#buy sensors and controllers

[bluefuecoco]

huh apparently it's not too difficult to replace the rail sensors if you have the right tools

[anaktoria-of-the-moon]

At work plagued by thoughts of a mech bigger than you can imagine.

She starts like most of them do, a Titan excavator rig modestly sized for their line: maybe a house or thereabouts, a big house. (Doesn’t matter why she signed up - perhaps a breadwinner, a lone mother or eldest sister, a daughter of aging parents nobody else will take; doesn’t matter what site they sent her to, Earth or Enceladus or Venus or Europa. She’s there, and she lets them strap her in and adapt her for the piloting interface and pump her full of protein ooze and electrolytes and hyperstimulant cocktails as obediently as the next laborer.)

Upgrades come, from big house to bigger, with shovels like hillsides and treads like highways. Still she remains in the cockpit, out only for one day every six months to say hello to her burgeoning family, who have moved nearby to make it easy on her, to meet the baby nephews and nieces whose names she doesn’t yet know.

War comes. The facility hunkers down. It just makes sense to retrofit their biggest digger with shields, to expand her arsenal a little more, give her a better engine, pour all their leftover resources into making her a great guardian, and she rises to the occasion, shielding them from orbital rays, absorbing the energy and taking the pain of it up into her own engines. When the corporate rats who own the site finally turn tail and run the workers and their families band together and do the needful repairs themselves. Her nieces and nephews grow up learning engineering by the light of oil lamps from stolen Old Era textbooks and jailbroken datapads. She hardly ever now glimpses their faces with her own two eyes from within her steel shell but it is a worthy sacrifice to her, to them, for both parties know she is still there, still with them, embracing them in a great steel hug and watching through a thousand glass-lensed eyes.

Years pass. The brightest of her nieces works out how to modify the nutrition cocktail going into her cockpit so she will never age, never die, never fall sick. Somewhere in there all the metal and ceramic encloses her ever-sleeping body like a lotus flower around the benevolent, immortal form of a bodhisattva.

The outpost survives the war, somehow. Refugees hear of the little town on the colony that could, guarded by a goddess the size of a temple, and flock there. It makes sense to add to her control, among her array of sensors and actuators, the new city’s power generation and delivery system, its wall defenses, its waste management, its communications mains. Nowhere is anything safer than with her.

With all these new additions come techs and custodians to keep her in good care. They build modest crew cabins nestled amongst her treads (now rusty from disuse) so they can be close to her, the better to help her.

Slowly more and more falls under her purview, new cabins, then mezzanines and stairways and platforms between them; each generation has their own superstitions that they add to those of the last before them, so paintings crop up on her metal panels now, in nooks and crannies, often crude symbols that promise good oil changes or swift code updates, or simply depictions of their goddess, of the war she survived. Still she watches.

Her nieces and nephews are all dead now, and their nieces and nephews look on through rheumed eyes as the city attains new heights, heralded everywhere on every planet that still lives as an oasis of peace and prosperity. Still she watches.

A new company comes, enticed by the stories. They want to buy her. Buy her! The people scoff. As if you could just buy a person! - A person? asks the representative from Acher Spaceways, perplexed. - We heard she was your goddess.

She is both, of course, the goddess who lives, the goddess who is one hundred percent flesh and one hundred percent machine.

Acher doesn’t like this. They send machines - zero percent flesh, entirely drones - screaming down from the stars for a more insistent negotiation, one phrased in metal slugs and incendiary fire.

So your goddess rises up to meet them.

It is over in a short day. The drones lie in pieces; Acher, from orbit, licks their wounds, and the goddess rebukes them with a single laser blast, modified from her very first mining waymaker photonic drill.

The blast is precise and surgical. It tears apart the whole platform, spinning central axis to annular habitat space, which supernovas into a blossom of shining proof in the night sky at which the citizens below cheer.

But the pieces are falling, and soon they will pepper the surface below with molten debris, kick up dust into the atmosphere and make it all but unbreathable. The people could leave, the goddess advises them through short-wave radio bursts. They could use her emergency shuttles to escape gravity before it is too late, or they could go underground and salvage her rarest and most precious resources to survive until the surface is safe again.

Here is the thing - every pilot is augmented, and most augments are for the benefit of the plainly physical, for strength and speed and stamina and sharpness of perception. When her people augmented her, they augmented something else entirely. With every new module, every sensor upgrade, every painted symbol and hidden shrine, they gave her a superhuman capacity not for stamina or speed or strength, but for love.

It is her love that saved them, so they must save her back.

For two days they work tirelessly, the whole city, while above them the shattered pieces of Acher Spaceways looms ever closer. When they are done the treads are gone, the cabins dismantled, only the little drawings carefully preserved under coats of abrasion- and heat-resistant paint. And under her, their city, their Haven, lie rockets, ten of them, repurposed from the old all-ore crucibles, fit to move an asteroid.

She’s out there somewhere by Orion now, they say, the fourth jewel in his belt. And she has only grown: from three thousand then to three hundred million. Creatures from all over come to pay her their respects, or to visit lovers, or to live there themselves. There is always room in a body that is ever expanding, like the cosmos itself. Over all of them, she watches, eternal.

Among all the stories they tell of her, they repeat this one the most - how she tore apart a whole space station for the sake of her people, knowing she would die if she failed, for how can a whole city hope to flee? She guards them, and in turn they do not abandon her. They are two halves of the same whole, they say reverently, love manifest - the people and their city; this pilot, this great machine. This Haven.

[hyperfixiation-station]

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Information Pt.4

CW: talk of recovery, injury, swearing

Realization Apprehension Rescue

Recovery is hard. The doctors keep telling you ‘recovery isn’t linear’, but it feels like you are taking two steps back for every step forward you take.

They introduced you to solid foods on the third week, and while the fact that you didn’t throw up was a win, the anaphylactic shock that the mashed potato sent you into was not.

Being able to move your fingers and use your hands was a win, but the fact that your grip strength is practically non-existent and that your hands won’t stop shaking is not.

Being able to breathe without oxygen was a win, but the fact that you now have asthma is not. Luckily you could still serve, as long as you can get yourself to fucking talk.

And that was what it all boiled down to really. Talking. You have not said a word once. Not through the physical therapy, not through the debriefings, not through the blood tests and mobility tests and MRI’s and CAT scans and everything else they want you to do. You have not spoken once.

You know you can, now, after that night. Amd you do. When you're alone. When you're alone you whisper softly to yourself, repeating your name, your team's names, trying to work up the courage to say it in front of them. But for some reasons it's just so hard.

The one upside to this whole torture thing? You get to play video games all the time to rebuild the muscles in your hands and fingers. They attach little sensors to you to make sure your nerves are recovering correctly, that signals are being sent to your brain at the proper response rate. It is the most nerve-wracking playing time you have ever done. But for now, your just playing with…friends.

Soap was a god at Mario Kart. He had no right to be as good as he was, especially with you playing pretty much all day everyday, and yet he came in first every time you played together. It was almost enough to make you yell at him. Almost.

“Ah cmon luv, ye cannae blue shell- AH AWYA ‘N BIEL YER HEAD THATS NA FAIR!” Soap is up on his feet, shouting as Ghost sails past him into first. You, of course, come in third. No matter how much you practiced by yourself, you only ever could get to second against Soap. You can do this.

Your lips twitch as you watch the scot rage, saying all sorts of colorful swears at Ghost. His accent is thick as he yells, making him impossible to understand. You can do this.

“Watch yer mouth Johnny.” Ghost's mask is crinkled, the only sign he finds Soaps outburst funny. He shifts, clicking the controller to start another race. You can Do this.

“Ah, yer just a cheater.” Soap huffs, settling back in to play another round. He continues muttering under his breath as the round starts, swearing again as Ghost pulls ahead. You can Do this you can do this you can-

“Soap.” You say softly, barely audible. But he hears it, his head snapping around so fast you're surprised he doesn't get whiplash. Soap gawks openly at you, while Ghost stiffens, neither focused on the screen.

“Y/n? Oh kid.” he clambers over Ghost after a moment crouching in front of you, “oh kid, oh y/n, oh-” The sound of someone crossing the finsh line sounds behind him, and all three of you look back at the television.

Your lips twitch, a triumphant look on your face as you cross the finish line first, Ghost and Soaps characters still 2 laps behind you.

"Fookin 'ell." Soap says, "y' little twat." But the smile on his face lights up the room.

It's not easy after that. You can barely say more than someone's name, and even that is iffy. But it's a start. And it's enough to buy you time.

It takes 2 more months for you to say more than one word at a time, 2 more months to have a full blown conversation without having a panic attack. In the meantime, you've managed to write things out. You write names, people, describe faces you remember. You get released from the hospital, sent back on strict bed rest orders. You still meet with therapists everyday, working to sturdy your hands, to calm your brain, and to work through your trauma so you can finally live.

Your team watches over you like a hawk, always there to chase away the demons that plague your mind. Price even lets you keep a small nightlight on your bedstand. Soap plays video games with you, tries to keep things light. Gaz made you a charm bracelet, hand carved little beads with everyone's callsigns on them to ensure your never alone. And Ghost is...Ghost. a steady presence, making sure you are never left alone(being alone is suffocating).

You get better though, slowly. Can stomach being by yourself for short periods of time. Can eat more than one meal a day, get back to being able to run a lap without gasping for breath.

Recovery is hard, and there are times when you think dying would have been a kinder mercy. You wake up sobbing most nights, gasping for breath and shying away from a monster no one can see. But your team is there, and they are constant, and that is enough.

A/N: i loathe thus so much and also I feel weirdending it like this...so maybe another part then? Maybe vengeance or something, im nit sure. Let me know what you think. I am so sorry for how long it's been, and I'm sorry if my writings turned shit. I'm trying, i really am. Anyways, I love you all, and thanks for sticking with it <3

[lets-try-some-writing]

In your Young Titan Au, I find it so beautiful with the idea of Optimus creating hot spots on a planet he loves (Earth). I wonder what his Titan like powers or abilities could be. Or how he would repel Megs from him when it comes to the buckethead's schemes.

Oooooh okay a request for part two. Gotcha. Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Decepticons incoming!" Smokescream screamed, bolting down from the half completed outer wall of the developing settlement. Ratchet perked up instantly, abandoning his scans of Optimus's new spark chamber to assess the situation. They knew the Decepticons would find them eventually, but Ratchet had hoped that the false signals they sent out would buy them more time. At least long enough for the budding settlement to complete its outer frame.

"Fortify the walls! Keep the newbuilds out of potential firing range!" Ultra Magnus moved before Ratchet could. The Commander strode forward, the team swiftly obeying him and rushing to stand along the walls. Ratchet cursed as the Nemesis came fully into view. How in Primus's name were they to stand against that? Optimus was still so exposed. His spark chamber wasn't even fully encased yet. All Megatron would have to do was launch one well aimed missile and Optimus would be done for-

"Stay calm. Creator has this under control." Ratchet's spiraling thoughts were cut off by the calming voice of the newbuild who greeted them weeks ago. The newbuild smiled as if nothing in the world were wrong, his painfully familiar optics cycling in relaxed manner as he looked from Ratchet to the skies. He was small still, having not gone through his first reformat yet. To Ratchet, his commentary was beyond foolish.

"You are young, Pax. You don't know what the Decepticons are capable of or what they will do to us if they can get on the ground." Ratchet hurried to his pedes, assessing Optimus's spark chamber again. It was huge, most certainly meant for a Titan. Already Optimus's spark was growing to fill up the basic shell that had grown around him. He had no chamber walls, nor did his settlement yet have more than the framework for what would eventually become buildings. He was completely and totally exposed, his very spark a burning beacon to all who might witness it.

There was no covering or moving him. Optimus was firmly rooted. Yet, the Prime, if he could even be called a Prime anymore, did not seem worried. His spark did not spin in anxiety or stress, instead sending out waves of ease that were completely at odds with the situation. It didn't ease Ratchet a bit. For all he knew, Optimus was blind, deaf, and unaware of the situation. No titans had ever been documented forming in this manner, but it was a well known fact that without a city frame to see and hear through, the Titan was effectively stranded. Especially without a speaker.

Optimus's frame was still forming, having barely gotten anything close to skeleton completed in the form of building framework. He had very few sensors, save for the cables that slithered across the ground, helping to form what would one day become a mighty living city... if they all survived at any rate. The Prime turned TItan needed protection- protection Ratchet could not see the team being able to provide.

There was a reason the Titans of old had armadas to defend them.

"They will kill your creator, Pax. Megatron has a grudge against Optimus that far predates you, and he will stop at nothing to see his rival fall." Ratchet frowned, readying his welder. It wouldn't be much, but when the worst inevitably came to worst, he would fight until his spark went out. Looking at the Nemesis now looming not far away, Ratchet could see Vehicons starting to come their way, with Starscream likely at their head.

"Take the rest of the newbuilds and head toward Jasper. Choose Earth alternate modes and travel until you find a human male named Agent Fowler. He will take care of you after we fall." The Vehicons were approaching fast. The team were ready, each with blasters raised along the wall. But it was not going to be enough. There was no way it could be enough.

Pax, curse him and his similarities to his namesake, didn't so much as twitch as he stayed right by Ratchet's side. The medic could feel his optic twitch in growing agitation.

"I said take the newbuilds and go-!"

"It is fine. Creator has this under control."

Pax cut him off with a faint smile, his finials perking up as if he were observing the weather on a casual walk. He may have been boxier than his Creator, but by the Allspark, he had all of Optimus's attitude before he took the Matrix.

Ratchet wanted to grab the newbuild and throw him. But as the rest of the newbuilds started to gather around, he hesitated. There were perhaps seven at the moment, but they were all stoic, none at all concerned. It set Ratchet surprisingly on edge, especially as the team began to fire at the incoming attackers.

"Pax, please. You and your siblings are the future. You can't fall here." Ratchet tried to plead with the eldest of the newbuilds, but Pax maintained his smile, totally sure of himself. Ratchet looked to the rest, seeing that they were similarly unphased. If Pax wouldn't leave, neither would they.

Loyal glitches.

"Fine. Stay behind me. If the worst comes to worst, you run. Hear me?" He received no answer, but Ratchet readied himself regardless. If this was to be his funeral, he was going to take at least a dozens Decepticons down with him.

"It's alright, Ratchet. Creator is calling for his Speaker. It won't be long now." What?

"Starscream!" Someone screamed, Ratchet couldn't tell who. The next he knew, a blast went off mere feet away from him, forcing him to step back and reassess just in time for one notorious seeker to land where the blast echoed a moment before. Ratchet was unable to get a word in before Pax spoke up.

"Welcome. Optimus Prime greets you." If Ratchet's optics could get any bigger, they would have as Pax and the rest stepped aside, leaving a path to Optimus's very spark. He grunted, rushing to stand in the seeker's way. But before he could, many small but strong arms pulled him back, each muttering something vaguely soothing.

"It's alright, doctor."

"Everything is going to be fine."

"This is part of the process."

Their words did little to calm him, but Ratchet found himself unable to struggle as Starscream stepped closer. He didn't appear malicious, rather... almost in a daze. His optics were wide, his wings dipped and his expression awed. There was not a hint of cruelty to be seen in him as he calmly, nearly reverently, approached Optimus's partially developed core.

Distantly Ratchet heard Vehicons transforming and landing a ways off, the team rushing forward to keep them contained. It meant very little as the seeker came a mere pedestep away from his Prime's very core. The air was so tense it could have been cut with a knife as Starscream reached out-

And Optimus reached back.

The world slowed for a dazzling second. And then, in a mere nano-klik, light came from Optimus and wrapped around the seeker. Starscream didn't even fight back as his frame started to shift. The adjustments were all subtle at first, but the longer the strange connection continued, the more Starscream changed. Power flowed from Optimus to his chosen, and amidst the process, Ratchet heard Starscream speak.

"Why me?"

Then, as if summoned, the newbuilds replied in a choir like tone.

"Because you are the last Prince of Vos, the last to have seen a Titan walk Cybertron's scorched surface."

One by one the newbuilds abandoned Ratchet's side, instead stepping up closer to Starscream as his spindly frame bulked out, bright red, white, and blue taking the place of gunmetal gray. They were all content, especially as Starscream's previously emaciated expression became filled out, fear and confusion changing to acceptance.

"Creator wishes to restore our people, to let seekers rule the sky and grounders roam the earth. He is tired of war... are you not also?" A deep silence echoed, not even the Vehicons daring to speak up as everyone, the team included, watched on. After what could have been a klik or an eternity, Starscream replied.

"Yes. I'm tired of fighting this meaningless war. I'm tired of cowering... I want this all to end." With those haunting words, Optimus's spark flared, his very soul blazing like a newborn star. As it did, Starscream's optics lit up a momentary brilliant blue, and the voice that escaped him was not entirely his own.

"Then join with me, son of Vos. You shall be my voice, and I, your safe haven." Not a word was uttered as Starscream surveyed those around him, his optics returning to their usual red. He looked over his frame, curious, but not upset. Ratchet wasn't sure how to feel, or even if he could feel anything at all as the seeker turned Speaker addressed his Vehicons.

"I... I will not be returning to Lord- Megatron. You may do so if you wish. But I will not fight against this Titan. Not on his or anyone else's orders." Ratchet had to reset his audials and optics, but it changed exactly nothing as Starscream stared at his former subordinates. They all stared back, the team still keeping their blasters trained on them.

Then, as if Primus himself wanted to mock Ratchet for having been worried at all, the Vehicons dropped to a knee, and Starscream smiled.

"That was the correct choice." Starscream grinned, his usual arrogance again rearing its helm as he sneered down at everyone, save for the newbuilds.

"Knockout had the right idea about joining the winning team." The team burst into accusations and various cries of confusion. Ratchet didn't have the energy to bother. Starscream was apparently an ally now, alongside a good half of Megatron's air forces. That made defending Optimus a whole lot easier, if uncomfortable.

Slag Optimus and his cryptic ways.

"See? Everything worked out." Pax, the smug little creature that he was, patted Ratchet on the shoulder. He looked so stupidly pleased with himself and seeing his expression, Ratchet could feel life draining out of his frame.

"My apologies, Megatron. But I will not be returning. I have a new master now, one who has promised me far more than you could ever offer in exchange for my services." Starscream tapped his audial, likely sending a message back to the Nemesis.

On one servo, his presence gave them a fighting chance. On the other, all Ratchet could think about the mech were two simple words.

Slimy glitch.

[ms-demeanor]

One thing that I keep seeing whenever I make posts that are critical of macs is folks in the notes going "they make great computers for the money if you just buy used/refurbs - everyone knows not to buy new" and A) no they don't know that, most people go looking for a new computer unless they have already exhausted the new options in their budget and B) no they don't make great computers for the money, and being used doesn't do anything to make them easier to work on or repair or upgrade.

Here's a breakdown of the anti-consumer, anti-repair features recently introduced in macbooks. If you don't want to watch the video, here's how it's summed up:

In the end the Macbook Pro is a laptop with a soldered-on SSD and RAM, a battery secured with glue, not screws, a keyboard held in with rivets, a display and lid angle sensor no third party can replace without apple. But it has modular ports so I guess that’s something. But I don’t think it’s worthy of IFixIt’s four out of ten reparability score because if it breaks you have to face apple’s repair cost; with no repair competition they can charge whatever they like. You either front the cost, or toss the laptop, leaving me wondering “who really owns this computer?”

Apple doesn't make great computers for the money because they are doing everything possible to make sure that you don't actually own your computer, you just lease the hardware from apple and they determine how long it is allowed to function.

The lid angle sensor discussed in this video replaces a much simpler sensor that has been used in laptops for twenty years AND calibrating the sensor after a repair requires access to proprietary apple software that isn't accessible to either users or third party repair shops. There's no reason for this software not to be included as a diagnostic tool on your computer except that Apple doesn't want users working on apple computers. If your screen breaks, or if the fragile cable that is part of the sensor wears down, your only option to fix this computer is to pay apple.

How long does apple plan to support this hardware? What if you pay $3k for a computer today and it breaks in 7 years - will they still calibrate the replacement screen for you or will they tell you it's time for new hardware EVEN THOUGH YOU COULD HAVE ATTAINED FUNCTIONAL HARDWARE THAT WILL WORK IF APPLE'S SOFTWARE TELLS IT TO?

Look at this article talking about "how long" apple supports various types of hardware. It coos over the fact that a 2013 MacBook Air could be getting updates to this day. That's the longest example in this article, and that's *hardware* support, not the life cycle of the operating system. That is dogshit. That is straight-up dogshit.

Apple computers are DRM locked in a way that windows machines only wish they could pull off, and the apple-only chips are a part of that. They want an entirely walled garden so they can entirely control your interactions with the computer that they own and you're just renting.

Even if they made the best hardware in the world that would last a thousand years and gave you flowers on your birthday it wouldn't matter because modern apple computers don't ever actually belong to apple customers, at the end of the day they belong to apple, and that's on purpose.

This is hardware as a service. This is John Deere. This is subscription access to the things you buy, and if it isn't exactly that right at this moment, that is where things have been heading ever since they realized it was possible to exert a control that granular over their users.

With all sympathy to people who are forced to use them, Fuck Apple I Hope That They Fall Into The Ocean And Are Hidden Away From The Honest Light Of The Sun For Their Crimes.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

We've only just begun (a Mon-el introspective? Idk dont ask me) (Rhea's wedding plans succeed)

Mon-el jolts from his misery when the door to his cell clicks open, and shoots to his feet when he sees Lena Luthor on the other side. He blinks in surprise.

"How...?"

Lena flashes an access key, apparently palmed from some soldier's gauntlet. Her smirk is flat and humorless. "You should really have a talk with your guards."

Mon-el scowls. "They're not *my*--"

"Whatever," comes the dismissive retort. "Coming?"

Mon-el is certainly not staying. But he's not about to let Lena Luthor take the lead, either. He overtakes her brisk pace in a jog, and though she huffs with derision, she thankfully doesn't protest. Kara's heroics have rubbed off on him enough to know that if Lena got hurt while he lagged behind... well. The less said about that, the better.

Mon-el manages to take out the few guards they run into on the way to the nearest transmat pad, but their disappearance is noticed just as Lena swipes the access key across the final sensor keeping them from their escape.

A siren blares, echoing in the empty corridor. Closing themselves in the transmat chamber is no better-- there the pulsing wail of the alarm presses close around them, even as Lena surges towards the control panel.

"Damn it!" she curses, fingers flying over the control board. "Shit!"

"They shut it down remotely?" Mon-el guesses correctly. Lena glares at the console. "We're trapped then."

"Maybe not!" Lena shouts over the klaxon. "If I can--"

The door opens behind them, admitting a squadron of guards who swiftly spill into the room. Mon-el smoothly disarms one, then floors another with a strike to his sternum. He knows all he can do to aid their escape is to buy Lena time--

Three guards pile on him at once, driving him to the ground. In moments he's restrained in manacles and pinned to the floor with a knee digging sharply into his back.

"Step back!" a guard barks at Lena, aggression plain in his posture.

Lena ignores him, jaw tight as she focuses on her task. In horror, Mon-el watches the guard level his staff weapon at Lena, preparing to fire.

"Step back!" the guard bellows again.

Again, Lena ignores him, even when the weapon at her back whines with a building electrical charge. Mon-el twists against the guard pinning him, to no avail. Finally, he sags.

"Lena," is all he says.

At the sound of his voice, Lena's fingers pause. Then her eyes close for a long moment, lips thinning into a tense line. Finally, she lifts her hands from the controls, and steps back.

In an instant, the guard seizes her by the arm and yanks her away. She gives a cry of pain as she stumbles, her bare feet scuffing against the floor.

"Careful!" Mon-el snaps, even as his own captors heave him to his feet. The guard flashes him a glare, which Mon-el meets with all the haughty authority he can muster. "The queen won't be pleased if you damage her."

The man scowls, but his grip relaxes ever so slightly. Mon-el meets Lena's eyes briefly, and finds a heady mix of irritation and despair staring back at him.

"Let's go!"

The guards march them from the room. Mon-el expects them to be escorted to the throne room, where his mother would chide them like children, but to his surprise, his escort turns back towards the cells. Lena's, however, turns the opposite direction.

"Hey!" Mon-el shouts, digging in his heels to try and maneuver back towards Lena. "Stop!"

"Mon-el!" Lena calls back, twisting desperately against the grip on her arm. She knows that separation would leave them both vulnerable. "Let me go!"

But no one listens. As the distance between them grows, Mon-el cranes his neck to look over his shoulder towards Lena, only to have his stop plummet when he sees her growing terror. Unable to do anything more, Mon-el draws on the only reassurance he has to offer.

"Supergirl will come!" he shouts to Lena, even as her captor turns them around the corner out of sight. "She's coming!"

---

Kara doesn't come. Not soon enough, anyway. He waits and hopes while he sits in his solitary cell, while he wonders if Lena was unharmed, when a pair of servants deliver a set of fresh finery to dress in.

"For your nuptials," sneers one of the two guards now posted at the cell door.

When he's dressed and finally escorted back to the throne room for the ceremony, Mon-el is relieved when Lena trails in just a few minutes later. She'd been given the same treatment, her dark gown traded for one of the richest red-- the color reserved for the very highest of rank. It is the color of Rao, and a symbol of his approval for the ceremony to come.

Lena seems defiant as she stalks towards the dais where Mon-el stands, but as Rhea commands the broadcast to begin and starts her speech, Mon-el feels Lena trembling beside him. He looks at her from the corner of his eye, and sensing his gaze, Lena looks back with apprehension in her eyes.

He hears Lena swallow thickly when Rhea orders them to face each other, and the fingers Mon-el takes in his own shake with the power of her thundering heartbeat. He wants to offer reassurance, but has none to give. This is happening, and nothing either of them can do will stop it.

A priest winds a silver ribbon around their joined hands, binding them together in the sight of Rao and his witnesses. As Rhea declares their marriage firm and final, Lena blinks, spilling a single tear down her cheek.

The broadcast ends, and Lena yanks her hands from Mon-el's the instant the ribbon is removed. She scrubs the tear away with the heel of one hand, swallowing again to steel herself as Rhea approaches.

"You performed beautifully, my dear," his mother says. She reaches out to brush Lena's cheek, who sharply pulls her head away from the touch. Rhea tsks. "Ah, well."

She turns to address them both. "I would have allowed you to spend your wedding night together, however after your little escapade, I don't trust that you won't cause trouble."

With a clap of her hands, the guards step forward once more, gripping them both tightly. Mon-el keeps his attention on Lena, watching as her gaze goes flat-- numb.

"I'm sorry," Mon-el says before Lena is dragged away, and he himself soon after. It echoes in his ears as they return him to his cell, and thunders in his head when his helplessness closes in around him.

I'm sorry.

----

Supergirl arrives a week later, after coordinating resistance against the Daxamite soldiers on the ground. When she arrives in the cell block where Mon-el waits, Kara's brow furrows in alarm.

"Where's Lena?" she demands.

"I don't know," Mon-el replies dully. "She may be in the royal wing, but I'm not--"

"Let's go."

Kara barely spares a moment to wrench the doors apart before marching away, and Mon-el is all too willing to follow. Backing Supergirl is something he can do-- now, he can finally help. He leads them to the most lavish of the court's chambers, correctly guessing that his mother had extended her the luxury of a high noble.

Within the chamber they find Lena, now changed from her red wedding gown to robes of deep purple. Between that and the way her hair is styled in the fashion of Daxam's courtiers, she looks every inch a Daxamite princess.

Lena turns from the window at their entrance. Her gaze bounces between them briefly. "Supergirl."

Kara is already closing the distance between them. Mon-el sees the way her arms lift to embrace Lena, only to redirect midway to grasp her friend by the shoulders.

"You're all right?" Supergirl asks.

Lena nods. "Yes, thank you."

Mon-el wonders if Kara can hear the distance in Lena's voice. If she does, she gives no indication as she shifts to the task at hand. "Let's get out of here."

Taking Lena by the hand, Kara guides them both from the chamber. With Supergirl as their escort, not a single guard can stop them: each one ends up crumpled at their feet, senseless or dead-- Mon-el isn't sure he wants to know which.

To his surprise, Lena slips her hand from Supergirl's after the second guard goes down, scooping up his sidearm as she follows the hero's path. The fact he hadn't thought to do the same pricks at Mon-el's pride, as does Supergirl's swift dispatch of any opponents they run into. But he keeps it to himself, aware that they are only this close to freedom because of Kara's help.

The alarms sound a few corridors away from the transmat room, and Lena's shoulders stiffen. "They'll have locked down the consoles," she says stiffly. "But if you can--"

"We don't need the consoles," Supergirl delivers with a smirk. She plucks a small fob from beneath the neck of her suit. "Different exit strategy."

At that, Lena's features spread into a conspiratorial grin, and for a moment Mon-el feels entirely out of place. Then Supergirl turns to him, nods, and cocks her head towards the end of the corridor.

"This way."

They make it to the far end of the ship without Lena having to fire a single shot. Reaching a deserted room, Kara guides them inside, then clicks the button on her fob just once. Instantly, the ship melts away, and the world coalesces around them once more into an entirely different scene.

Suddenly-- still-- attuned to Lena, Mon-el registers the moment Lena realizes where she is. Her eyes widen in surprise, scanning the icy fortress around her. In that scan, Lena's gaze lands on a tall, slender woman who must have activated the device to bring them home. In an instant, Lena's features shutter once more.

"Mother."

The woman saunters forward, and in her regal stature and haughtily bemused features, Mon-el sees his own mother. And just like with Rhea, Lena recoils when her mother reaches to touch her cheek.

The woman sighs at her reaction. "Even now, Lena?"

"Don't pretend you're here out of the goodness of your heart," Lena snaps.

"I'm here for you," her mother delivers firmly. "For my daughter."

"So you'll leave without me?"

At this, the woman frowns. "They are the reason this happened, they cannot be trusted!"

She reaches for her daughter's arm, only for Lena to wrench herself out of reach.

"*I* am the reason this happened, mother," Lena hisses. She glances guiltily towards where Kara has stiffened in surprise, but powers through. "*They* are the ones who will help me fix it."

"That's absolutely out of the question--"

"Your opinion means nothing." Lena bristles with obstinance, as though all the resistance she'd been unable to enact on the ship had found its outlet in this moment. "Now leave, so the rest of us can go home."

The woman scowls. "You're making a mistake."

"Not this time," comes Lena's firm reply, only for her mother to lift a knowing eyebrow.

"We'll see."

---

Once the woman leaves with her henchmen, Supergirl removes her cape to wrap it around Lena, whose thin gown offered little resistance to the Arctic cold. Lena accepts the gesture with a thin, shivering smile.

"Thank you."

Kara nods in reassurance. "Let's go home."

Outside a DEO helicopter waits for them with a pilot standing by. The trip feels long to Mon-el, spent in awkward silence seated between his girlfriend and his new wife.

Wife.

That means something to him, he finds. He watches Lena carefully throughout the ride, though she largely ignores him in favor of staring out the window. Supergirl, for her part, studies the both of them. The helicopter lands twenty miles from National City, not trusting the Daxamite fleet wouldn't shoot them from the sky on approach.

When they disembark, Mon-el sees Lena's look of surprise when he turns to help her down from the helicopter. But after that moment of hesitation, Lena accepts his assistance by placing her hand in his.

The last leg of their journey is spent in the back of an SUV, and Mon-el's shoulder brushes Lena's as they speed down the interstate. When the National City skyline comes into view, Lena stiffens at the columns of smoke still rising from the city. It looks like a scene from one Winn's movies, but it's not. It's real, and from the way Lena barely seems to breathe, the reality presses on her just as heavily.

They arrive at the alien bar with little fanfare. But even the quiet embraces Alex gives Kara and Winn gives Mon-el leaves Lena standing pointedly alone. Upon seeing Lena draw Supergirl's cape more securely around herself, Mon-el extricates himself from Winn's tight hug.

"Perhaps you have some clothes more comfortable?" he asks. Winn follows his gaze, seemingly only then noticing their final guest.

"Oh!" he chirps. "Yeah, of course! Hi, Miss Luthor."

Lena offers only the smallest upturn of her lips in gratitude. Her eyes flash to Mon-el, her features inscrutable in the barest of moments before she allows Winn to lead her inside. Mon-el almost follows, but lingers when Kara does. They finally embrace, and Mon-el releases some of the tension he'd been carrying with a sigh.

"Thank you," he murmurs quietly.

"I saw the broadcast," Kara says. When she pulls away, her face is creased with worry. "The wedding. Are... are you okay?"

Mon-el pauses, and realizes he doesn't quite know how to respond. For want of an answer, he deflects.

"Lena spent the most time with my mother," he says, half jokingly. "She's the one you should worry about."

Kara frowns, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. "I can worry about you both."

"I'm fine." As he says the words, Mon-el can feel how untrue they are. He tries again. "I'll be fine when my people have left this planet for good."

Kara's gaze searches his, but thankfully doesn't push any further. "Now that we have you both back, we might stand a chance."

---

Their chance, as Mon-el had long suspected, is entirely Lena. When Mon-el follows the team to the DEO, Lena parts ways, heading for L-Corp. That she would go to her place of business instead of her home carries a meaning Mon-el can't quite define. Perhaps it is to Lena what the throne room is to his mother: a place of power, control... both of which Mon-el is certain Lena feels the need to regain.

Even so, he's relieved when she returns just a few hours later with a plan. His heart drops when he learns that plan is to poison Earth's atmosphere with lead, but when his gaze connects with Lena's, he finds no malice. If anything, she seems reluctant to offer the plan, clearly a last resort.

"We won't need it," Supergirl declares. She is sure of two things, where Mon-el is only certain of one: Supergirl may win the Dakam-ur, but Rhea will not honor it.

For the first time in his life, Mon-el wishes he'll be wrong.

He isn't.

---

Supergirl is the one to press the button, but it's Kara who says goodbye. Her eyes are full of tears, and even as he chokes on the air in his lungs, Mon-el wants nothing more than to wipe them away.

"I'm a better person, because of you," he coughs thickly. "Kara, please..."

"I'm sorry," she whispers hoarsely. "I'm so sorry."

Mon-el shakes his head. There's nothing to forgive. Instead, he has a request of his own.

"Take care of Lena."

Kara stares at him, confusion clouding her tear-filled gaze. "What?"

"She's going to need you," Mon-el gasps. "And you'll need her in return. Let her be what I couldn't."

"Mon-el..."

"Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her... I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to be the person she needed me to be. The person you both needed me to be." He wheezes painfully, every breath a thousand knives prickling his throat and lungs. "I should have stopped the wedding. You would have."

Kara shakes her head, but Mon-el knows. Had it been Supergirl in his shoes, she would have thought of some way to thwart the ceremony.

He should have thought to challenge his mother to the Dakam-ur himself, right there on that dais.

"Don't let Lena blame herself," Mon-el continues. "And don't blame yourself either. You made the right choice."

He doubts Kara believes him now, but in time, in the months or years it takes for the ache to fade, he knows she will. It is the right choice.

His final goodbye is a wave through the shuttles window as it lifts off the ground. Pre-programmed to exit Earth's orbit as swiftly as possible, he soon loses sight of Kara as the pod lifts through the atmosphere and into the dark of space.

In that void of expanse, Mon-el knows that whatever else, the two women he leaves behind will be fine. His wife and the love of his life will find their way through, together.

[bawfulio]

The worldbuilding of svtfoe is a very interesting hot mess to think about. It's like a defective puzzle: the pieces don't fit together quite right.

Especially in regards to magic/the issue of destroying it in the finale. You basically have to forget everything that was established about magic before Cleaved for it to actually feel like a sensible writing decision.

How do I know this? Because, for mad reasons, I decided to go through the series and catalog as many instances of magic being implied subtly or explicitly that it was a thing beyond Mewni. All examples are below the read more and sourced by their respective episodes

Dimensional scissors being owned by multiple beings from different dimensions, vast majority of them appear non-human/non-mewman (Shown since beginning of series)

Ponyhead uses magic to blast crystal stalactites on the ceiling of the Amethyst Arcade, making them crash into the guards from St. Olga's (S1E2: Party with a Pony)*

Star explaining how her wand needs to be regularly charged is worded in such a way that there are more like it in the multiverse (S1E8: Quest Buy You have to recharge wands with magical energy. If it goes to skull, it'll be dead forever!")

Quest Buy, an interdimensional retail store, sells wand chargers. If no other dimension has a wand like "Mewni", then there would be no reason for them to be sold (S1E8: Quest Buy)

The shard mines of Pixtopia are stated by the mine's taskmaster that they block magic. Considering that this dimension is the source of the magic mirror compacts/magic smart phones that are enable calls to anyone from any dimension, the wording implying magic period instead of a specific "butterfly magic" is interesting (S1E12: Pixtopia)

Tom's abilities in this episode (floating, fire control) seem to be a demonic variant of magic. While Daron Nefcy did say in the post-finale AMA that Tom could still create portals even after the destruction of magic (despite that same ability also being effected by Hekapoo shutting down the portal network), this fact was never stated in the show itself nor the spin-off books (S1E15: Blood Moon Ball)

Father Time, a plausibly magical being (this was never elaborated on in show nor in either spin-off books and the only answer came from Adam McArthur not Nefcy nor any of the show's writers) states that magic won't work on the wheel of time. Again, it is worded as magic period not "butterfly magic" or "royal magic" (S1E17: Freeze Day)

One of the "foolproof security measures" St. Olgas' is "no magic", with one of popups mentioning "magic sensors placed every 25 feet to ensure magic-free environment". If the school has such measures, then magic-using students must be a regular enough occurence to jutify it (S1E19: St. Olga's Reform School for Wayward Princesses)

Glossaryck's analogy on 'dipping down" is worded as follows: " Imagine the universe as this big old cauldron, and magic is the bubbly stew inside, and your wand is the spoon---Now the wand can only skim the surface of the hobo gravy, watery and brown. But if you want to get to the chunks, you've got to dip down. " Again, a singular magic, no differention for "butterfly magic" or "royal magic" (S2E1: My New Wand!)

Willoughby knows enough about magic to try and steal Star's wand to give herself a break (S2E6: Fetch)

Ponyhead uses magic to destroy Roy's shirt cannon. Roy also draws a magic circle on the ground that teleports Star, Marco, Ponyhead and Kelly to a temple where he then gives them the goblin dogs (S2E13: Goblin Dogs)

Etheria Butterfly, Moon's Aunt/Star's Great Aunt, pulls two Johansons underground via vines sprouted from magic seeds (S2E15: Games of Flags)

Rasticore is the sole person in the series to use a magical item that is not a pair of dimensional scissors to travel**. The Quest Buy gift card takes on a humanoid electric form to complete its expiration mode (S2E18: Gift of the Card)

Locked chains magically appear on the carriage door to keep Marco from leaving. Tom also uses his powers to resurrect Mackie Hand. (S2E19 Friendenemies)

Ponyhead uses magic to press the gas pedal on the car she's driving and later to repair the car (S2E24: Pizza Thing)

Magic (again, worded as magic period) is prohibited in the Bureaucracy of Magic building, complete with magic detector to find any "articles of magic, sorcery or occult objects of a mystical nature". The fritz is stated to be the result of "something somewhere sapping the power of magic from the universe". Once more, worded as a singular magic (S2E25: Page Turner)

The Naysaya is described as a demon curse. Whether curses are a separate thing from spells is never elaborated on in show or in the spinoff books (S2E26: Naysaya)

Preston Change-O, a being that sucked the joy out of Sensei's party guests. (S2E29: Trickstar)

Zedlord and Astrobell, who were crystallized by Rhombulus for destroying a planet and creating a black hole respectively. Considering that Rhombulus referred to his prisondres as "these guys" and the general design scheme of the non Earth/Mewni background characters, they are plausible inhabitants from other dimensions, not 'monsters" (S2E34: Crystal Clear)

The fritz is again stated to cause all magic (again no differention between types of magic) to weaken and fade (S3E1: Return to Mewni)

The Demoncism, with even features what Tom calls "magic manacles" (S3E12: Demoncism)

Marco suggests stopping Star's night portaling with magic glue. (S3E18: Sweet Dreams)

One of the supplies Janna brings to keep track of Star while she's night portaling is a "magic wave scope" (S3E23: Deep Dive)

Tom uses demonic magic to attempt to encase Mina in a coffin covered in sigils and golden magic chains (S3E24: Monster Bash)

Ponyhead once uses magic, in this case charging up a magic blast in preparation for facing Meteora, Gemini and Rasticore (S3E33: Skooled!)

The pillars/reverse waterfalls of magic found throughout the Realm of Magic are revealed to lead to other dimensions in the multiverse. Given the multiple pillars seen, it's likely that at least a good number of the connected dimensions use magic (S3E38: Conquer)

Marco's sword is revealed to be what kept a fire demon that once terrorized the Neverzonians sealed within a statue (S4E05: Ransomgram)

Wrathmelior has a emotional weather system that can cause severe storms if her emotions are in turmoil, possibly another form of demonic magic (S4E06: Lake House Fever)

The Quest Buy stock room is, as explained by the sloth employee, "a magical room that turns all your needless desires into pointless realities" (S4E11: Out of Business)

The Severing Stone is explicitly reffered to as an "enchanted rock" that posseses an edge so sharp that it can sever anything. The Blood Moon bal (S4E13: Curse of the Blood Moon)

In the beginning of the episode, we see Ludo attempt to steal Princess Quasar's magic bell, a possible counterpart to Star and her wand, complete with a counterpart to Glossryack (S4E14: Princess Quasar Caterpillar and the Magic Bell)

At Glossaryck and Meteora's first stop in the past, it is shown that a sea of magic was already present long before the Magic Sanctuary was built (S4E17: Meteora's Lesson)

Grobb/Neverzone Meteora explains that the old women of the mountain that found her and Bork/Neverzone Mariposa as babies taught her all of their spells. There is also Wyscan the Granter, a being that will grant requests in exchange for magic he can eat (S4E28: Gone Baby Gone)

According to Hekapoo, most of the patrons of the Tavern at the End of the Multiverse left their dimensions to "get away from magical issues or power-hungry rulers". Given the lack of elaboration on what exactly those magical issues were and how Star's rant focuses squarely on her family's misuse of it, this one might have been a last minute justification by the show to have Star destroying magic feel more natural. Whether or not it worked is up to debate (S4E36: The Tavern at the End of the Multiverse)

*I am aware of the whole "Ponyheads' powers are 'natural abilities' not magic" thing but A: the statement came from a tweet by a voice actor for the show (Adam McArthur), not Nefcy nor any of the show's writers so its canoncity is pretty weak and B: something as important as this should have been discussed in either hte show or one of the spin-off books. And, considering how Here to Help (which was 4 episodes before Cleaved) had Star somehow be able to gather a group of people from different parts of Mewni (Rick Pigeon, Ponyhead and Seahorse) and different dimensions (Kelly and Jorby, Talon and Quirky Guy) despite Hekapoo having shut down the mirror and portal network, it's possible that Ponyhead being magic was just forgotten

**It is mentioned in Star and Marco's Guide to Mastering Every Dimension that Rasticore is wanted for "unlawful alteration of regiestered, protected magic items (dimensional scissors)". This implies that his chainsaw was created from a pair of dimensional scissors but this is one of a multiple tidbits from the book that never comes up in the show itself

[meabh-mcinness]

Chronicles of a Second Chance

Chapter Five: I'm a Fortune Teller Prowl...A What?

Once again there is a lot more swearing in this chapter, along with another semi-panic attack for reader, and a small mental break for Prowl. He'll be fine…..probably

Your heart was hammering in your throat, and you fought to maintain control. You had to think fast, to buy yourself even a second of time. But the tension in the air, the precision with which Prowl observed you as he carefully drove off, was suffocating. Every breath felt like it might be your last.

"I—uh," you stammered, swallowing hard. "Look, I don’t know what you're talking about. I was just guessing. I don’t know anything about anything or...this Bee guy... or—"

Prowl didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His gaze locked onto yours with such intensity that you could practically feel the weight of his thoughts pressing against you, dissecting every word, every movement and you fell silent under its weight.

"To have seen the usernames means you’ve likely seen the journal along with other things," he finally said, his voice colder than before, "and you’re aware of more than you should be. That's an issue."

The way he said issue felt like a loaded gun, just waiting to be fired.

You curled up the best you could in your seat, heart racing even faster now. The whole situation felt unreal. Only the painful digging of the seatbelt tearing into your skin seemed to remind you of just how real this was. “I’m just... a random person who made a good guess. Really."

His fingers drummed on the door again, but this time, it was a deliberate pattern, a methodical series of taps that resonated like a countdown in your head. Was he going to arrest you? Detain you? Worse?

But then, to your surprise, Prowl didn't escalate. Instead, he shifted the gears in his voice just slightly, making it sound more... neutral, if still intensely scrutinizing. "You don’t look like a random person. You’re too aware. Too perceptive for someone who claims to be clueless. After all,” he paused, eyes looking directly to yours through the rearview mirror, “you didn’t question how the belt was able to buckle itself around you."

The silence stretched out. You could almost hear the mental gears turning behind his optics. You knew he was processing, compiling, considering. And you were just sitting there, trying to hold onto the pieces of your composure, hoping you didn’t shatter right before his eyes, because he was right. You should have immediately panicked and thrown a ton of questions at him the second the seatbelt moved by itself, instead you had focused on him and deflecting his questions.

But then, as if to shift the entire balance of power, Prowl did something unexpected.

"Why don't we start again?" he suggested, voice still calm, but now with a cold undercurrent. "No more games. You know things you shouldn’t, and I don’t like that. But maybe, just maybe, we can work something out."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his approach. Was he giving you an out? Or was this just a tactic to put you on edge, to see how you'd respond? To trick you into thinking he was playing nice before offing you somewhere else.

"I—" you began, but you were cut off by the sound of a faint mechanical whirl from his car. The air around you seemed to grow denser, as if the vehicle itself was watching you, waiting for your next move.

Which in retrospect it probably was, you never did figure out how Cybertronians were able to see while in their alt forms. Was it through their mirrors? Their headlights? Were there tiny camera sensors all over that fed feedback to their processer? Could they even actually see at all in this form, or did they guess based on a bunch of other factors and sensors?

The questions swirled in your mind like an uncontrollable storm. But the one thing that stood out the most was the sharp, cold logic in Prowl’s voice. He was waiting for you to answer, to make the wrong move, to slip up. You were caught between trying to stay calm and trying to figure out how to avoid getting yourself even deeper into whatever strange web you had stumbled into.

Your mouth felt dry as you tried to gather your thoughts, weighing your next words carefully. You didn’t trust him—not by a long shot—but you couldn’t afford to make him think you were completely uncooperative either. The Autobots may have been toted around as the good guys, but that didn’t mean they were innocent, that they hadn’t committed their own crimes to achieve their goals. If Prowl truly thought you were any sort of danger to his faction, he’d off you in a heartbeat.

The sound of the car's mechanical hum only added to the eerie tension coursing through your veins.

"I didn’t mean to make anyone suspicious. I don’t want any trouble," you said quickly, deciding to be honest for a change. "I’m not some secret agent or... anything. I’m just a person who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn’t ask for any of this."

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Prowl’s optics flickered briefly as if contemplating your words. For a second, you thought maybe he was about to say something, but he didn’t. He just kept his gaze forward, his hands steady on the wheel. The faint hum of the engine was the only sound filling the car.

It was unnerving how little he reacted, so used to human emotions as you were. He wasn’t dismissing you, but he wasn’t accepting what you said either. He just existed; and that frightened you more than anything.

After what felt like an eternity, Prowl finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "I’m giving you one chance. I want to know everything you’ve seen. Everything you've figured out. If you want to avoid any further complications... start by being honest with me."

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat again. The weight of his words sank in, and you realized there was no way out but forward.

"I’ve... I’ve seen some usernames, the journal," you said quickly, "I didn’t realize how deep it all went. Honestly, I still don’t know everything. I’ve just... been getting these flashes of... things."

Prowl’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, but his expression remained neutral. "Flashes," he repeated, his voice filled with careful curiosity. "What kind of flashes?"

You hesitated, unsure if you should have even brought it up. Despite your hairbrained plan to make the bots think you were some kind of seer, the further in you went the more uncertain you became. The flashes in question weren’t just memories anymore. You’d thought them over so many times that it almost felt like they had evolved. Pieces of information that appeared unbidden, like fragments of someone else's thoughts.

"I see things. Places. People. Sometimes it’s just... feelings," you muttered, trying to explain it without sounding completely insane. "I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like I'm seeing things from someone else’s perspective." The camera’s perspective perhaps, but a different perspective, nonetheless.

 “I’ve seen things – beings – who are like you. Sometimes they were just living out their lives best they can in a foreign place, sometimes they were fighting, and sometimes they,” you paused, taking a deep shuttering breath as the images flew by, “sometimes they were dying.”

Prowl was quiet for a long time, his optics scanning the road ahead as if processing your words. The tension in the car thickened, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if you had just revealed too much, or if he was actually trying to figure out the puzzle you had stepped him into.

You sunk in on yourself in not-quite-pretended defeat, wrapping your arms around your knees and curling your head to lean against them, face towards the window as you watched the scenery go by. Houses spread out more

“I really don’t know how to explain it,” you muttered, breaking the silence first. “I think I’m just... seeing the echoes. The future, maybe? Or just... things that could happen.” You swallowed hard, glancing back at him. “Sometimes, it’s like a movie, playing in my head. Other times... it’s just feelings. Panic. Anxiety. Hope. Death. It’s all mixed up.”

Prowl’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, pale skin going whiter as he absorbed your words. The car’s hum filled the silence again waiting for your next move.

“Are you telling me that you’ve been seeing the future?” Prowl’s tone was incredulous, his logic processor whirring to keep up with the information you provided. You knew that certain bots were what was called ‘outliers,’ they had abilities that the rest of their kind simply didn’t have. Skywarp with his teleportation, Blurr with his speed, Bluestreak’s aiming skills – all were outlier abilities that many bots coveted but usually came at some kind of cost.

There wasn’t a single bot who could see the future though, as far as you aware at least, with the exception of Optimus Prime. Vaguely you wondered if he even counted since it was through the Matrix that he was occasionally given glimpses rather than anything he himself possessed. Regardless, you doubted Prowl, as ‘logical’ as he was, would be willing to believe that some random human he found could have such an ability, when even his own highly advanced kind couldn’t.

Which was valid considering you couldn’t actually do so and simply had the foreknowledge due to being someone that enjoyed media about giant alien robots in your past life.

Foreknowledge that wasn’t helping considering Prowl wasn’t even supposed to be here – and no, you were not getting over that anytime soon.

“I’ve never seen you though,” you couldn’t help but admit into the quiet space.

“But you have seen someone who looks like me,” not quite a question, not quite a statement, but something in between. “And that’s why you were so frightened the moment you registered my form.”

“If there’s any truth to what I see then they’ll be on their way here soon if they aren’t already.” To be fair it was mostly the truth, you weren’t certain where exactly Barricade and Frenzy came across the information to hunt down Sam. They could be hacking in right now for all you knew. The only thing you were certain of was that when the weekend ends Sam will be presenting his project, getting Bumblebee and then starting off the whole procession that would climax in Mission City by the end of the week. 

Tears started to gather in your eyes as the weight of everything pressed down on you. You felt in no way shape or form, ready to deal with all of this. No matter how much you tried to prepare yourself, the reality of it was suffocating. You had knowledge you shouldn’t, tangled yourself into a war you didn’t belong in, and now you were sitting in an Autobot who was dissecting your every word, every movement, as if you were a puzzle he just couldn’t quite solve.

Prowl remained silent, but you could feel the intensity of his stare even without looking at him. The hum of his engine and the occasional crunch of the tires against the road were the only sounds filling the suffocating space between you.

You wiped at your eyes quickly, trying to keep your emotions in check. Breaking down again wouldn’t help. You needed to focus. Needed to figure out what to say next without giving away too much or painting a bigger target on your back. There would be time later, when you were safely in your bed, to mentally break and have a good cry.

Or so you hoped.

“Who?” You bit your lip at his question, worrying it between your teeth until you could taste the faintest bit of sharp copper, wondering how much you should let out.

"Barricade and Frenzy," you muttered, as if the words slipped out before you could stop them. “They’ll be coming. I think they’re already on their way.”

That was the real kicker, wasn’t it? You had braced yourself for the usual suspects—Optimus, Bumblebee, Ironhide, Jazz, maybe even Ratchet if things really spiralled out of control. But Prowl? He wasn’t part of the lineup you knew. Not in this version of events.

So, where the hell had he come from?

You curled tighter into yourself, mind racing even as you kept your expression schooled into something nervous but honest. This was dangerous. Every second you spent talking dug the hole deeper, but you couldn’t just stop now. Prowl was too sharp, too perceptive. He would pick you apart like a puzzle until he found all the missing pieces slotted nicely together.

And if he found the right ones?

You didn’t want to think about it.

Prowl’s silence stretched, his fingers tapping out that same slow rhythm against the door. It was calculated. Measured. A test to see how you’d react.

"You do understand," he finally said, voice low and edged with something unreadable, "that if you're telling the truth, you're a liability."

You forced yourself to meet his optics in the mirror, swallowing down the instinctive flare of fear. "And if I'm lying?"

His fingers stilled. "Then you’re something else entirely."

A shiver ran down your spine. There was no good answer to that statement, no version of this conversation where you simply walked away unscathed. Prowl was analysing every breath you took, every shift of your gaze, and you could tell he wasn’t convinced of anything yet.

Which meant you still had room to manoeuvre.

You exhaled slowly, letting some of the tension bleed into your posture. "Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t understand it myself. I just see things. Maybe it’s the future, maybe it’s just… echoes of something. But I swear, I’m not trying to cause trouble."

Another long pause. Then, unexpectedly, Prowl gave a small nod. "I know."

You blinked. "You…know?"

"I believe you—"

That was a lie.

"—for now."

That was the truth.

Your heart didn’t slow, but at least you weren’t being thrown out of the moving vehicle and turned into a pancake. Yet.

Prowl shifted gears slightly, his attention flicking back to the road. "But that means I need to make a report. If you are a genuine human outlier, then the others will want to know."

Your stomach dropped. "Wait—"

"It’s standard protocol."

Standard protocol, my ass. You knew what happened to potential threats. To unknown variables. If they didn’t deem you useful, they’d contain you. And if they couldn’t contain you—

No. You weren’t letting it get that far.

Think. Fast.

You forced a nervous chuckle, playing up the jittery, overwhelmed act. "I—look, I get that you have rules and whatever, but do you really think anyone’s gonna believe this? Some random human who can ‘see the future’? That sounds insane even to me, and I’m the one it’s happening to!"

Prowl didn’t react, but you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"Besides," you pushed on, "if you report me, what happens next? Do I get locked up? Studied? Thrown into some dark hole because it’s ‘safer’ for me that way?" You shook your head. "I don’t want that, and I hope you don’t want that either."

A calculated risk.

Prowl valued logic above all else. If you could frame this as an inefficient course of action—something that would cause more problems than it solved—he might hesitate.

Seconds passed. Then, finally:

"The Autobots are not like that, you would be treated fairly."

You bit back a scream. The hell they weren’t, nobody in their thrice damned war was innocent. Even sweet bots like Bumblebee had probably committed more war crimes than there were humans on the planet in his lifetime, and that wasn’t including the Autobots who were actually deranged like Pharma or Nominus Prime. Hells bells Prowl himself was considered one of the most ruthless Autobots simply due to his tactical mind and using logic to do whatever it took to complete his goals.

It was why you were so bloody terrified right now, you were arguably sitting in one the most dangerous transformers, and he wasn’t even a Decepticon.

How messed up was that?

Prowl was staring at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of physics before his optics. His fingers tapped once more against the door panel, a habit you were quickly realizing was tied to his processing speed.

"You expect me to believe that?" His tone was sharp, controlled, but there was an underlying note of something else—uncertainty.

You licked your lips. "You asked me to be honest."

Prowl was quiet. His engine rumbled softly, almost thoughtfully, and the tension in the car felt like a wire pulled too tight.

"You said you've seen us fighting." His voice was deceptively mild. "Dying."

You hesitated. "Yeah."

"Have you seen a bot named Jazz?"

Your breath caught. He was testing you. Trying to pin down just how much you knew. The problem was that you did know. You knew what would happen to him if the timeline followed its original course.

You swallowed hard. "Yes."

Something shifted in Prowl’s expression. A minute twitch at the corner of his mouth, the barest narrowing of his optics. "How?"

"It’s not pretty," you admitted. "It’s like I said. Flashes. Sometimes it’s clear, sometimes it’s not. But..." You hesitated. "He doesn’t make it, Prowl."

His fingers stilled, then the brakes slammed short. A startled yelp left your mouth as the seatbelt did its job from launching you at the sudden stop. With a pained groan you gently rubbed at your collarbone, already knowing a bruise was forming.

If you were lucky, that’s all you would receive from this confrontation.

The air in the car felt suffocating, heavy with unspoken words. Prowl’s processor was undoubtedly running through every possible explanation, every potential scenario. He was a strategist, a tactician—he lived by probabilities. And you’d just thrown something at him that had no logical precedent.

"You’re lying." His voice was hard, every bit of his form from the false holoform to the belt slowly tightening around you was tense.

"I wish I was."

Silence stretched between you. Then, finally, Prowl spoke again, voice quieter this time. "Tell me what happens."

You exhaled shakily, your mind racing. Telling him the truth was dangerous. But lying outright? That could be worse. You knew, of course, that a large part of the fanbase had shipped Jazz and Prowl together based on their interactions with one another, believing them to be conjuxed without ever actually saying so.

Based on his reaction now, you weren’t so certain that it was a fans dream after all.

And so, carefully, you began to speak.

“At some point there will be a battle in Mission City, about twenty miles north of the Hoover Dam. Jazz…he leads a distraction against Megatron to protect something from his grasp.” You swallowed harshly, eyes closing as you try to picture and word out what happens while not giving to much away. If you wanted to play the seer game then you couldn’t be to overtly powerful, you had to know things without knowing too much. The images flashed through your mind; Megatron standing atop a tall building, Jazz climbing up cannons blazing while throwing taunts, “He gets several shots in before … before.”

“Before?” Prowl questioned gently, despite already guessing the answer.

“Before Megatron rips him in two-” Prowl’s engine revs harshly at your words, cutting off what you had been planning to say next, as he sped off harshly. A startled shriek left you, your legs drew back up, hands grasping the seatbelt tightly as if it could in any way help you despite being a part of the very being who was potentially threatening you.

You listened to the tires squeal against the pavement as the world outside flies by, using every bit of ounce of will power you have to continue breathing and not suffer from another mental break as you watched houses fade away until there was nothing but desert as far as the eye could see.

Oh gods, oh gods. You were going to die for speaking the truth.

Which you supposed was how it generally worked but gods damn it you wanted to live longer than this! You had so many things you wanted to accomplish in this new life, and you couldn’t do any of them if you were buried six feet under the sand dunes! You had to think –

“He dies a hero” you blurted out suddenly before promptly wanting to smack yourself upside the head. He was obviously upset about at the very least a good friend, if not his literal other half, dying. Why on Earth did you decide to push it in further? Before you could scramble to fix it, the belt was retracted, the door flung open and Prowl was turning in a tight harsh circle.

Your body was flung from his, landing harshly in the gritty sand before rolling to a stop, your bag slamming into you. You barely had time to scramble up, coughing the coarse grains from your lungs before the familiar sounds of a transformation echoed in your ears.

Once you would have killed to hear that sound in person.

Now, as 13 feet of pure angry robot alien slammed his fist on either side of your far smaller body, one of which flattened a boulder into dust with no issues, you could only wish the sound was once more locked to behind a screen.

“He shouldn’t have to die at all,” Prowl snarled in your face, bright blue optics dimming to an almost purple shade – and oh gods he was losing it. You nodded quickly in agreeance; in the hopes he would calm down.

“You’re right, of course.” You clutched your bag to your chest as you scooted back a bit from his bared dentae, eyes wide as your body shook from the terror coursing through your veins. “He shouldn’t have to die, no one should. But maybe we can save him?” You ventured out hesitantly.

His optics narrowed at you as he leaned in closer, servos digging large grooves into the sand in the process. “How?”

You swallowed, flinching minutely at the small grains scratching down your throat and heavily wished for a bottle of water.

“Jazz was alone when he took on Megatron,” you forced yourself to look directly into his optics, focusing on the all the gears and shifting parts that moved behind the glass making up his sight. “He doesn’t have to be alone this time. You weren’t anywhere in my visions at all, that means if what I’m seeing is the future, then things are already changing. You can still save him. As long as he lives, there’s always a chance to save him.”

At least from that fate, you thought to yourself. You weren’t quite dumb enough to speak that out loud though. One near death experience was already more than you wanted, thank you very much.

His optics clicked and whirled as they went off and then onlined again, a shuttering breath leaving him as he pulled back. “You are right, of course. Jazz is still alive and we are going to do everything we can to make sure it stays that way.”

You nodded aggressively before freezing, “uhm…we?”

“Oh yes,” He moved till he was kneeling on one knee, the other curled up beneath him as he poked you in the chest, eyes once more blazing blue as he smirked. “You are going to help me keep my idiot conjux alive little seer. If it’s the last thing you do.”

Later that night, as you collapsed on top of the covers of your bed still fully closed, you made a mental note to yourself to never mention Jazz’s potential death ever again.

It might actually just end up being the last thing you ever did.

Prev Next

[mistype360]

to add to my most recent post about functions, how would you describe se and si because i get so tired of seeing “sports and adrenaline!!” “memory and nostalgia!!” for them in descriptions 😭🙏 and how would si-ne and fi-te interact as the aux and tert functions? i love your responses as always 🫶🫶

YESS I literally hate sensor/intuitive descriptions with burning passion...especially that one ni description I read online 😭...

I genuinely relate and understand more of functions through examples of them irl, so I sorted them this way if that is more helpful

se

very opportunistic: might see a sale at a store and jump on the offer (even do the math if high in ti). will also be quick to join in on tiktok, fashion, or internet trends and get easily excited and interested in them.

sees loopholes in rules/guidelines, finds ways around it

better at improvising situations: when cooking a recipe they will know what to do when missing an ingredient. will eyeball measurements they have to take. more likely to think of fun quick last minute plans if something goes wrong.

absurdism/stoicism: controlling what you can, embracing whatever happens, push and pull between finding meaning and being indifferent, makes meaning personal

mayyy be appearance focused (not always); jewelry, hair, makeup, FASHION...

si

can see distinctions easily: what someone sees as a forest, the si will see as spruces, pines, maples, etc. might also say, "__ is NOT the same as ___." is aware of grammar more quickly than others (not because they're focused on it, they do it with ease).

focused on mistakes: (might be forgiving if high in fe, but more like "forgive but don't forget.). BUT also remembers mistakes made by self as in hopes to not repeat them in the future. could also make them perfectionistic.

"oh, this reminds me of ___!!": gets excited when they learn a new word, and later see it used in a tiktok ;p

skeptical of things: doesn't trust ads they see immediately, does research on a product before buying, thinks critically about social media (and celebrity culture in general), doesn't trust if something is 'too good to be true'

focused on meaning: unlike se which is more indifferent, the istj is more likely to ask what the point of doing something before they do it. doesn't necessarily like things that are pointless (combined with unenjoyable). **DOESN't mean they don't have hobbies based on enjoyment, tbh most istj's find meaning through their own emotions as well

[mushroomates]

the fellowship at a hardware store, from someone who works at a hardware store:

sam: is in the nursery!! goes straight to the discount/dying plants and piles his cart full of wilted and sad plants. likes to rescue the houseplants first, has a soft spot for perennials and citrus trees. is a nightmare to check out but is very sweet about it. dirt and leaves everywhere. like, everywhere. they have to sweep after he’s gone. surprisingly strong and hauls big bags of dirt.

frodo: enjoys home improvement!! likes to wander carpeting and organization, hunts for good deals and keeps tabs on the sales weekends. he likes to peruse the shower curtains and closet accessories. likes to refurbish old furniture he finds off the side of the road- currently fixing up an antique dresser to put in the master bedroom.

merry: doorknobs, handles, dresser nobs. he likes to pick out the interesting and antique ones and customize his home with them. he really likes the oddly shaped ones, he has one starfish and one pickle on his nightstand table. likes to joke about touching all the knobs and fiddling with the knockers.

pippin: is lost in the lighting department. he’s staring up at all the pretty lights and hypnotizing fans. likes the remote controlled lights, enjoys messing with the demos. also likes collecting paint chips. (pippins also the kind of person to get really high and shit in the display toilets.) does not buy anything, maybe some beef jerky and skittles at the check outs.

boromir: this man has like 80 projects going on and is remarkably proficient in every conceivable area featured in the store. he’s here so much people think he works here. he kinda does. he’s happy to advise you, lead you to products, and lifts heavy things for little old ladies and swooning maidens. he’s happy to grab the things on the highest shelf as well as carry those bigs bags of dirt out to your care. he is just a naturally pure and helpful soul. <3

aragorn: has lost himself in scrap wood. straight to the lumber yard, straight to the pile of damaged and recycled wood. once a month, he comes and loads up as much as it will fit in a pickup truck. no one knows what he does with it but he keeps coming back. there are several theories around the store. either he’s building a bunker, has a side hustle by reselling it, makes massive fires or he does wood work. alternatively, he’s a homeless man building his own cabin in the woods so he can live away from society. that’s one’s probably the closest.

gandalf: mixes his own paint. he doesn’t work there but somehow he keeps getting back there and making his own custom colors. was known to pull a miracle and turn gray paint back into white. no one knows how he did this. likes to camp out in the seasonal section. enjoys lounging on couches and swings for long periods of time.

gimli: is so excited to walk into the tools section. wants all the toys. likes power tools in a way that’s both funny and scary. really likes chainsaws and leaf blowers, possibly because they pose the biggest threat to legolas. often gets flagged out the door because no one person needs that many tools and he must be up to something. he always beeps out the door because inevitably someone forgot to take off one of the sensors of his many, many tools. he used to be nicer about this but lately has lost patience with always being stopped out the door, and often will make a show of waving his receipt before leaving.

legolas: spends a good amount of time in the garden. i imagine he gets enamored with the fountains and ponds rather quickly, also likes the statues and fun pots. also, wanders through the garden and samples the plants. by samples i mean eat small bites of it, and if he finds the quality satisfactory he will purchase it. this is rarely the case and he often just goes around eating small bites of houseplants.

[whos-starr]

Crash

Summary: Omega’s just finished up a mission for the Rebellion. But her ship’s been hit hard, and all systems are failing. As she falls out of Hyperspace, she finds a small bit of comfort in Tech’s goggles, as if he’s there with her.

Word Count: 1203

Notes: Another request from @mantellmix ! I love writing sad stuff. Short one-shot, enjoy!

Tag List: @mantellmix @a-cryptid-called-magetha

Things weren’t going well. They had been, for a while, but not anymore. Omega had just finished another mission for the Rebellion. She was supposed to take out an Imperial factory and get all the workers out. She did that. And may have accidentally taken down a nearby Star Destroyer. But it was fine. Or it was supposed to be. The workers were heading back to their families on the planet, the Empire was down a factory and a Star Destroyer, and Omega’s hyperdrive was in critical failure.

She watched as the blue streaks around her turned orange and pink, as she was thrown out of Hyperspace. Her console was beeping and flashing and sparking, only making the job more stressful. Gonky was in the back of the ship, shut down and being unhelpful. Even some reassurance would be nice. But she was alone.

Omega tried to take control of the ship’s trajectory, flipping on the emergency stabilizers and trying to steer. But it was no use. The ship was crashing down towards a nearby moon, out of control and buying Omega a one-way ticket to a very gruesome death. No, she couldn’t think like that. Yet.

Omega gave up on trying to control the steering and began running around the ship, fixing whatever she saw was sparking. But every time she fixed something, five more systems broke. She looked out the window and saw the ship was entering the atmosphere. She ran to the console and hit her distress signal. She looked up to the window again, seeing the orange and red flames begin appearing around her ship from such a sharp entry. She saw Tech’s goggles on the dashboard. She picked them up and held them tightly in her hands. Did he ever have to deal with a crash like this? He would at least have help. Omega was on her own. With only the reminders of her brothers sitting around.

Would they be proud? How would they even find out? Who would find her? If it was an Imperial, they’d never know. Another rebel? Maybe. She hadn’t told anyone where she was from yet, or who her family was. She hadn’t gotten to know anyone that well yet. Would they know who she was? Would they find her family and tell them?

Omega held Tech’s goggles closer as the ship kept falling. She could nearly see the planet’s surface now. Omega took Tech’s goggles and moved them over her ponytail and onto her neck. She sat down in the pilot’s chair and looked out at the scene before her. The noise of the warning sensors and sparks of the consoles were nothing now. Omega just stared aimlessly. She felt tears welling up as she placed a hand on the goggles. She felt the broken glass between her fingertips as she sighed. She laughed a bit in disbelief and felt the first tear roll down her face.

“I think this is it, Tech.” She spoke to the air. “See you soon.”

Omega closed her eyes and braced for impact. She’d been here before, hadn’t she? On Bora Vio, and her daring escape from Cad Bane. In that tiny flight pod, hands cuffed together. She’d just pushed that tiny droid off her. What was his name? Toto? Todo? It was so many years ago, but it wasn’t an experience easily forgotten. Omega remembered how loyal he was to Bane. But it clearly didn’t go both ways. She felt a little sorry for him. I guess you feel sorry about everything at the end.

She had felt so scared in that pod. She was just a kid. She was scared now. She was no longer a kid. She kept waiting and waiting for everything to stop. She’d thought about death a lot, to be honest. Back when she’d first left Kamino, it was a constant thing. It stopped for a while when Hemlock died, and they got to live on Pabu, but since joining the Rebellion it was back. That excitement. That risk. She’d underestimated it, and now she was paying the price. But she had Tech with her. She had her brother.

Omega kept waiting. But everything was the same. She was still sitting in the pilot seat, still holding Tech’s goggles around her neck, still alive. She finally opened her eyes to see she was being pulled out of the planet’s atmosphere. She looked around in confusion. A button on her console was blinking, one that signaled someone was trying to comm her. She pressed it, hoped it wouldn’t break, and waited. A few moments of silence passed as Omega saw the fiery horizon turn back to the darkness of space, and then a familiar voice came through the comm.

“Got yourself into some trouble, kid?”

Hunter’s voice was the last thing Omega expected to hear, but it was welcome. It was so welcome.

“Hunter?!” Omega exclaimed, her worry gone in a flash. They had come for her. She was safe.

The boarding hatch opened on Omega’s ship as she ran into her brother’s arms. Hunter smiled softly, holding her close. Omega heard a familiar, gravelly laugh coming from the bench on Phee’s ship (which they had arrived on).

“How touching.” Crosshair said, flicking a toothpick onto the floor. Omega ran over and hugged him as well, overjoyed to see her family again. “Only a month into the Rebellion, and we’re already coming to get you.” He snickered, hugging her back. Omega scoffed and pulled away, crossing her arms with a smirk on her face.

“Hardly needed it. Besides, you’re getting too old for this anyways.”

“We’re never too old!” Boomed Wrecker’s voice. Omega went over and hugged him as well. He laughed and held her close. Crosshair smirked, she really hadn’t changed.

“And you’re still a terrible liar.” He said, folding his arms. Hunter was going to make a snarky remark about the state of her ship, but then noticed something else. Something around her neck.

“Are those…Tech’s goggles?” He asked, something in his voice breaking. He hadn’t seen the old, shattered goggles in so long. And Omega was wearing them. Omega stepped away from Wrecker and took the goggles off, examining them in her hands.

“They…are. And you’re right. I did need your help. I got into a…bad situation. In over my head a bit. Ship was failing. Spirit was failing. I…I thought I was going to die. It brought me some comfort, at the very least.” Omega said, smiling fondly at the goggles. “It’s like he’s there with me.” The ship was silent. A silence of remembrance. They never properly talked about losing Tech when it happened. Not like they got the chance. There were conversations over the years, but Omega couldn’t remember a time where they all sat down and actually talked about him, purposefully.

“…he’s always with us. Just like how we’re always with you.” Hunter finally said, smiling warmly at Omega. “We’ll always be there. Burning ship or not. We’re a call away.” He put a hand on her shoulder as she wiped away a tear. “You’re our kid, Omega, like I’ve told you a thousand times. Now come on, let’s fix up your ship.”

[gothamitewriter]

little bird, where has your song gone?

Febuwhump Day 1: Vocal Cords

Words: 2.3K

Warnings: Violence, Medical Procedures, Medical Inaccuracies, Human Trafficking

Summary: It was supposed to be a pretty typical trafficking bust. Dick was not prepared for what actually awaited him at the hands of Happy Crates Shipping Company.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62700277

It had all started innocently enough. Dick and Babs had been doing research into some suspicious shipments coming into Gotham Harbor, and after a considerable amount of (incredibly boring) surveillance had managed to determine that there was a human trafficking operation working under the cover of Happy Crates Shipping Company. 

Which, really, they couldn’t have come up with a slightly less suspicious name for their human trafficking front? A complete lie, as well, considering Dick was fairly certain that nothing (and no one) in those crates was happy. 

The plan had been simple: when the next shipment came in Babs would track the kids and interfere once they were further from the harbor. Meanwhile, Dick would break into the ship itself and copy their files.  

The night was cold and slightly damp, as most nights in Gotham are. Dick had found a suitable perch to wait while the kids were loaded into a bus. It was one of those charter buses like you might take on an overnight field trip. 

The ship’s public records only listed ten crew members, a fairly normal crew for that kind of fairly small cargo ship. Facial recognition confirmed that of those, five were handling the transfer. One driving the bus, three others loading inside the bus, and one last heavily armed crew member watching to make sure there were no witnesses as shipping container after shipping container opened and spilled forth scared kids. 

As the bus drove away and the remaining guard was distracted answering a phone call Dick made his move. Grappling onto the side of the vessel, Dick moved around until he was positioned just outside of the captain’s office. It took a bit of fiddling to get the window to slide open enough that he should slip in, but he managed it. 

Using the scanning capacity of his domino Dick checked the room for any traps, cameras, or wiretaps. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and so Dick stepped further into the room. 

The office had a massive filing cabinet pushed against the wall. Before he could begin scanning, though, Dick slipped out of the door and placed a tiny motion sensor where the door frame met the wall, where it would be obscured in shadow. 

The top drawer of files wasn’t particularly relevant, seeming to be the paperwork that was all actually filed with the proper government offices to establish Happy Crates as a legitimate shipping company. 

Moving down, things got more interesting. Horrifying, but interesting. The center-most drawer had a huge amount of folders, each labeled with a company or person’s name. Each contained invoices, order forms. A paper trail that most detectives could only ever dream of.

“We’re going to need to do some follow-up on this, BG. I’ve got a list of names here that looks like an invite list to a gala. And I would bet these guys aren’t the only traffickers people are buying from.”

“We’re going to have to do a lot more than that, Robin. These kids are metas. At least some of them are, but if some of them are and these guards are comfortable handling them, I would bet that most of their dealings are metahuman.”

“Ah. Of course they are. Normal human trafficking is so last century. Seriously, do people need to keep inventing new, horrible ways to violate human rights?”

“There’s only… I can see three guards on the bus? But the kids are all terrified. I’ll have to check for subdermal implants in the kids, if they’re able to control them so effectively.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, I’ll keep an eye out for anything like that in the last of these files, but I might have already scanned it without processing it.”

“Be careful, there might be unregistered crew members still on board. It’s not like these guys are strangers to committing crimes.”

“I set a motion sensor outside, I’ll know the second anyone is within 20 feet of this door. Plus, I scanned the room for traps beforehand. I appreciate the worry, but focus on the kids,” Dick smiled, hoping that he came across as reassuring rather than dismissive. He appreciated the concern, really, but this wasn’t his first rodeo. 

“Right. Stay safe, Robin.” There was a click on the comms line to signal that Batgirl had muted herself. Dick smiled, remembering the days when he could hear her every mutter and mumble while they were out patrolling. Keeping comms clear was a good habit, sure, but the constant stream of noise had been comforting in its own way. Dick turned his attention back to the files.

Dick swayed slightly on his feet as he reached the end of the files. Nothing on whatever control methods they were using on the kids, so either he had scanned those already and just hadn’t actually read the contents of the files or those sorts of files were stored elsewhere. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if there were more files in the ship’s infirmary, especially now that he knew they were dealing with meta trafficking. Those types always tended to be a little more organized and sophisticated. If Bruce had known ahead of time that that was what they were dealing with he would have never let Dick and Babs go in on their own. It was fine though, Dick could handle this. 

As Dick’s world seemed to tilt to the side before going dark, one last thought flickered across his mind. 

Oh, maybe I can’t handle this. 

—

The sharp smell of antiseptic burned at Dick’s nostrils. Offensively bright lights shone on him from above, painting the backs of his eyelids pink as he stared up at them. There was something hard and cold forcing its way into his throat, pressing against the walls of it in a way that should have made him gag. Cutting through it all was the shrill beeping of a heart monitor. 

Dick tried to pry his eyes open but the muscles wouldn’t respond. He was a passenger in his own body. He could feel everything, but none of his commands seemed to make it through. 

“Clamps are in place. Scissors, please.” A deep voice spoke from somewhere above Dick’s head. A shadow in front of the light, moving as another instrument was inserted into Dick’s throat, metal sliding against metal. 

There was no pain at first, only pressure. The feeling of instruments tugging and slicing at something in his throat. What were they doing? He wasn’t even sure where he was, it was a rare occasion that anyone other than Doc Thompkins or Alfred operated on him. Had he been injured on patrol and needed surgery? How had he gotten injured? He couldn’t remember any fight occurring. 

Trying to think too hard about it just made the lights past his eyelids seem that much brighter as pain blossomed in his skull. As an instinct Dick tried to breathe through the pain, only to panic as air did not come. His chest did not expand. There was no rush of air to soothe away his pounding skull. 

The pounding changed, quickened alongside his desperate attempts to inhale. Was this it? Was he going to die on some cold metal table, under the knife for something he couldn’t even remember? 

Was he already dead? Maybe he was already gone, and this was his autopsy. It would be just his luck for his soul to stick around after his heart had stopped. But if his heart had stopped, what was the pounding? Had he imagined the shrieking heart monitor? 

The numb sensation that penetrated all of his muscles started to fade, the pressure in his throat turning from uncomfortable to a burning stretch. It was as though he had carpet burn down the length of his throat. One might think that the cool metal would soothe the rubbed-raw flesh, but the pressure only made the pain brighter. 

Not dead, then. Dead things couldn’t feel pain. Dick had comforted himself with that thought enough times, staring at the bodies of the victims he couldn’t save. Thinking about a broken heap of limbs in a colorful tent that smelled of popcorn and peanuts and home. 

Dick’s thoughts ran in circles as the pain crystallized further. He wished that he could say the pain distracted him from whatever it was the doctor was doing, but instead every motion was cataloged in perfect detail. Every tug, every cut, the pain did nothing but draw more attention to it.

“Suction.” The cold voice ordered, followed quickly by a grating, high pitched whirring sound. 

“Doctor, his heart rate is spiking.”

“Natural response to the blood loss, it should stabilize quickly.” 

Dick wanted nothing more than to scream. To sit up and yell at everyone in the room. Natural response to blood loss? Try in excruciating pain and forced to sit awake and aware while some doctor he had never met in his life did god knows what to something in his throat. 

“It’s still climbing, doctor.”

“Give him some painkillers, then, and stop bothering me. I almost have the cords fully separated.” 

“Yes doctor.”

The haze of relief hit Dick like a train, killing the adrenaline in his veins and making his head go fuzzy. He clung on to consciousness for a little while longer. Scared and confused he did not want to be left unaware, as unpleasant as awareness was. Finally, after what might have been only seconds more or might have been minutes, the darkness claimed him once again. 

—

Dick came to in a sterile white room. He was in a paper hospital gown, laying atop a thin mattress on the ground. The room was maybe four feet by seven feet, a camera sat just above the door frame, red light blinking. Definitely not a hospital, then. Though that could be determined from the soft cuffs that bound his wrists and legs, not digging in but soft and tight enough that he wouldn’t be able to easily dislocate his thumbs to free his hands. 

The walls were mostly bare, only a truly tiny metal toilet and sink adorned the wall opposite the door. The door itself was almost featureless, no doorknob, no visible hinges. There was a flap near the bottom, hinged to open towards Dick’s tiny room, but otherwise it was a flat slab of metal. 

Dick’s throat was fuzzy and dry, his head clouded with that telltale pleasant buzz of painkillers. They must have given him a really high dose if it was affecting him so much, god knows Leslie was always complaining about how high his tolerance was getting. 

“I see you’re awake, Robin. Or should I say Dick Grayson? It seems that Gotham’s most annoying bird has finally stuck his beak somewhere he really shouldn’t have.” The door slid open, disappearing into the wall to reveal a woman in nurse’s scrubs. She was middle aged, with long brown hair and a severe expression. 

Dick opened his mouth to respond, but the nurse held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t try to speak or even whisper, you’ll irritate the incisions. Not that you’ll ever be speaking again seeing as we’ve removed your vocal cords entirely. Don’t worry, you won’t need them where you’re going.” 

Dick glared at her as his hands moved up to prod at his throat. Even just touching it from the outside the area was tender and swollen. 

“What’s with the mean face? It isn’t as though we could sell you when you could share all of those… trade secrets that you were reading. What would Batman think? A little songbird with no more song seems a little pointless. You don’t have to worry about him anymore, pretty little boys like you shouldn’t be out on the streets like that,” she tutted, shaking her head in pity, “It was always cruel, really. We’ll take much better care of you.”

Dick tried not to react, even as the door swung closed. He stared at the camera, trying to show them that they couldn’t break him. They could insult him all they wanted, could insult Bruce. They couldn’t break him. He’s Robin, Boy Wonder. Leader of the Titans and protector of Gotham and the Earth. They couldn’t break him. 

Alone again, Dick examined his restraints more carefully. They weren’t typical hospital restraints, of course. There were no velcro flaps to be found, or even keyholes. The things looked like they had been sewn directly around Dick’s wrists and ankles. The exterior fabric was rough and sturdy, maybe even kevlar, while the inside was quite soft and mostly comfortable. Dick doubted that was actually for his benefit, more likely they just didn’t want to risk giving their ‘merchandise’ a rash. 

The flap at the bottom of the door slid up, and a tray was pushed through. There wasn’t much on it, a styrofoam tray with a styrofoam bowl of some sort of broth, and, you guessed it, a styrofoam cup of water. Dick was cautious of it, but frankly if they wanted to poison him they would have done it while he was unconscious. 

Dick’s stomach was already painfully empty, he had no clue how long it had been since he had last eaten but the thought of eating anything with his throat the way that it was made him wince. That was not going to be fun. Keeping his strength up would be important for when he made his escape, though, so it was a necessary evil. 

The water and soup were both room temperature. He took a tentative sip of water, wincing as he spat it out and started sputtering when he couldn’t make his throat swallow properly. Hoping it was just a fluke he tried again, even slower. Water trickled down his throat, but still he could not swallow properly. 

Some water found its way into his lungs, causing him to cough and wheeze. Dick stared in dread at the cup of water in front of him, tears welling in his eyes as his throat burned from his coughing. He let out a sharp exhale, a pale imitation of the disbelieving laughter that would have normally bubbled forth. 

[zolo-san]

so for the past few days I've been contemplating what kind of car Law would drive in my university au~ for the record this au has literally possessed me the last few weeks even tho I haven't really posted about it here (my planning doc for it is over 20k words >.>) I made a small post about it when the possession started if anyone wants to know what I'm talking about (I have a TLDR on Law in my AU at the bottom of the post under the cut)

His car cannot be cool in any way because I truly believe that he would choose a car based on safety ratings first and then practicality (if it feels kinda like the type of car a middle aged woman or grandmother would drive, that's the right vibe lol) I know that I kinda want it to be a crossover because the idea of that man driving a crossover just feels right to me~

So, I ask the opinions of masses:

(at the risk of sounding like a car salesman) info on the cars, pictures. and my case for each below:

Hyundai Tucson

Overall Saftey rating: 5 star (for 2020 or newer) Driver Assist Safety features: driver attention warning, lane-keep assist, auto emergency braking, blind-spot monitoring and rear cross-traffic alert Airbags: 6 total (Dual front airbags, Front side-mounted airbags, Front and rear head airbags, and Passenger airbag) Note: This is the largest and most expensive of the three cars (If that matters to anyone) OP Note: idk I kinda don't like that this one is on the larger size. I just sort of like the idea of Law in a smaller car seems more...dorky...and that's the goal lol

Nissan Kicks

Overall Saftey rating: 4 star (for 2020 - points deducted for "passenger side overlap", later years for 5 stars~) Driver Assist Safety features: auto high beams, auto emergency braking with pedestrian detection, rear auto braking, lane-departure warning, blind-spot monitoring, and rear cross-traffic alert Airbags: 10 total (dual-stage front airbags, front and rear seat-mounted side-impact airbags, knee airbags for the driver and front passenger, and roof-mounted curtain side-impact airbags with rollover sensors) OP Note: hi I have a personal bias towards this one because I drive a 2020 kicks and she's very cute and has already saved my ass in an accident and come out without a scratch~ (I have a bias towards Nissans in general because I, as someone with a lot of hours on the road, have been saved by them multiple times in crashes lol) I also love that I was told by one dealer that it was "an old lady car" and I kinda love that for Law

Honda Fit

Overall Saftey rating: 4 Star (for 2020 - earned 4 star in roll over rating which is a little...😬 for reasons..., later years were 5 stars) Driver Assist Safety features: auto emergency braking, adaptive cruise control, lane keep assist, and auto high beams Airbags: 6 total (front airbags, front side airbags, and side curtain airbags) Note: this is the smallest and most affordable of the three OP Note: I lean away from this one just on the lack of driver assist features, bad roll over rating, and the fact that it only has 6 airbags (but she's cute and smol lol)

For the record, these are some of the first things I looked for when buying my car lol I've unfortunately been in too many accidents (only one was on me okay >.>) to not prioritize safety and driver assist features Also if anyone doesn't want to read my ramblings on my AU and want the TLDR on Law in the AU; He's in his first year as a surgical resident, and at this point has his own apartment and his own car

[drake-wayne-enterprise]

The cyro-chamber had been finicky all day. But it only started taking a turn when the system completely puttered out causing the alert to go out. It didn’t take long for the system to slowly start melting the freeze inside of the chamber.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

[Tim's heart rate spiked as he burst into the lab, his breath shallow and uneven. The cryo-chamber's status alerts had been pinging his interface since dawn, signaling erratic fluctuations in its thermal regulation systems. The chamber, designed for short-term stasis with a maximum operational duration of 168 hours, had been running for approximately 672 hours—four times its intended limit. The strain on its superconducting coils and the degradation of its cooling matrix were pushing the system to its breaking point.]

[ Tim had considered transferring his son to a secondary unit, but the risks of destabilizing the cryo-preservation process were too high. Even a minor deviation in the thermal gradient during transfer could cause irreversible cellular damage and Tim didn't know how much his son could take. He knew Dickie had been healing ever so slowly; under normal circumstances, he would have risked the move, but with how sluggish his healing factor was, Tim couldn't risk it. Now, with the chamber's alarms blaring and its internal diagnostics flashing critical warnings, Tim was paralyzed by the weight of his earlier indecision. He silenced the alarm with a sharp gesture, the sudden quiet amplifying the hum of the overtaxed cryo-pumps and the faint hiss of escaping coolant.]

[ Tim took a breath to control his trembling before he accessed the chamber's control interface, a labyrinth of outdated firmware and proprietary protocols. Tim was an engineer, but this machine was a relic of his father's infuriating work, built on principles and technologies that he swore only that man understood. Under normal circumstances, he would have disassembled the unit, run diagnostics on its cryogenic circuits, and reverse-engineered its thermal management algorithms. But these were not normal circumstances. The chamber was actively sustaining his son's vitrification, and any misstep could trigger a cascade failure. ]

[ Tim cursed under his breath, his mind racing through the possibilities. His father, ever the secretive genius, had left no schematics, no technical manuals.. nothing! Nothing that could guide him through this nightmare! If the documentation existed at all, it was likely in the hands of the Court that had done this. The thought of losing his son again, this time to his own incompetence, was unbearable. ]

[ He initiated a system diagnostic, his fingers flying across the interface. The chamber's thermal sensors were reporting sporadic fluctuations in the cryogenic fluid's viscosity, a sign that the superconducting magnets were losing their coherence. The stabilization field, already operating beyond its design parameters, was on the verge of collapse. Tim's mind raced through potential workarounds: rerouting power from the secondary cooling array, recalibrating the thermal sensors, or even attempting a controlled thaw to buy time. But each option carried its own risks, and the margin for error was vanishingly small. ]

[ As the diagnostic results streamed in, Tim felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. The chamber's cryo-fluid levels were dropping, and the thermal gradient was becoming unstable. He was running out of time. His son's life was slipping through his fingers, again, and the machine that held the key to his survival was a black box of archaic and maddening engineering. Tim clenched his fists, his mind a whirlwind of desperation and determination. He would fix this. He had to fix this. Failure was not an option. ]

[utopicwork]

Hi, I'm a junior in university right now working towards my bachelor's in electrical engineering and I've since realized I have no idea wtf I'm doing. Do you have some resources on how to begin designing electric circuits and programming in C? You seem like you know what you're doing

So I've thought about this a good bit and what helped me learn both times was hands on practice so I'd see about getting a cheap breadboard kit like this:

But probably not this one exactly, you can get something similar for way cheaper.

As for specific literature for circuitry I don't have a recommendation but I can recommend picking varying difficulties of diy projects that require circuitry at the beginning to get comfortable and bringing that comfortability to your school projects.

For using C with circuitry I'll say the best path is definitely buying a cheap esp32 board, something based on the c3 would probably be cheapest. There is tons of documentation on how to use these boards and I've found that PlatformIO + VS code/vscodium is a very good setup for programming these boards.