#came so far for what? to reach for the poison in the future anyhow?

[kouhaiofcolor]

"....When did we get to the point where natural hair is no longer associated with ...Black People? Black Women?"

Non blacks pls dni.

Have to amplify this woman's valid and articulate short on the relevance of this topic bc, whew smh, I have discussed the same thing here — and am both just as disturbed (and honestly? a little let down?) by Black Women letting go the equity we had in natural hair. Esp just to pick harmful maintenance/norms right back up. I do understand that we, as a race of women all by ourselves, have sooooooo many odds stacked against us regarding what we do with our hair and how we take care of it, but I cannot for the life of me understand what the purpose or benefit is supposed to be in returning to things that actually harm us disproportionately.

For good measure, she also spoke more directly and at length about this issue, it's toxically influential spaces and platforms — as well as the colorism, texturism and misogynoir in general at it's core. So glad I'm not the only Black Woman being transparent about how backwards the nhc/nhm is going.

[ikeromantic]

Future-Speak

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic, approx. 2500 words of pure fluffiliciousness.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: An Uncertain Alliance

The inn was on the outskirts of Kyoto. It wasn’t as comfortable as the room they’d left behind, but Mitsuhide would not introduce dangerous allies to one of his safe havens. Besides, they needed a larger room to assemble supplies and hold meetings. This place fit the bill. 

He spent several days writing and responding to missives. Notifying his Kyoto weapons’ dealers of his needs, and keeping in touch with Kyubei on the hunt for Ashikaga. But most of the planning was waiting. Waiting to see if the remaining allies he called would come. Nevermind what he would do if they did.

Mitsuhide only hoped he could keep his emotions under control no matter the threat. They couldn’t risk another repeat of his first meeting with Motonari. Not only had it shaken him to react so emotionally, it had shaken his little mouse. 

Though she was quiet about it, her introspection and anxiety was hard to miss. Mitsuhide took every moment he could to comfort her but the effects were only temporary. She was on edge, and would be until this business was finished.

Mitsuhide was about to go out to meet with another agent when the innkeeper arrived.

“There is a man here to see you,” the innkeeper told him. He kept his gaze on the ground as if afraid to really look at Mitsuhide. 

“What does he look like?”

The innkeeper took a moment to consider. This wasn’t to remember the appearance, but to weigh the pros and cons of accuracy. “Ah, he isn’t quite as tall as you, my lord. And he has dark brown hair. Brown eyes. And . . . he wears a thing on his face. Over his eyes.”

“A mask?”

“N-no . . .”

Mitsuhide didn’t recognize the description at all. It could be some new disguise for one of his agents. Or an assassin sent by Ashikaga. Or anyone else entirely. He loosened his sword in its saya. “I do not know this visitor.”

The innkeeper bowed again. “Nevertheless . . .”

“Yes, let him up.”

The chatelaine stood from her work - sewing a more mobile kimono for herself - and backed up. 

As the innkeeper scurried out to fetch this ‘guest’ Mitsuhide positioned himself beside the door. He motioned to his little one. “Be ready to greet this man when he arrives. If he looks dangerous, I will kill him before he even knows I am here.”

She winced at his blunt instruction but nodded. “Only if he looks immediately dangerous ok? Dangerous describes like . . . half my friends in this time.”

Mitsuhide snorted. “It isn’t anyone from Azuchi.”

“Still. Let’s not murder some innocent messenger, ok?”

He wanted to tell her innocence was a commodity more rare than saffron, but she already looked worried enough. 

There was a shuffling outside, the sound of footsteps and then the door slid open. 

“I’m sorry to call on you so early in the morning -” he began. But he didn’t get very far.

The chatelaine flung herself across the space between them to wrap him in a warm hug. “Sasuke!”

Mitsuhide felt a twinge of jealousy at the way she smiled up at this stranger, her expression one of delight. Still, it didn’t seem that this visitor was an immediate threat. He let go of his sword hilt with only a little reluctance.

“Good to see you too,” the stranger - Sasuke - grinned down at her. “I really am sorry to just show up like this. I tracked your location because I have something important to tell you.” He pushed the chatelaine back, holding her by the shoulder. “Do you know what day it is?”

Her expression fell.

Mitsuhide stepped forward, tugging her away from the stranger. “Do you know this man?”

Sasuke held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mitsuhide Akechi.” His flat expression and tone did nothing to reassure the warlord. 

“And it seems he knows me.” This made Mitsuhide very uncomfortable. He was the man who knew things, not the one who was known. Perhaps he’d let go of his hilt too soon.

“I’ve been reading about you since I was little. It’s an honor to finally be able to speak to you in person.” Sasuke bowed. “My name is Sasuke Sarutobi and I’m a - a friend from her home town.” He gestured toward the chatelaine.

Mitsuhide felt one eyebrow rise. “Her hometown, you say?” He took a step toward this - this Sasuke and a note of challenge entered his voice. “Then you are also from 500 years in the future?”

“Galileo’s glass! How did you guess that?” Sasuke’s expression remained flat, but his voice rose with surprise.

The chatelaine blushed. “I told him, actually.”

Sasuke looked between the two of them and his eyes widened. “You two . . . are in love?”

Mitsuhide grimaced. “I wasn’t aware there was a second time-traveler here.” It made him wonder what other tidbits his little one might have kept back. And what delicious techniques he could use to get her to confess everything she knew. Like what a Galileo was.

The chatelaine stepped around him to face Sasuke directly. “Thank you for coming all the way here to remind me. But . . . I decided not to go back. I’m going to stay here in this time.”

Sasuke stared at her as if he didn’t understand.

Mitsuhide felt a knot of tension in his chest release. It was a worry he hadn’t realized he was carrying. But hearing her say this, aloud, and to a man from her time - it felt good. He found her gaze with his own and smiled. 

“I’m staying here for Mitsuhide. And for the other friends I’ve made.” The chatelaine returned his smile with a warm one of her own. 

Sasuke’s eyes finally narrowed again, crinkling a little at the edges as he shared their grin. “It seems we find ourselves in a similar situation then. I came here in part to tell you that I didn’t plan on returning.”

“You fell in love too?” The chatelaine’s whole expression lit up with joy at the idea of this stranger falling for someone in this time. It reassured Mitsuhide to see it, for surely, if they had been lovers, she wouldn’t be so pleased about that.

The stranger chuckled. “Not exactly. It’s just been a busy four years and I’ve gained a mountain’s worth of people too important to me to leave behind.” He paused and adjusted the contraption on his face. “Not that I would leave at this juncture anyhow. There is still the matter of Yoshimoto to settle, for one.”

“My apologies for interrupting you - Sasuke - but I cannot stay quiet after hearing that name.” Mitsuhide felt another stir of jealous venom. Yoshimoto. He still remembered the way the fallen lord of the Imagawa has looked as his little one that night at Honnoji. He knew too well what that spark meant in another man’s gaze, but the chatelaine was his. 

Mitsuhide slid an arm around her shoulder before continuing. “It would appear that you are more than a childhood friend. Who are you, Sasuke Sarutobi? And who do you work for?”

“Sasuke is, um, ah -” The chatelaine stumbled over an explanation before the stranger interrupted.

“It’s alright. Returning you to the future wasn’t my only reason on this visit.” Sasuke gave another slight bow. “I wanted to say thank you for what you did for Yoshimoto.” Then he turned to face Mitsuhide full on, not flinching a bit. “To answer your question, I am a ninja in service to my lord. Kenshin Uesugi.”

“Fascinating.” Mitsuhide tightened his grip on his little mouse. Yes. There were very many questions he had for her, and getting every answer was going to take at least one whole night. Perhaps several. Just to be sure.

Sasuke went on blithely. “Yoshimoto and his vassals were originally taking shelter with us at Echigo. When he disappeared, Yukimura Sanada and I were tasked to bring him back - which is how I wound up watching events unfold at Honno-ji. I witnessed how the two of you saved Yoshimoto and the remnant of his vassals.”

“I hope Motonari shared the popcorn,” the chatelaine muttered. 

“What?” Sasuke looked confused. “There was no - ah, I see.” The two of them shared another grin. “After the battle, I relayed this information to Kasugayama. And let me say, it is with thanks from all of us that I present this token of our appreciation for your actions that night.” He presented a little box.

Mitsuhide stared at the item suspiciously. Too small to be an effective explosive. Large enough to contain any number of sharp, poisoned items. Or a serpent, angry at it’s imprisonment. Ready to strike whoever opened its cage. 

Of course, his little one wasn’t nearly so wary. She reached for the present excitedly. “Oh, what is it Sasuke?”

“My very own homemade ground spike. Hand selected by me, for you.” 

She opened the box as Mitsuhide stood ready to knock it away from her should it prove dangerous. But, it was exactly as Sasuke had said. Full of small caltrops, perfect to slow and wound a following enemy. That didn’t discount the possibility that they were poisoned. 

Mitsuhide eased the box from her hands as she exclaimed over how sharp they looked. He set it on the table and put the lid back on. “Am I to understand, Sasuke, that you approached an enemy warlord with no weapon in hand, only gifts at the ready?”

Sasuke nodded. “Despite living the hashtag sengoku hustle, I maintain a work-life balance with emotionally fulfilling parasocial relationships.”

Mitsuhide took a moment to parse the babble. There were some actual words in it, but mostly, just gibberish. He looked to the chatelaine to see if she’d understood any of that.

She gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry for the future-speak. What Sasuke means is that even though he works for Echigo, he admires you as a person.”

Future-speak. So in her time, gibberish was spouted as a normal course of conversation. Yet another reason to question her . . . thoroughly. It reminded him uncomfortably of the space between them, even while exciting him at the idea of closing that distance. There were so many things about her that he had yet to explore. There’d been no time . . . not yet. But there would be, if he lived.

“Tee whiee,” Sasuke responded back with more of his impenetrable code language.

Mitsuhide frowned. “This insight into your time has made me lose all interest in the future.” Which wasn’t true, but he felt annoyed with this connection between his little one and her friend. Not that he would ever admit it. 

“Did you manage to catch up to Yoshimoto?” The chatelaine asked, moving the conversation back to shared topics. 

“We did. But now Yoshimoto has decided to take full responsibility for his clan leaving Echigo.” 

“I don’t like the sound of that.” 

Sasuke nodded again. “He said he hoped his vassals would be welcome, but that he was not in need of a home.” The ninja gave an exasperated sigh. “We couldn’t convince him to come back with us, even though a lot of people are waiting for him in Echigo.”

The chatelaine made a worried sound, her eyes wide. “I want him to feel able to go back.”

“Even his vassals couldn’t convince him to return.” Sasuke looked to the side. “Yoshimoto may seem to have his head in the clouds, but he has a will of iron.”

Mitsuhide listened to the conversation intently. He could personally care less if the Imagawa clan head lived or died. But his little mouse cared and so - he put his mind to work, turning the problem inside and out. Pride was often a useful tool. Fatalism as well. “I have a suggestion,” he said when the two friends fell silent.

“Out of respect for you revealing yourself to me, Sasuke, I will reveal something to you. I am planning to kill Yoshiaki Ashikaga.”

Sasuke nodded thoughtfully. “I suspected that was the reason the two of you stayed behind in Kyoto.”

“Mmm, well, should I fail here, I am certain Echigo would be Ashikaga’s next target. As this is assured, I think it may be wise to approach Yoshimoto with an offer of exchange.” Mitsuhide’s smile widened. “I’d like him to rejoin his allies in Echigo and bring the battle of dragon and tiger back to the Oda forces.” 

The chatelaine and Sasuke both gasped at the same time. 

Sasuke shook his head. “Could this be Akechi’s infamous betrayal? With me as an accomplice? A second - no a third Honno-ji Incident?!” 

“Calm down,” the chatelaine told him, though she didn’t look calm herself. “I don’t think Mitsuhide means a real war. At least, I hope he doesn’t.”

Mitsuhide gave his little mouse an approving look. “Correct. It will only appear that hostilities have resumed, when in fact, a temporary alliance will have been formed.”

“How does this help,” Sasuke asked.

“The conflict will draw Ashikaga’s eyes away from me, and that will give me the opportunity to strike.”

“Yes, I see. With Echigo next on the shogun’s list, Yoshimoto’s return would be riding to the aid of his allies and assisting in Ashikaga’s defeat.” Sasuke’s brows twitched. “Thus giving him two powerful and still noble reasons to return. Brilliant.”

Mitsuhide was pleased that he need not spell it out completely. “If ever you chose to leave Echigo, Sasuke, do let me know.” 

“That is unlikely, but thank you.” Sasuke’s lips turned up in a small smile. “I will take it as a mark of honor that the Mitsuhide Akechi tried to scout me.” He raised and lowered one fist in the air in some sort of bizarre salute or prayer. 

“You know, I could write him a letter.” The chatelaine spoke up.

Sasuke agreed. “A letter from you would be perfect. He is always very receptive to your suggestions, and I think it would cheer him up.”

“A little too receptive,” Mitsuhide muttered. Then said more loudly. “I agree that will be effective. But -” the words pushed their way out even as he tried not to say them. “You’ve never written a letter to me.”

“Oh.” His little one blushed, making one of the faces he adored so much. Her lips were just slightly parted, eyes wide. Cheeks pink. She held a hand almost to her heart. 

It made Mitsuhide want to pull her close and kiss her breathless. But they had a guest. The kiss would have to wait.

“I can write you a letter whenever you like,” she offered.

“Then you will write one for me first. Then. You can write Yoshimoto.” 

Her smile was so wide it looked almost painful. “You really want me to write you a letter? Even though I’m right here?”

Mitsuhide did pull her close then, lips brushing against her ear. Her hair tickled his cheek. “I would. The joy of receiving a letter from you would only be enhanced by your presence.” And then, just to emphasize and not at all because he felt jealous, he kissed the edge of her ear lightly.

Sasuke gave an awkward cough. “I-Is it alright if I interrupt?”

“My apologies.” Mitsuhide straightened. He wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

“Nothing to apologize for. I just wanted to say, when the letter to Yoshimoto is finished, let me know and I’ll deliver it immediately.”

The chatelaine giggled. “It’s second on my to-do list, I promise!”

Sasuke gave her another of his small smiles. “I believe you. And I think that is my cue to be off. I’ve left my contact information with your innkeeper.” 

“I hope next time you visit, we can have tea and chat.” 

Sasuke’s gaze slid from the chatelaine to Mitsuhide and back. “That could be very interesting.” 

“Very,” Mitsuhide agreed drily. Then saw the stranger - no, Sasuke now - out. What an odd turn of events this was. He returned to his little mouse with many things on his mind.

Next: Keeping Secrets

[valhallanrose]

Sabina ( @arcanecadenza ) did this lovely prompt of A Kiss for Losing a Bet between her OC Dante and my Zelda, which immediately made me spiral and now I have a second meeting fic from Zelda’s perspective because I ultimately am now a fan of this pairing. Dante’s just baby, I can’t help it.

Fic under the cut for the sake of your dash

Zelda heard the locked shop door pull as if someone tried to open it, she’d been wrist deep in a flowerpot full of dirt, getting it ready for one of her other plants to be transferred into it. There was a moment of panic, several moments of just standing around with her muddy hands wondering what to do before she remembered that she was, in fact, a magician. 

“Oh, just a moment!”

She quickly flicked her wrists, the dirt vanishing into nothingness before she crossed the room to the window beside the door. Zelda was already half leaning out of the stained-glass panels before they were fully open, polite smile on her face as she spoke. “I’m sorry, we’re closed at the moment, but I’ll be open again tomorrow…”

When she got a good look at who had been trying to open the door, a really good look, she could have just about died. 

Dante stepped down off the stoop as she laid her hands on the windowsill, face cherry red and eyes wide as he approached the window with a casual sort of smirk that had her mind committing a minor malfunction. She was frozen as he leaned in, bracing his arms on the windowsill and speaking to her in a hushed sort of tone. 

“That’s alright. I came looking for you, anyhow.”

The night she’d kissed him, over a game of cards with just enough blackberry liqueur helping her throw all inhibition to the wind, she hadn’t expected to ever actually see him again. She didn’t visit taverns, certainly didn’t gamble, and figured that the odds of him actually looking her up were rather slim. 

So the fact that he was standing in front of her right now, outside her shop?

Fuck. 

“What, you want me to absolutely demolish you in cards again?” She teased gently, watching with some delight that his own cheeks turned pink. “Can’t say I’d be opposed, but I don’t own a suitable deck at the moment. Or is this just an excuse to lay one on a stranger when you bet a kiss again?”

Zelda propped her chin in her hand, a smile pulling at her lips as he flushed, and found herself taking him in all over again. 

The dim light of the tavern hadn’t done him justice. She couldn’t easily see the freckles scattered across his skin, so many more than she had, couldn’t see the different shades of brown swirling in his eyes. Her eyes followed the loose curls of his hair down the sides of his face, over the curve of his cheeks...down to that beauty mark in the center of his lower lip that she found she wouldn’t quite mind kissing again. 

She idly wondered if he’d taste like orange juice and gin again if she did. 

“I like to think I don’t make it a habit of kissing strangers.” Zelda heard him say, drawing her out of her reverie and making her refocus on the conversation at hand. “Though, if you’re so eager for a recreation, we don’t have to be.”

Zelda chuckled and rolled her eyes, reaching out and gently pushing his glasses back up his nose when they started to slip. Her voice lowered to a purr, much more characteristic of when she got a little tipsy than her usual self, but...something about him just made her bolder than usual.

“Oh, but you aren’t a stranger to me. I’d wager I know you far better than you think.” She murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob slightly as her hand lowered to smooth out his necktie.

He lifted a brow, expression somewhat roguish despite the growing flush on his cheeks. “Oh really? Have we met before? I’d hope I wouldn’t forget such a face.” 

His hand lifted, brushing a few pieces of hair out of her eyes - surprisingly at height with her even as she leaned down from the window. Zelda only laughed, shaking her head and taking his hand in hers. She turned it over in her palm, lazily tracing her fingers over the lines of his hand as she spoke. “No, but I do read palms, and yours were quite easy to get a look at over the table.”

Dante groaned dramatically, leaning hard into the windowsill and rolling those warm honey eyes in her direction. “Oh, and this is the part where you predict my impending death and tell me there’s a dark, handsome stranger in my future, isn’t it?”

She smacked his palm lightly, playful over aggressive, and shook her head. 

“Hands tell a story, Dante. I can read them just like an open book.” Zelda’s hand started to pull away, her tone becoming nonchalant as she continued. “Of course, if you’re worried, I can always just keep it to myself…”

When he grabbed her hand again and nearly smacked it down on his own, she had to bite back laughter, his expression somewhere between disbelieving and curiosity as their hands settled on the sill again. 

“No, no, I’d like to see what you think you know. But if you’re wrong...you owe me a favor, to be called in at any time.”

“I’m rarely wrong, so I’ll take that bet. I’d like to maintain my winning streak.” Zelda giggled softly, lowering her gaze to his hand in hers. For a long moment, her fingers passed down his, following the shape of his hands and the lines of his palm before she looked back up at him. 

She didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered on her face, too focused on her quiet words as her thumb idly stroked over his palm. 

“As I said, hands tell you a lot about a person.” She said softly, trailing the very tips of her fingers across the center of his palm and smiling a little as his own fingers twitched. “And not a lot of people think about it. You can probably tell I’m a gardener just by looking at mine.”

“And not at all by the absurd number of plants I can see over your shoulder.” Dante teased, and she felt herself flush again under the intensity of his gaze and the curve of his lips. Instead, she just managed a roll of her eyes, lowering her attention back down to his palm instead in hopes that would somehow keep her from making a fool of herself.

“Palmistry, on the other hand,” she chose to ignore his amused snort, “tells more about a person if you know where to look.”

Her fingers shifted, tracing first over the curved line arcing around his thumb. “This one here is your life line.” 

“Ah, so this is where you tell me I’m going to die in three weeks. What do you think, food poisoning or mugging gone wrong?”

“Five minutes, using the pruning shears in my back pocket.” Zelda shot him a grin as she looked up to meet his own mischievous expression, snickering under her breath before her gaze lowered again. “No, the mortality thing is a misconception. Your life line focuses on your general well being, your passion for life, major changes and events in your life.”

She lazily drew her nail along that line, trying not to focus too hard on the chipped green polish that made her quite aware she hadn’t done shit to take care of her hands for a few days. “Yours is a long and strong line, meaning you’re dependable, but...it’s forked. Forked lines are usually indicative of a new path, redirection, and life change. And angled toward the Mount of Moon...traveling to far off places, which we know is true, dear traveling salesman.”

Her gaze flicked up briefly, searching for a reaction before her eyes dove back down and her cheeks heated when he realized he was watching her, not their hands. She held his gaze, brown nearly searing gold in the sunlight that made her feel a little weak until she managed to spit something coherent out.

“What? Something on my face?”

His face turned pink, but he shook his head, gesturing for Zelda to continue before she lowered her gaze. She pulled her hair idly over her, the ends brushing his palm as she lowered her fingers to the heel of his hand. She didn’t move it, though - she needed the cover to pretend like she wasn’t blushing like mad when she really took in how close he was. 

“This one here, in the center of your palm, is the head line. Yours is long, deep, and curved...you’re a person who’s intelligent, has an excellent memory and concentration, but you’re a romantic. You’re creative and open to new ideas, unafraid of exploring concepts and beliefs unfamiliar as you go. And here…” She tapped the next line, highest on his palm. “This one is your heart line. This one is wavy and double-forked - that means that though you weave both romance and practicality into your life, you’ve experienced less in the way of serious relationships.”

“Your fate line expresses how much of your path is controlled by destiny as opposed to your own will, and yours is…” Zelda stifled a laugh as she took in the line in question. “Well, let’s just say you’re very self-driven. You chose your own path, not the one laid out for you by others. And if your sun line is anything to go by...you’re willing to work hard for that success. It runs parallel to your fate line, meaning you could continue to grow that success and gain quite the reputation for yourself, but...it’s short, too. Don’t forget to stop and enjoy life, take some time for yourself, especially when it seems like you’re stuck in place.”

Zelda was quiet for a moment before she stiffened, realizing with some horror she’d practically been petting his hand for a good ten minutes and wanting to die a little inside as she cleared her throat. “Or, you know, die in three weeks via carriage accident and all your ex-lovers will come to your funeral to mourn.”

There were a few more beats of pause, and Zelda wanted to die just a little bit more, turning her face away as she started to withdraw her hand. But...his own shifted, just enough for him to lay her hand in his palm just as she had done to him before.

“So you get to know all about me, and I haven’t got a thing about you?” She heard him say, tone playful, idly noticing when she looked up that he was now studying her palm. Zelda watched as he carefully adjusted his glasses, brows quirking up when he lifted his gaze back to hers and gave her a light smirk. “What does your hand say, hm?”

“Oh, kotyonok, what makes you think I’d give that information over so easily?” Zelda grinned, feeling suddenly energized and impulsive all over again as she reached out and grasped his tie carefully. She pulled him into the window opening ever so slightly, placing a kiss on the corner of his lips before leaning in to murmur in his ear. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you a magician never reveals her secrets?”

Delighting in the way his face flushed, and ignoring her own reddening cheeks, she leaned back and pretended to consider the idea for a moment, then made a face as if she’d had an epiphany. “Well, not until she’s at least taken you on a proper date. How about you swing by at seven? Then you can learn all about what my hands tell you.”

The only answer she got was a sound very much like a mewling kitten as Dante, red faced, managed a nod and a sheepish sort of smile as Zelda straightened. With a final, very cheeky wink, the panels of her window swung shut - and she would wait a long, long time, until she was sure she was alone to laugh nervously in the empty and quiet shop.

“I am in so much trouble.”

(kotyonok - Neviv/Russian for kitten)

[verdigrisprowl]

Donuts and Viruses

Prowl visits Tarantulas, partially to socialize and partially to see about moving some projects forward. The project they end up discussing is a defensive virus, meant to protect potential victims from being assaulted by mnemosurgeons. By the end, Prowl promises to get Tarantulas the brain modules of some deceased mnemosurgeons to use for research.

Prowl and Tarantulas also agree to set up space bridge drop boxes in their homes to send each other stuff.

Tarantulas

Visits from Prowl had always been a treat for Tarantulas, but these days they were particularly so. For one, visits happened far more frequently than they had millennia ago, and more importantly, this time the visit had also been preceded by a literal treat. He suspected the donuts were from Prowl himself, but he wasn’t totally sure, so…

“That was you, was it not?” Arms wrapped around arms wrapped around arms, all in greeting. “The donuts, that is. If it was, you have an incredibly accurate memory, but unfortunately so, hyeh.”

Prowl

That was. So many arms. He only had two to offer in return, but offer them he did. "They were me, yes. Er—accurate?"

He was pleased that Tarantulas had found them (and, Prowl hoped, consumed them). He hadn't wanted to interrupt Tarantulas's work with them, but, well—Prowl worried, from time to time, about whether he was remembering to refuel himself properly. His sleep schedule was erratic enough, Prowl doubted his other self-maintenance habits were much better.

Tarantulas

Thank goodness. Now Tarantulas didn't have to worry about delayed-onset poisoning via donut intruder anymore.

"Accurate - well, accurately positioned, according to where the cabinet was the day before." A bit of snickering, and Tarantulas let Prowl go. "The donuts didn't fall terribly far though, they were only slightly jostled. It didn't affect the taste, anyhow." A brief smooch of mandibles.

Prowl

"Ah. Yes." Right, most people didn't just... casually memorize the positions of everything they saw.

Prowl held on a moment longer. To even out the disparity in hug quantity due to his lower number of hugging limbs.

Okay. Okay, letting g—smooch—letting go. "I would have put them on the counter on the other side of the room, but I was worried there might be an experiment running on it." Tarantulas had eaten them, though. Good. "... Perhaps if you set up a, hm. Mailbox? That I could deposit things in?"

Tarantulas

No mech had the space to memorize things like that - at least, things they didn't consider worth keeping data on. Prowl, as per usual, was extraordinary.

Ah, how Tarantulas loved when Prowl hung on like that... "You were rightfully concerned. A mailbox, though...?" Tarantulas looked around, his visor squinted thoughtfully. "I'm sure there's somewhere I could set one up. But you'd have to arrange one of your own as well, or check mine in turn; I can't have you sending me things without proper reciprocation, now can I?"

Please say yes - because then it'd mean Tarantulas could send Prowl gifts, right

Prowl

Prowl considered that. "... I'll set up a drop box on the balcony." That wasn't IN the apartment, but it was within Prowl's property. "That could be very useful, actually." Beyond the obvious gift exchange functions.

Tarantulas

Score! Now Tarantulas had to think up a proper return gift, hm...

"Actually? Howso? For other mechs as well, you mean?" Tarantulas hoped not - it was much more disappointing to think of it as a general mailbox instead of a romanticized vessel of Tarantulas's affections.

Prowl

"No, in terms of shuttling supplies and projects back and forth. Dataslugs and devices and whatnot. Everyone else can just mail me things like normal." Or chuck them at his balcony door, if they happened to be a neighbor from a block away with a half dozen violent deployers.

Tarantulas

Oh, good! For presents and science, then. Romanticized vessel still intact.

"Ah, I see - far less lossy than comms, especially. I can't believe I'd never thought of that before." Tarantulas rocked on his pedes, fighting the urge to start roaming his labs for some reason. That'd be a little rude with company over. "Do let me know exactly where its parameters are once it's established. And - if there's a project that'd require greater volume than the balcony permits, I could connect the mailbox to a mutual subspace instead? That'd be simple enough

Prowl

"And far less hackable. ... Although more steal-able. But we can work on those details later. At the moment, I don't think we're working on anything incredibly sensitive that you'd need to drop off rather than having me come here to get it."

Prowl considered the possibility. "... We can discuss that once we have such a project."

Tarantulas

"I'd say our projects do lean more toward the tangible over the digital, so theft would be more of a problem." A fluttery tap-tap of mandibles. "That aside - yes, of course. It's a standing offer, whenever."

What projects was Tarantulas working on for Prowl at the moment? He'd spent so long researching Prowl's moral compass that he'd nearly forgotten everything else. There had to be something he was forgetting...

Prowl

"Some are digital. There's the virus, for instance." Prowl took the slightest step back, to a moderately more professional distance. "How is the virus going, anyway?"

The mnemosurgery virus wasn't the only reason Prowl had come over—Tarantulas's company was, of course, a major draw—but he'd come with it on his to-do list. He didn't think they'd discussed it since—since their whole... blowout. But that was now in the past, and prowl hoped very much to keep it there. It was time to get back to work.

Tarantulas

Professional distance? Prowl of all mechs knew that when it came to matters of science, professional distance meant basically squat. Prowl's slight step back was, of course, mirrored by a two-toed step forward.

"Virus? What do you -"

Oh. That virus. The anti-mnemosurgical malware Prowl had requested, a key project that had managed to completely slip Tarantulas's mind for months now. Yes, that virus. There wasn't any excuse for forgetting this one, moral compass research or no.

"Virus! Yes, of course." Alright, refocus your visor, you've been staring blankly at Prowl for too long. "It's - well, technically it's not going anywhere, since I haven't installed it in a host yet, hyeh." Fidget fidget. Where had he been when he'd left off? Time to hastily skim his abandoned files for some clues, and meanwhile think of a way to stall the ongoing conversation.

"Oh! First the donuts, though - shame on me. You graced me with such sweetness and I haven't uttered a single 'thank you' yet." Tarantulas put on his most apologetic expression as he reached out to Prowl in one swift movement again. Adios, professional distance. "They truly were delectable. Did you make them yourself, perchance?"

Prowl

"You know what I mean. Progress on making the virus." He paused. "Unless you're saying you're at the point where it can be installed in someone?"

Tarantulas was so inclined to jump from topic to topic that, for the moment, Prowl didn't realize he was specifically trying to dodge one. (Okay, they were touching again. Prowl was fine with that.) "Hah! No. Someone gave me a box. I don't even know where they were from. They were good?" "Delectable" was high praise for cheap goods.

Tarantulas

Was Tarantulas at the point of installation? No, he didn't think he'd gotten that far. Where was he, really...

"Hyeh, well it's really the sentiment that matters, not the exact origin of the goods. I'll admit I have a soft spot for donuts with filling especially, and the jelly-filled one -" Tarantulas pinched his fingers at his lips and dramatically outward in a mwah gesture of deliciousness that few could pull off without shame.

That arm fell in distraction as Tarantulas continued to skim the files. No, he really hadn't achieved much - gotten hung up on an intellectual snag and left it for his future self to handle. What was he supposed to do now? Prowl expected progress, and what Tarantulas had to offer him was meager at best, given how much time had elapsed.

Mmmmmaybe he could just... own up to it? That's what the whole not-lying-to-each-other deal had been about, right - transparency and honesty? Hopefully Prowl wouldn't be too disappointed with what he'd find.

"I..." Erk. This was already harder than he'd thought. "I, ah, back to the malware, though. Unfortunately it's... nnnnnowhere near comprehensive enough for installation. As a matter of fact, it's hardly progressed past the point of my last update, mostly because... I may have..." Squirm squirm. "Forgotten about it. R-regrettably."

Prowl

... And now, Prowl was focusing on Tarantulas's mouth. He was trying to figure out how to get a jelly-filled donut in there. "Wouldn't... How do you not make a mess when you eat them?" Unless he DID make a mess. Which wouldn't surprise Prowl.

He'd forgotten it. Prowl stared at Tarantulas a moment. He'd FORGOTTEN it. And then huffed in amused exasperation. Of course he'd forgotten about it. Prowl hadn't mentioned it in months—including a couple of months during which Prowl wasn't sure he'd ever even want to speak to Tarantulas again. The virus couldn't have been high on his list of priorities.

"It hasn't been immediately pressing," Prowl said. "Consider it back on the table, though. I WOULD like to receive the completed project." Preferably before he got too comfortable keeping his hands clean to do what needed to be done with Chromedome.

"Where did you leave off, then?"

Tarantulas

“I could give a demonstration sometime.” Tarantulas waved dismissively. “It’s really not that difficult.”

A tense moment passed as he waited for Prowl’s reaction – then a sigh of relief. Thank goodness it was exasperation and not pointed disappointment. Tarantulas was used to dealing with exasperation on a daily basis, that was nothing new.

“Duly noted, hyeh. The last section I recall completing…” His hands found their way to Prowl’s waist, never quite settling down. “I’m certain I’ve finished the coding required to activate the program upon mnemosurgical invasion, but that was simple enough. At least part of phase one is complete as well – preventing immediate access to your brain module, of course – but phase two I’m not as clear on. That’s – ah, the exact method by which the malware would disable their future abilities.”

Prowl

Did Tarantulas actually know how distracting hands fluttering everywhere were? He put his hands on top of Tarantulas's to trap them on his waist. Distraction managed. "Brain modules in general. Not just MY brain module." (He said, as though he was still fooling anyone that this virus wasn't first and foremost meant for his own protection.)

"That's massive progress. That alone is a stellar defensive tool." They could stop there and call it a success. ... Not that they were going to, but. They COULD. "Where are you having trouble with the method?"

Tarantulas

Judging by the tapping claws and shifting frame, the distraction wasn't entirely managed, but probably as best as it could be for now. Tarantulas was more than happy to keep his hands on Prowl's waist, at any rate.

"Ah yes, that's what I meant." Totally not specifically Prowl - because Tarantulas totally hadn't pieced together that Prowl had suffered mnemosurgical trauma and totally wasn't also hiding the fact that he knew. "But I did say part of phase one; it's not entirely ironclad. Put into action, it would prevent mnemosurgical alteration, but one would still be able to read another's mind, so to speak. So, yes - there's that to add, and then the actual virus module itself. Which..."

Tap-t-tap went his mandibles, rippling thoughtfully. "Disabling a surgeon's ability to operate requires two facets, in turn. Erasing current ability, and stymying future reacquisition. When I say I'm not clear on the method of disabling, it's - how do we attack the knowledge? Do I erase memories of having learnt mnemosurgery in the first place? That may help in the moment, but wouldn't one be able to discover what'd occurred, and maybe relearn such a thing? Reconnect with old contacts, actively seek to fill in holes of missing information? Or is there possibly a physical flaw in the process, some circuit to be permanently disrupted, as if chopping off whole servos to void their needles? Because if there is, I haven't found such a flaw, and it's so -"

Tarantulas would go on spilling the contents of his brain module as long as Prowl let him, words tripping over his mandibles in their haste to be said. Although, fidgeting and agitation would become a bit of a problem pretty soon.

Prowl

"Those are different functions? Alteration and reading? I suppose that's... not illogical." More than that, it sounded familiar. Like Prowl had been told so before; but attempting to recollect it was hard, the memory fuzzy and distant, and he couldn't quite grasp it. Had Chromedome tampered with that memory, too? Damaged Prowl's memory of how mnemosurgery worked during his invasion? Or did Prowl only suspect him because he happened to be thinking about the attack?

If what Prowl thought he knew about mnemosurgery had been tampered with, did that mean Chromedome might have inserted fake information? Prowl should look up mnemosurgery on his own, see whether the literature out there agreed with what he thought he knew...

Without noticing it, his grip tightened on Tarantulas's hands.

He listened to Tarantulas's questions and speculations until he was fairly certain that he'd gotten a sense for the problem he was grappling with, and decided he ought to cut in and attempt to help rather than wait for Tarantulas to run out of words.

"Maybe not a physical flaw in the circuitry, but—what about brain function? Their processors have to be doing something specific when they're doing mnemosurgery, I don't know what. Is there something in there that can be damaged, or made to malfunction, or just made incompatible with other brains, or...?"

Tarantulas

Tarantulas noticed Prowl’s tightened grip – had he done something wrong? Fidgeted too much? He’d quiet his hands as best he could for now, still letting his thumbs rub vertical lines on each side of Prowl’s waist.

“Yes, it’s akin to the difference between being able to reach through an open window, or only looking through a closed one, or simply looking at a wall. But -” Moving on. “The thing about mnemosurgery is that it’s really just another form of data-focused interface.” Like hardlining with needles - but Tarantulas figured that phrasing wouldn’t go over well. “As far as I can discern, there aren’t any specific brain patterns or centers that are unique to mnemosurgical activity, only ones that are key, by which I mean of course the robocampus. If I could simply delete the entirety of their robocampus, or - or maybe corrupt the needle compatibility software, I don't know – those would be effective, but I doubt they're viable options.”

Prowl

Prowl could feel his optics glazing over as Tarantulas started in on a metaphor— Oh, it was only a sentence long. That was fine.

"And... how bad would deleting their robocampus be? Pretty bad, right?" Prowl didn't entirely remember what the robocampus did, but he knew the word, so it had to be important. "I don't want to do permanently debilitating brain damage, here. Outside of the effect on their mnemosurgery abilities, I want to inconvenience them, not—not do damage that will leave them permanently hospitalized, or the like."

Corrupting software? Prowl frowned hard as he thought that over. "... Wouldn't they be able to just redownload the correct software?"

Tarantulas

“It depends on what you qualify as an inconvenience,” Tarantulas chuckled. “Inability to convert short-term memory into long-term? Impaired spatial perception and navigation skills? Among other things – I haven’t tried wiping a robocampus before, so I don’t know specifics.” He’d definitely wiped other module sectors though, with amusing results.

A defeated sigh. “Yes, that’s technically true... Unless somehow I were able to convince their system to permanently accept the corrupted software. That seems too… unreliable a solution. Someone’s bound to find a way around mere software glitches sooner or later – that is, if they don’t skip the whole debacle and install all-new hardware instead.”

Leaning down to bunt his helm against Prowl’s, Tarantulas grumbled something unintelligible. “I think - I think - the solution might be found in incompatibility. From what I’ve researched - what scraps I’ve gathered - it seems there’s something different about the file properties. It’s far-fetched, but it’s possible that mnemosurgery flirts with an entirely novel file system. I just don’t know if it does, or how.” Grumble grumble.

Prowl

"... I think the inability to store new memories is a bit farther than we want to go." This was, after all, not about revenge, but about preventing future incidents. Revenge was only an incidental second bonus and certainly not to be pursued to excess.

Prowl nodded; expert in viruses he was not, but it sounded unreliable to him, too. He bunted Tarantulas back, optics dimming as he listened. "What's different about the file properties? Which file properties?"

Tarantulas

“I thought as much, hyeh.” Revenge would certainly have been amenable to Tarantulas, given the situation that led to all this – but no.

He gave Prowl a strangely frustrated nuzzle. “I only know this information second-hand. I haven’t been able to get my claws on any primary reports or data or anything for me to actually dig into. There’s no chance you could be of any help? Even if it were just snagging a Primus-forsaken brain module for me, I’d be pleased.” A snort, then a thoughtful pause. “…I’d be thrilled, as a matter of fact. A mnemosurgeon’s robocampus alone would speak volumes more than any reports ever could.”

Prowl

That was the hard part, wasn't it? They were supposed to figure out how to make a virus that could take out a mnemosurgeon without the benefit of a mnemosurgeon to test it on. They could get so far simply by knowing the theory behind how they worked and general truths about how ALL brain modules worked, but to get something specific, something targeted... Well, up until now Tarantulas hadn't specifically asked for a mnemosurgeon's help, so Prowl had hoped they might not need it. They might be stuck now.

Except. Tarantulas hadn't asked for a mnemosurgeon. He'd asked for a mnemosurgeon's brain module.

Could Prowl supply that?

"... Does it need to be alive?"

Tarantulas

Tarantulas pulled back slightly, squinting into Prowl’s optics. Was this a trick question? “No, no of course not. I’ll be able to glean plenty from it so long as the robocampus is fairly intact. Did you think I would want a live sample? Goodness no, I’m much more comfortable with posthumous operation than having to deal with a living mech.” A noise of displeasure to go along with that half-truth. “But – you could acquire a brain module, truly?”

Prowl

(Tarantulas was pretty from this angle. Prowl could just lean in and...)

(Stay focused.)

"Data in brain modules decay and artifact quickly after death, I don't know if you needed a live sample to get whatever data you were looking for." Mnemosurgeons themselves preferred live subjects. Prowl didn't know how he knew that. Chromedome again, probably. The thought of it made him very faintly sick. "I'm not certain I can; but I know several places I could go looking."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas wouldn’t have minded if Prowl had kissed him - he never minded - but the moment passed. Instead, Tarantulas shrugged dismissively. “The decay is systematic and capable of being unraveled under the correct circumstances. I don’t require 100% recovery in any case.” If his vague hypotheses were correct, mere shreds of data could tell him everything he needed to know. “Curiosity compels me though – where would you even look? I’d adore anything and everything you can scrounge up.”

Prowl

"Classified. Of course." Sorry, Tarantulas. But he wasn't about to talk about the hidden stockpiles of resources left over from the New Institute—resources that, Prowl hoped, included the bodies of the Autobots who'd worked there. They'd kept stranger things. And the possibilities got more far-fetched and more secret from there. "Is there anything else you want me to try to scrounge up?"

Tarantulas

Would a little pathetic whine get Tarantulas any more information?

“Specifically, aside from the robocampus…?” A moment of thought. “I couldn’t care less about any actual experiments, but the background research and formative papers in the field – those, those I could use.”

Prowl

No, but it would get him a kiss. "I can certainly manage that."

Tarantulas

Yes, please. And it was only fair that Tarantulas returned the affection - once, then twice, three times. "But of course you can. There really isn't anything you can't do, after all. ...I ought to have just asked originally, if I'd had any sense, but..."

A leaned-forward nuzzle. "Is this the reason you came today, then? To tend to our poor, neglected project?"

Prowl

There really isn't anything you can't do. That was something Prowl ought to be saying to Tarantulas, not the other way around. Sure, Prowl could do anything—as long as he had an army of agents or a scientist ten times smarter than he'd ever be to do the hard work for him.

"It was an item on the to-do list," Prowl said. "But I would have come without it."

Tarantulas

Clearly each of them depended on the other to fully realize their potential, then, because Tarantulas certainly thought he was nothing without Prowl.

A pleased churr. "I'm flattered. Unless you mean to say there are more business items on the to-do list...?"

Prowl

"There are always more business items on the to-do list. Are you interested in doing any more right now, though?"

Tarantulas

Tarantulas hummed and pulled Prowl in even closer. "At the moment? Not exactly. I don't have anything planned, but I'd fancy a bit of quality time, if you don't mind?"

Prowl

He gladly let Tarantulas tug him in. "Ah, yes. That is, as it so happens, the last item on my to-do list." He offered Tarantulas a slight smirk. "Let's skip right to it, then."

[ourimpavidheroine]

OC Kiss Week 2018 - Day Four

Note: This follows directly after chapters 63 and 64 and three weeks before chapter 65.

Sayuri and Zu

It was one of Sayuri’s cousins - one of the President of Zaofu’s daughters, the youngest one, he believed, called Poppy? There were several of them, all named for flowers - who had casually walked past them and had said, under her breath, “I’ll distract them, you go,” and a few moments later had dropped a champagne flute on the floor, making a fuss as Prince Hou-Ting reassured her and called for a maid to come and clean it. Sayuri had grabbed his hand and yanked him behind a pillar, stifling a laugh, dashing through a door to the back garden that was held discreetly open by the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, of all people.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Button,” he said with a grin, and closed the door behind them.

She pulled him along behind her, stopping next to a stone bench under a plum tree to kick off her shoes, a stray curl sliding down her cheek as she laughed. “Come with me, I want to show you something,” she said, and drew him further in, taking him on a footbridge over a lovely pond and through an elegant pavilion, around a wealth of peonies and roses and red elm trees, the garden quiet in the moonlight but for the chirping of a few grasshopper crickets.

“How big is this?” he asked, marveling. He could smell jasmine mingled with cedar. “It must take up an entire block.”

“Yes, it’s pretty big for a city house. It belonged to my GrandLin’s mother, back in the day.” Another curl burst out, spiraling down the back of her neck. She had a long, tapering neck, graceful like her expressive hands. “It’s my favorite place in the world.” She stopped and pointed up. “You can see the spirit portal from here as well.”

“And the stars,” he said softly.

“Yes. That’s what I want to show you, come on.” Another tug and he followed her, laughing. “My father hated the palace in Ba Sing Se, for the most part, but he loved the gardens. When he first bought the house, oh, I don’t know, it’s been, what, thirty-five, thirty-six years now…” she stopped suddenly in the path and he collided with her. She didn’t seem to mind, just regained her footing and tucked her arm in his. “My gracious, I suppose it has been that long.” She shook her head and then pulled him along again. “Anyhow, he and the gardeners have been working on it all these years. Not that he does any of the actual work himself, my father is opposed to dirt.” Another laugh. “And then he got me, poor old dear. Ah! Here we are.” She gestured to a building set very close to the back wall of the garden itself.

“What’s this?” He watched, fascinated, as another curl slithered its way out.

“This, my sumptuficent Zu, is my workshop. It was my birthday present when I was ten years old.” She lifted up a rather squat ornamental frog squirrel set next to the door and plucked up a key. “Daddy put that there, I was always misplacing my key.” She unlocked the door and put the key back in place before bowing extravagantly. “Please come in.”

The room was awash with equipment of one kind or another; what he thought might be engines, tools hung up for the most part on the walls, bits of metal scattered across worktables, sketches of mechanical things - rendered precisely, unlike the chaos of the room itself - pinned to the walls, a stove and a quantity of glass jars and beakers, and, incongruously, a large pot of brightly colored sunflowers.

“Er...it’s...er…” he waved helplessly.

“Yes, I know. The maids aren’t allowed in here. They put things away where they don’t belong and then I spend hours finding things, using language that shocks my Papa and makes Daddy glare at GrandLin, who of course is never even remotely sorry.” She tilted her head, thinking. “My QiQi doesn’t mind so much, but that’s QiQi for you.”

“The maids aren’t allowed in my office either,” he said, picking up a long tube and staring at the gelatinous brown substance that had hardened inside. “For that very same reason.”

“Oh, don’t break that, Zu, it’s poisonous to inhale.” She shoved at an escaped curl and several more drooped down, a hairpin hitting the floor with a faint tinkle.

“Oh, quite,” he said, and put it down carefully. Her fists were on her hips as she surveyed the room.

“Well, it was clean when I got home but I was up all last night working on something.” Another pin dislodged. “Or was it the night before?” She shrugged. “Well anyhow. What I wanted to show you is up on the roof.”

“On the roof?”

“Yes, come on.” She gestured and ducked behind a black velvet curtain. “I set up a dark room back here, sometimes I take photographs.”

“Oh! There is a professor at the University who says he thinks it possible to make a camera that could photograph the stars. I’ve been working on the math for it.”

She flung the curtain back. “Really? It would just be a matter of magnification and curvature, yes?” At his nod she gestured again. “And a very large camera, of course. Lens, really, the camera itself shouldn’t be all that difficult to build once you had all of that worked out. I wonder...my Uncle Huan can bend sand into glass…” she trailed off for a moment before shaking her head, hairpins flying. “Anyhow! Hold that thought for later!” She grinned. “Up the stairs!”

He followed her up a circular metal staircase, a bit wobbly, watching as she unhooked a trap door, grunting a bit as she shoved it up. It led to a flat roof, disguised behind the usual friezes and ornamentation, complete with two folding camping chairs and a telescope. With a cry he immediately headed towards the telescope, running his fingers over it carefully. “Why, this is a Zhanjing telescope, Sayuri!” It was in beautiful condition, no less, clearly cared for. “What do you do with it when the weather is poor?”

“One of the gardeners is in charge of it, he brings it outside on nights when it’s clear, otherwise it stays inside, safe and sound.” Her smile lit up her face. “In return he can look through it as much as he likes. He’s very fond of the stars.” She came and stood next to him. “I thought you could show me some of the ones you were speaking of today.”

“Really?” He couldn’t stop himself from returning her smile. “Do you know, I think you’ve lost most of your hairpins.”

“Damn my hairpins,” she replied, and plunged her hands into the mass of her hair, shaking at it, laughing as it sprung free. “They stab my scalp and I loathe them.”

“You missed one,” he said, and reached for it, sliding it out carefully and putting it into his pocket. Her hair was surprisingly soft; he’d expected it to be coarse but it wasn’t, not at all.

“I think they procreate,” she said with a wry roll of her eyes, and he realized that without her shoes on they were very nearly of a height. “Oh, Zu, I want to kiss you.”

“Ditto, ditto, ditto, but wait just a moment,” he replied, and took his glasses off. “They get in the way.”

“Can you see without them?”

“Not a blessed thing,” he said, and shoved them into his pocket. “I just grope around helplessly without them.”

“Oh, grope away, then,” she laughed, taking his hand and putting it on her breast before moving closer to him. “Nothing I enjoy more than a good groping. Well, except dumplings. I do appreciate a good dumpling.”

“And who doesn’t? I might give up a good grope for another one of those fruit tarts.” He buried his face into that soft, springy hair. “Hmmm. Maybe not right this very second, though.”

“After all, we did have a very good dinner.” Her hands slid around his waist.

“We did. Although who knew that the former Earth King could glare like that?” He kissed along her jaw.

“Oh, I could have told you that.” And then her mouth was on his and he kissed for all he was worth, pressed against her, hands deep into that glorious hair. Their noses collided a bit but he was wholly unconcerned, as he assumed she was as well. “Oh Zu, I hope you aren’t expecting me to give up my maidenhead up here on the roof because for one thing, I expect it would be more than a little cold and for another my maidenhead deserted me some time ago.”

“Far too cold, and maidenheads are overrated, my own was lost to a rather vigorous girl who lived next door to my great-auntie.”

“Oh, was it a tragic story?” She laughed as she pushed a hand up into his tunic.

“Not in the slightest, although Auntie came hunting for me when I didn’t show up for breakfast and I had to run off with my trousers around my knees in order to escape her.” He kissed her some more. “That part was more than a little humiliating.” She was shaking with laughter in his arms, head thrown back, and he marveled at the sound of it; nothing like the polite tittering of the noble girls he’d grown up with but a riotous chortle, complete with several utterly entrancing snorts.

“I have just the one great-auntie here tonight but she’d likely cheer us on, Beifongs being who they are.” She brought her head back down to randomly punctuate her words with kisses.

“So long as you promise me I wouldn’t have to run through your garden with my trousers around my knees, I’m really not all that proficient at running even when they’re up.”

“Heavens no, no need to run through the garden when we could just hop over the wall into Madame Zong’s yard. She’d be scandalized but she’s far too old to run after us. Although her poodle monkey might chase us.”

“But think of the stories we could tell our future progeny!”

“Granny and Gramps met on a lovely autumn day, Granny listened to his brilliant lecture and took Gramps for tarts -”

“- and spitballed out his biggest detractor!”

“Oh, how could I forget that! And then Granny took him home to meet all of her family -”

“-a great deal of unexpected family!”

“-and then took him onto the roof to look at the stars but it was all a ruse, all she really wanted to do was kiss him and possibly get his trousers down around his ankles-

“-oh, lower than my knees, that’s ambitious-”

“-and then they had to outrun her family, over the fence, away from Cuddles-”

“-Madame Zong’s name is Cuddles?”

“-of course not, Zu, that’s the poodle monkey-”

“-that makes far more sense-”

“-and they ran away that very night and got married!”

They both took a breath. He stared at her - well, at the rather blurry smear that was her face - and even as nearsighted as he was he could tell she was smiling. “Should we?”

“Hmmm. I think my poor father might actually expire if we did. And I really do mean it, as far as I know his heart is fine but as he would tell me,” and here her voice changed, “Sayuri Hou-Ting! Princesses do not elope!”

“There’s also my mother. Worse, my great-grandmother.” He shuddered involuntarily. “They’d...you know, I’m not actually sure what they’d do. Something dire. My great-grandmother is...well. You’ll meet her. She was one of your father’s advisors, you know, back when he was abdicating.”

“I suppose we had best do it the traditional way, then.” Her arms were around him, holding him tightly.

“I’ll write to my parents tomorrow.” He couldn’t stop smiling. He didn’t want to stop smiling.

“Excellent.” She pulled him even closer. “So now that we’ve worked that out do you want to do some more kissing? Trousers mandatory, at least on the roof.”

“Oh yes, I really do. I absolutely do.” And so he did.

[dortykid]

Short-Story: Magiteched

Been a while, haven't had the urge to write, but here's a new story to quench your thirsts (if you're even thirsty for these). Warning, this one contains a surgical procedure, so if you're not able to handle stuff like that, you don't need to read this.

----------------------------------

A few months had passed since Jukkerbaut's disappearance, shortly after the thing had reached the Ring of Fire. All tracking on him had been shut down, as were all sources of communication or sending messages. Even the vital readings that would have been received and displayed on the screen in the dark lab were offline. Jukkerbaut was completely gone, or at least, completely gone from under control; the metal beast was left to roam the landscape, doing alchemy-knows what.

Although, Zaxaxx knew no better at what had really happened, for he had taken the assumption Dorty had finally eliminated it on the fire isles. In all honesty, he was expecting that to happen in the future anyways; Jukkerbaut was his first creation, after all. A hulking behemoth of a burnt, fleshy charr underneath with a tough, metal exoskeleton on top, surrounding the squishy insides in a protective coating. The mind was wiped of most previous memories, and then imputed with new code and orders to follow, essentially making the charr a loyal servant.

Alas, time was starting to take its toll anyhow. The chip in Jukkerbaut's mind was glitching out, and occasional shut-downs were becoming more and more common. Even after Zaxaxx had made some adjustments himself after such a long while, Jukkerbaut was still loaded with bugs. All he needed was one good push and he would be destroyed, either by the chip being destroyed and shutting down the brain, killing them within, or the armor would be exploited and leave them exposed, easily leaving them open for being killed.

How long was it ago that Jukkerbaut was made? A couple of years, perhaps, or more, but Zaxaxx had improved on his technique since then. He had some practice with working with Scarlet's twisted watchwork, admiring the rather larger one he had acquired, and to which struck his inspiration. After acquiring the corpse of a dead asura, he began working to compress the larger machine down into smaller parts, before cutting up the dead asura and shoving the machinations into them. From there, all he had to do was make some new, more complex coding, and soon Xakat was born, a horrendous watchwork creation cleverly disguised as an asura. Unfortunately, it wasn't the most convincing. While the metal and such inside was almost perfectly hidden, it was rather obvious that this asura was previously dead. He did whatever in his necrotic powers he could do to cover this up, stitching parts back together, a few touch-ups on the face and head, then a cost and other clothes to cover the rest.

Once Xakat was complete and ready, he sent him out to the Wastes to gather intel on the Inquest security development from the local krewe there. For a while it worked, and Xakat had sent back numerous designs for security and such that Zaxaxx could use. Sadly, the krewe leader caught on to some of the issues Xakat was causing, and when he was found out, the watchwork within him sprung into its full form, eradicating anyone it could find in the lab to leave no trace. Sadly, Xakat was destroyed halfway through his rampage, but thankfully the core in the chestpiece that was inside of him was rigged to explode shortly after death, but even that was faulty. In the end, it was another experiment down the drain, but what was learned and earned was going to further aid in this dark research.

Following this, Zaxaxx proceeded to focus more on the same technology used with the Peacemakers armor, throwing in some of the watchwork and golem technology, as well as a few dribbles of the toxic fluids he has developed. These creations that soon came were more focused on single things, rather than balance the usage. Each one he made was more advanced than the next, as he experimented with new ways to gear them, ranging from blades to internal functions.

The next creation he made after Xakat was a norn with their arms and legs sawed off, and replaced with legs like that of a golem dog, if those even existed, and a large turret on their back, which he called the L4Z-Walker. The idea was for them to run around on all fours, while the turret on top shot beams of energy out at targets. The two things worked seperatly, meaning the norn part could focus on one thing while the turret focused on another. A deadly weapon good for laying siege on places, but it had yet to go out into the field for a real test.

After that came what he called the A5A-Leecher. His ideas for this one were more nefarious than before, taking a human female and implanting blades onto their arms, legs, and back, but that wasn't the important part. The important part was the multiple short-ranged mechanical tendrils that were able to puncture into flesh, and suck out blood to power the thing, hence the "Leech" in the name. For good measure and extra terror, one of these replaced the tongue, where as the A5A stabbed into its helpless target, the tendril would come out of the mouth and jab into the victim to speed up the draining process.

Zaxaxx continued to make more of these nightmarish creations for some time, all with watchwork built into them under the surface of the skin, or visible in some areas. All of them had chips implanted into their brains to wipe their memories and replace them with code, if he hadn't removed it himself and just replaced it with pure code, but he found that if a creature can think, they could make decisions and thus be able to deal with targets easier, or escape. After all, a damaged creation dragging itself back to him was better than a destroyed one that was either left dead or stolen.

For the current moment, the A5A and the L4Z were guarding the various doors in the lab, along with the others. His current plan was to make as many of these as he could without being found out, and then send them all out to finally deal with the pathetic asura he always hated. After that would come the attacking of any settlement that wasn't asuran, taking the dead that were taken and making more of these minions for himself, until all that would be left would be the asura race, with no idiotic beings to drag them down. That, however, would be far in the future, should this come to that, and for the moment he was sterilizing tools for his next project.

The dimly-lit green glow from above gave the lab a poisonous look, the light illuminating the center of the lab where his worktable was, or rather his operating table. Strapped down on the thing was a young human girl that, rather than kill, he put to sleep and kidnapped to bring back here. Normally, his creations were revived bodies, but this one was still live, he was curious how this one would differ from the others, and he already had ideas how to make this one. The A5A and L4Z had wandered into the room to examine the being who would soon be their next soldier, sitting above to watch the process.

Done with the cleaning, Zaxaxx set the tools on a rolling table to bring over next to the operating one. Atop it, aside from the tools, were the various pieces of tech he was going to put into her. He wouldn't be able to stick a watchwork endoskeleton into them without killing them, so external and partially internal incisions would have to be done. He had left the sleeping girl in a cooling chamber over the night to reduce their temperature, and minimize blood loss from cuts.

The part of the floor under the asura and the rolling table rose up to a suitable height where the subject was about level with his waist. He looked over their sleeping form, they were almost too innocent to do this to, but he had little to no mercy. Just to prepare for the surgery early, he went ahead and ripped out the left eye while they were still in the cooling chamber, some blood was still visible in the socket where it once was. Zaxaxx grinned, turning to grab a vial off of the roller and uncork it, carefully pouring the contents in a single, straight line across the forearm, close to the girls elbows. The A5A above him tilted its head, and started to climb down from the seat above.

"No, A5A, you may not take the blood directly from the girl." He scowled at it, making it stop for a moment, before he continued. "You may, however, be of assistance and clean up the floor as I work. I believe this will get at least a little bit messy."

Nodding as if in understanding, the A5A crawled down all the way, taking cover under the operating table, the metal tendrils poised to suck up any blood that spilled onto the workspace.

Zaxaxx stood there for a few moments, wondering where else he would pour the fluid, before shrugging and setting it back, picking up a handsaw. He held the tool over the fluid line on one of the arms, bringing it down slowly until it touched the skin. The next moment, he began bringing it back and forth, back and forth, the sound of flesh being ripped through echoing through the chamber, accompanied by the splatters of blood that were gushing out. As he had asked it to, the A5A's tendrils were zipping around frantically to suck up the blood, fueling itself with the life-sustaining cells. The gentle cutting sound was quickly replaced by the grinding sound of bone-against-saw, Zaxaxx hastening the motions and applying more force until it was cut through, and kept going until it hit the metal of the operating table. Lifting the saw back up over his shoulder, he grasped the dismembered arm with his free hand, purposefully dropping it onto the floor beneath him. The sound of metal piercing through flesh rang out from underneath the operating table, Zaxaxx grinning as the A5A punctured the hand and began to viciously suck it dry.

With one forearm off, Zaxaxx leaned over the body and began to do the same with the other one now, just as quickly as the previous one due to the blood oozing out now, cutting through the flesh and bone before dropping the second arm for A5A to consume, though it was still busy with the first one. He set the saw down, picking up two hands, very similar in design to Jukkerbaut's, but different functions. One hand had a hook built into the palm to shoot out to grab someone, while the other had a sword that flipped out from the underside of the arm to use. Green crystals were built into these ones, storing the energy from his latest, unique toxin, that was both deadly and could energize. Rather, it would energize the girl but harm anything else. How he was going to do this however he had already figured out. In the meantime, he stuck the hands over the bleeding stumps, spiked sensors digging into the flesh to pick up nervous signals, allowing the subject to move them around.

Next, he grabbed what seemed to be some kind of scooper, a strange mix between a sharp edge and a double ice-cream scoop. He opened it up, then stuck it down into the skin right above the sternum, and then clamped the two parts together through the flesh, pulling up to remove a spherical chunk from near the top of her chest, perfect in size for the next part of the procedure.

A bright green power crystal was sitting on the roller, which he grabbed, examining it for any imperfections. It was filled with the toxins that were also in the hands, but this had a ring of sockets around it sticking in, just a little off-center. On the very bottom was a single spike of the crystal pultruding out of the almost-perfect spherical shape. Carefully, he lowered the crystal down into the cut he made, the spiked end first, until it was about half-way in and half-way sticking out, just what he had hoped for.

Next, he grabbed two objects for the following part: an eye-visor, as he called those things that work as eye-patches, except they can work like normal eyes and more, and a tiny vacuum. He started with opening the empty eye socket up and using the vacuum to suck out the excess blood that was there, before setting that down. Then, he fastened the eye-visor over the socket, clicking on a single switch on the side just to turn it on. Connecting it to the brain for registering would come later.

Now that most of the risky parts were done, it was time to outfit the subject with some actual clothing so he wasn't seeing them naked. Thankfully for him, he had taken the liberty to scan their form and create a permanent tunic to cover up their torso in. Stepping off of the elevated floor, he waddled over to a control panel that was linked up to a great multi-tool device attached to the ceiling. Normally, he would use this to place watchwork endoskeletons into subjects, but this time it would be used for something else.

A claw reached down and gently grabbed the girl by the sides of their head, lifting them up into the air. Two more claws moved to pick up the metallic tunic Zaxaxx had put together for them, and proceeded to open up the back of it, then placing it over the girls body before folding it around and reattaching it on the back. Another device lowered down to the opening in the tunic that was meant to hold the crystal in, and gently pushed that in place before activating the small coat. Immediately, small plugs extended out of the small holes within the larger hole, and connected into the crystal, pulling the hole around it tightly so as not to leave any gaps.

The two claws from before were already pulling some metallic pants onto their legs, which also had boots connected to the bottom of them, with blades on the heels and knees. They moved away with their job done while the third device started to fasten the clothing into them, making it stay so it wouldn't be able to be taken off, at least not normally.

Now the second to final step of the whole procedure was ready. One final instrument of the large multi-tool, a sharp needle, gently stuck into the back of the girls head, just a little on the left side, inserting the chip that would allow Zaxaxx to program their directives. Meanwhile, one of the claws was attaching a circular device tightly around the needle onto the side of her head, for future fixes if they were needed. The claw holding her up began to lower her back onto the operation table, facedown this time, so the needle could stay in her so this chip could continue to be edited.

Zaxaxx clapped slowly, admiring the newest creation of his. All that was left now was the programming. He stepped away from the controller and over to the larger computer to begin coding. He glanced back at the girl, then back at the computer, starting to type.

>POWER VENOM INSTALLATION:1 >LINK @ E73 >NAME:

He paused here, names were usually difficult to come up with. He tapped his foot impatiently, glancing back at the girl again. A5A and L4Z were looming over her while he was typing. He turned back to the computer, typing in something out of the norm, because this one wasn't his usual creation.

>NAME: L3SSA

He nodded, liking it, then continued to type.

>LINK @ SW-2 >LINK @ GR-2 CHECKING FOR POWER CORE...

Now that everything was linked up, he waited a few moments for the rest of the installation process to go on by itself. One that was done, he could type in directives, and direct her to, of course, kill Dorty. He let out a short laugh, followed by some more hysterical laughter, for this was his finest creation yet.

Suddenly, a red light began to flash on and off above them, his laughter cut short by a grimacing snort as he glared near the main exit. He swung his head to glare at the other two creations, pointing toward the door. They began to scuttle and crawl towards it, while he grabbed one of his saws to bring along with him. Whoever had broken in was going to regret every single little decision they had ever made in their life that led up to this moment.

>POWER CORE DETECTED, INSTALLING ENERGY... >WIPING CURRENT MEMORY... >PREPARING TRACKER INSTALLATION... >ERROR: INSTALLATION INTERRUPTED >PREPARING TRACKER INSTALLATION... >ERROR: INSTALLATION INTERRUPTED

A5A leapt out from behind the corner, metallic tendrils poised, only to be greeted with the closed front door. L4Z and Zaxaxx followed shortly behind to witness the mystery. One of the windows in the door had powered down, and on the floor was a rock.

"This is it?" Zaxaxx huffed, stomping forward to pick it up. "This is what set off the alarm?" He snarled, tossing it aside. He had been hoping some bookah or an asura would be here, but instead whoever it was threw a hard object through his door and ran. If this was their idea of a prank, it was a very poor one.

Zaxaxx slowly turned and walked back toward the two, glaring at L4Z. "Blast the rock." He spoke, turning back toward the central chamber. L4Z's back-cannon took aim, and charged up before releasing a blast that charred the surrounding structure while destroying said rock.

Just outside the door back into the chamber, Zaxaxx looked back at his two creations, wondering just when he should even send them out. The blaring alarm couldn't allow him to think, so for now he just had to go back in and turn it off himself, opening the door.

He stared inside for a few moments, then screamed in rage.

The operation table was empty, the needle broken, the console left on an endless loop of attempts. L3SSA had somehow escaped, but how? Was the rock a distraction? Did they just wake up and walk away?

After some moments thinking, it hit him: the drug he used to capture the girl was a powerful tranquilizer, meant to last for at least a day. It must have run out while she way laying there, giving her the chance to break out and escape.

Even still, Zaxaxx stiffened up in anger, unsure what else to say about the matter. On one hand, at least the procedure worked; he had successfully created a living minion to serve him, one that wasn't resurrected. On the other hand, they had escaped, and now doing something else for all he knew. Or maybe...

Zaxaxx stomped over to the computer, punching a button to turn on all of his devices that were already programmed correctly. He typed in a command:

>SEARCH LAB AND RETRIEVE L3SSA IF HERE

The sounds of mechanical creatures waking up and moving quickly became apparent over the alarm, which was promptly shut off. Zaxaxx sighed, but grinned a little. He could further enhance his future creations with the things he had learned from this one. Already, a new idea was forming, one for specifically dealing with leaders. While his many creations scourged the lab for L3SSA, Zaxaxx began typing in notes for his next creation...

...and all the while, L3SSA was lost, with no memory, in an unfamiliar world.