.

When Connor scrambles to follow suit, a foot settles firmly on his chest. His eyes trace along the contours of Markus' calf, following the outline of his thigh... Up and up until their gazes lock.

"Stay down," Markus orders, applying enough pressure to gently send Connor back to the ground.

System diagnostics report a significant loss of thirium, but all Connor can focus on is Markus. How he leaves Connor there, whenever he had the chance to end him.

How his voice sends a shudder down Connor's spine, spoken low and rough. Not in a way that demands his obedience, but in a way that seemed to genuinely care about the outcome of their fight.

Connor records that information for later, his LED transitioning from a violent red to a calmer yellow.

With a grave nod, Markus flips his hood over his head, strolling out of the alleyway as casually as he walked in. Connor watches him go until he is fully out of sight, falling to the ground with a weary sigh.

The simulation falls away, and Connor is once again in the training room, staring at the ceiling before him.

Two words pop up before his eyes, and he can't help but to give a hysterical laugh.

MISSION FAILED

"Really?" Connor asks the empty room. "I didn't notice."

When he gets no answer, he digs the heel of his hands into his eyes and wills the words to go away.

While he is busy disconnecting the simulation disc, he gets another update.

SYSTEM INSTABILITY ▲

Connor scowls, unable to fully comprehend the implications behind this feature. He doesn't understand what it is or why it is there, but Connor doesn't feel any different because of it. Despite whatever "instability" is there, it's not affecting Connor in the slightest. He still has his purpose. He still has his mission.

What he just faced was a simulation and nothing more. Whether it is based on actual feedback or not is irrelevant. Nothing like that is 100 percent accurate, and the "deviant" he met in there is not real.

"He—" Connor pauses, correcting himself. "It is not real." His voice lowers, quiet and subdued. "It isn't real."

Connor simply did what he had to. The amount of time and effort it would have taken to get the information after Mark— after the deviant's deactivation would have been too troublesome to concern himself with.

The excuse is a pitiful one, and Connor knows it.

He has dismantled machines in those simulations before, so why now? What's so different?

Connor isn't sure that he wants the answer, so he snaps the disc back on without another thought.

Time to work on some other models, it seems.

[loadcard201]

Trip Mode For Mac

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JackTrip Documentation. About JackTrip JackTrip: A System for High-Quality Audio Network Performance over the Internet. JackTrip is a Linux and Mac OS X-based system used for multi-machine network performance over the Internet. It supports any number of channels (as many as the computer/network can handle) of bidirectional, high quality, uncompressed audio signal steaming.

TripMode 2 allows mobile users to save data, save money, and surf faster. The award-winning data saving app for Mac has been released in a new version, TripMode 2, two years after its initial release in May 2015. It provides peace of mind for users on the go, in the form of a simple setup-and-forget utility. Available today for $7.99, Buy it now.

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TripMode.pkg | 5.42 MB

PriceFree to tryVersion1.0.5Release DateFebruary 25, 2016CategoryUtilitiesOperating SystemsOS XPublisher

TripMode

https://www.tripmode.ch

Publisher's Description

TripMode is the best way to stop updates and other background processes from consuming your mobile data.

Block unwanted traffic

Only apps that you’ve selected are allowed to access the Internet when TripMode is ON. The rest is blocked.

Save data automatically

Fusion provides a simple yet customizable way to install multiple operating systems on your Mac. New in Fusion is updated support for the Open Virtualization Format which includes an effortless installation walkthrough of the VMware vCenter Server Appliance OVA. Download VMware Fusion 12 and let your Mac run Windows, Linux or Mac OS X Server. Run the most demanding Mac and Windows applications side-by-side at maximum speeds without rebooting. Mac-fusion is a small but extremely capable full-service Apple Store. We’ve been helping small to mid-size businesses stay up and running on their Mac for 17 years. If your company needs help with their Apple productss, we are here to meet your needs. Download Fusion. Download MyStyle. Download Spark Updater. Download Update Agent. Download Ignition Updater for Mac. Download CS/CTS Drivers. Download Evolution Drivers. Download Superchips Spark Drivers. Download SlimDX for data log playback. Fusion for mac free. VMware Fusion delivers the best way to run Windows on the Mac, and the ultimate development and testing tool for building apps to run on any platform. Ready for macOS 11.0 Big Sur, Fusion 12 supports macOS 10.15 Catalina and includes new features for developers, IT admins and everyday users.

TripMode activates itself on networks where you used it before. No need to fiddle in menus. It’s super easy.

Track your data usage

See how much data was used per app and per session, day, or month. Spot the data hungry apps.

Tripmode is turned on mechanically when your mac is attached to a mobile hotspot. When it’s far on, it prevents all your mac apps from getting access to the net however those which have been whitelisted with the aid of your self.

Related Apps

I recently had to go on a trip where my wifi was super limited. Core keygen for mac. We were allocated 2gb of data a week over wifi. Now I don’t know if you’ve ever really paid attention to your data usage on your laptop/desktop, but you’ll eat through that FAST. It feels like everything on your laptop is calling home, trying to update, etc. I was trying to find a way to really limit my data usage. I did some googlefu and stubbled across an app for macOS called TripMode.

TripMode allows you to limit network access to only the apps/processes that you want. I limited mine to pretty much only the services I needed. If I needed something I turned it on and then immediately turned it off. It worked wonderfully. It will even alert you when an unauthorized app has tried to connect to something. TripMode recognized that the network I was on the one that needed to be metered, and auto turned itself on.

Tripmode For Mac

While you have the app turned on you can tell how much data I have used for the session, day, week, or month. When the app is metering data, you can have it alert you after you’ve used a certain amount. I had an alert set up when I passed 1gb, so I knew to be extra careful.

Download Tripmode For Mac

TripMode was well worth the money if you are ever in a situation where you need to really limit your data usage. It would be great when using a wifi hotspot, travel where data is limited, or if you just are really a stickler about your data usage. It was well worth my $7.99.