#Educational Trip Operator

[bigcatholiday]

Group Tour Operator | School and College Group Tour Operator

With our group tour operators, you can easily plan school and college group tours and book a Ranthambore tour package for a group tour on a budget.

[lionheartlr]

Discovering Bhutan: The Last Shangri-La

Nestled in the Eastern Himalayas, Bhutan, known as the “Land of the Thunder Dragon,” is a country that beckons travelers with its pristine landscapes, vibrant culture, and profound spirituality. As one of the world’s last remaining Buddhist kingdoms, Bhutan offers a unique blend of ancient traditions and modern sensibilities. In this travel guide, we’ll explore Bhutan’s history, political…

[studioeisa]

the way of the work husband 📋 chan x reader.

going back to work after the holidays sucks, but at least you've got your 'work husband' lee chan to get you through it.

★ office worker!chan x f!reader. ★ word count: 1.8k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: office, alternate universe: co-workers, fluff/romance. vernon is a menace (affectionately). not proofread. ★ footnotes: been itching to write chan lately and this was the result. dedicating this to my favorite corporate girlie!dinonara @chanranghaeys, who i have been threatening a chan fic with for a little over a week now ෆ sana all may lee chan sa office. 😔 + a special shoutout to @diamonddaze01 for educating me on the how work spouses operate. 🙏

“Is Lee Chan, like, your work husband or something?” 

The look on Vernon’s face is perfectly innocent, but his arched eyebrow gives some indication of just how amused he is. You shoot him a scathing glare before turning back to your work-sanctioned laptop. 

You don’t answer Vernon’s question. Not at first, anyway. Instead, you opt to wryly ask, “Why do you always have to use his full government name whenever you’re talking about him?” 

“Eh. Just ‘Chan’ is too short,” Vernon responds noncommittally. He should be focusing on the grant that he has to write, but he seems intent on quizzing you on your relationship with the company’s newest program assistant. 

Vernon leans a little further into his computer chair. He’s always been a pretty amicable seatmate; he just liked to poke the bear every so often. 

“So?” he prompts. “Are you and Lee Chan… you know.” 

When Vernon makes a vague, crude gesture with his hands, you groan out loud. “Don’t make it weird,” you snap. “And no. Chan and I are just friends, asswipe.”

“But you guys display peak work spouse behavior.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be grant writing?” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting your afternoon coffee with Mr. Program Assistant?” 

Vernon’s rebuttal has you glancing at the digital clock on your desk. Shit. 

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you say as you grab your wallet and get to your feet. You hate to admit it, but Vernon is right. You’ve started dedicating your fifteen-minute afternoon breaks to cafeteria trips with Chan. 

All in the name of friendship, you insist.

“‘Course it doesn’t,” Vernon sing-songs. Just when you think he’s done, he throws in a final jab. 

“I’ll have an itemized list of my observations,” he calls after your retreating back. “Just you wait!” 

You don’t turn around to dignify Vernon’s taunt with a response. Instead, you flip him off over your shoulder as you contemplate what coffee to get with Chan today.

Rarely are you late to work. Some mornings are just harrowing, littered with minor inconveniences like your alarm not going off or the bus making one too many stops. 

When you finally make it to the office, you can already imagine the CEO’s backhand comment about punctuality. Something like ‘early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable,’ probably. 

That’s why you feel an immense pang of relief when you notice a vacant seat near the back of the room, one that you undoubtedly know is yours. 

You make your way to the chair as discreetly as you can. The bag atop it is taken off the moment that you arrive, and you flash an appreciative grin at the one who made it possible. 

Chan— who is already shifting his bag onto his lap— gives you an exaggerated wink in return. 

You mouth a wordless ‘thank you’ at him. He doesn’t respond verbally, just smiles at you in that way that lights up a whole room. It’s the type of grin that has you forgetting just how bad of a morning you had; you’d lose yourself in it if weren’t for the ominous presence of Vernon a couple of seats down.

The meeting grabs your attention soon enough, but not before you notice Vernon inconspicuously typing something into his phone. 

☑ You always sit next to each other at meetings

“Who’re you texting?” 

“Hm?” 

“Hellooo! Pay attention to me!” 

There’s a guilty expression on your face as you finally glance up at Seungkwan. “Sorry,” you say meekly. “What were you asking?” 

Vernon lets out a huff of laughter at Seungkwan’s side. “I’ll bet a dollar that it’s Lee Chan,” says Vernon. 

Seungkwan responds with a roll of his eyes. “That’s a given.” 

“Yah,” you begin to protest, ready to justify the way you’ve only been half-present throughout your entire lunch break. 

Your attempt falls flat when your phone pings, and the screen lights up. 

One (1) new text from Channie. 🦖LOLOL I have the perfect reel for this!! Wait a minute~~ 💖💙

Seungkwan scoffs. Vernon snickers. 

Your eye twitches, and you shoot back a text underneath the table in a bid to avoid your friends’ teasing. 

☑ You message each other all day long

It’s hard not to laugh when Chan is looking at you like that. 

Despite the fact that there’s a whole brainstorming session going on— preparation for the company’s next fundraising event— the two of you can’t help your silent communication. 

Especially when Soonyoung starts running his mouth about the fundraiser potentially being tiger-themed. 

One glance is all it takes. Chan’s lips are drawn into a thin line, and you know he’s also trying his darndest not to laugh. It’s a mammoth effort to hold back yourself, but you manage— not wanting to suffer from your eccentric boss’ line of questioning. 

It’s all free game once the session ends, though. 

You make a beeline for Chan. He takes one look at your quirked lip before jerking his head towards the door, urging the two of you to have this discussion somewhere you won’t be lynched.

Still, you and Chan can barely resist your peals of laughter as you leave the meeting room with your heads bowed together. Vernon watches with bemusement as the two of you trade incoherent mumblings about Tigger and Pompompurin. 

Not that Vernon has any idea what those have to do with anything. 

☑ You exchange knowing glances from across the room ☑ You share inside jokes about work and life

“Hey, Lee Chan, where’s your work wife?” 

Chan doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s in a meeting with finance,” he answers without even looking up from his keyboard. 

A corner of Vernon’s lip twitches upward. Aha. 

Chan seems to pick up on Vernon’s smug silence. The younger boy’s head snaps up, his expression quickly becoming guarded. “Not my work wife,” Chan sputters. “Just— I knew where she was, okay?” 

“Riiight.” 

There’s a redness in the tips of Chan’s ears as he goes back to the Google Doc he’d been slaving away on. Vernon doesn’t say anything more, but he does feign like he’s texting someone instead of adding to his ever-growing list.

☑ Your other colleagues wonder where the other’s at when you’re not together

It’s a bit of an epilogue in its own right, how Chan is the one to know why you’re out for the morning.

The CEO had asked it mostly as a rhetorical question— has anyone seen her?— but Chan’s easy answer has the meeting coming to a stuttering halt. 

“She got stuck at her dentist’s appointment,” he says. 

Several pairs of eyes turn to Chan. The look on his face is comically caught.

He fumbles for his phone and waves it around awkwardly. “We were texting,” he adds hastily. “That’s why I know.” 

How that was supposed to help Chan’s case, Vernon has no idea. 

“Well, tell her that we hope she gets better soon,” the CEO says coolly. A corner of her lip is upturned, like she’s finding this entire interaction a little too amusing. 

Chan manages a mumbled “Will do.” 

The meeting pushes through. Vernon watches Chan from the corner of his eye. Aside from looking absolutely mortified, there’s just a bit of dullness to the latter’s demeanor. A slower uptake, a dimmer grin. 

Gee, Vernon muses as he types away on his laptop. Wonder why. 

☑ You’re kind of bummed when they’re out of office ☑ You cover for each other when one is MIA

Vernon’s running list is a fun little gig, but it all comes to head on the evening of the company’s monthly night out.

The table at the speakeasy is full of boisterous laughter and greasy finger food. Everyone’s in high spirits for the upcoming weekend, and Vernon has to hold back on teasing those who he thinks are having just a little too much fun. 

You and Chan have spent much of the evening acting like you’re in your own world. Sure, you’re not touching each other— this is technically a work event, after all— but you’ve shared laughter and whispers throughout the night that nobody else is privy to. 

And, alright, fine. Maybe your knees knock into each other more often than not. Maybe Chan puts a hand over your ear whenever he wants to point something out, and maybe you lean in just a little more than necessary. 

It’s obvious to anybody with two eyes that you two are fond of each other. That much is certain.

That’s what gives Vernon the boost of confidence to play wingman by the end of the night. 

“You know,” he says coolly as your group spills out onto the sidewalk. “I think the two of you live in the same neighborhood.” 

What Vernon is scheming is plain as day to you. You narrow your eyes at him, but he’s undeterred. He only smiles at you and Chan like the menace that he is. 

Chan, for his part, raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. He glances at you with a quizzical expression. 

“You’ve never mentioned that.” He raises his hand to his chest, as if feigning hurt at being kept in the dark. 

A snort of laughter escapes you. “Didn’t feel like it was particularly important information,” you say dryly. 

“Of course it’s important!” Chan’s always been a little louder when he’s drunk, so his voice raises an octave or two. “‘Cause that means we can carpool together, or, like, y’know—” 

Vernon interrupts with a sage, “You can probably book the same cab for tonight, actually. Make it a double stop.” 

Chan’s face lights up. “Great idea, man!” 

Before you can protest, Chan is already whipping out his phone to pull up his ride-hailing app. This is not a battle that you’re going to win. 

All the while, Vernon grins triumphantly. 

☑ You go home together after happy hour 

“Can we—” 

“Shhh. No, not yet.” 

“But nobody’s looking!”

“Wait until we’ve rounded the corner, idiot—” 

And so he does. 

But the moment the corner has been rounded, Chan is sagging against your side like he’s wanted to the entire night. “Oh, thank God,” your boyfriend sighs. “I didn’t think I’d survive another minute without touching you.” 

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you. The feeling is mutual, though, so you reach out to rest your hand on his knee.

“Commendable self-control tonight,” you note. “All the whispering was a little too obvious, though.” 

Chan huffs in protest, but the sound loses its edge as he cuddles up to you in the back of the cab. “No one suspects us. It’s just Vernon,” he complains. 

“And Seungkwan,” you say. “And Jeonghan, and Minghao, and Wonwoo—” 

Your boyfriend gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “Doesn’t matter.” His hand rests on top of yours, just barely resisting the urge to intertwine your fingers. “They don’t know a thing about us, sweets.” 

The smile threatening to fill your face finally breaks. When you laugh, your shoulders shake against Chan’s body. You’re not sure if he’s entirely right— you know of Vernon’s whole iPhone note, after all— but you’re willing to indulge your boyfriend if it makes him happy. 

“Yeah,” you concede. “They don’t know a thing.” 

[pseudowho]

(MASTERLIST DISCONTINUED- PLEASE SEE PINNED POST ON MY BLOG FOR NEW RESTRUCTURED MASTERLIST!)

Pseudowho's Original JJK Masterlist

Scroll through to see...

Nanami Kento

Higuruma Hiromi

Suguru Geto

Choso Kamo

Aoi Todo

JJK multi-character fics

Nanami Kento Masterlist

Updated: 28th March 2024

REQUESTS CLOSED

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🔥 Smut 💔 Angst 💕 Romance

☕ Comfort/Fluff 🤡 Clowning

🐙 Monsterfucking. 📚 Education (*dirty laugh*)

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1st of December 🔥☕💕 -- No-Nut November is over-- but Nanami Kento won't let you get away with it that easily.

7:3 🤡 -- Nanami Kento never thought about his 7:3 pattern...a fourth wall breaking moment.

"Dad Reflexes" Ask and Drabble 🤡💕☕-- Nanami Kento can catch anything.

Daylight Robbery 💕☕🔥-- when Gojo asks Nanami to cuckold him and his fiancée, things don't go the way Gojo planned...

Debellatio 🔥💕-- a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma sex-pollen threesome.

Ditch the Party 🔥💕-- Nanami Kento hates parties. But the drinks? The drinks make him bold.

Domain Expansion theory-- Pseudowho's vision of Nanami Kento's domain expansion.

Edging Nanami Kento 🔥💕-- The reader drives Nanami Kento to the edge and back again.

Fire and Iron 💕☕🔥-- AU!Nanami Kento is the town blacksmith, and the reader is forced to stay the night after tending to his wounds.

Full 🔥☕💕-- Nanami Kento treats his pregnant wife like the goddess she is.

Glory Glory 🔥☕💕-- "Help, I'm stuck!" on a mission with Kento, and he takes full advantage of the compromising position.

Good Boy 🔥💕-- after a bad day, you know exactly what Kento needs to help him relax...

Good Girl 💕🤡 -- a drabble

Grandpapamin ☕💕-- Nanami Kento as a grandfather, Headcanons.

Grey 🔥💔💕-- The reader lives a vigilante life; so does Nanami Kento, a changed man after the events of Shibuya. When she is sent to hunt him down, Nanami Kento has a proposition for her.

Grey! Nanami Headcanons Part One ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader headcanons.

Grey! Nanami Headcanons Part Two ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader headcanons.

Grey! Nanami Christmas ⛄🎄 Headcanons ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader Headcanons.

Hanahaki 💕☕💔-- being in love with you is killing Nanami Kento.

Hide and Seek 🔥-- Game night gets spicy.

"How well can you drive?" 🔥 -- the reader takes matters into her own mouth so Kento can prove his driving skills.

Infiltration (MULTI-CHAPTER) 🔥☕💔💕

(COMPLETE!) --the reader and Nanami Kento must pretend to be married, infiltrating a Curse-user cult to take it down from the inside.

Chapter One: Introduction

Chapter Two: Pillow Talk

Chapter Three: Deadly Games

Chapter Four: The Rumbling Shrine

Chapter Five: Breaking Point

Chapter Six: Exposed

Chapter Seven: The Captive Goddess

Chapter Eight: Unchained

In From the Cold ☕🔥💕-- The reader wanders in the snow, lost and injured after a mission gone wrong; will Nanami Kento save her?

Kento Comes Home Drunk 🔥💕-- and the reader handles his advances like a total champ.

And, its sequel... Reader Comes Home Drunk 🔥 💕-- where Kento manages the reader's advances like an absolute champ.

Knismolagnia 🔥💕-- Kento has a somewhat...erotic response to being tickled.

Last Moments 💔☕-- Nanami Kento remembers a childhood holiday.

Nanami Kento, and the Curses of an Unusual Nature (MULTI-CHAPTER) -- Nanami Kento is deemed the only Sorcerer sensible enough to handle some frankly weird Curses

- Chapter 1: Gone Shopping 🤡 -- locals are going missing at a large shopping centre; Nanami Kento is sent to investigate.

Nanami Kento's Massive Squeezable Man Tiddies 🔥☕-- the reader being casually obsessed with Kento's chest...repost link HERE!

Operation Babymaker (a new series!) 💕💔🔥☕ -- Nanami Kento takes trying for a baby very seriously indeed.

A Trip to the Tailors-- the reader reveals she's been off the pill for months, and Kento cannot contain himself.

Benchpress-- the reader interrupts Kento's workout, and is manhandled into submission.

Ditch the Party...again-- tipsy Kento is back, and deadlier than ever.

Wet Dreams-- Kento gives the reader a free-pass for when he's asleep...and he returns the favour

Raising You ☕💔💕-- When the reader is de-aged by a Curse, Nanami is forced to raise her like a daughter.

Red 🔥💔-- Nanami Kento, the infamous Curse-user, has been on the run for years...what will you do when he catches up to you?

Resolute ☕💔💕-- The reader helps Nanami to accept that he has a drinking problem.

Seasons of Grief 🔥💔💕☕ -- The reader supports Nanami Kento through the anniversary of Yuu Haibara's death, and afterwards, when Kento nearly loses the reader

Shirtsleeves 🔥 -- The reader steals Kento's last shirt, and receives her comeuppance.

Still Got It ☕💕-- The Nanami kids' parents are boring...right?

Stoic 💕🔥-- Kento is furious when Gojo assumes that his lack of PDA towards the reader shows a lack of desire.

The Accumulation of Little Despairs ☕💔💕 -- The reader struggles with low-mood; Nanami Kento comes to the rescue

The Chase 🔥💕-- The reader has insisted on No-Nut November; Nanami Kento gets his revenge by hunting her down and taking his reward.

Why I love Nanami Kento

Yet Another Sex Pollen Fic, PART ONE 🔥💕

And...PART TWO 🔥💕 -- the reader has a problem... and only Nanami Kento can help her scratch the itch.

Higuruma Hiromi Masterlist

Updated: 6th March 2024

REQUESTS CLOSED

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Calamus et Gladius (the pen and the sword) 🔥💕💔☕-- slow-burn, enemies to lovers Culling Game smut with Higuruma and a foreign reader

Daddy 🔥☕💕-- dating apps are a hazard for men like Higuruma Hiromi...

Debellatio 🔥💕-- a Higuruma x Reader x Nanami sex-pollen threesome

Fellatio 🔥-- the bathtub lawyer receives head in his office.

Fumus et Ignis 🔥💕-- sometimes, Hiromi smokes and ties you up while he makes you ride him.

Glory Glory 🔥☕-- 'Help, I'm Stuck!' with Hiromi, two bottles of wine and a compromising position with his gavel.

Hiromi and Nemo ☕-- tales of Higuruma Hiromi, and his little black cat.

Hiromi Higuruma Relationship Headcanons ☕🔥💕

In Flagrante Delicto 💔☕🔥💕-- Higuruma struggles to adapt to life as a sorcerer, refusing all of your offers to help...until he needs you.

"I've Committed a Crime" Ask and Drabble 🤡💕-- Higuruma is a ruthless tease

Jus in Bello: A Judicious Domain 💔🔥💕-- The reader throws Higuruma out of their home after they struggle to adapt to his new Cursed power...and the reader must then hunt him down in the Culling Game, to bring him home.

Men with Big Noses 🔥💕-- you reveal a kink for Higuruma's nose, and he shows you exactly what he can do with that.

Milk and Honey 💕🔥-- Hiromi is obsessed with your milk, and loves you while you sleep.

Office Besties ☕💕-- Hiromi and you are just friends...right?

Sanguis et Vinum 🔥💕-- period sex with Higuruma

Shower drabble ☕💕-- Higuruma comforts you after a bad day.

The Stairwell 🔥💕-- You've been teasing Higuruma all day at the office; he catches up to you, eventually.

Vinum Rubrum 🔥💕-- wine is better when you share a glass...and your mouths.

The Widow's Keeper ☕💔💕-- The reader and Higuruma traverse the complexities of love and grief, after the death of Nanami Kento, her first husband.

"Your Honour" Ask and Drabble 💕🤡🔥-- Hiromi forgets your name as he cums.

Suguru Geto Masterlist

Updated: 23rd February 2024

REQUESTS OPEN!

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Deadly Nightshade 🐙🔥💕-- a Suguru Geto "sex pollen" fic.

Kamo Choso Masterlist

Updated: 28th December 2023

REQUESTS OPEN!

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Glory Glory 🔥☕-- 'Help, I'm stuck!' on a mission together, and virgin Choso is offered the opportunity of a lifetime.

Snowhere to Go ☕💕-- When your date plans are foiled by the snow, you and Choso make your own fun with a stack of old board games.

Aoi Todo Masterlist

Updated: 27th January 2024

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Act of the Soul 🔥-- Aoi Todo uses his Boogie Boogie on the reader during sex.

JJK's Multi-Character Masterlist

Updated: 31st March 2024

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Being gross in long-term comfortable relationships ☕💕-- with Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Yuuta, Maki, Megumi, Nobara, Yuuji and Ino

"Cumfaces" Ask and Drabble 🤡

Defending Your Honour ☕💕-- the JJK boys are sick of the creeps and perverts who harass our dear reader.

Nanami, Todo and Geto

Higuruma, Ino and Yuuji

Gojo, Megumi and Nobara, Inumaki and Toji

Firemen 💔☕💕-- the JJK Crew rescue the Reader, and fall in love at the same time.

Nanami and Higuruma Aesthetics: ☕ 'Besto Friendos' dichotomies

Neat Suit/Messy Suit

Cold Anger/Hot Anger

"Stay down!" Fighter/"Get Up!" Fighter

City-Skyline Penthouse/Converted-Factory Penthouse aesthetics

IKEA Flat-pack Aesthetics

How They Ejaculate 🔥📚-- a physiological ejaculation study of Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Choso, Toji, Higuruma and TrueForm!Sukuna

Penis Synonym Smutfics 🤡🔥 -- with Nanami Kento, Hiromi Higuruma, Takuma Ino, Gojo Satoru and Inumaki Toge

Penpals (a Panda fic) 🐼☕-- he didn't mean to Catfish you. Honestly.

Shower Mat 🔥💕-- the reader buys an 'old lady shower mat'...that makes shower shenanigans suddenly possible.

Takuma Ino as a Young Dad ☕💕-- when Takuma unexpectedly becomes a father...

The Rebounds 🔥💕-- Yuuta and Maki show you the date of your life, after you're dumped

They Find You Wearing This...Unsexy Monstrosity 🤡 -- with Itadori Yuuji, Satoru Gojo, Higuruma, Sukuna, Toji, Nanami and Suguru

[reasonsforhope]

[Warning: Graphic (some very graphic) shark-fishing pictures at the link.]

"Suhardi isn’t your average snorkeling guide. Born on the Indonesian island of Lombok, he’s spent his life on water. While he now seeks out sharks for the enjoyment of tourists, he once hunted sharks to help earn money to feed his family and educate his two children.

Suhardi was a fisherman for more than 20 years. He first started fishing working on his parents’ boat, but was then asked to join the crew of a shark boat where he was told he could earn a lot of money. Back on deck, he looks embarrassed to divulge what a meager wage it was, but finally confesses he earned around $50 for up to a month at sea.

Now he and 12 other former shark fishermen are part of The Dorsal Effect, an ecotourism company that helps ex-shark hunters find a new vocation. Each week, the team takes groups of tourists, schoolchildren and university students to off-the-grid locations and guides them around pristine reefs. Each trip is designed to take guests on an exploratory journey of both the shark trade and marine conservation through the eyes of the Sasak people of Lombok.

Lombok is a hotspot for marine diversity, sitting just east of the Wallace Line, a biogeographical boundary separating Asia and Australia and their respective fauna. Pristine coral gardens and around 80 species of sharks can be found in its waters. The island is also part of the world’s largest shark-fishing nation. Only the whale shark (Rhincondon typus) is protected in Indonesia; all other sharks can be legally caught.

The Dorsal Effect first launched in 2013, a year after Suhardi met Singaporean ecologist Kathy Xu, who had traveled to Lombok to find out more about the shark trade. The diminutive but quietly determined Xu wanted to protect sharks, but because she knew shark fishing was poorly paid and dangerous, she wanted to hear the fishermen’s stories too. They told her how once they could fish for sharks close to shore, but now with the shark population dropping, the fishermen said they needed to travel farther out to sea, only to come home with a relatively poor catch. The reduced catch also meant reduced pay, so they often couldn’t cover their costs...

Yet, when Xu asked why fishers didn’t seek out another trade, she learned they didn’t want to be separated from the sea. They saw it as part of their heritage.

But as they spoke longer, the shark fishermen talked about the coral gardens that could be found under the waves, ones that only they knew about. Inspired by a whale shark diving trip she’d taken with scientists on the Great Barrier Reef, Xu had an idea. “If such spots exist,” she recalls telling the fishers, “I could take tourists out with you and pay you more than you earned shark fishing”.

At first, Xu guided the former shark fishermen on how to become eco-friendly tour operators. They dropped anchor away from the reef, served guests plant-based dishes, and made sure all trash was taken back to shore. But then Xu saw that something special was happening: The former fishermen had started to take the guest experience into their own hands, making sure tourists felt at home. Suhardi painted “Welcome” in large letters over the front of his boat, fitted green baize to the top deck for outdoor seating, and hung curtains in the cabin so his guests could enjoy some shade.

Suhardi has already bought a new boat with his earnings from snorkeling trips. “Every day is my best day,” laughs Suhardi, whose smile always travels from his mouth to his eyes.

While they were receiving tourists from across the globe, there was another group that Xu wanted to reach out to. “I think it was the teacher in me who felt impassioned about influencing the young,” she says. She reached out to schools and created a five-day program that would help students understand the shark trade and local conservation efforts. During the program, paid for by the school and students, participants would not only meet the ex-shark fishermen so they could ask them about their lives, but also hear from NGOs such as the Wildlife Conservation Society about their efforts to slow the trade. The Dorsal Effect also hired marine biologists to host nightly lectures and help the students with their field surveys...

The students were faced with the realities of the fishing trade, but they were also encouraged to take a balanced view by The Dorsal Effect team. The villagers weren’t just taking the fins, and throwing away the rest of the shark; they processed every piece of the animal. While they did sell the meat and fins to buyers at the market, they also sold the teeth to jewelers, and the remains for pet food.

The Dorsal Effect also takes students on an excursion to the fishermen’s village, a small island that lies off the coast of Lombok. Marine biologist Bryan Ng Sai Lin, who was hired by The Dorsal Effect team, says that on one trip with students he was surprised by how quickly the young people understood the situation. “One of them said it’s good to think about conservation, but at the same time these people don’t really have any other choice,” Lin says....

Conservation scientist Hollie Booth of Save Our Seas, which does not work directly with The Dorsal Effect, says the need to provide legal profitable alternatives to shark fishing is critical: “We are never going to solve biodiversity and environment issues unless we think about incentives and take local people’s needs into account. These kinds of programs are really important.”"

-via Mongabay, December 15, 2023

[on-a-lucky-tide]

i wonder if nikolai got into western stuff during his adolescence or adulthood? i HC that he got glimpses of it during childhood perhaps from trips/patrols near the wall or when he defected from russia. hmmm

This is a great idea. Maybe this is how Nik first began to hone the skills he needed to be a fixer; smuggling western memorabilia into his home for his own collection. I imagine he had an old Walkman and a collection of cassettes containing everything from glam metal and hair bands to Madonna. Baby Nik grooving in his bedroom to Careless Whisper, I Love Rock N Roll, Like a Virgin and You Shook Me All Night Long.

He had newspaper clippings of major stories that were broken very differently in the west, posters of men he found attractive rolled up and stuffed in the back of his closet, knick knacks and tokens of western culture that is either missing or all out forbidden, but he started getting too big for his boots and smuggling in film reels which were harder to hide and watch, and he almost got into a Metric Shit Ton of trouble for a copy of Rain Man.

And Nik was born in 1975. Nik is ten in 1985. I imagine he starts his smuggling operation around eleven or twelve, pretending to be much older through his correspondence and never appearing in person. He's a hyper intelligent kid using all those brains to do what kids do best; disobey, do things they're told not to, get excited by the forbidden and mysterious.

As Nik matures and the Soviet Union crumbles, I think the socialist principles installed in him through his education (and mother's influence) begin to assert themselves, and he becomes more critical of consumer capitalism and all its trappings. Much of that collection disappears when he has to leave anyway.

He still has the Walkman though, and maybe Price finds him listening to it one evening in the flat, the foam on the headphones brittle, falling away, some of the buttons cracked and sticking. It reminds him of a simpler time, when he was bright-eyed, hopeful, innocent. Who can begrudge him that?

[edutour]

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[kccinstitutes]

Visit to the Hon'ble Supreme Court of India

Today marks the end of a 2-day visit to the Hon'ble Supreme Court of India from Nov 27-28 – an exceptional milestone in the journey of learning and growth for KCCians.

This educational trip gave our future lawyers a first-hand look at landmark court cases and provided priceless insights into how our Highest Court operates. These kinds of experiences genuinely close the gap between theory and practice, giving our students the tools they need for their future legal professions.

Our sincere gratitude to our committed instructors and mentors for planning this enchanting event! We are nurturing the future generation of legal leaders together!

visit to the Hon'ble Supreme Court of India

[gallusrostromegalus]

You ohhhandedly mentioned tessai livong through ww2 and… wow thats true there were a lot of characters that got a first row seat to both conflicts, even if only the second was really impactful on japans history. Does urahara, yoruichi, tessai, the vizored or any of the shinigami have any specific feelings on ww2/the nuclear bombs? I know its a wild fucking question but it literally just occurred to me and i cant stop thinking about it.

Yeah WW2 is an entire 5-chapter arc in the fic because apparently Kubo is from Hiroshima, and Karakura town is based on his memories growing up there. Stuff that happens during that arc:

The Soul Society's sole warning that something catastrophic might be coming is the arrival of an irradiated and enraged Coyote spirit from the Trinidad test site. It's up to Newly-appointed captain Komamura to calm it down and explain what happened, and Mayuri is able to work out that atomic weapons are real from it's descriptions. He gives Soul Society about a month before the humans drop one on a city.

Unfortunately, he's correct.

***

Urahara and the Visoreds use the fact that they're already dead to mitigate some of the damage from the bombing by walking into the epicenter and shoving carbon rods into the most radioactive points, stemming much of the radiation damage, but there's nothing they can do for the initial wave of destruction.

It involves going through a new gigai every trip and learning what if feels like to have the flesh actually melt off your bones, but Hirako Shinji and the other Visored are no cowards, least of all about Hard and Dirty Work.

Tessai makes Ururu and Jinta out of spare parts from Urahara's Gigai experiments to house a heavily damage Kitsune and Tanuki spirit pair from a shrine that was destroyed. Ururu is the Tankuki, and the older one- Jinta seems a bit more 'organic' because Tessai learned a lot making his sister, and because as a Kitsune, he's a better actor.

***

Soul Society is in major trouble though.

with the sudden influx of souls- first from the bombing, but then from the radiation sickness and the famine that followed, the living and spirit worlds are in danger of becoming unbalanced.

It's a Major Crisis!

Fortunately for them, people with sociopathy tend to operate really well during Crises, and I realized the reason Mayuri hasn't been fired or killed by the time Ichigo shows up is that when shit hits the fan, Mayuri's lack of emotional response to the suffering of others means he can buckle down and fucking DELIVER.

Expansions to the pocket dimension that the queue of incoming souls is housed in? He didn't sleep for two weeks to get it done on time, but there was more than enough room when the bomb dropped and for the few months after as casualties continued.

Emergency rations for all these incoming factory workers that know nothing about farming? Behold, Nutritionally complete meals that you can eat right out of the box! And smaller, friendlier ones for the kiddies!

Hell, the 12th division even makes instructional propaganda videos about how safe and tasty these new foods are, featuring The Grand Clown Himself, and distribution centers featuring his likeness, so Mayuri enjoys a peculiar popularity in the Rukongai, not unlike an off-brand and sometimes educational Krusty The Clown.

Just ah. Stop asking questions about the ingredients list.

***

"I'm not fucking killing civillians." Says Kenpachi when Yamamoto begins to bring up the historical method that the Shinigami have used to balance out sudden influxes of souls from the living world.

"Oh?" Yamamoto glares at him. "You have a better idea?"

"What's them big fuckers that come outta tears sometimes? Hundred feet tall, black, bird faces?" He asks, waving as he tries to remember the names.

"...Menos Grande?" asks Ukitake, who has gotten remarkably good at interpreting for the man next to him at meetings.

"Yeah!" Zaraki grins, patting his six-foot-tall colleague on the head like a small child. "You said they're like... combination creatures of a thousand souls each right?"

"Zaraki is correct." Pipes up Tousen, who is also extremely eager to not murder civilians and even more eager to absolutely fuck up the army of Menos Aizen has been gathering in Hueco Mundo. "-It wouldn't be *easy* but dispatching approximately Five hundred Menos in the next week seems much more doable and much, much more morally sound than killing five hundred thousand civillians. Sir."

Kaname can feel the curse nails on his back starting to bleed from Aizen's glare but he presses on.

"-There appears to be a significant population of them gathered on the far eastern edge of Hueco Mundo. It would probably take most of the 11th Division's forces but-"

"IKKAKU!" Zaraki is already bellowing out the door to his lieutenant. "TELL EVERYONE TO PACK AN EXTRA PAIR OF PANTIES, WE'RE GOING ON A HOLLOW HUNT!"

There is a distant but enthusiastic whoop form Ikkaku in reply.

"An excursion into Hueco Mundo is exceptionally dangerous." Unohana notes, voice placid as he returns to the table.

"-and? I don't do this job because it's safe 'n' easy." Zaraki shrugs.

Her neutral expression softens just a bit into a small, affectionate and perhaps ever-so-slightly lascivious smile. "May I suggest that a detachment of the 4th Division accompany the 11th? It won't make the work easier, but it will mitigate some of the risk."

Yamamoto groans, aware that the decision has been made for him.

"Fine." He grunts. "Take a detachment of the Ninth too, you can use that newfangled radiodar whatsit to keep me updated."

"Pardon?" Mumbles Kaname, slightly woozy from blood loss.

His circulatory situation is not helped when an illusion-blind-to-the-blood Zaraki grabs him about the middle and starts carrying him off under his arm in exactly the direction the 9th and 11th are not like a particularly bewildered purse Chihuahua.

***

Aizen... almost strays from his path.

The Hogyoku is slow and tiresome, his first plan to barrage Karakura with Menos to create the Oken is being trashed and actually being forced to work his job of Rukongai Management is- Well, it's reminding him just why he started this quest to Dethrone God.

What loving creator would make an afterlife of squalor, where the 'lucky' are cursed to outlive everyone they know and love? Not one worth worshiping, surely.

But actually being out here, setting up emergency food distribution, implementing the latest in civil engineering from the newly arrived and seeing it immediately improve the quality of life, uniting families and... actually helping people? it's making him question his path. Perhaps- Perhaps God is not some uncaring regent on a distant throne. Perhaps God is something that lives in all souls, a kindness and goodwill towards one's fellow man, and to spread the will of a loving creator, one must Act to Enact God's Will...

Gin Panics.

He has not spent the last 300-odd years dangling the Hogyoku in front of Aizen, stuffing him full of spiritual energy to feed to the machine that generates reality like he was fattening up a goose for Pate, only to have him give up his quest for divinity NOW.

He's gonna have to do something drastic.

He's gonna have to convince Aizen he was right all along, and that he needs to keep using the Hogyoku.

He's going to need to use Aizen's own Illusions against him, and convince Aizen that the souls of the citizens of the rukongai aren't worth playing a Benevolent God for. That the whole thing needs to come out and be replaced.

Sure, it's a dick move

but those are his specialty.

***

It's the night before the 11th and the two detachments are supposed to leave for Hueco Mundo, and Yamamoto's been doing some thinking.

He is also in Zaraki's quarters at midnight sharp. "Captain-General." Nods Unohana, pausing mid-activity to acknowledge him. "Bruh." Zaraki grunts to indicate they were busy. "I need to borrow Zaraki for an hour or so, and then you may continue." he says, and then steps back outside so the man can get untied and dressed.

"This better be good old man, I know you haven't been married for a few centuries but REALLY-" Zaraki grumbles, emerging and putting his sandals on. "Don’t worry, it’ll take twenty minutes tops, all you have to do is stand behind me and don’t hide your rage." Yamamoto explains. "-We'’re going to go see the central 46." Zaraki pauses mid-sandal, slowly looking up at him with an intrigued arch to his brow. "Yes, it’s forbidden." Yamamoto says, not tearing his gaze away from the moon above them. "-But I've received reports that the Central 46 has acquired blueprints of the... Device. Used in the living world earlier this month and I'm nipping this at the damn bud." Zaraki grins, and finishes putting his sandals on.

The Central 46 are alerted to the Presence of Yamamoto and Zaraki by the main gate to their district being kicked through the wall of the council chambers.

"Hello, Sages and Wise Councilors of the Soul Society!" The Old Man greets them as he steps through the hole he just made, and The Barbarian squeezing through after, sword casually over his shoulder. "Well isn't this a surprise, everyone here in a full meeting at One in the Morning on a Teusday!"

"Wh-What is the meaning of this?" one of the head councilmen sputters, mustache bristling. "Shinigami are forbidden form this place, I'll have you both execu-!"

"Shut up." Yamamoto glares, and sparks fly from the corner of his eye. The hem of his Haori is starting to smolder and singe as well as he approaches the table the councilors are crowded around the blueprints from the living world.

"Now, we are all good and honorable people here." Yamamoto says, casually waving a hand in what would normally be a placating gesture but now only made his sleeve flicker as Ryujin Jakka grew hungrier. "-But I've been around long enough to know how Power corrupts."

"And we've all been exposed to a new, horrific level of Power."

"Oh, of course, you would never! It's unthinkable to sink to such a level!"

"...but it's been a few weeks. The initial shock has faded, and you're starting to understand the full toll of the destruction." he explains, strolling up, the diamond insignia on his back spreading across his shoulders as the Haori singes. Behind him, Zaraki is following with an unpleasantly carnivorous stroll, yellow eye lazily moving from face to face, taking stock of all those present. "...and you are perhaps developing a new standard of devastation and suffering to wish upon your enemies."

There is some muttering, some protesting, and worse, some agreeing. They are silenced by a sudden electric crackle of Energy from Zaraki.

"I’m just here to tell you all-" Yamamoto continues, unperturbed. Or perhaps so perturbed he's warped all the way around to a deep, ruthless peace.

"If I hear any ONE of you has taken steps to develop a weapon like this-" he points a finger at the blueprints, which singe and then burn, a low, slow flame that reduces them completely to ash.

"-I’m going to kill all of you."

"Actually," he explains, as the blueprints finish burning and the table catches as well, fire blooming and crackling, lighting him from beneath. "I’m going to kill all of you and your families. By which I mean, I’m figuring out who all your ancestors were going back Five generations, Kill them, and kill all their descendants."

The table burns, and the floor is threatening to catch, but nobody can move to ring the fire alarm or grab a bucket of water.

"-Because that’s the kind of indiscriminate destruction these things cause." he explains. "It's a damn shame to say this, but this is the first time we've been able to settle whole families in the same town- because five, six, even seven generations of families, from great-great grandmother to the newest infants were burnt together in an instant."

"So if you want to wield that kind of destruction, you best be prepared to deal with those kinds of consequences." he growls, and suddenly sweeps his hand over the fire, which snuffs out immediately.

Slowly he turns to go, and regards Zaraki behind him.

"Oh, and just in case any of you had thoughts of hastening my retirement in regards to this matter-" he speaks up, and points to Zaraki "-Near as I can tell, this asshole is immortal and indestructible, so if I happen to be dead, he'll do it for me, won't you?"

"Yes, sir." Zaraki Nods, eye fixed on the head councilor, committing his face to memory, blade and crackling eagerly.

"-and he's nowhere near as speedy and clean a killer as I am, so I suggest you don't test either of us." Yamamoto grins, and Ryujin Jakka can't help but flicker off his brow for emphasis.

"Goodnight, and go fuck yourselves." Yamamoto bows, and exits through the same hole he entered.

The walk back to the 11th is largely silent, but Yamamot can feel the pleased-yet-curious thrum of reiatsu from Zaraki.

"Question, boss-" he suddenly speaks as they approach the 11th.

"You're not supposed to question orders, Zaraki." He sighs. He'll make a proper shinigami out of him. Eventually.

"...Request for clarification, Boss-" Zaraki tries again, and Yamamoto nods. "-Why me?"

Yamamoto arches an overgrown brow at him.

"Not complainin'-" Zaraki explains, pointedly looking up at the moon and scratching his neck in deferment. "-But Byakuya's got more sway with them and Gin's definitely better at terrifying first impressions."

"Hm." Yamamoto nods. "It's in the follow-up, not the impression, you see."

"I do not." Zaraki says. For all his faults and frustrations, Zaraki sure keeps Yamamoto on his toes about not being lazy and actually explaining himself.

"-I am very serious about you killing them and their descendants if they ever think about making one of those devices." he sighs and Zaraki nods, waving a hand for him to continue. "-So I picked the Shinigami most invested in a peaceful future to make sure my orders would be carried out."

Zaraki still looks confused.

"You're my only captain with children, Zaraki." Yamamoto explains. "I know you only give half a rat's ass about the court guard, but I've seen what you'll do for Yachiru."

Zaraki nods understanding now, and a few more paces of silence pass between them.

"...Thank you, Sir." Zaraki mutters, bowing his head and using the honorific with genuine intent for the first time since Yamamoto had known him. "-For understanding."

"Thank you, Captain Zaraki." Yamamoto nodded slightly, stopping before the gate to the 11th. "-For understanding as well."

"-Now get back to Captain Unohana before she schedules some sort of blood test of a thousand needles for me!" Yamamoto grunted, prodding at Zaraki with his cane, and the man didn't need to be told twice.

[chimera-dreams]

This Tiny Thing Called Entropy

Chap 3

Task Force 141 Ensemble x reader

tags: tags and warnings to be added by chapter | violence, reader has a nickname/callsign, slow burn, weird mix between modern and future, dystopian, androids, eventual smut, see full list on (Ao3) (registered users)

wc: 9.3k

CW: human trafficking

Chap 1 | chap 2 | chap 3

Being a mercenary meant that seeing full-tac gear was a novelty to you, generally speaking.

You got the pleasure of observing the boys suit up. They were incredibly efficient with it, their equipment functioning as a second skin at this point in their careers. It was another part of their routine to them, muscle memory beaten in by a high-carbon hammer next to a blazing forge. It fascinated you, this attempt of yours to keep track of just how much shit they put on themselves for a single mission.

Vest, helmet, ammo, utilities, nightvision – how the fuck were they able to walk around in all that, let alone silently? All those buckles and straps and crinkly things were just begging to make as much noise as possible, yet you heard not a peep from them.

Kyle dressed differently, as his task revolved around being out on the street, visible. Bulletproof vest and guards under a standard, gray T-shirt, dark wash jeans, and a simple, fitted jacket made of a chestnut fabric created a casual, effortlessly stylish look. He didn’t stand out in any regard, neither too stiff nor too loose. The perfect blend of work and civilian.

Despite their insistence on getting you into some gear, too, you were able to convince them that it’d only hinder you and make the mission harder. You were used to your soft fabrics that made no sound as they glided against each other, preferring the all-consuming void that was black dye that aided you in adhering to shadows. If nothing else, you at least had that in common with Ghost.

That skull plate of his was significantly scarier than his damn balaclavas, though.

John made the final decision to let you be, and while you were grateful, you saw the flickers of confusion pass across the two other faces you could see. Ghost’s reaction, or possible lack thereof, remained a mystery to you.

You knew why they were unsettled by his choice. Price was a deeply protective man, always steered toward the ‘better to have it and not need it’ end of the spectrum. To him, there was no such thing as over preparing. Truly, you could never know what the day would hold in store for you; so, for him to tell his men no to getting you stuffed into a crowded getup? Yeah, you saw how that might set off a few warning bells.

Their trust in him impressed you. They took his word as gospel, obeyed, and finished dressing themselves.

Order notwithstanding, though, you could sense their stares piercing into you, examining the loose flow of your pullover and well-fitted leggings. You might as well have been butt-ass naked in their educated opinion, but you knew best how you worked. Tossing on an extra 35 pounds on top of you would assuredly hinder your ability to operate. 

John knew, too, though he didn’t say why or how aloud to his team. You were grateful, and decided you’d buy him a nice bottle of scotch. A hearty whisky always did an old man like him good, and he deserved it for protecting not only his boys, but you.

Barring protection, you needed to be as inconspicuous as possible if you had any hope of getting close to your target or targets, whomever they may be. Close enough to release your Jumping Spider, at the very least. 

Downy, tightly-woven knits made virtually no sound when rubbed; leggings that hugged you from ankle to hip gave you comfort and minimal restriction without worry of getting tripped up or caught on anything on the move, while a top that hung slack around your midsection and cinched at your wrists gave you plenty of range of motion. Plus, your sleeves could double as pockets for small items, if you were in a pinch.

You’d been accused of resembling a crow, or magpie, at times. Not because of the all-ink clothes, no, but because of your tendency to go “ooh, shiny!” at any random object and toss whatever junk you found into your collection. Kate had made the connection, then Price, and if these boys were lucky, they’d get to be in your vicinity long enough to see it in action.

Speaking of action, you were torn.

A simple and easy mission meant you’d get triple your normal wage essentially for free, courtesy of John Price himself. You were pretty sure that Laswell would be the one transferring the money to you, but your point stood. Many hands make easy work, and all that.

However, simple and easy also meant boring. Remarkably so.

Action was fun. Thrilling, enticing. Yes, you were particular towards being, y’know, alive – but you wouldn’t deny the rush of zeal you got in the heat of a mission. In your mind, there was a blurry yet distinct separation between being caught in the midst of an assignment, and being detained by authorities. 

Yes, chances were that you’d die either way, but you’d rather go out in a blaze of glory in one scenario, than a terrified little girl in the second. Neither would know your name, the one you were given not at conception, but by the one who loved you most. Neither would care for you post-mortem, certainly not. To both, you were a pestilence they would be all the happy to be rid of.

However, one scenario meant you’d go out believing you’d immortalized yourself, lived plenty and more, earned the right to call yourself victorious.

The other meant you broke your promise.

And, you wouldn’t be breaking your promise. Not now, not ever. You’d willingly die at the hands of some trust fund baby’s protection squad sooner than you’d let any lawman lay a grimy finger on a single hair of your head. 

At least, then, you wouldn’t be around to watch your body be desecrated; stripped apart layer by layer, skin giving way to bone, bone giving way to ichor. You wouldn’t have to be bound down, knowing the wrong kind of death was approaching. You’d have the mercy of the world going black before hell came your way.

Maybe, that was why you sought out danger. 

You wondered if they were the same as you, these men. Not on the surface, nor beneath the sinew of your existence, rather on a fundamental level. Why did they do this kind of dirty work? Why did they stain their palms with cruor, knowing its claret mark would never wash out, that they’d never be able to pick their nails clean of the muck and dirt they clawed open graves to throw nameless faces into?

You pondered on their motives as you watched Price check them over. They didn’t need it, their ability to rapidly dress and prepare told you that much. You had a feeling it was more for the Captain’s sake than theirs by now. A comfort, a reassurance, to know with certainty that his boys were ready.

Done with his inspection, he came to you, patting your bicep.

“Set to go, love?” He murmured, voice pitched low. Warm and tender, caring. His silvery-blue eyes were watery, offering you one last chance to back out before you got into the thick of it, before the door would vanish behind you.

You pretended it didn’t send a shiver running up your spine.

“Yeah,” you breathed out. 

His fingers squeezed your arm, then he released you. You mourned the loss of his touch, the heat of his palm encasing you. Silently, of course.

He led the way up a narrow staircase within the basement area. It went up through a trapdoor into the main building, the faux storefront. It looked the part; stocked shelves, a counter near the front, a register on the counter. Hell, maybe it was a real store. Less conspicuous than one random empty lot in the midst of a spattering of others.

Not given much time to take in the space, you followed after the team as they exited through a backdoor into a narrow alley. John ushered you after them, his hand eclipsing the small of your back to nudge you forward before it was gone again, freed so he could shut the door.

One end of the passageway opened up to the main street, while the other opened to a van awaiting your group. Nondescript, white, completely and monumentally standard. There were no markings on the vehicle, nothing that would give away its role in this operation. Windowless on all sides, save for the windshield and two front doors.

Kyle – Gaz, now, on the field – popped open the back and climbed inside efficiently, tailed by Soap. You stepped around the door, and found a wide, outstretched hand in front of you, anticipating you.

You grabbed it, and were easily hoisted up by Soap. You expected him to let go as soon as you were steady on your feet, but he kept his gloved paw wrapped around your palm. Behind you, Ghost shut the doors, closing you in with them. He walked around to the front and climbed into the passenger seat, Price already having taken the helm.

The cabin lacked a bulkhead, freeing up space as well as allowing for free communication between those up front and those in the cargo hold. To your left was a bench, and to the right was a range of electronic devices secured to the wall. A few screens, currently off, a shelf carrying what appeared to be entirely random tools and, hell, was that an IP scrambler? Shit, that thing looked older than you, how was it still alive?

Soap only released you when the engine kicked to life, seemingly reluctant to do so. He hovered, too, until you were sat on the bench, after which he settled into place beside you, knee pressed to yours. Tingles spread through your scalp at the contact, pooling in the form of tepid tension in the pit of your stomach.

What the hell is going on with me? 

First Price, now Soap?

“You always a mother hen?” You prodded instead of acknowledging the bizarre sensations that’d begun to infect you.

His brow furrowed and he opened his mouth, only to be cut off by a snort from Gaz, who busied himself with starting up the surveillance systems. 

“Mother hen? He can barely take care of himself–”

“Oi!”

“–if anyone is a mother hen, it’s Ghost.”

Speaking of the devil, the man growled out to his sergeant, not bothering to lift his head from the laptop he’d retrieved from thin fucking air, apparently. Granted, you were distracted by Soap’s nearness, but regardless. “Watch it.”

“Apologies, sir.”

“Ghost?” You whispered to Soap.

He nodded solemnly. “Quiet as the devil, that yin, but he willnae rest ‘til we’re all sorted ‘n’ in one piece.”

What little you knew of Ghost painted an entirely different picture, one of a brooding and aloof man. Smoking cigarettes alone, staring into space at 2 AM with a cooling mug of tea clutched by the handle, brushing others off at any sign of disquiet about his state. Tall, beefy beyond belief, it was no wonder you saw him as a scary guard dog.

Now, that viewpoint had been challenged, altered. As opposed to a feral beast, lingering too close to the edge of snapping his maw for comfort, you pictured him as a livestock guardian. Ruthless and unforgiving when it came to protecting his flock. Jaws designed to crush bone, tear out throats, were the same that nuzzled into the cotton fleece of the herd he laid his life on the line for, bloodied his claws for.

Phosphorus on a black coat, sockets and fangs emphasized, a collar covered in steel spikes encasing his throat to protect his jugular, the reaper’s hound heeling at Price’s command.

And, suddenly, he wasn’t so scary. Not to you, not while you were under John’s watchful keep, in the refuge he built for his pack. For however long you’d spend lying on the same hay that the rest of his drove, you knew Ghost would shield you from any danger the same way he shielded his own.

They’d make for good ranchers, you considered idly, in a better world.

Driven by curiosity, you reached out a foot to tap Gaz’s heel using your toe, nabbing his attention.

“What would you do, if not this?” You asked.

He stopped typing on the keyboard laid out on the thin desk in front of him, pondering. “Dunno. Never really thought on it.”

“Not at all?”

He shrugged languidly. “One of my sisters owns a brick-and-mortar in Southern Wales. Bakery-café, it’s a cozy place. Wouldn’t mind working there.”

“It’s a far cry from the military.”

He huffed, humor tinging his words. “That’s why I’d do it. Peaceful, yeah? Something simple. Just…human.”

Human.

Is this how one defines humanity? In mundanity? Peacefulness?

Back to setting up the computer system, he repeated your question to you.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, staring absently at the back of Price’s head. “An astronaut, maybe.”

He angled his head over his shoulder to peer at you. “An astronaut?”

You nodded, the movement subtle. Beyond the cabin, the world blurred past in a haze of drizzling rain that began to lighten, the sky tinted a somber sea holly.

“Always been drawn to space,” you mumbled. “The cosmos as a whole. Stars, planets, nebulae and blackholes and everything in between.”

Your eyes flickered up to a billboard. 

The thing was old, immensely so. A decade, two, maybe. The edges were tattered and washed out, the advertisement bleached by years upon years of endless deluges and sunbursts. Half of it was torn, shredded, like some monster had scratched it out in the whirling crack of a blistering rage. A figure occupied the left side, their features long since scrubbed out by Mother Nature’s callused hands.

Graffiti besmirched what little of the image remained, violent streaks of reds and blacks, blues and yellows. Still, you could see what lingered beneath, vague scratches of an aged puzzle, what the people wished so desperately to erase. 

No, not erase.

Destroy.

The words, discolored and etiolated, mocked passersby. It reminded them of a time when life was richer, more vibrant. When technology was rising faster and faster, each day marking the start of a brand new creation designed to lighten the average person’s life, ease the load. Medicine was improving, evolving. Menial labor was pointless. Loneliness ceased to exist.

People tended to dislike thinking of the past, of the things they tore apart.

Get █he new█st release of S█rvo Cogs™ bion toda█!

Lim█ted time ██fer; ███ Doll Series Mk█.0

Ju██ call: ██GO TO HELL███FUCK YOU

The rest was obstructed or stricken from existence by time.

Which left the graffiti.

SHIT█Kill all robots!! ████ DICK WAS HERE

bots are evil!!!!█

DI█DIE █IE DIE█ █HELL

██NO BOTS ALLOWED██CUNT

You breathed out through your nose, your head tipping until the back of your skull rested on cool metal.

“If life were different, I would’ve wanted to be an astronaut,” you continued from where you left off, the image of the billboard burned into your mind after passing it. “Explore space, man a voyage to the end of our solar system, see what lies beyond.”

He hummed in quiet acceptance. “Why space?”

Your lashes fluttered, tranquil on the highs of your cheeks. “Freedom. Just…floating, unbound by anything. Gravity can’t touch you up there, not really. To me, it’s the truest form of freedom there is.”

And, truly, was there anything more valuable than freedom? Freedom to live, breathe, want, and not be scorned for it?

“Ah woulda been an animator,” Soap chimed in, dreamy. 

Curiosity piqued, you weakly elbowed his side. “An animator?”

He smirked, canines peeking from behind his lips. “Aye. Loved ‘em as a bairn. Every morn’, ah’d be planted ‘hind the telly at the arse crack o’ dawn. Me mither had ta drag me away by the herr–”

From the front seat came a deep, long-suffering groan. “Speak english.”

Soap shot Ghost a glare and purposefully enunciated his words with a mock English accent. “I said, my mum had to pull me away from the feckin’ telly kickin’ an’ screamin’.”

“Was that so hard?” 

“Away an’ bile yer heid,” Soap grumbled, too low for Ghost to hear. That, or the lieutenant decided to be merciful and ignore him.

Paying the older man no mind, you urged the Scot to continue. “You wanted to go into animation?”

Just like that, his bubbly enthusiasm was back. “Aye! Always loved ‘toons. Wanted ta make wee kiddos happy, give ‘em somethin’ fun to watch. Bit o’ a pipe dream, that.”

You set a palm on his knee, squeezing. “I bet you would’ve made a great animator.”

He scanned your face, mellowing. “Think so?”

“Yeah. All the best artists are those who love doing what they do.”

“Thanks, lass.”

The conversation was cut short by the stern husk of Price. “We’re here. Gaz?”

Gaz straightened. “Computer’s set up, sir.”

Price nodded as he pulled over, parking by a curb. He turned in his seat, pale blue irises bouncing from him, to Soap, then to you. “We’ll go over the plan once more. You’ll go out with Gaz. Act as a couple, lay low, keep an eye on the building.”

You both murmured ‘understood’ to him. Pointedly, you ignored the buzz that rippled to life in your stomach at the thought of pretending to be intimate with Kyle.

Next, he addressed the man in the passenger seat. “Ghost, you’re on cameras. See if you can’t spot anyone resembling any of our suspects.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Good. Soap, you’re on backup with me. If shit hits the fan, we go in and provide cover.”

“You got it, Cap,” Soap acquiesced, albeit wearing a small pout. He pulled the short end of the stick this time, stuck with the immensely difficult job of sitting still.

You patted his shoulder in solidarity. He beamed at you.

Ghost got up from his post, climbing into the back area with your group. He set the laptop down on the table, replacing Gaz at the monitors. His fingers typed rapidly across the keyboard, confident and comfortable. He pulled up some sort of government website and filled out the login details – how he got them was anyone’s guess, but you weren’t inclined to ask. The site loaded, then a span of various screens flickered to life across the displays.

Influenced by your curiosity, you got up and stood beside him, taking in the rows of surveillance footage available, twelve in total. In two of them, you could spot the building you were here to investigate.

“Wow,” you drawled in amazement. “These cameras fucking suck.”

True to your words, the blurry imagery was immensely difficult to make out. You could spot civilians walking up and down the streets, and that was about it. Making out any defining details was a challenge in and of itself, and you did not envy your lieutenant’s task.

Gaz and Soap burst out laughing, and, somehow, you managed to attain a snort from Ghost. That alone felt like its own victory.

“That’s likely why they chose this area,” Price provided. “At least one of them has good knowledge of the area, and knows that surveillance is shoddy, if not outright unavailable. Sutton isn’t exactly known for its authority, after all.”

“Now, it’s up to us,” Soap said. He stood and grabbed something from the shelf, tossing it to Gaz, who jerked his head towards the back doors to push you into motion.

He popped them open, not too wide, and hopped out. You exited, too, after waving lazily at the men left behind in the van, the doors shutting much more gently than how Ghost had closed them earlier. Outside now, your partner messed with his right ear, then lifted his hand to show you an earpiece – yours, presumably.

“Alright if I put this in for you?”

You nodded, and he pinched your chin impossibly gingerly, adjusting your head as he needed. His fingers swept up your loose tresses, tucking them out of the way. Using an expert touch, quick but placid, Gaz fitted the comms into the conch of your ear, adjusting it until it sat comfortably. “How’s that, Maven?”

“Maven? Who the hell is Maven?” Price’s voice echoed directly in your ear, testing the radio.

Soap’s voice crackled through the comms, far too jovial. “‘S the new name o’ our lass.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling her, now?”

“Aye. Fits, don’ ye think?”

“I can see it.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave your partner a thumbs-up. “All good.”

His lips spread into an easy grin. “Let me know if you need me to fix it, yeah?”

“I will,” you assured, though he nestled it perfectly on the first try. Attentive and careful, you’d put money on him being the most observant of people on the Task Force. Which, you figured, was the reason behind Price teaming you up with him specifically. 

Kyle was capable of blending in with society, with the residents that sauntered across the streets they believed they owned.

While Ghost lived in shadows, Kyle absorbed the sunlight like it was made for him, the rising glow of morning sun that yawned through the dense clouds overhead kissing the smooth lines of his cheeks and reflecting off his long lashes like gold. 

Gods, what an unfairly beautiful specimen.

“We’ll circle the block, then stop at the bench across the street from the building. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” you repeated.

Obtaining approval from Price, the pair of you began walking, elbows brushing. Thankfully, said block was relatively small, and the walk was short. Some ten minutes later, you were seated on the designated bench, hip-to-hip with Gaz. He stayed pressed to you, devoted to his role, and you admired him for it. Wholly unfamiliar with working with so many people at once, especially directly on the field, you had to admit that you weren’t expecting him to be this serious about the job. 

Where you expected to simply stay within proximity of each other, he wasn’t shy about getting cozy with you to sell the image of a happy couple. He kept his arm slung across the bench rest behind you, fingers absently toying with a section of your hair. For now, you took in your surroundings, trying to spot anybody that matched the description of any of the suspects you had.

In the meantime, it gave you the opportunity to case the true subject of this mission.

The warehouse made you feel uneasy.

Forced to pay attention now, you started to pick up on multiple things that simply were…wrong.

Unassuming from the street, were you nothing more than a passerby, you wouldn’t stop to give it any mind. It might not even register as existing at all. Its brick exterior, kiln-fired blocks of red clay, were dulled into a murky, muddy brown. White fascia and window sills appeared sooty, grime and dirt and smog miring their surfaces.

Unusually, it had an alley on one side. Like the rest of the buildings present, it was connected to another, but that gap stuck out like a sore thumb. To you, anyway.

There were no lights inside. None, zip, zilch. In fact, it looked as if the series of windows on the front had been blacked out entirely, either with curtains, boards, or some other form of cover. It made it impossible to look in and get a peek, no matter how close you leaned, how hard you pressed your nose into the dusty glass.

The front door was rusted with disuse, the knobs stuck in place with a grotty chain and padlock, untouched for a long time. You had already confirmed that the building was in use previously, back in that meeting room, so it wasn’t abandoned per se. The fact that nobody used the front door rubbed you the wrong way. Like they wanted others to believe the building was ditched, left to decompose.

To divert attention, you guessed. They didn’t want people stumbling inside, finding their secrets. Made it look as unappealing to explore as possible. Rank and spoiled, milk left to ferment on a carpet.

Weapons trafficking was unlikely. in your opinion. The location was far from ideal, surveillance present, albeit foggy and shitty. It’d be too difficult to carry around knives or guns, especially in England. Sutton wasn’t particularly isolated, either, so they’d be limited to working at night exclusively at best. Drugs was the most likely answer, yet the discomfort bubbling in your gut urged you to believe otherwise. You just couldn’t put your damn finger on the cause.

“Suspect located,” came Ghost’s deep gravel through your earpiece. “Black and red windcheater, blond hair, heading to the west alleyway.”

You skimmed west, darting your eyes around until they landed on a man befitting Ghost’s description. And, Jesus, how he managed to make out any details whatsoever on those damn cameras, let alone accurate details, was absolutely astonishing. Impressive as hell.

“Got it,” you confirmed, suppressing a wolf whistle. Not the time.

You had to move quickly. 

Gaz took the lead, the pair of you rising from the bench and making your way to the crosswalk. Acting as a couple was shockingly easy – his hand slipped into yours and, for a sliver of a second, a thought crossed your mind at how right it felt. How his fingers slotted between yours, interlocking, his palms absurdly warm. Callused and tender all the same.

It’s clear he tended to his skin, the pads of his digits worn from years of hard work under a heavy banner, yet the topside was silky, the prominent knuckles you subconsciously kneaded moisturized and hydrated.

His hand felt nice to hold.

As quickly as the analysis came, it left, your job requiring your full concentration.

Gaz playing the part of doting boyfriend served two purposes: first, it lowered suspicions. A pair on a walk, going together through a dodgy part of town hand-in-hand to keep each other safe. Second, it allowed you to focus on your phone and update Jumping Spider’s code with new information, freeing you from paying attention to where you were going.

He made easy small talk, chatting to fill the void. Again, reducing suspicion.

“Where do you want to go for dinner, love?”

You bit into your tongue, mentally pinning down the wings of butterflies that threatened to escape through your teeth. It never did you any good to become flustered, especially not when you knew three other men were listening in on your conversation. 

“I liked that place on Langley.”

“Ah, they have good wine, yeah?”

You wetted your bottom lip with the tip of your tongue, your thumb swiping hurriedly across your screen. Almost done. “I thought so. The sweet one?”

“Yeah, I liked it, too,” he agreed, nearing the alley. From the corner of your eye, you could see the lit cherry of a cigarette in the shadows to your left. His hand squeezed yours once, twice, thrice–

On cue, you saved the program at the same time as he withdrew his free hand from his pocket, dropping the star of the show by his shoe. Neither of you skipped a step, neither of you reacted to the object, nor lost pace. You kept walking and chatting away about meaningless normalcy, the picture of happy domesticity.

You turned the corner, and came to a stop.

A flurry of vigor tingled in your joints, your heart’s momentum increasing by the second. The knowledge that you were being useful, that you were helping, stuffed you like honeyed candy. Jumping Spider had a purpose to play in all this, a big contribution to provide.

You were the one that created it, and you were confident in your skills, but there was a lingering sense of nervousness. This was your first mission with the 141, you had to make a good impression, and fucking up said first mission would probably ruin that.

Checking the program confirmed JS had activated cleanly and was on the move, making a beeline for its goal on scuttling little legs.

“Jumping Spider released,” you mumbled into your comms. “Locating target now.”

“Copy,” Price’s voice fizzled. “Retreat when it’s found its mark.”

“Understood.”

“Oooh, Gaz an’ Maven, sittin’ in a tree, K-I– agh! Ghost!”

“Shut it, you fucken muppet.”

You and Garrick smiled at one another, and he shook his head at Johnny’s antics.

Catching a tidbit of downtime, you leaned against the glass of a shop behind you and minded Jumping Spider’s program. Code rushed through, updated coordinates, environmental information, performance notes. You held your breath, waiting for Spider to latch onto its target–

Attachment confirmed. Ceasing movement. Engaging smooth tracking.

“Sweet,” you giggled.

He peered over your shoulder. “Jumping Spider got him?”

“Yep, now we can–”

Error: unstable connection.

Fuck. That wasn’t good. Confused, your brow furrowed, and you tapped at the cycle icon at the top, attempting to refresh the program. It could have gotten overloaded with information, not wholly unusual.

Connection reestablished.

Ah, see? All good–

Error: unstable connection.

You tsked, irate. “Shit.”

“What is it?”

“There’s something blocking Spider inside, it’s struggling to maintain a connection with me.”

“What do you think it is?”

Your molars pressed together. The walls could interrupt the signal, but you had your doubts. Your Spider hadn’t gotten far, and you weren’t tracking it via satellite. The tiny thing hardly emitted any signals, its information shared directly to your phone, it shouldn’t be able to trip any sensors. No, this was different.

The illusion of emptiness, preventing proper transference, you didn’t know what they were doing in there, but you didn’t fucking like it.

One last ditch effort to reconnect with Spider proved fruitless, so you tucked your phone away. “Something’s wrong, Gaz.”

He stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Struggling to translate the alarms in your head into words, you rolled your hand uselessly. “Just– just that they’re doing more than drug or weapon trafficking. Dealers aren’t this high-strung about security, not in Sutton.”

To your relief, Gaz didn’t question your instincts. In both your occupations, intuition could easily spell life or death, were you to heed or ignore it.

Instead, he tapped into his radio. “Heard that, Cap?”

“Affirmative.”

“What should we do now?”

There was a brief silence following his question. Price thought on the matter, then passed on his new command.

“Infiltrate the building,” he said. “Go slowly, be careful. If something goes wrong, get out and repo.”

“Yes, sir,” you and Kyle responded simultaneously.

You hung around the corner until Ghost guaranteed the coast was clear. The man who had entered the building hadn’t reemerged, and there wasn’t any evidence he was still in the alley. Still, you were cautious as you approached, peeking into it. 

On the ground laid a fresh cigarette, recently stomped out. Menthol and tobacco lingered in the air, indicating the smoker had left minutes prior to your arrival.

You swiped your hand at Gaz, motioning him in. You slunk in, cool shadows enveloping you from head to toe. The entrance, positioned near the end of the narrow space, was closed. An attempted twist of the handle proved it was sealed, too.

The lock was electronic, a pricey model that required a pin, print scan, and chip to be opened.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed out beside you. “They really don’t want people getting in, huh?”

“Locked?” Price queried

“Immensely,” Gaz confirmed. “Latest LockBro system. Pin, print, chip.”

 Soap grunted. “Steamin’ Jesus. Think the lass is right, doesn’t smell like drugs ta me.”

“Maybe, they’re particularly paranoid?” You knew it’d be stupid to buy that. Feebly offered it, anyway.

“Nah,” Ghost chimed in. “Drug dealers are more willing to throw one another under the bus sooner than they’d shill out coin for pricey security.”

“Well, only leaves one choice. Can you open it?” Gaz whispered beside you.

You grunted, examining it methodically. “Think so. Just gimme…a sec…”

If specializing in electronics taught you anything, even the most secure lock could be cracked. They had pros and cons over traditional, old-timey, mechanical locks. Yes, they were more invulnerable to the general populace, requiring some knowledge of computer tech to break into, but they were vulnerable to power fluctuations.

LockBrother™, like any company, advertised that their product was immune to such debilities. In case of a blackout, the gadget operated on backup batteries. In case those died, the failsafe would trigger, and the bolt would remain in a fastened position until it could be undone and reset manually by a technician. All you heard was that it could be opened manually.

Opening a pocket on your backside, you pulled out a flathead screwdriver and approached the door. A brief search of the smooth surface later, you found a ridge under the compact monitor. Needing nothing more, you notched the edge of the screwdriver there, inhaled, then smashed your knee into the bottom of the tool.

The monitor ripped up, and you snatched it before it could hit anything and make any noise. Tucking away the tool and tossing the useless plastic elsewhere, you scrutinized the mess of wires, sensors, and circuits. 

Below the surface of elaborately decorated marketing, the design was actually quite simple.

You identified two wires, having seen this kind of contraption already in earlier models. One detected whether or not correct information was inputted and controlled the bolt, and the other existed to detect power supply. A deadman’s switch, essentially. Power goes out, and that wire sends a signal to prevent the bolt from coming loose.

In an odd sort of way, it reminded you of bird feet. Talons, in their relaxed state, were closed. Birds need to actively flex their muscles for their toes to spread. Same concept. Kind of.

Not really, but who cares?

What was important now was that you disabled the system entirely. The two wires worked in tandem, one didn’t function without the other. Whichever you cut first would still activate the deadman’s switch. So, you simply had to cut them at the same time.

From another pocket, you pulled out a pair of cuticle nippers. Very handy tool, you found. It made light work of stripping thin cables, and you preferred it over a scalpel in many cases, as you felt you had more stability with a second edge to rest your fingers on, and it gave you more control. 

Pressing the two wires together, you lined them up carefully between the blades of your nippers and closed the handles, slicing through the lengths with ease. They sparked, fizz, and the connection was severed. The lock clicked, and an experimental push on the handle proved your theory correct, as it opened without issue.

“Amazing,” he breathed. “How’d you learn to do that?”

Can’t tell him, can’t tell him, can’t tell him.

“I worked part-time at a tech shop as a teen,” you said, subtly pocketing the finger scanner you pried out of the apparatus. Maybe, you could find some use for it. “In my free time, I played with the loose electronics they had there.”

“Impressive,” he complimented. If he saw you blush, he was kind enough to not tease you about it.

“Door’s open?” Soap worded aloud.

You nodded, even if he couldn’t see. “Yep.”

“That was quick as shite, Maven. Ye’re a genius, eh?”

“I like electronics, that’s all.”

Your captain cleared his throat. “Less chatter, more work. You have a job to do. Pay attention.”

Kyle rubbed your back comfortingly when you deflated a hint, bringing you back to what was in front of you.

“Got your gun?”

You checked your hip, the holster hidden by your top. To soothe both him and yourself, you unlatched the weapon and took it out, leaving the safety on, and showed him.

His shoulders visibly lowered an inch, and he pulled out his own, a silent promise that he was prepared, too.

Far too used to working alone, you reached to push into the building automatically, prepared to enter, only for a hand to wrap around your wrist, stopped in your tracks. You glanced at him, tensing, expecting him to tell you off. Gaz merely tugged you towards him, stepping forward.

“Let me go first,” he pleaded.

You frowned. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he uttered, heartrendingly earnest. “Let me help.”

Goddamnit. When he gave you that sparkling, pretty look, lashes fluttering, brows curled upward, plush lips pouting, how could you tell him no?

You conceded with a sigh, and he gave you a charming smile. His hand slipped down to your hand, and he lifted it, his lips brushing a featherlight kiss over your knuckles. Then, as if he hadn’t just wooed you like it was the most casual thing in the world, he nudged the door open and snuck inside.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you added another point to the list of Secrets to Keep.

You placed your feet in the same spots he did, creeping inside. Silent as a ghost, you closed the door behind you, plunging the clearance around you in darkness. The tiniest fragments of light managed to slip between the boarded windows, but it wasn’t substantial by any means. Luckily, you thrived in the night – this was hardly any different, trading one twilight for another.

He got low, crouched as he snaked a path through the hollow enclosure. Dust mites danced in the air, swept up by your occupancy. Around you were discarded cardboard boxes, some crushed, or on their sides. Trash crowded most of the ground, old wood planks obscured by loose papers and wrappers of various products. Sheets, tarps, bemired coats and cobwebbed corners. 

There were a few counters, all in similar disarray as everything else. At the far wall across from you was a wrought iron staircase, unused janitorial supplies stuffed beneath it. To your immediate right was a closed room, with another situated before the stairs. The only light available came from under it, bleak orange. Distantly, you heard a rattling fan, and guessed it originated from there, too. A bathroom, then.

A sickly sort of stench clung to the walls of the space, thick and laden, like mildew and mold. It seeped into your sinuses, layered itself like a film over your nasopharynx, suffocating and vile. Waste, decay, soiled clothes, ruined people, the miasma hewed like humidity to any exposed skin it could find.

In all honesty, it’d make for a half-decent scary house by the sheer ungodly energy that perturbed you alone.

Anxiety roiled in your gut, reminding you that this went deeper than first thought.

Not weapons, too hard to hide. But, the drugs…

There was no sign of them, either.

The counters were disorderly, yes, but nothing on them indicated any sort of drug manufacturing and trading. The main room appeared to be a trash deposit, shit thrown in erratically, dropped and forgotten.

A mare’s nest.

Working in tandem, you and Gaz swept the room. Your phone buzzing indicated that it had reconnected with Spider, but you didn’t bother pulling it out to check manually. There wasn’t any point, now. You checked the door with the light, but weren’t able to get it, and you didn’t want to force it and risk drawing attention to yourselves.

Having cleared the area, you met back up in the middle, communicating with gestures. With nothing to go off of in the main room, you motioned towards the stairs. He shook his head in disagreement, suggesting the other door you hadn’t checked.

He was the expert in this particular job, so you agreed, willing to adjust tactics to suit his methods.

As you began creeping towards it, however, you stopped, a glint catching your eye. Gaz said your name mutedly, wondering what the hold up was, but you didn’t react, needing to clarify the source of the spark you saw.

Stretching your neck, you peeked around the edge of the counter, down a hallway you hadn’t caught earlier, spotting cages and–

You felt your heart drop.

People.

There were fucking people in those cages. Not the shitstains you were after, no, these were civilians. Folks nabbed off the streets, left in filthy rags, whatever they were last wearing when they were taken.

They huddled towards the backs of their prisons, stacked atop each other like crates at a pound. Small, too small, some barely had any room to sit with their knees to their chests, nevermind laying down or standing at all. The bars were too close together to pass more than the width of an arm through, and each was shackled with an immensely thick padlock. 

Like cattle. Mutts, strays to be sold off to the highest bidder.

The worse-off ones were at the bottom row, where some cages were stuffed with two people, the cramped space making it difficult to breathe.

“Fuck– fuck,” you hissed, feeling your lungs twist and churn in your chest.

“What’s going on, Maven?” Price demanded.

“They’re fucking trafficking people,” you informed your captain. Gaz shifted near you, his breath hitching minutely.

“Say again?”

“It’s not drugs or weapons, it’s people. Civvies.”

“Shit– what do you see?”

Gritting your teeth, you craned your neck and counted however many cages you could see past the open entrance. “Fourteen cages at least, I think, mostly girls. It’s dark, hard to see. A few have two people in them. Fuck me.”

“Copy. Any hostiles?”

“None that we can see, sir,” Gaz responded.

“Good. Proceed carefully, check on the prisoners. Try not to alert hostiles. If you’re forced to engage, I don’t want any of them dead. Incapacitate only.”

Moving on your toes, you rushed into the room containing the cages, and nearly slammed a hand over your mouth and nose.

A heavy atmosphere of anguish and distress smashed into you like a palisade, splinters lodging in your clothes. It smelled horrid, the death of hope and faith. Waste smeared across the floors of the cages, uncleaned, the poor beings occupying them left to suffer. Unkempt, foul, rejected, forsaken.

Gaz had a similar response as you, but held it together commendably.

Quickly, you checked on each person trapped, ensuring they were all breathing. Few made any response, barely reacting to your exams. Those that weren’t unconscious flinched, or were completely despondent, their eyes glassy as they stared past you, unseeing. None begged, none pleaded. Not one reached towards you through the bars, asking you to save them. For all they knew, you might have been someone else there to torment them the same way their kidnappers had.

You left them be, for now.

A shot of remorse shocked your nerves when the last girl you attended to was completely still, her chest neither rising nor falling. You grasped her wrist, pressing three fingers to her cold and clammy skin, where you held them.

One, two, five, fifteen seconds passed. No heartbeat.

Grief coiled in your lungs, but you forced yourself to stand and retreat, reporting one of the captives as deceased.

You wondered what her name was. If anybody was looking for her, missing her. If her face had been put up on screens in city center, if she’d been taken from a warm bed. Or, maybe, she had been snatched off the streets, ripped from one state of despair and thrown into another. Did she have a mother, a father? Family, bound either by blood or hardship? Brothers and sisters? A lover or two? Anybody?

Squeezing your eyes shut briefly, you worked the muscle in your jaw, grounding yourself.

There was no time to entertain those thoughts, not right now. After you finished the job, you could, but you had work to do.

The space was tight, mostly taken up by the cages. There was an ajar supply closet, a table piled with scraps, bottles of fluids, and a loose syringe, hypodermic needle attached to its tip. The sight of it made you cringe, and you quickly turned your gaze elsewhere.

Puzzlingly, on the ground, there was a flush latch. You knelt down, hooking your fingers into the ring, and yanked it upwards.

A set of steep steps revealed themselves to you, concrete platforms that led into a lit tunnel. It went fairly deep, and ducking your head down showed that it widened past the initial drop. And, suddenly, it all made sense.

This was where they’d come and go, why the structure seemed abandoned from the outside, the front door entirely unused, why JS struggled to maintain a stable link. This was why catching them on the surveillance cameras was more a stroke of luck, chance times when they’d use the side entrance as opposed to this secret one. Telling where it went, or how far the tunnel was dug out, was impossible for you to discern from this position.

You’d have to go down.

“Gaz, look at this,” you called over, turning over your shoulder. He came to you immediately, his expression grim, caught in the dim glow coming from below. 

His lips flattened into a frown, taut, his temple fluttering.

No words needed to be exchanged for a mutual decision to be made.

“Price, we found a tunnel in the room with the cages. Goes down about five meters. We’re going in.”

“Be careful.”

As he did previously, he went in first, his thumb switching his gun’s safety off as he held it in both hands. You did the same, heading down when he reached the bottom, decidedly closing the hatch. If any other trafficker came in, you didn’t want them suspecting your existence and ruining the mission by catching you off guard.

The end of the tunnel laid beyond view, either too far or around a bend. Wherever it went, you had to go, had to unravel this. Pull the yarn’s end, make it fall apart at the core and let the rest collapse in on itself.

Time slowed to a painful crawl, right foot, left foot, over and over. Sconces that pointed upwards gave no indication of movement, no hint as to how far you’d gone. A lifetime and a half, surely, had gone by in the blink of an eye, slow as cold honey, quick as a bee – then, there was yelling.

“Get the fuck up!”

“Ugh, don’t you fuckin’ dare puke. You’re disgusting.”

A thump, a groan.

“Hurry up! We don’t have all fuckin’ day. Client’s not a patient man.”

You shared a look with Gaz, who counted down with his fingers. Three, two, one.

You both darted forward, guns raised as you chased the source of the noise through the curving tunnel. 

Some fifty feet ahead of you, a duo of men stood, a girl held up by her elbows between them. Her wrists were bound behind her back by cable ties that were tightened too much, pale fingers dipped in washes of violet watercolor, cyanosis eating at blood cells. Her head hung low, knees struggling to hold up her weight, muscles weakened by malnutrition and atrophy.

“Freeze!” Gaz shouted, taking aim. “Let go of the girl.”

Oh, they let her go alright, the poor thing dropping like stones as soon as her supports abandoned her. Her knees hit the ground first, and you winced, silently grateful that she didn’t fall further and remained upright.

The men, however, didn’t flee like you expected, your body prepared to give chase.

They had brought their own guns.

Given no more than a second to react before they began shooting, you and Gaz scattered away from each other, and fired back. Price’s voice rang in the back of your head, repeated orders to incapacitate, do not kill. Incapacitate, do not kill. Incapacitate, do not kill.

Yes, you’d handled guns before, though you preferred not to. Being up close to someone was where you worked best, when you could sneak near them and wrap a cord around their throat, or stick a poison-coated needle into their flesh. Ranged? Not your strong suit.

So, you figured you were deserving of a little self-praise when you’d managed to shoot the pistol right out of one of the men’s hands, and followed it up with a shot to his kneecap to immobilize him. 

Gaz took advantage of his target’s distraction when yours cried out in pain. The guy’s head turned toward his colleague, and Gaz launched himself at him. There was a short skirmish, strained grunts and fists landing, but it wasn’t even a close fight. Gaz wrangled the gun away and threw it aside, far out of reach, then flipped the man onto his front and wrestled his wrists onto his spine, clutched tight.

It happened to be the guy Ghost had spotted on cams, while yours wasn’t somebody you recognized off the top of your head. Brunet, tan trench coat, probably on the suspect board. He writhed on the floor, clutching his knee as he groaned and bayed like a fucking horse. Too distracted to try anything stupid, especially with his gun out of commission.

You panted, swallowing down the energy that vibrated in your fingers. Suddenly remembering where you were, you ran to the girl, sinking down beside her. You plucked your knife out of its sheath on your belt and wedged the tip under the black plastic holding her wrists together. She whimpered as you twisted it, sharp edge to the tie, to cut through it, and you hushed apologies to her.

The plastic snapped, and she slumped. You caught her, pulling her closer to your body, your warmth, your protection. Your hands massaged over hers, rubbing them to restore circulation to them.

“It’s okay, we’re here to help,” you promised, taking in her attire. A thin shirt and shorts, hanging loosely on her figure. Your heart ached at the thought of her stuck in this attire, freezing in the cold nights that were England, no way to cover herself, no blanket to hide under.

Weakly, she raised her head, looking up at you with hollow, matte pupils.

“...Help?” Broken, soft, lost, unsure.

You nodded, gutted. “Yes. My partners and I, we’ll get you out of here. You and all the others, okay?”

Her chapped and split lips parted, closed, and parted again, barely shaping the words she choked out. “Thank you…”

Shuddering, you pulled her into your arms, letting her rest her feeble weight on you. Had you been slower by a few minutes, who knows where she could have ended up; who could have hurt her further, what they would have done to her.

“How copy?” Price interrupted your spiraling mind.

Gaz responded. “Brief firefight, two enemies down and restrained, none killed. One captive down in the tunnel with us. Maven–?”

You picked up his prompting, tightening your arms around the girl. “She’s thin and wounded, but alive and responsive.”

“Copy. I’ve contacted Laswell. Soap and Ghost are about to raid, ETA one minute.”

You breathed out in relief. 

Gaz squatted next to you, his hand perching on your shoulder empathetically. You realized that he worked fast, having fettered the men by their wrists, face-down, using cable ties he must have found on their persons.

“Solid?” He asked. “You’re not broken?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine. You?”

His lips curled up slightly. “I’m alright, love. Don’t worry about me.”

Now, energy winding down, you allowed yourself to relax, knowing you had help on the way. Ghost was the one that came to fetch you and Gaz, those two handling one man each to drag (quite unkindly) back to the surface, and you aided the girl. You kept your pace slow for her, supporting most of her effete body that, understandably, lacked the vitality needed to carry her.

By the time you had gotten back up the stairs and into the building, it was swarming with enforcement. The cages were being opened, prisoners taken out of them as they went, handed off to paramedics.

An EMT approached you, offering to take the woman you held. You agreed, and carefully passed her to them, reassuring her that she was going to be taken care of. Hands freed, you stepped out onto the street through the busted-open front door, getting out of police and army men doing their jobs.

Spare authorities helped in drawing out the poor souls that had been trapped in that building for who knows how long towards ambulances, chatting in low tones to traumatized minds that were abstracted and unhearing, miles away. A girl passed you, wrapped in a thermal blanket with a dazed expression painted across her dirty features. She limped after a cop, and your gaze flickered down to her ankle.

Wires, metal, a clicking, broken piston shifting inside the exposed joint. Gears fluctuated, damaged from dross, lack of maintenance, and abuse. 

A construct. 

Defective machinery, her purpose lost, torn away from her very hands by vile men who sought to bring her nothing but suffering for their own delight. The light in her that once made her so terribly human had been smothered, a dichotomy that stood behind a mirror. Clean cheeks stained with grease, muck, and defilement; a circle of her temple missing, revealing the carbon fiber of her outer skull plating.

Salt threatened to flood your waterline. Your fingers twitched, curling into tight fists.

She was saved, but in the end, she’d only be killed – dismantled. She left one hell in exchange for another, one she’d never be able to return from. It wouldn’t matter if you collected all her parts and put her back together, she’d never be the same, never come back.

It curdled in the pit of your stomach, this sense of panic and overwhelming urge to reach out and grasp her, pull her into your embrace, swear that you’d never let anyone hurt her again. 

There was this cold dread that poured through your veins, cycling through your soma, settling in the hollows of your bones. A sorrow, too, that tasted of ash and acid. A hurt that laced through your muscles like sinew and protein.

It hurt, because you knew she couldn’t be saved. Not truly. Not the way she deserved.

Whatever choice you made today, there was no winning for her. Taking her, shutting down this trafficking ring, meant she’d be led to a facility to be terminated, have her body separated into parts, dispose of what was useless, reuse and resell what could be beneficial for non-intelligent machinery, electronics, cars. Nothing sentient. 

Had you and your team left her, she would have been shipped off to some horrid predator, somebody who wanted to dig their gnarled teeth into the give of her skin, peel it back to see how she was fused together, groan about how she was made for them.

After all, constructs were created in the image of man, weren’t they?

Sensing you, her head lifted, and for one fragile, crystalline moment, your eyes met, and understanding rippled between you.

It was in times like these that you wished you could build a sanctuary for constructs, a place where they’d be safe from the ruthless hands that wished to rip them apart like drumsticks from a baked chicken, their insides plucked with slippery, oily hands. You wished you could create for them a home, a utopia, where all would be accepted, never at risk of having to be killed for the crime of living by the same ones who made them.

Unfortunately, it simply wasn’t possible, no matter how much you wished and daydreamed of it.

Price came to stand by you, the heady scent of tobacco and sweat clinging to his person. You didn’t turn to face him, said not a word, and neither did he, both of you watching as the girl was taken to her execution under the guise of protection and justice.

Delicately, he touched your lower back, a silent directive, telling you that it was time to leave.

He said nothing about the tear that slipped down your cheek, and you said nothing about the way his hands shook.

█h█t is ████ p█rpo██?

██ ████ ███. ██ ████ ███. ██ █████ ███.

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[a-d-nox]

what's a solar return?

any time the sun transits and becomes exactly conjunct your natal sun (it is in the exact sign and degree it was in when you were born), you undergo a solar return. solar returns happen every year on your birthday. my solar return is coming up this october, so i thought "why not?let's continue my thoughts about the return charts."

but what can a solar return chart show you?

literally everything about your year ahead. you just have to look at it and know what you are looking at/for. so let's break it down some of the basics...

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

enjoy my work? help me continue creating by tipping on ko-fi or paypal. your support keeps the magic alive!

sun

energy/aura, attention you receive this year, leadership opportunities, creativity, pride/ego/dignity, how generous you are, individuality, personal development, self-awareness, what makes you happy, celebrations, and self-expression.

moon

emotions / emotional responses, self-care, comfort zone / safe space, femininity, mothers / matriarchal / maternal instincts, family, nostalgia, pregnancy/fertility, baking/cooking, adaptability, menstruation, and habits/routines.

mercury

communication/gossiping, mindset / reasoning skills, perception, writing, social media / cellphone use, short trips, ground transportation, and mannerisms.

venus

romance, beauty/aestheticism, pleasure(s), art/entertainment, self-love, harmony, femininity, sentimentality, how you compromise, parties/celebrations, and possessions.

mars

passions/desires, self-confidence, ambition, anger/aggression, competitiveness, athletics / physical energy, impulsivity, courage/bravery, tasks, masculinity, assertiveness, sexuality, and violence.

jupiter

luck, abundance, wealth, success, opportunity, popularity, wisdom, air travel, ease, higher education (college/university), optimism, justice/retribution, law, and fulfillment.

saturn

work, achievement/mastery, challenges, karma, fathers / patriarchy / paternal instincts, fears, guilt, delays/limitations, discipline, responsibility, past issues that are prevalent this year, practicality, stability, endurance, maturity, and grudges.

uranus

friends/fans/followers, technology, fluctuation/change, rebellion, independence, originality, unexpected things / surprises, and chaos.

neptune

creativity, selflessness, escapism, intuition, hidden things, deception/lies/delusion, confusion, inspiration, and addiction/fascination.

pluto

change/transformation, power, sex/seduction, death, intensity/magnetism, obsessions, manipulation, and purging.

1h/asc

identity, approach/mindset this year, physical appearance, mannerisms, and your presence.

2h

money/finances this year, material possessions, self worth, what you are giving/receiving, and resources.

3h

communication/gossip, mind / method of thinking, sibling relationship(s), interests, ideas/information, ground transportation, social media / cellphone use, publishing, and short trips.

4h/ic

homes/houses, family matters, parents (mainly maternal figures), inner child work you do this year, inheritance, traditions you practice this year, self-care you do this year, and femininity.

5h

children, talents / hobbies / entertainment / creative pursuits, drama, short-term romances, pleasures/gifts, fertility, and joy/delight/jubilation

6h

daily routine, health/fitness/diet, work/duties, self-improvement / shadow work, hygiene, and pet(s).

7h/dsc

long-term relationships / marriage / partnerships, how you care for others (if you care for others), minor legal pursuits, contracts/negotiations, known enemies, close associates / business partners, and equality/harmony/sharing (how you promote it and how (if) you receive it).

8h

changes (external and internal), death (internal and external), shared finances, what you invest in, stocks/taxes/inheritance/loans/assets, intimacy (intellectual and physical), secrets/mystery, mental health / trauma you experience, and possible surgery/operations.

9h

wisdom you gain, major legal pursuits, new beliefs/ethics/philosophy milestones, college/university, and air travel / travel abroad.

10h/mc

career, public image / status / reputation in society, responsibilities towards society/others, authority, paternal figures, and your professional aspirations (the progress you make towards them this year).

11h

friends/companions/allies/groups, ideals/desires, how your different this year as opposed to years past, technology, networking/socializing, and parties (formal and informal).

12h

how you heal this year from you past / mental health journey, karma, sleeping habits, your experience with solitude/isolation this year, unknown enemies, illusions/delusions you have about your situation, fears / self-limitation, losses, and what you secretly/subconsciously want most this year.

have ideas for new content? please use my “suggest a post topic” button! 

return to nox’s guide to metaphysics

return to the masterlist of return charts

© a-d-nox 2023 all rights reserved

[soul-controller]

The Man of Steal

For Superman, it seemed like his desire to enjoy his normal civilian life as Clark Kent was an impossibility. Any time he planned to have any sort of family event with his wife Lois and two sons (be it dinner or a simple trip to the movies), there always seemed to be some sort of interruption from the news that begged for the assistance of the crime-fighting vigilante.

This was proven to be true once again as the Kent family began to assemble for their family dinner. Just as Clark started to help himself to Lois’ home-cooked meal, the television in the living room suddenly went off as a breaking news bulletin appeared. With his innate desire to protect others and save them from danger, the superhero couldn’t stop himself from leaning past the dining room table and taking a closer look at the screen. For several minutes, the man intently listened to what the news reporter had to say. According to that anchor, it appeared as though a museum a few towns over from Smallville had been broken into by a criminal.

When the reporter first brought up the fact that it was one individual stuck in a stand-off with nearby police surrounding the museum, Clark had originally decided to just allow the cops to do their job so he can spend time with his family. But as the news anchor began to include more details about the museum, Clark’s attention was immediately piqued when she stated that the museum had just recently opened an exhibit devoted towards educating everyday individuals about Superman and his home planet Krypton.

As soon as the reporter began to discuss the fact that the museum had a priceless amount of Kryptonian relics on display, Clark gave an apologetic look towards his wife and kids before quietly sitting up and rushing into his bedroom to pull his suit on. The threat of having some criminal get their hands on some Kryptonian equipment rightfully caused Clark to be alarmed. While he dedicated his life towards using these powers for good, Clark was fully aware of how detrimental Kryptonian items could be with others. In fact, it was for these exact reasons that he recalled how he didn’t even offer his blessing towards the museum’s exhibit when they first proposed it to him. Of course, his prediction came true and now he was going to have to fix it before countless people could get hurt! So as he pulled on his suit and took one good look at himself in the mirror, the man wasted no time rushing out of his house before pushing off of the ground and rapidly flying off into the night.

Within a minute, the hero was able to rapidly traverse across several miles of farmland and make his way to the museum. As he quickly made a hero landing onto the concrete road outside of the museum, Superman made his way up to a group of officers to get an up-to-date report about what had occurred so far. According to the head officer in charge, the unknown criminal had accidentally tripped a security laser upon breaking into the museum. With the assistance of drones that could look through the glass atrium in the middle of the museum, the police were able to determine that the man was working alone yet heavily armed with an armored suit and a high-grade weapon. As such, a stand-off was afoot with the police attempting to convince the man to surrender and prevent anyone from getting hurt. Unfortunately though, these talks had quickly stalled and the criminal refused to surrender, instead deciding to further barricade himself deeper into the museum.

Given the tough situation that the police were in, Superman was quick to offer his services due to his skill set and innate bulletproof skin. Although there were a few officers there who gave him sneers and angrily told him off for “invading their turf”, the Smallville resident tried his best to remain positive and cheerful in order to help bring another criminal to justice. Luckily, the chief in charge of the operation got his men in line and gave the superhero the go-ahead to help remedy the situation. After giving a slight nod in the chief’s direction, Superman levitated himself back into the air before flying up to the top of the several stories high museum.

Upon setting himself back onto stable ground, Superman quickly traversed across the museum’s metal roof until he approached the glass dome in the middle of the museum atrium. As he peered around, it didn’t take long before he saw the criminal walking around in the bulky armored suit. Not wanting to inform the man of his arrival though, Clark opted to quickly use his laser vision to cut out a portion of the window so he could slyly sneak through the hole to surprise the villain. Upon doing so and quietly setting the portion aside, the hero carefully squeezed his bulky and muscular physique through the cut-out section of the glass. Once he was through, the hero slowly levitated his way down to the ground floor and hid for a moment to conjure up a game plan.

As he quickly looked around, Clark decided to sneak attack the man with a high-speed collision to hopefully disarm him and destroy his suit so he could be easily apprehended and delivered to the police. Narrowing his eyes and taking a moment to prepare himself, the man then wasted no time as he flew at top speed and his body crashed through the long aisles of museum displays. Before the criminal could even turn to look at the source of the noise, the hero’s extended arms immediately collided with the metal suit and easily pushed him against the wall. But given Superman’s extreme strength, that wasn’t all as the force of his movement caused the duo to crash through the concrete wall before Clark gripped onto the collar of the suit and threw the man to the ground.

While the confused criminal grimaced and groaned from the impact, Clark wasted no time tugging off the suit piece by piece until the villain was left in nothing but his normal clothing. Upon peering down to examine the culprit behind the robbery though, Clark found himself shocked to see that the man’s appearance was quite unusual. Most of the villains he faced were these imposing figures who had bodies that were packed to the brim with a musculature that could rival Superman’s own physique. But looking down, Clark instead found a man who had no sort of muscle definition or impressive physical features.

Taking a look at the man’s overall physique, Clark was baffled to find that the criminal was stuck with fragile-looking arms and legs that seemed to indicate that he would be tired from even a simple jog down a street block. The man seemed young, yet with his high hairline and partial balding, Clark presumed that the man was in his mid to late 30s. To make matters worse for the man, the criminal’s pale white face and body was also ravaged with a vast array of scarring and tattoos that caused Clark to surmise that he was some sort of low-level gang member. Despite the gang affiliation though, it seemed like the poor man had been unable to pack on any muscle and was instead treated like a punching bag and guinea pig by the higher-level members based on the intense scarring that resembled knife cuts.

As the man began to stir back into consciousness, Clark opted to try and take a more gentle approach with the criminal. Clearly the man posed no physical threat to him, so he tried to be as delicate as possible upon extending a hand towards the man and quickly pulling him up to his feet. With the man looking around in pure horror as he saw his unsuited self and Superman’s imposing body, Clark tried his best to calm the man’s nerves and indicate that he had no desire to hurt him further.

“Hey, don’t worry, no more fighting needs to happen tonight. Given the threat level of that suit you were wearing, I just had to disarm you as fast as I could and figure out who was operating it,” he calmly said, looking down at the frail individual and trying his best to give a reassuring smile. “So, what’s your name?” Clark inquired, trying his best to form a connection to the criminal. In many ways, the frail and anxious man reminded Clark of his own son Jordan. Clark’s relationship with Jordan was currently strained at the moment, so the superhero father felt a strange desire to view the criminal as a stand-in for his son and thus try and be a positive influence to help the man change his life and be the best version of himself he could possibly be. If he was able to successfully do this for the criminal, Clark was hopeful that he could replicate the same thing with Jordan and fully reconnect so they could be as close as they once were.

Although the criminal remained tense and quite uncomfortable being in the hero’s presence, he eventually decided to answer Superman’s inquiry. “It’s Darren,” he said, a thick midwestern accent coming from his throat.

“Gotcha, well it’s nice to meet you then Darren. I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances, but alas here we are,” Clark said, finishing his sentence with a heavy sigh. “Your plan though, it’s over now Darren. I don’t know what you were trying to do here tonight, but let’s just end this now so no one has to get hurt in the process. Alright?”

After silently nodding his head in agreement, Darren shifted his head down in apparent shame as he slowly began to make his way back into the main atrium of the museum. As he passed through the large hole into the concrete wall though, the criminal opted to continue speaking once more. “I was just trying to get some quick cash to help pay for my mom’s hospital bills. She’s not doing good and I don’t have the money to keep paying for her tests,” he solemnly said, causing Clark behind him to frown in sadness.

Despite his innate desire to bring criminals to justice, Clark couldn’t help but feel severe empathy for the man. It seemed as though all avenues of Darren’s life led to disappointment and struggle, so it was no wonder why the man had no other option to resort to a life of crime! As such, Clark’s warm heart left him eager to try and help fix one aspect of Darren’s hard life.

“You know, I actually know some people who work at Metropolis General Hospital,” he began, tilting his head and looking down towards the captured criminal with a light smile. “If you wanted, I could definitely pull some strings and help get some of your mother’s tests covered for fr-” he continued, the words unexpectedly being interrupted as a sudden impact into Clark’s gut caused him to stop speaking. As he watched Darren pull his elbow back up away from his stomach, Clark’s eyes widened. The man had truly just said anything so he could get Clark’s defenses down and try to make an escape!

Watching as the man quickly fled on foot through the museum, Clark’s eyes began to rapidly redden due to the intense rage he felt about being tricked. Although he felt no pain from the impact due to his general invincibility, he couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed about being so easily fooled. But rather than allowing his laser vision to come out in full force and quickly stop Darren in his tracks, Clark mentally pulled back due to the fear of accidentally killing the man. Instead, he stood back up onto his feet, dusted off his dusty shoulders, and pushed off the ground to begin flying towards the still-sprinting criminal.

Given his rapid speed, it didn’t take long before Superman was catching up to Darren. To be fair though, the task was fairly easy for Superman as Darren’s frantic clumsiness had caused him to stumble over the tipped over display cases and trip over the various artifacts that those cases had once held. As he extended his arms out in hopes of quickly capturing the man now lying on the ground, Clark was eager to get the standoff over with so he could return back to his family before they finished dinner. While he thought about what he was going to do once he was back home on his farm, the man was unaware of Darren’s quick motion towards grabbing a hefty rock that had been held in one of the cases. In fact, he only ever picked up on this face as Darren turned towards to face Clark and immediately slammed the superhero in the side of the head with the artifact.

As a momentary pain rushed through Clark’s head, he quickly moved back to an upright position and stood back onto the ground so he was directly above the criminal who was still lying on the ground. However, as he waited for the pain to fade away, the hero was quickly overcome by a severe tingling sensation throughout his entire body. With this sensation rushing through his body, the man’s many years of crime-fighting and battles with intergalactic foes came back to the forefront of his mind. Bizarrely, the feeling felt both familiar yet incredibly foreign at the same time.

So as Clark directed his attention back to the criminal, his eyes quickly began to widen as he saw what had become of the artifact that had hit him. Instead of the blunt and gray rock that he had felt smashed against his face, it appeared as though his angular jawline had actually caused parts of the rock to crumble! By doing so, it appeared that a special Kryptonian artifact had revealed itself to be hidden within the rock - a small piece of red kryptonite!

Immediately, the tingling sensation that he felt began to make sense. Although he hadn’t ever experienced the effects of red kryptonite for himself, his extensive research about his home planet caused him to immediately recall some basic information about the rock type. The rock itself had a wide array of effects on Kryptonians according to his own research, but all of the examples Clark had read made it abundantly clear that this was a terrible type to encounter. As such, the man tried his best to reason with the criminal and get him to set the rock down.

“Hey, you got a good lick in there huh,” Clark inquired with a chuckle, rubbing his temple where the rock had made an impact as he returned back to standing on the ground. “Now let’s not do anything stupid here Darren. That rock isn’t safe for me, and by default, that means it’s not safe for you as well. So just toss it aside and I’ll forget all about this little outburst of yours!”

However, the criminal refused to agree to those terms, instead rushing directly towards Superman with a deranged and enraged expression on his face. Preparing to just stand tall and immediately disarm the man, Clark angrily scowled while putting his hands on his hips. Watching as the man gripped the rock in his right hand, Clark waited for the man to be in close enough proximity for him to hit him and cause him to drop the rock. With him now only a foot away, Clark immediately jumped into action as he lifted up his arm and immediately brought it down on Darren’s outstretched right arm. As expected, Clark breathed a sigh of relief as the rock quickly slipped out of his grasp and began to fall towards the floor. Unfortunately though, Darren apparently had quick reflexes, as he was able to reach out his left hand and quickly capture the kryptonite once more. Before Clark could fully comprehend the swapping between hands, the superhero suddenly felt the pressure of the rock make an impact against his broad chest.

Understandably, Superman feared the wild card nature of the rock’s power and thus instinctively pushed out his arms in order to make contact with Darren’s torso and send him flying away from him. However, as the motion was completed, both men were suddenly overcome with a dizzying sensation that rendered them momentarily with a full-body numbness and an inability to see. As both of these things made their return to Clark though, the man was suddenly shocked as an intense full-body pain coursed through his body as his back suddenly made impact against a concrete wall.

Grimacing as he slid down the museum’s wall, Clark let out a deep groan after his crumpled body made an impact onto the glass-covered floor. As he gingerly tried to sit himself back up, the sudden sounds of a deep bellowing gasp and chuckle caused Clark to grow alarmed. Peeling open his eyelids to finally take a look around the destroyed museum once more, Clark directed his attention towards the source of the noise. Upon doing so though, the superhero was immediately shocked to find himself somehow staring at his own smiling body!

Looking down in an extreme mix of confusion and fear, Clark gasped in shock as he looked down and now found himself looking at Darren’s own frail, pale, and scarred body. “Wha- how did this happen,” he cried out, notably triggered by the thick and surprisingly deep Midwestern accent coming out of his mouth. “That damn kryptonite, it must have swapped our bodies Darren!” Upon turning towards the imposter inside his body though, Clark immediately shivered in fear as that alarmingly wide smile remained stuck on his former face. Watching as the imposter cockily swaggered towards him, the superhero was shocked as the real Darren began to speak once more.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about buddy, I’m Superman!”

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[ofwings]

What "expertise" do you have? What's your explanation for Trump's removal of the TSA director and Aviation Security committee?

i have a degree in aeronautics, took multiple classes and wrote part of my capstone paper on NTSB aircraft accident investigation; my university had a crash lab that i trained on that is used to train professional investigators. i have almost 15 years of professional experience in aviation, including airport operations, FAR 121 and 135 dispatch, and international trip planning. i also have flight training. i'm not an expert but i do have a level of relative expertise that allows me to make educated statements rather than pull nonsense out of my ass.

for all the complaining about the TSA, do y'all know what it does? they pat your balls down at the airport to make sure you don't have a bomb taped to your taint. that's it. they are security theater and have approximately nothing to do with operational safety. the ASAC makes recommendations to and advises the TSA, the guys that yell at you to take your shoes off except when they're yelling at you to take your laptop out of your backpack and making you throw away your half-finished starbucks. it was formed after the lockerbie bombing and has ZERO influence or bearing on anything but the TSA.

the NTSB is going to conduct an investigation and all signs point to this being pilot error on the part of the helicopter crew. that's it. there are extremely valid concerns to be raised about ATC understaffing and a federal hiring freeze is NOT going to make that better. but nothing the assclown in chief did since taking office had any bearing whatsoever on this crash; congested airspace, staffing, training hours for military pilots, etc. have all been points of contention for 20+ years.

the biggest thing trump has done wrong on the aviation front is try to deride highly trained controllers and pilots as being ~DEI hires~. i know upwards of a dozen different people that have washed out of ATC training. it is not a job many people can do, and finding those people is something that deserves any funding that can be pushed that way; the aviation industry cannot survive without diversifying its hiring practices. that doesn't mean standards are dropped, and it is callous and cruel to imply that they are - the controllers on duty last night and the families of the pilots that died shouldn't have to deal with his bullshit on top of their grief.

[gamebunny-advance]

Misc. Pikmin 4 Character Trivia

(Updated 08/14/24)

Recent updates: Changed wording of some entries for clarity.

---------

Ever wanted all the Pikmin 4 character trivia in one place? Well, here you go. If I missed anything, feel free to let me know and I'll update this post.

Note: I'm not covering the Hocotatians & Koppaites because the former are major characters with a lot about them already written, and the only interesting trivia (IMO) about the latter is already "common knowledge."

This also isn't a document of *every* line of dialogue that a castaway can say. This is just stuff that I thought was interesting and/or info that you can't get from just reading their ID or talking to them once. Some castaways don't have any entries because they're either not that interesting or don't actually talk about themselves much.

Rescue Officers

Collin

Has a wireless transceiver that has been passed down to him by his grandfather. He refuses to replace it and instead just fixes it whenever it breaks.

His hobby is tinkering with machines.

He's worked several odd jobs in the past to help pay for his education. These jobs include collecting space trash, ship construction, and cleaning the "outer walls of the colony". He considers his work as the comms operator to be significantly more difficult than any of his past jobs.

This has caused him to be multi-talented, but it also causes others to take advantage of him.

Despite this, he apparently isn't one for "physical labor."

Collin considers PNF-404 to be tiny, though this may be in reference to the universe, in which all planets could be considered "tiny."

Shepherd considers him young, but in reference to who/what is unknown.

Only in the comics, Oatchi seems to dislike Collin.

Shepherd

She has the highest certificate ranking in the Rescue Corps, and a special certification in Rescue Pup training. This is something very few officers have.

She spends all of her breaks at a dog run near the Rescue corps HQ.

Apparently, she spends much of their budget on dog food.

She met Dingo before she was captain when they were both training. This may mean that she's known him the longest of the other members. Most others are implied to have met her/been recruited by her when she was already captain.

She exceeds Dingo in martial arts and cross-country.

She doesn't seem aware of Dingo's crush on her.

She seems to experience some form of imposter syndrome during the main campaign but overcomes it near the end of the game.

Her family has lived with dogs since at least the first Captain's generation. Additionally, their family is implied to be immigrants from a different planet. Their original planet is unknown, but is highly implied to be Earth/PNF-404.

Her family's motto is, "There's no better judge of character than a dog."

By her own admission, the only creatures she can "handle" are dogs. Whether this also excludes other domesticated creatures is currently unknown.

Russ

His family runs a megacorporation on Giya, and as a result is incredibly wealthy. They're so wealthy that they can regularly afford golden pikpik carrots and just casually blend them into juice for a snack.

Said family is also very large and extravagant and seems to always invite the other rescue officers to their many parties, much to the latter's chagrin.

His mother is notorious in the Rescue Corps for "being quite the character."

He claims to have only joined the Rescue Corps out of curiosity.

While he lords his intellect above most others, he still recognizes Yonny as a genius in the medical field.

He wears a lab coat under his spacesuit. His mother gifted him 64 of them to bring on their current trip.

The Emergency Kit was the first item he prototyped after joining the Rescue Corps.

He is a fan of the reporter Muggs.

His natural hair color may be green, as this is the color of his eyebrows.

He's apparently prone to "interesting" injuries, likely due to failed inventions.

Dingo

Decided to become a rescue officer after being saved in the mountains by Shepherd's father, the previous Rescue Corps captain.

He dislikes dogs due to being traumatized by one during the same rescue, as he believed the rescue pup was trying to attack him.

He appears to fear Russ's mother.

He apparently believes that any drink (and possibly food, given his theft of Bernard's pizza) sitting out belongs to him.

Acknowledges that Collin is probably their most important team member, but he still takes advantage of his kindness from time to time.

He tends to refer to most of the officers by their title/job rather than name. (Comms guy for Collin, Science guy for Russ, the captain, etc.) Except Yonny which he shortens to "Yon."

He's childhood friends with Yonny.

Yonny

He's an avid reader, but prefers paper books to digital ones. He has boxes of them shipped to HQ regularly and they would have taken up 27 shelves on the ship if he were allowed to bring just the ones he wanted.

Has experimented on at least Shepherd and Dingo without their full consent. The former by not being transparent about what was in a vitamin supplement he gave her, and the latter by abusing his tendency to drink anything that's just sitting out. He has attempted to experiment on Collin, but it is unknown if he succeeded in doing so.

He's technically also experimented on Oatchi without consent as he tested the leafling cure on him without alerting anyone beforehand.

Apparently bursts into maniacal laughter when working in the lab by himself. The other officers just ignore it.

He's childhood friends with Dingo.

Bernard

He is very picky about food, to the point that their food storage has a special section just for him. It consists of expensive, specialized foods.

Like Collin, he has worked several different jobs over his career (including the president of a space-flight company). In the Japanese script, this is *apparently reflected in him having a combination of different dialects.

Also, like Collin, he considers his job as an officer to be significantly more difficult than his other jobs. However, he also considers it the most rewarding.

He invented an all-in-one meal drink that put a boxed lunch company out of business, solely because he finds digging through lunch boxes to be a pain.

Shepherd recruited him after he was able to deliver some packages for her faster than the post office would.

He has a history with a castaway named Santi whom he considered himself to be a part of a "dynamic duo" with. They were born about the same time, went to school and college together, and at some point became the latter's flight instructor. Bernard thinks of Santi fondly, but the feeling is not mutual.

He once piloted a 20,000 hour (just over two years) flight.

*(source)

Civilian Castaways + Their Planets

Research Task Force

Twyla and Komo are close friends due to their mutual introversion. They consider each other "irreplaceable".

Komo considers Chet easy to talk to.

Twyla considers the concept of plate tectonics to be unheard of on her home planet. This may imply that Conohan doesn't have any natural mountains, volcanoes, trenches, earthquakes, etc.

Sammy's home planet of Ocobo was not always ravaged by perpetual storms. But once they started, the entire planet flooded and their planet's engineers developed artificial islands for the people to live on.

Sy is the youngest member of the Research Task Force.

Osa is Kit's senior.

Chet has considered asking Ren to try cooking the creatures of the planet, but ultimately decides against it.

TV Crew

Wolfgang and Muggs get engaged at the end of the game. If you talk to Muggs before rescuing Wolfgang, she will drop hints about already having some romantic interest in him.

Muggs is possibly one of only other people that can understand what Oatchi's thinking if her comments from Oatchi are to be believed.

Vonda claims that Wolfgang is apparently a good singer. Comparatively, she struggles to say nice things about Olimar's humming.

Frisé wrote a song called, "Song of Love." This is likely a reference to "Ai no Uta" a song used in the promotion of Pikmin (2001). The title directly translates to "Song of Love." However, the lyrics of the two songs seem completely different.

Satella Travel Employees + Guests

Molly appears to have a crush on Russ. She finds his intellect attractive and wants to wear his glasses.

Molly might also be of a higher intellect given that she once made and launched an unmanned rocket in a single night by herself (even if it exploded).

The name of the travel agency that Chewy and Santi work for, the Satella Travel Agency, is a reference to the Nintendo Satellaview.

Sheeba apparently resembles Chewy's boss.

Santi learned his piloting skills from Bernard.

He also seems to have a similar "accent" to Bernard, but it only comes out when speaking about the latter.

Santi appears to be fond of Chewy and is considering becoming a permanent employee for her sake. Whether these feelings are romantic in nature is unclear.

Planetary Science Club

Despite being the Planetary Science Club's adviser, Mika actually teaches ethics and knows very little about any kind of planetary science.

Sheeba appears fearful of Oatchi.

Sheeba wants to become a teacher when she grows up.

The Planetary Science Club students went on the planetary tour on a free raffle, but Mika had to pay out of pocket.

Kaia gave Mika a nickname: Meeki. Mika likes it, but Sheeba thinks it's unprofessional.

Keesh is apparently stronger than Sheeba, Kaia, and Mika combined.

Others

All of Beaux's roles in movies/shows are references to other Nintendo games and IPs. Specifically the first 3 Pikmin games where he plays the Olimar expy, Animal Crossing: New Horizons, Mario, Kirby, and Link.

In a similar vein, his twin brother Alpin's company is called "e-Leader" as a reference to Nintendo's "e-Reader" accessory.

Alpin inherited the company from their father and works so Beaux can pursue his dreams of being an actor.

Alpin knows Fawks well enough to know exactly how he likes his coffee. (1 cup of coffee with 2 spoonfuls of milk, and 3 sugarcubes.)

From Kayz we learn a little about the different biomes on the other planets: Siguray has a scorching desert, Flukuey has steep, rocky mountains, and Ooji has a lush jungle.

Patch admits that he sees a "darkness" in Olimar's eyes, which implies that this is not the captain's first life-or-death experience.

Patch is implied to have been or was inspired by a pundit to pursue his current lifestyle.

Bernise will actually change her fortune for you every in-game day.

Dalmo has been interested in creatures since childhood.

His hometown also has a waterfront, confirming that Sozor has at least one significant body of water.

While Dalmo never ascribes malice to any of the creatures, he appears somewhat cynical about society, calling adults the only beings capable of intentional deceit and acknowledging that being popular means not having to work as hard to get to the top.

Shnauz's home planet of Siguray apparently has iridescent, water-dwelling newts.

Jin has studied traditional sports, combat sports, martial arts, and the art of battle.

One of Corgwin's first builds was a dog-house.

Speculative material below the cut.

Planet Generalizations

Some castaways from certain planets seem to have similar personalities/traits. Given that it's stated that things like the Koppaites' general inability to plan/being picky eaters is inherent to their race, it's possible that these generalizations apply to the rest of the races as well. I have not included planets with only one castaway. These are detailed below.

Sozor (Dalmo, Grace, Horatio): Have anti-social personalities. Dalmo prefers creatures to people and has a cynical streak when talking about society. Grace seems disinterested in society as a whole and has basically removed herself from it by becoming a drifter. Horatio, while attempting to be friendly with the player, is ultimately inept at social interactions which is noted by Chewy.

Flukuey (Jin, Molly, Dash, Patch): Are prone and/or attracted to high-risk work/situations. Jin is an explorer, Molly is a streamer of limited success, Dash is a spelunker from a well off-family, and Patch is unemployed but purposefully puts himself in dangerous situations for the thrill.

Ooji (Francois, Kingsly): Love flowers/plant life. Francois studies plant-life, and Kingsly is a florist. Given that Ooji is also known for its lush jungles, a knowledge and/or appreciation for plant life may be essential to living on the planet.

Koodgio (Lapi, Boris): Artistic types. Lapi is a painter and Boris is an author.

Siguray (Shnauz, Kit, Osa): Place a lot of value on material items. Shnauz appraises treasure, Kit is interested in minerals, and Osa is interested in archeology.

Ohri (Yonny, Dingo): Their kind is especially "tough" due to living in the mountains. This is said on the Pikmin Garden website and is reflected in how Dingo is a ranger and is able to complete most dandori challenges single-handedly, and Yonny who was active during the night time, the most dangerous time of the day, before he was rescued.

Nijo (Bernard, Santi): It's common for their people to change jobs frequently while they look for their "soul work/job." This is said on the Pikmin Garden website and is reflected in how both Bernard and Santi have claimed to have worked several different jobs during their lives. It seems that both have also found their "soul work" with the Rescue Corps and Satella Travel respectively.

Castaways where it's difficult to determine if their similar traits would be found in their race due to other factors:

Ogura (Sy, Pitunia): Both are interested in studying the onion and their environmental factors surrounding it, but both are also a part of the Research Task Force, a group made of individuals that are interested in studying the planet in general, so it's hard to say if this would be something inherent to all Ogurains, or if they just happen to have a mutual interest in this area of study.

Enohee (Ren, Frise, Muggs, Wolfgang): 3 of the 4 are a part of the same crew so would have common interests by default. Arguably all 4 are interested in entertainment as Ren, the only castaway from this planet that isn't a part of the TV crew, was on a cooking show, so TV might be a very important industry to Enohee.

Neechki (Kaia, Sheeba, Keesh, Mika, Chewy): 4 of the 5 are in the same club and would have similar interests by default (and even then, Mika is not interested in planetary science), and Chewy has little in common with the rest of them.

Planets where I couldn't identify a common thread:

Enohay (Puddle, Vonda, Bernise): I would have said creative/artistic fields due to Puddle being a stylist and Vonda being a singer, but I don't think a fortune-teller really falls under that.

Conohan (Twyla, Chowder, Alpin, Fawks, Beaux): 3 of the 5 are business owners/business savy, 4 of the 5 have a same-sex partner/friend that they're associated with, and 2 are siblings. But I couldn't find a singular trait which all 5 had. In a sense, I suppose this would imply that Conohan is a very diverse planet.

Giya (Shepherd, Collin, Russ): Another diverse group whose only commanality is that they're in the Rescue Corp. However, given the stark difference between Collin's and Russ's financial situations, this may imply that Giya has significant class inequality.