#cold data storage

[digitaldocumentservice-blog]

How Automated Data Archiving and Offline Storage Systems Protect Your Digital Assets?

In today's digital world, data is more precious than ever — and more at risk. With the growing threats of cyberattacks, unintentional data loss, and digital decay, protecting your digital assets is no longer a choice. For governments, organizations, and even individuals working with sensitive data, maintaining a strong solution for data archiving and offline storage is now a strategic imperative.

Step into the realm of Automated Data Archiving and offline storage solutions — new technology that is revolutionizing how we manage, secure, and store data for long-term preservation.

Why Long-Term Data Storage Is Important

Every click, transaction, and communication nowadays leaves a digital trail. From financial records, legal documents, medical reports, research information, or digital data storage for compliance, the requirement to maintain data for years — or decades — is the norm today.

But with technology changing relentlessly, saving files in a hard disk or cloud storage is no longer sufficient. You require long-term data storage solutions that make data accessible, secure, and complete — regardless of how old it becomes.

What is Automated Data Archiving?

Automated Data Archiving is the process of locating digital data — particularly data that is no longer in active use — and automatically relocating it to a safe archive. This takes pressure off your live systems while keeping valuable information safely stored and accessible.

Rather than doing it manually by transferring files and folders, these systems run in the background and archive according to rules such as file age, size, or frequency of access.

Not only does this automation save time and effort, but it also minimizes the likelihood of human error, making your secured data storage system more trustworthy.

The Role of Offline Storage in Data Security

Although cloud-based tools are convenient, they are also susceptible to perpetual online threats — hacking, ransomware, and even accidental overwrites. This is why offline data storage is now so important.

By having a copy of your data stored offline, you significantly lower the possibility of outside attacks. This sort of offline data protection is particularly beneficial to cold data storage — data that's only scarcely touched but needs to be saved in case of regulatory, legal, or business continuity purposes.

Offline storage is perfect for:

Archived legal documents

Historical customer information

Financial and audit trails

Scientific or academic research repositories

Sensitive digital records storage

Cold Data Storage: The Quiet Watchdog

Not all data has to be available right away. Actually, most organizational data goes inactive within a matter of months. But that doesn't equate to disposability. That is cold data — data that has to be kept around but doesn't require immediate access.

Cold storage data solutions are built expressly for this kind of data. They provide low-cost, high-security data storage for archiving data that might get accessed rarely — or perhaps not at all.

This makes them ideal for long-term preservation of digital proof, contracts, or old project documents.

Advantages of Automated Data Archiving and Offline Storage Systems

1. Enhanced Data Security

Paying files offline or cold storage takes them out of the immediate online danger zone. Your data is secure from cyberattacks, malware, and accidental loss.

2. Regulations Compliance

Numerous industries have digital evidence storage and data storage and archiving systems that must comply with certain legal requirements. The process being automated makes sure you never fall short of a requirement.

3. Cost Savings

Archived information doesn't have to reside on pricey high-speed servers. Off-line or cold storage reduces costs significantly without sacrificing security.

4. Scalability

As your information expands, so does your archive. Current data archiving and off-line storage systems are capable of expanding to accommodate terabytes — even petabytes — of data with ease.

5. System Performance Optimization

By relocating inactive data from your active system, you reclaim space and enhance performance for your normal operations.

Selecting the Right Solution

Not all data is created equal — and neither are all storage requirements. The right system will most likely blend automated data archiving with online and offline data storage, striking an equilibrium between accessibility and safeguarding.

Search for features such as:

Policy-based rules for archiving

Encryption and access control

Redundant backups

Offline access protocols

Integration with compliance standards

Collaborating with the correct data archiving and storage systems vendor ensures that your configuration adapts to your requirements — not against them.

Final Thoughts

In 2025 and beyond, digital security isn't so much about firewalls and passwords. It's about having the proper data lifecycle strategy. As the amount of information continues to balloon, automated data archiving and offline storage systems are becoming a necessity for those who take digital asset protection seriously.

If you're working with sensitive documents, governed data, or mission-critical digital information, it's the wise investment to make in long-term storage that incorporates offline data protection.

Because when it comes to data, what you hold back — and how you hold on — can determine your future.

Are your digital assets really secure?

It's time to rethink storage. Select a solution that's not only smart, but future-ready

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Just ordered a refurbished 256 GB heavy-duty flash drive for archival and conservation purposes. Vive la revolution

[semi-sketchy]

Little reminder to refresh your data every once in awhile! This can be as simple as taking a folder and copying it to the exact same spot then deleting the original. (Don't use cut, that's a moving process.)

Refreshing your data helps prevent bitrot on rarely accessed files!

[gtekindia]

Temperature monitoring of Perishable Goods in Cold Storage Facilities

G-Tek’s temperature monitoring solutions in cold storage facilities are the linchpin of a successful cold chain. It continuously monitors, record, and report temperature conditions in real-time significantly enhances quality assurance initiatives. By offering real-time temperature monitoring, extensive coverage across a wide temperature range, flexible intervals for data logging, and compatibility with user-friendly software, these loggers are indispensable for making informed decisions.

For More Information Visit: https://www.gtek-india.com/significance-of-temperature-monitoring-in-cold-storage/

[captainmalewriter]

Made to Order

Franco pulled up to the apartment building of his latest client. He parked his car along the street and sent his client a quick text letting him know he had arrived. Franco then pulled out a pair of earphones from the glove compartment, connected them to his phone’s jack port, and put them on. He then booted up a survey app. It greeted him with a light blue screen and a ‘Hello!’ in a British accent. 

“Let’s see what kind of guy this dude paid good money to bang…” Franco muttered to himself as he pulled up the list of responses from the survey he sent to his clients. He scrolled to the latest data entry and skimmed it over. A grin formed on his face as he read it. 

“Alright then! No time like the present, let’s get to work.”

He downloaded the data entry into his phone’s local storage and composed it into an audio file. Once it was ready, Franco pressed ‘play’ and leaned back in his seat as the makeshift music began to fill his ears. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind of any and all thoughts, allowing the music to submerge his mind and body with powerful subliminal messaging. 

Gender: Male. Age: 24. Height: 6’4” ft. Weight: 170 lbs. 

Franco groaned as a cold chill ran up his spine. As he grew taller and heavier, the muscles in his legs rapidly flexed and relaxed. 

“Ohhh… Fuckk man…”

Franco couldn’t help but massage his aching body as he began to physically transform. He became hyper-aware of how his body felt and moved, which made touching his sensitive skin with his warm hands all the more pleasurable as it gradually changed. Franco moved the car seat back, as he needed the extra space to accommodate his sudden growth spurt. He gained several inches of height and about 30 pounds until he matched the size his client had requested. 

Hair Color: Brown. Eye Color: Green. Facial Hair? Mustache only. Body Hair? Yes.

The next few details of Franco’s client’s request rang in his ear and reverberated throughout his body. He gripped the sides of his seat as he felt his body working overtime to pump out heavy quantities of hormones. He winced in pain as his dark brown eyes changed colors. They became lighter and lighter in hue until they were a brilliant shade of green that glimmered in the sunlight. 

Franco’s hair was next to transform. The straight, black hair on his head grew lighter and curlier until he had wavy, brown hair. The skin on Franco’s upper lip tingled and itched as the hair follicles began rapidly growing in. Franco let out a heavy moan as his mustache hairs kept growing and growing until he had a thick mustache that hung over his lips. Once he had the right mustache, his underarm hair began growing, too. Franco only had a light dusting of pit hair, but thanks to his strange audio files, he could grow well past his natural limits. His armpit hair grew longer and thicker until he had a jungle of brown pit hair in his underarms. His pit hair had become so long that it even peeked out when Franco had his arms down!

Ethnicity: Mexican. Language: Spanish, or English w/ Accent. 

Franco let out a sigh of relief as he heard the next three lines of the audio file. Thankfully, the next transformation would be more mental than physical, which gave Franco a chance to take a quick breather. 

He relaxed against the headrest as the audio file echoed inside his mind. The more Franco heard his client’s preferences, the more his psyche changed to match his request. Suddenly, Franco was no longer a middle aged man from Midwest U.S.A. but a young Mexican man who had only recently immigrated into the country. His mind became filled with all sorts of new knowledge surrounding his Mexican heritage and culture, such as the Spanish language. 

“Mmm… Que rico…” Franco purred sensually as his throat muscles broadened and his vocal cords thickened, granting him the heavy accent his client had requested. The audio file also gave him a deeper voice too. Although that detail was more for Franco’s personal enjoyment than anything else.

But despite his newfound knowledge, there was only one thing the newly transformed Franco desired: to fuck as many men as physically possible. There was nothing he loved more than seeing a man pressed down against a pillow as he railed them to the next Tuesday. Just the thought of a man’s bubble butt swallowing his dick was enough to make him start leaking.

Size: 7.5 inches. Breed: Dom top. Body odor: YES.

While Franco was busy relishing his new voice and fantasizing about his next bottom, the next line of the audio file played, triggering the final piece of the transformation. Franco threw his head back as the next wave of bodily sensations caught him off guard. He let out loud, guttural groans as his manhood grew obscenely erect until it filled in his underwear. Franco massaged his sensitive, throbbing member as it grew longer and fatter than what he originally had. Before he knew it, Franco’s new endowment ripped the fabric of his briefs. His dick sprang to life like it was just begging to be released and played with as soon as possible! 

Franco wrapped his hand around his new dick and gave himself a few strokes just to test out his new tool. As he did so, a rank smell began to fill his car. It was sweaty, smelly, and addicting. That scent was none other than his natural body odor but kicked up to 100%. With the windows rolled down, Franco was becoming hot-boxed off his own tantalizing smell. Not that it really bothered him, as he was too busy admiring the glorious sight of his new, hung cock standing at full mast with a healthy bush of thick pubes to complete the look.

A tap on the window interrupted Franco’s moment of self-admiration. He glanced over and saw his client watching him with hungry eyes and a hand stuffed down his pants. Franco smirked, then rolled down his window.

“Hola papacito. ¿Te gusto?” Franco flexed his arms and winked at his client. The man nodded vigorously like a dog begging for a juicy steak. Then, he took a heavy whiff of Franco’s potent body odor and sighed, satisfied. 

“I can’t wait any longer! C’mon, let’s get you inside!!”

Franco grinned. He loved the whiny sound of a man begging to get fucked. He tossed his phone and earphones to the side and followed his client up to his apartment, where he proceeded to show him the dom Mexican top he requested to fuck him hard and raw. Another man made to order, another man satisfied.

[orellazalonia]

Unexpected Outlook

Summary: The Avengers launch a mission to raid a known base of the organization you now work with and discuss over what they found.

Word Count: 1.7k+

A/N: A little shorter since it’s Father’s Day, but I also wanted to add more weight to the previous chapter and progress the story.

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

Preparations moved fast. Too fast, maybe.

Steve didn’t like that they were running with incomplete information, but the longer they waited, the deeper this organization could dig itself into global systems. And the more time you had to assist them, whether willingly or not.

Still, it didn’t sit right. None of it did.

Bruce pulled the files. Natasha studied known locations. Sam monitored chatter. Bucky cleaned his weapons with a look in his eyes like he wanted answers he didn’t have the right to ask.

Yet no one brought up your name again. At least, not directly. But it hovered beneath everything.

The way Bucky checked each plan twice. The way Natasha’s jaw twitched when she reviewed footage. Even the way Steve hesitated before calling it an official mission.

The woman Bucky liked didn’t voice objections anymore. She simply kept a kind, quiet distance, like someone watching friends argue over a lost cause.

And within a week, the op was set.

Steve gave the greenlight with his jaw tight and eyes harder than usual. The mission was clear: infiltrate a suspected communications hub. A nondescript, rural compound masked as a grain storage facility. Satellite data showed encrypted signals routing through it over the last month, signals that matched ones the Avengers used internally.

Which meant either someone was watching. Or someone had been taught how.

They went in with a small team. Just Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Bucky. No need for Hulk or Thor; this wasn’t a battering ram job. It was a retrieval and disrupt operation. Quiet and clean.

Or so they thought.

The quinjet landed half a mile out, under cover of dense fog rolling over the hills. The forest beyond the compound was eerily still like it had been holding its breath since before dawn.

“They want us to find this,” Natasha muttered, brushing a branch aside as they crept through the trees.

Steve didn’t argue. His shield was strapped to his arm, but he hadn’t raised it once.

They reached the clearing. The compound was just as expected. Gray concrete, flat roof, minimal security fencing, and a gravel path leading to two entrances. No guards. No movement. Even the air felt… hollow.

Sam scanned the building with a handheld sensor. “No heat signatures. Not even a rat.”

“Too clean,” Bucky said, voice low.

They breached the back door.

Inside, it was dark but not ruined. Every surface was wiped. Consoles powered down. Not destroyed, removed. Carefully like a move-out rather than an attack. Upon investigating further, files had been cleared, drawers emptied, and chairs pushed in with bland desks.

Whoever had been here knew exactly when to leave.

Steve turned in a slow circle, taking it in.

“This was active,” He said. “Days ago.”

“Hours, maybe,” Natasha said, crouching beside a desk. She tapped the edge, there was a faint spot where something electronic had been sitting. Someone had worked here… and then vanished.

Sam stepped into the central control room. There was only one thing left behind: a monitor left switched on, flickering a soft blue light in the dimness.

A single message scrolled across the screen.

Too late, Captain.

That was it. There wasn’t any long monologues. No other mocking comments. Not even a signature or sign-off present. Just a cold fact. Steve stared at it like he could will it to change. Bucky stood a step behind him, arms folded, expression unreadable.

“I don’t like this,” Sam muttered.

Natasha approached a wall panel and pried it open effortlessly. Inside, wires had been sliced. Intentionally. However, there were no explosives. No traps could be seen anywhere either. It was all just… closure.

“They stripped this place surgically,” She said. “No fingerprints, no traces. It’s like they wanted us to know they were here… but not who they are.”

Steve closed the monitor with a clenched jaw. “This wasn’t a base. It was a decoy.”

“No,” Bucky said suddenly. His voice was soft but steady. “It was a base. It just outlived its usefulness.”

They all turned toward him. He looked at the empty room, the missing equipment, and the quiet hallways. Then, to the message. And for a moment, something shifted in his eyes. Guilt, maybe or something deeper.

“They planned for this,” He murmured. “Someone told them exactly how we’d come.”

No one responded, but no one needed to. Because they were all thinking it.

-

The debrief room was thick with a heavy silence, the kind that pressed down harder than shouting. Ghost-blue blueprints and photos of the abandoned compound still flickered on the monitors, reminders of how quickly their plan had unraveled. Notes about the missing equipment and the chilling message on the screen scrolled slowly, marking everything they should have anticipated.

Steve hadn’t sat once since they returned. He stood rigid at the head of the table, hands braced on his hips, and a deep furrow like it was etched there permanently. Sam had stopped pacing but his leg bounced nervously, jaw clenched tight. Natasha’s fingers tapped against her thigh in a rhythm so steady it barely seemed voluntary.

Only Bucky remained perfectly still, arms crossed, and eyes locked on the screen across the room. He said very little since they’d left the empty compound since that message haunted him.

Too late, Captain.

The words weren’t just text; they carried a weight, a deliberate coldness that dug into Bucky’s mind. Whoever had left it knew him. Not just the soldier, but his moves, his instincts. And worse, their enemy had used the knowledge you once held to outmaneuver them.

The memory played on loop in his mind. Not just the words but the feel of them. The calculation in them. Whoever was behind that terminal… knew him. Not just facts. His patterns.

And maybe worse than that, they’d used your knowledge to do it. They probably used you to do it.

The door hissed open.

She stepped in with her usual soft elegance, cradling a fresh cup of tea between her hands like she had no idea anything had gone wrong. Dressed casual, warm, and comfortable. Like she belonged. Like she didn’t feel the same tension that pulled everyone else taut. The one you used to be jealous of had sat out for the mission after all.

“Oh,” She said lightly. “You’re all back already.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking. If anything, it was gently surprised, as if she’d simply walked into a meeting that ended early. Steve didn’t answer right away. Neither did the others.

She blinked, smile sweet and expectant, like someone unaware they were intruding. “Was it a short mission?”

“We were too late,” Steve said flatly, straightening.

Her brows lifted, and she crossed to the table, setting the tea down. “Really? That’s unfortunate. I thought it was just one of those cleanup things. You all make those look so easy.”

Sam looked over, jaw tight. “They cleaned up, alright. Took every last trace of themselves. Left us a polite message, too.”

“They knew how we’d approach,” Natasha added with her arms crossed now. “Like they knew our pattern. Our flow. They stripped the place within hours of our arrival window.”

“Hmm.” She tapped a fingernail against the ceramic. “That’s strange. Maybe they had inside intel?”

“No,” Steve spoke, narrowing his eyes. “Not unless someone studied us long before they left.”

“Oh.” She blinked, tilting her head. “So… do you think your old administrator friend told them?”

Bucky stiffened.

Natasha’s voice was sharper now, eyes narrowing. “She’s not our anything.”

That seemed to amuse her. She let out a light laugh, the kind meant to dissolve tension, not that anyone was asking for it. “Well, you’re not wrong,” She smiled. “ She didn’t really fit in here anyways, did she?”

Bruce, who had been mostly quiet, looked up sharply. “She worked here for over two years.”

She didn’t seem phased. There was no malice on her face actually. Just soft confidence.

“I guess I didn’t think she’d be important,” She sighed simply. “Kind of kept to herself. I always assumed she’d move on.”

Sam stood, voice tight. “She did. Straight into the hands of the people trying to tear us apart.”

Her smile faltered just a touch. “I didn’t mean—look, I’m sure she was… sweet. I just don’t see how it helps to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want to be here. Don’t you think she made her choice?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t know that yet.”

“I mean, sure,” She said gently, “But if she’s really that dangerous, wouldn’t you have noticed before she left? You didn’t even realize she was gone until weeks later, right?”

Bucky shifted slightly. The burn in his chest deepened. Not from her words exactly, but from how true they rang.

They hadn’t noticed. They hadn’t looked.

The woman moved closer to Bucky, noticing his subtle distress as she rested her hand lightly on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I just worry about you,” She confessed softly, smiling up at him. “You’re all stretched so thin already. I’d hate to see you waste energy chasing ghosts.”

Her hand lingered. But Bucky’s jaw clenched, and for once, he didn’t lean into her touch.

“She’s not a ghost,” He muttered. “She’s a mirror. Of everything we missed.”

Her expression flickered for barely a moment. Then the sweet smile returned.

“Well, if you have to go after her,” She brushed her hand away, her expression turning more solemn. A hint of pity evident, “I hope you’re prepared for what you find. Sometimes people change… and not always in ways you can fix. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

She reached for her tea again, her fingers wrapping around the cup like it was an anchor.

“And if you do decide to keep going after her, well.” She gave a gentle little laugh, looking around with open, innocent eyes. “I hope it goes well. I really mean that. And if you need my help at all… just let me know. I’m always happy to support the team.”

The door hissed softly behind her as she walked out, quiet heels tapping against the floor in steady, graceful rhythm.

The rest of the team stood in silence for a few long seconds, each lost in their own storm of thoughts.

Steve broke it first.

“We move forward. We stop that organization before it spreads deeper.”

“And if she’s helping them willingly?” Sam asked, his voice low.

Steve hesitated.

So, Bucky answered instead.

“Then we stop her, too.”

Taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @iyskgd @torntaltos @julesandgems @maesmayhem @w-h0re @pookalicious-hq @parkerslivia @whisperingwillowxox @stell404 @wingstoyourdreams @seventeen-x @mahimagi @viktor-enjoyer @vicmc624 @msbyjackal @winchestert101 @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[proxycrit]

I love your au!!! I love how the hylian duo look like gremlins, I LOVE the expressions and sass constantly and the changes to the lore, the worldbuilding and also the emotions (OUCH). I love their relationship with purah and each other and the new champions. I love the depth you gave Yona and her relationship with Sidon and Mipha. I love how link feels comfortable talking to sidon in addition to sign, I don't know if he does that with anyone else but Zelda unless its absolutely necessary (eg: just launched out a cannon and is paragliding down, so hands are busy) (side note: i love how much of an adrenalin junky/gremlin he is!!)

I do got a few questions! Will the pair get the sheikah slate again (so say link has the slate and zelda the pad), and can both slates do the warping and item storage (food, ingredients, armor, weapons, etc) (if so: no WONDER link was so upset! His collection!)

Does link have access to the ultrahand abilities (ik you said not The ultrahand, but what about fuse or ascend or rewind etc?) Where is the mastersword??

Does Link still have the champions' abilities, or did he lose those when their spirits moved on at the end of botw?

I know these are a lot of questions but I can't stop thinking about it!! The last few updates sent me back rereading the whole au and now its just vibrating in my head and giving me no piece

This is long and rambly, just know I am very much enjoying this au! Its silly and fun and touching and cute. Thank you for working on it!!

Oo some notes (also ty for circling my au haha im glad other people fixate like i do)

(Prewarning— i did not finish totk despite putting triple hours in it, so a lot of this story is being written while playing, though i know the big broad strokes thanks to cultural osmosis and video essays. A lot of Familiar Familiar builds from my playthrough with BOTW over TOTK, so the sheikah influence is significantly stronger and I will always choose botw characterization over totk characterization as a result.)

That aside

1. Sheikah slate’s dead. Rest in pieces, link’s rare collectable korok poop. Purah’s extracting as much data as she can to put on the purah pad but you can see the dread in her eyes whenever she has to tell link resurrection is not possible.

2. No idea about the zonai arm powers yet— im thinking about ascend, but the longer i go through this story the less likely ill hand it to him just due to immersion breakage. He and zelda will be getting sheikah gadgets from purah though! Maybe ill have a scene of him wandering through the sky island shrines, but without zelda warning rauru he and sonia wouldnt have prepared anything for the hero of the future. (But i DO love ascension and fuse. Lowkey dislike the building mechanics from a concept art pov because the green glue makes me want to cry, but it’s FINE i GUESS)

2b. Master sword’s chilling in korok forest. Link put it back in this au because of Reasons (part of his and zelda’s characterization in this au is to discard their past roles and embrace the present, not as knight and princess but as hero and researcher. They both have to face the reality those roles aren’t dead, but it’s a work in progress. I may also never address it. This “one off hehe lemme draw some guys” idea quickly spiraled into a web comic series so apologies for the vagueness, because i too am watching them adventure with dread and awe and i don’t know where they’ll go with it. They literally write themselves.

3. Rip champions, their ghosts are Gone (but their influence remains. You go mipha, keep haunting the narrative girl, i love you)

I know that some of these story notes don’t quite match up to what totk states is stone cold canon, but that’s the joy of fan work! Anyways sorry for folks who i have NOT answered asks of— i have a lot of them and I’m much better at the drawing and writing part then the socialization aspect (please feel free to peak in to my zoo enclosure ever so often though. I need the enrichment)

[lovinglonerhybrid]

Jack, Miko, and raf should all get thrown into the Idw comics.

Jack ends up on the lost light not long after megatron joins the crew. He quickly befriends skids and swerve along with there friends but surprisingly he also befriends ravage and megatron himself. Jack likes seeing the warlord so uncomfortable around the tiny tiny human boy. Stuff happens and Jack ends up with some cybernetic mods for his health and safety. He gets retractable claws and an extendable tail along with ports along his spine for data transfers and storage. He has a hud that can pop up like a visor and tell him all kinds of cool info like what a bots been eating and what faction there a part of. Ravage loves the potential that Jack has and takes him under her guidance to teach him espionage.

Miko joins the scavengers as they explore the universe. She thinks that Grimlock is the coolest and loves a good game of shoot shoot bang bang. Nickel teaches her all kinds of medical info and lets her help patch up the others if it’s not to serious.

Raf wakes up on the sanctuary station and impresses Soundwave with his computer skills. The cassettes quickly get attached and so Soundwave has to keep him around. Lazerbeak and buzzsaw take him flying around and show him the best perching points in the station. Rumble and frenzy recruit the boy into there mischief making and they all hide in the vents were other bots can find them. Ratbat likes that the human puts out warmth and uses raf as a human heat pack when his wings get to cold. Soundwave let’s raf get mods so that he can do more efficient work and help Soundwave with his work. The communications bot sees raf as an honorary cassette.

The humans eventually make it back to there universe but don’t tell the others that they’ve been in the other universe for years not a few days.

[weirdsatellites]

Transmission #3768 from NROL-111 (EXPERIMENTAL) 1. Cistern of Dust 2. Haunted Data Cold Storage 3. Field of Decorative Gourds

[sorormaior]

Kulikov

Act 1: The Witness

Well I said I'd do it. Here's the prologue and chapter one of my fic, Kulikov. I'll be posting the first act here, but probably not the rest

There was someone there, on Nostramo, who cared. Who treated him kindly, tried to bring him away from that dark path. The love was there, it changed nothing.

Next Chapter

Prologue

It started with an auspex ping. A flat tone that indicated something closeby in the endless dark. A dull green light flicked on, the cogitator whirred into life. 

An asteroid, high in adamantine content. Completely stationary- the sensors returned some initial responses in regards to void anchors. A ring of static pylons, stout and streaked with the grime of the void, but each as tall as a man. 

From the far side of its face, the asteroid was featureless, pockmarked by debris but otherwise nothing special. Wear had given way to a shine at certain angles- the adamantine, the only true export Nostramo had been valued for. 

Drawing closer, choosing another face, a dark chasm cut into it. An overhang creating a cave-like mouth, the floor worn purposefully flat and smooth for craft to land upon it. Atmosphere generators flanked the entrance like gargoyles. Beyond them, further into the dark, a set of heavy doors with a dark symbol plastered upon them. A bat-winged skull was engraved upon the metal, proving to the ones who had sought this place that it was what they were looking for. 

The landing pad was large enough for a single Stormraven, though many other craft hung in the void around it, waiting. Twelve astartes left the vessel, moving in tight formation to the doors, blue armour throwing up strange reflections on the worn cave walls. 

The machine spirit of the door reacted quickly to the commands given to it, showing that maintenance had been performed recently. Indeed, the air that rushed forward was not stale- it was recently refreshed, the lack of security measures speaking to its remote location. The architects did not intend for it to be found. This made the squad act with further caution, especially as there seemed to be no light inside the reliquary. 

The noise of armoured boots on metal stairs seemed oddly muffled as they proceeded forward, pauldron to pauldron in a space clearly designed for them. The reliquary was not large, having only a few rooms, which they checked methodically. It was a short corridor consisting of five doors, four set into the walls, facing each other and a fifth at the very end. Bones and skulls were moulded into the walls, a deathly peace to those whose ends were assuredly not gentle.

The first door to the right was an armoury, neatly stored weapons and ammunition. Its twin to the left led to a control centre, where cogitators eagerly returned to function. They displayed power outputs, logs of those who had come before and the maintenance done, systems support and various data controls relating to temperature. The most recent activity was a scant two solar days before they had arrived.

The next two doors lead to the true reliquary. Symbols of ages long since passed, to a former Legion’s glory, one they were unlikely to ever recover. These were catalogued, removed from their cabinets and placed into cargo storage crates hauled from the armoury. 

This left the final door. Here too was the Eighth Legion heraldry, the bat-winged skull. It shone brightly under the lumens, refined silver metal against the dull grey of the rest of the door. 

AVE DOMINUS NOX 

The letters were carved there by a master's hand, repeated again beneath in what could only have been Nostraman runes. This door opened willingly too, as if eager for the astartes to continue, to find what lay inside. 

Cold vapour rolled across the floor, dim blue light pouring forth, drowning all need for lumens. It did not come from lumens, but from a coffin. Or at least what appeared to be a coffin, upon closer inspection it was a cryogenic sleeper pod, held inside of a stasis field. The walls hummed with power, and a few screens displayed vital readouts. At the base of the coffin melted candles pooled, scraps of parchment folded and tucked away, a few clean skulls placed like offerings to a heretic’s god, flowers only just beginning to wilt. 

In the casket was a bulky outline, recognisable to anyone familiar with the Adeptus Astartes. Hands laid crossed over their chest, almost covering the bat-winged skull there. The figure was unhelmeted, though the death-faced thing had been placed above their head like a guardian. The face of the space marine was clear, even with the frost encrusted glass. 

A face changed by augment and scar, with three prominently stretching across. A hooked nose and a thin face, brown skin of an unnatural pallor- as if unused to the sun. The head was slightly tilted to the left, the mouth just barely open, dark eyes barely open- the black eyes beneath making them appear closed. As if there had been someone standing there that the marine had turned to look at before being sealed away. 

A cogitator on the wall beeped quietly, as if apologetic for disturbing them. At a nod, an Astartes stepped forward. A new pilgrimage log had been created, and access provided to a single file, named Kulikov.

It contained only a few things of note. A readout of the current vitals of the casket’s occupant, which seemed to be in order. A list of Night Lords who had attended the reliquary and the prizes they had brought. A single vox recording. 

At another nod, the Astartes commanded the machine spirit to play it. 

The voice echoed around the chamber. Dark, cracked and hoarse. The voice of a monster in the night, yet still somewhat regal. Heavily accented with sibilance, captivating in its ghoulishness. 

“If you are standing here, you stand before the last true child of Nostramo. The last loyal Night Lord, the best of us all. Cary Kulikov. If you are a member of my Legion, one of my poisonous sons, know that this is what you were intended to be, know that you never will be. If you are not, and you have somehow stumbled upon this place: I command you to leave. This is the will of the Night Haunter.”

The recorded voice few had heard in a myriad seemed to hang in the air, sticking to the skin. Curze had always had a flair for the dramatic, like many of his brothers. 

The intruders took no heed of this warning, instead moving in synchronicity to the sides of the casket, to the machinery keeping the stasis field in place. There was a crackle in the air as with a few taps against the cogitator, the stasis field fell. The vapour moved a little faster, but the figure within the cryogenic casket remained unchanged. 

A few more commands and the casket was removed from its moorings, those pipes which fed into the chamber that had frozen in place wrenched away by gauntleted hands. Handles were mag-locked to the side of the casket, as the claw hidden behind it lowered from a vertical position to a horizontal one. Four Astartes took up places at the handles, lifted the casket from the fittings it had sat in for nearly ten thousand years. They marched from the chamber, almost a mockery of a funeral procession. The figure was after all, not dead. Great pains had been taken to keep them alive, more care than any thought still could be had in these times. 

They filed out from the chamber and the reliquaries, heretic artefacts in crates carried between the rest. The casket was loaded onto the Stormraven, awkwardly laid down between the seats, only just enough room for it. Closer now, they could see the shadows haunting the cheeks and eyes, a triangle-shaped split in the shell of the left ear. The face was tired, the crease between the eyebrows betraying some great grief. It was not the face of one who would now call themselves Night Lord. 

The Stormraven flew to the waiting battle barge, those who had waited around the asteroid following closely, like a protective flock. Then the ships departed, leaving the asteroid unmarked, once again floating- now completely empty, in the soundless void.

Chapter 1: Awoken

They opened their eyes, only partially. Frost and light made it difficult- that was their first real clue that they were no longer on the Nightfall. No one would have had the lumens this bright. They squeezed their eyes shut against it, a child refusing to wake. Their breath came in ragged, quick gasps. The ache of surgery was still fresh, soft twinges of pain that they recognised but never felt before to this degree. 

“K- Khh-,” their mouth did not want to move, their teeth chattered against the cold. “Ko- Konnacht.” 

There was no response to their plea. Shadows moved across their face, and they forced their eyes open, ready to receive whatever horror awaited. It was a face, that much they had expected. A face of a space marine, broad and noble, fair skinned but crossed with battle scars, a pair of metal studs embedded above the eyebrow. 

The eyes were, of course, the final nail in the proverbial coffin. They were green, with an inner ring of grey. Of course it didn’t matter what colour the eyes were- they weren’t black. The man above them studied them as if they were little more than bacteria on a plex dish.

Noble blue armour, a bright gold trim, a blazing white Ultima. His narthecium was clicking over them, tapping at armoured plates, testing their pulse. He was also waving a diagnostor over them. 

“Ultramarine,” they managed. “You- you must tell… the Lords. Curze- Curze has… gone mad.” 

The Ultramarine looked at them dispassionately.

“You have been heavily injured, Captain, please do not move or attempt to speak.” 

Captain. Had that been their rank? They’d never truly been sure if they’d had an official rank. 

“Nostramo,” they tried again. “Nostramo is gone.” 

The Ultramarine nodded. 

“We are aware. Rest.” 

But their body would not rest. There were tremors, half from the cold and half from their body reacting to the damage taken. 

“Where is he?” They asked. 

The Ultramarine did not answer. 

“What of Sevatar? Shang?”

He still did not answer. Further noise came, the whining of servos inside power armour. More marines.

“We are going to lift you from the casket, Captain Kulikov,” another voice said. “Please do not move.” 

Handles were maglocked to their armour, they stayed as still as they could, but a soft groan of pain still escaped their mouth as they were moved. The ache became a tear, a body still happily reminding them of the damage inflicted. 

They were manoeuvred to a cot, where chapter serfs came forward. The serfs knew the layout of the armour, knew where the catches lay and where to find the bolts that held it together. They lay limply, only moving to ease the job of the serfs. The weight of the armour was practically unmovable for them in their current state- the power pack didn’t help. 

“What is this?” A marine intoned.

They were just about able to tilt their head, to look back at the casket and what the Ultramarine held. Deep blue fabric, it looked small in his hand.

“My jacket,” said Cary. “Could I have it?” 

Some wordless exchange happened between the Astartes in the room. But the jacket was brought to them.

“It was folded behind your head,” said the marine who had found it. 

“It’s my QPC jacket,” they mumbled, half to themselves, smoothing a thumb over the silver-threaded patch at the shoulder. “Half a relic now.” 

More of the plates were removed, from the inside the damage was more obvious. The repairs had been done well, but still visible. Curze had caved in most of their diaphragm after all. 

“I need to inspect your injuries,” the apothecary said. 

Cary leaned forward, grinding their teeth against the pain. Gauntleted hands held their shoulders, supported them as the apothecary released the catch at the back of the neck. The glove only needed to be taken down to their waist, and they were laid back down again. 

It was the first time Cary had seen the wound. Medical skin had been pulled across the gap, the hole had been too large to simply suture closed. The scarring was still red, still raw, slightly pink at the edges. There were still flakes of dried blood, smeared across their skin. It was the newest scar, but far from the first. 

“What weapon caused this?” Another Ultramarine asked, his helmet angled downward. 

“Mercy,” Cary answered. 

The helmet looked at them, and though his face was hidden Cary could feel his confusion, muted though it may have been. 

“One of Curze’s lightning claws. Mercy and Forgiveness,” they nearly laughed. 

The spasm of near laughter made their body seize and jolt, they lay still. The Ultramarines lacked a sense of humour, instead one steadied their shoulder while the apothecary placed a needle to their arm. 

“A painkiller. Your carapace has been repaired but not healed fully,” he said. 

Cary nodded, not really taking in the information.

“How long have I been asleep?” They asked.

There was no response from those in the room. With their eyes adjusted to the light they could make out a handful of armoured Astartes, four including the apothecary, and a small team of serfs. 

The painkillers crept across their body, elevating much of the pain but rendering them even more sluggish in their thoughts and movements. 

“How long?” They asked again. 

“A long time,” the apothecary said. 

Cary looked at him, blinking slowly against the numbing effects of the drug. 

“Tell me,” they pleaded.

“Nearly ten thousand years,” the Ultramarine who had given them their jacket said. 

The apothecary glared at his fellow, then checked what Cary could only assume was a readout of their vitals. 

“Ten thousand years?” Cary repeated, slowly.

They looked straight up at the ceiling, not truly seeing it, digesting this information. 

“Where is Curze?” They asked. 

“Dead,” said the Ultramarine. 

“Elaius,” cautioned the apothecary. 

Cary nodded, slowly. It was an odd feeling, circling its way across their chest. Grief had always been their constant companion, more constant than even the Night Haunter had been. Now the grief was compounded further- when they closed their eyes they still saw Nostramo burn. 

“Why did he let you live?” The Ultramarine- Elaius asked. 

“I don’t know,” Cary admitted. “He always said he’d kill me. That he’d seen it. Always followed the damn visions. Followed them right to the end.” 

Their breathing was becoming more laboured, their chest tight with exhaustion and mourning. Cary closed their eyes, only praying that the action would stop them from weeping openly. 

“You need rest,” rumbled the voice of the apothecary.

Another needle pierced their skin, and again they fell into a drugged sleep. 

-

The dream was formless, not a true thing. An unconscious space that had broken down. Someone was calling their name. They turned. Darkness seeped across the not-floor, it was below them, a roiling ocean, a black sea. There, down below them, a speck of white. They already knew who it was, they reached out their hands, but never seemed to be able to get any closer. They felt hands on their shoulders, strong, large hands. 

They tried to shrug them off, gritting their teeth and reaching again, gauntleted arm outstretched. Cary looked at their arms. Looked at their gauntlet. The chain.

Cary Kulikov, as they had done many times before, took aim upon their primarch and fired. The silver chain sprung forward, the four-pronged hook expanding out. It caught. The chain grew taunt. The servos on their arm whined as the motors pulled the chain back. 

He came up from the dark sea like a bat, reaching for them as they reached for him. There was a second where they saw his face, pale and gaunt, then the Primarch crashed into them like a solid wall. 

All again was dark. 

-

When they opened their eyes again, they had to take a second to think. It was not the same ceiling Cary had been helped to slumber under, where bright lumens had danced painfully before their eyes. In fact, the room was rather dim. There was a blanket laid over them, and what seemed to be a bed beneath them. 

Sleeping quarters, they thought, idly. Indeed, tilting their head they could see that their armour had been mounted magnetically to a storage rack. The rest of the room was small, spartan in its furnishings, though shelving space clearly existed for the occupant to make it their own. An Astartes-sized desk and chair, an ablutions chamber and of course a lone figure sitting politely on a stool. A young girl, probably belonging to the servant caste of the ship- probably about thirteen or fourteen years old. She had short blonde-white hair cut roughly above the shoulders, sky-blue eyes and a pale, voidborn complexion.

She peered at Cary, the hands on her knees just about peaking out from her sleeves. 

“You don’t look very frightening,” the girl said, sliding off of the stool. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” 

“I try my best,” Cary replied.

The girl looked at the door, suddenly still. Like an animal in a trap. Cary could hear the sound of plated boots coming down the corridor. 

“You’re not meant to be in here, are you?” They observed. 

The girl scowled at them, worrying her lip with her teeth. Cary nodded towards the ablution chamber. 

“Go hide in there. Sit down and don’t move. I won’t breathe a word,” they mimed drawing a cross over both sides of their chest with a finger. Cross their hearts and hope to die.

The girl scrambled into the chamber, clicking the door shut. Cary looked to the door. When it opened, only two people entered. One Ultramarine, and a young man- human. He was dressed in Imperial black, with an impressive amount of golden trim and fine decorations. His skin was dark, and his hair close-cropped to his head. Cary looked to his breast pocket, where an inquisitorial rosette sat plainly. 

“Good morning, Captain Kulikov,” said the young inquisitor. “I am Inquisitor Gael Casteter, I would like to ask you some things.”

Cary had never had a particular love for the inquisition. Torture a man enough he’d admit to anything, it was no way to reveal any kind of truth. 

“Can I ask some questions first?” Cary sat up, slowly. 

The Ultramarine watched them carefully, but did not reach for his weapons. He seemed taller than most other marines. Gael took the stool, recently abandoned by the girl. 

“You may.” 

“What has… happened?” They asked. “It’s been ten thousand years. Who still lives? Does anyone? The Primarchs, the Emperor?”

Gael looked at them with something approaching sympathy. 

“The God-Emperor lives, resting upon the Golden Throne of Terra. Lord Guilliman, returned to us from his stasis, serves as his Lord Regent.”

It took them longer than was comfortable to process this. 

“The Warmaster?” They asked.

“The Arch-Traitor Horus,” Gael corrected them, gently. “He fell to the ruinous powers, and with the traitor legions brought upon the Imperium a bloody war. Many were lost to us.” 

A thousand names came to their lips. Cary dared not speak them, as if silence would keep them alive. 

“Traitor legions?” They settled on.

“The Sons of Horus, the Emperor’s Children, the Iron Warriors, the Night Lords,” he paused to incline his head in the direction of their armour. “The World Eaters, The Death Guard, The Thousand Sons, the Word Bearers and the Alpha Legion. They joined Horus on his crusade, and paid the ultimate price.” 

Cary’s head span, blinking rapidly against the information. They didn’t want to believe it- they didn’t want it to be true, no matter how much it had to have been true. They had seen parts of it in visions, with their own eyes.

“The Sons of Horus,” they echoed. 

“You would have known them as the Luna Wolves,” the Ultramarine said.

Cary recognised the voice through the vox speaker. It was Elaius, the one whom the apothecary had chided. They rested their head against the metal wall behind them, closed their eyes. 

“I am sorry,” said the Inquisitor. “I understand this must be a shock.” 

“I have lost everyone I have ever known in the span of what feels like a day. Perhaps two at a stretch,” they said, without thinking. “I am a little more than shocked.”

Cary opened their eyes again, looking at Gael. 

“What did you want to ask me?”

He withdrew a device from his pocket, balancing it on his knee. They recognised it as a vox recorder, the green light meaning it had been listening to their conversation, likely from the moment Gael and Elaius stepped through the door. 

“I would like to hear your account, from the very beginning,” said Gael. “I am aware you knew Konrad Curze from a young age, I want to hear about your life.” 

Cary tilted their head.

“Why?”

“I am nothing if not a scholar, Captain Kulikov. It will also help me to keep you alive longer, many here already think you a heretic if only for the armour you wear and the geneseed you bare.” He smiled, kindly. 

“Everything then? From the very beginning?” They clarified.

“If you would be so kind.”

“Very well.”

[keysnocar]

“Why can’t I remember?”

“…”

My Transformers AU Prime Numbers: Lore drop bellow!! More soon.

——————————————

• 37 hasn’t said much to the others about how he ended up in the middle of their scuffle with the seekers, when they’d first met him and he joined the autobots.

• He'd explained briefly that he’d worked as a miner before the war, simply “sorting mineral content data for his supervisors beneath Iacon.” It made enough sense that they hadn’t wondered about it, they needed the extra servos, he needed to get out of the line of fire amongst that squabble- it had worked out at the time.. but he really hasn’t told them anything about how he ended up in that rubble at all- much less what he was doing wandering around a half decimated city many miles off from Iacon’s remains.

It was a vague history, sure. Even though 37 had only been with the bots for almost half a vorn now, if there was something really off with him, they’d have noticed by now…right?

• Ratchet was annoyed that he avoided his regular scans and after mission medical checks, but half of the outpost avoided his scrutiny anyway. It was no use pestering a grown bot over something he seemed to insist on writing off. But now that he thought of it, had he ever done a proper scan on the bot..? Ratchet supposed It didn’t matter really, His time would be better spent helping a bot that needed it, 37 was perfectly functional to his external sensors- no matter how distant he seemed to act.

• Elita did think it was unusual how he tended to simply..disappear. The others hadn’t seemed to notice when he’d quietly walk off and into the depths of the base in the middle of energized conversation like she had. That being said, The first time she’d found him in one of the storage hangars distantly attached to the outpost- it had been startling.

- She’d gone there seeking a moment of peace and isolation- only to be greeted with the rhythmic whirr of deep venting coming from above. Sure enough, there was what she could barely make out as 37, stuck up high in the rafters between dusty shelving…apparently recharging.

- Since then she’d been the designated ‘go find 37’ bot. She guessed it wasn’t so bad being the “37 whisperer” as Blurr had deemed her. What did she know-maybe he just..liked the quiet away from everyone else, like she did? He was nice enough, anyway. Polite, well spoken when needed, and he wasn’t so loud like the others, which was a plus. It didn’t bother her to go discover one of his new hiding nooks in search of him, as long as 37 wasn’t late for patrol.

• Magnus had scolded him countless times for lingering around Jazz, Mirage, and especially Skyfire- when he was meant to be doing a rescan of a specific sector’s Decepticon activity. Did the bot truly need to follow around the larger bots just out of noticeable range like a lost pet?

- Instead of in his usual work area or wherever else he hid- Magnus of course would spot him looming just a few feet behind the larger bots every other cycle it seemed. His face fixed with an off putting, sort of guilty expression. The commander had always felt a little off about the small bot, but he did good work- remained quiet when being instructed, followed orders, and seemed quite capable with handling and keeping track of the autobots slowly growing archive of gathered intelligence. Maybe the bot was a bit uncanny, but Magnus was never one to act on premonitions of familiarity.

• Sure, Sunstreaker could have bet cold hard fuel that it was 37’s small frame he saw in the dimmed light, during his night patrol of the base. Standing there, rummaging around the energon stores quietly. A small image in the corner of his optics before he seemed to notice being watched and disappeared. Though Sideswipe teased him into believing he was simply seeing things after a few days of cautiously glancing at 37 during debriefs with Commander Magnus. Even if it had been 37, everyone was entitled to a snack now and then.

• Blurr was starting to wonder what he was even reading all the time. How could a bot possibly sit still and pour over so many datapads without wanting to pluck off a bolt or two from the boredom? Who would pick ‘just some research’ over hanging out with another bot? The aspiring racer was practically burning with curiosity about what made 37 so calm, but Blurr had just kind of gotten used to it. He guessed it was alright to not know every last detail, as long as 37 kept Blurr’s embarrassing tendency to run into debris on recon missions to himself.

• Wheeljack considered himself a bit strange, so why would he fault 37 for his quirks? He liked having a bot to bounce his equipment upgrades and calibration changes off of who didn’t immediately walk away when he started talking physics.

- Maybe 37 didn’t say much, but he always at least pretended to intently observe all the diagrams and technical details of his abysmal base upgrading hopes. Which was more than could be said of the rest of the habitants of their outpost.

- 37 was actually quite Intelligent, even in solving Wheeljack’s issues with the infrastructure Decepticon occupation interfered with. He’d suggested rerouting needed shipments for the base through the old Core Miner ventilation systems, beneath the larger cities to avoid interceptions...why hadn’t Wheeljack thought of that..?

It seems to the Autobots that 37 is... acceptably unusual.

————————————————

Aren't we all? lol

Thanks for reading if you’ve gotten this far! Iva had a lot of trouble deciding how to go abt posting for this au, but I’m just going to hop and and see where it goes at this point. Gotta start somewhere :)

I wanted to include some of the other bots and their perspectives on 37, Ik it’s a strange format, but I think it does well enough to explain!

art above is mine. (This isn’t rlly edited so I might have messed up punctuation etc IM SORRY.)

@ghotstx gaslighting you into thinking this is the first time I’ve posted this

[mariacallous]

In the middle of the nineteenth century, filth of every kind accumulated on the streets of New York. The land was boggy and lacked proper drainage. Epidemics ravaged many of the city’s impoverished neighborhoods. In the summer of 1864, an inspection undertaken by a committee of concerned physicians yielded a seventeen-volume report that catalogued the conditions. One inspector noted that, in his assigned district, refuse filled gutters, blocked sewage culverts, and sent forth “perennial emanations which generate pestiferous disease.” Another observed that certain streets better resembled “dung-hills rather than the thoroughfares in a civilized city.” In response to the report, state lawmakers introduced legislation that led to the establishment, in 1866, of the Metropolitan Board of Health, one of the country’s first municipal public-health authorities. Upon its formation, the board immediately confronted a potential cholera outbreak. It established quarantine measures and administered new health ordinances that helped to contain the spread of the disease. Support for the new agency soared, and other cities began organizing similar authorities. The modern-day public-health movement in the United States was born.

An important revelation from the “great sanitary awakening” of the nineteenth century, as it became known, was that social and environmental factors could significantly affect people’s health. During the second half of the twentieth century, policymakers began turning their attention to issues such as product and workplace safety as a way to save lives. In the mid-nineteen-fifties, nearly forty thousand people were dying every year from motor-vehicle accidents. Attention was primarily focussed on the responsibility of drivers, but physicians and engineers pointed out that most of these deaths were, in fact, preventable through changes in automobile design. In 1965, Ralph Nader, a young lawyer who later became an activist and a perpetual Presidential candidate, published “Unsafe at Any Speed,” a book examining the ways in which automakers had failed to prioritize safety. It became an unlikely nonfiction best-seller, alongside Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood.” Nader’s reporting prompted congressional hearings and the formation of what is now known as the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. William Haddon, a pioneering public-health scientist, became the agency’s first administrator and oversaw the first safety requirements for new cars, including energy-absorbing steering columns, shoulder harnesses, and side-door beams. The ratio of motor-vehicle deaths to miles travelled by drivers in the United States plummeted.

The principal aim of public health is prevention. It takes its scientific cues primarily from epidemiology, which studies the prevalence of diseases and their determinants to shape control strategies. In the mid-nineteen-sixties, public-health practitioners began to incorporate these methods into a nascent discipline known as injury science, taking on problems such as children falling from windows, residential fires, childhood drug poisonings, and, beginning in earnest in the nineteen-nineties, gun violence. The premise is tantalizingly straightforward: utilize scientific data to identify risk factors and the most vulnerable populations, and adopt multipronged solutions to stop problems before they arise. When it comes to gun deaths, for instance, public-health interventions might include pediatricians inquiring about safe storage at home, and the government establishing waiting periods for the purchase of firearms and raising the legal age for gun ownership. The challenge comes in marshalling consensus for the kind of community-wide solutions that public health demands. This is where public-health initiatives have often floundered, including with guns.

In recent years, public-health researchers have begun to consider whether a new societal threat deserves their scrutiny: political violence. One of the researchers leading this effort is Garen Wintemute, the director of the Violence Prevention Research Program at the University of California at Davis, who has spent more than four decades studying firearm violence. Wintemute is a gaunt, bespectacled emergency physician. (He still works four or five weekend shifts a month at U.C. Davis’s hospital.) He is seventy-two years old but speaks with an almost childlike inquisitiveness when discussing research into violent death. Wintemute told me that, during the coronavirus pandemic, he and his researchers tracked a nationwide surge in firearms purchases, particularly among first-time gun owners. Even as the COVID-19 crisis began to subside in 2021, they noticed that people were still purchasing guns at unusually high rates. Baffled by the ongoing demand, he wondered, What the hell is this? He spent a week immersing himself in the available data on political polarization and its connection to violence. When he emerged, he concluded that the subject of political violence urgently needed study, because people seemed to be “arming up” and the result “could reshape the future of the country.” He eventually directed a third of his thirty-person team to spend at least some of their time on a new project: researching the possibility that people might resort to violence to achieve their political ends.

As with any public-health problem, the first task was to collect reliable data. Wintemute’s team conducted their first broad-based survey in 2022 and found that nearly a third of the population believed that violence was usually or always justified to advance at least one of seventeen political objectives—a list that included curbing voter fraud, stopping illegal immigration, and returning Donald Trump to the Presidency. Nearly one in five agreed strongly or very strongly with the statement that “having a strong leader for America is more important than having a democracy.” The willingness to justify violence was greater among people who identified as “strong Republicans” than those who identified as “strong Democrats.” Another study by Wintemute’s team found that nearly half of a cohort that they labelled “MAGA Republicans”—self-identified Republicans who voted for Trump in 2020 and believed the election was stolen—strongly or very strongly agreed with the statement “Our American way of life is disappearing so fast that we may have to use force to save it.” Wintemute also examined the threat posed by right-wing extremists who endorse racist beliefs and the use of violence to effect social change, and who express approval of certain militia groups such as the Proud Boys and the Oath Keepers. Within this small subset—Wintemute estimates it to be less than two per cent of the population—he found strong association with support for political violence and the willingness to engage in such violence.

Yet certain findings offered Wintemute reason for optimism. A survey published last month found that only 6.5 per cent of the population believes strongly or very strongly that a civil war is coming, and just 3.6 per cent that the “United States needs a civil war to set things right.” Both figures are roughly similar to the previous year’s findings, an unexpected result, given that 2024 is a Presidential-election year and political tensions have ratcheted upward. Wintemute also found that, of the 3.7 per cent of respondents who said they considered it very or extremely likely they’d participate as a combatant in a large-scale conflict, more than forty-four per cent said they would be “not likely” to join if they were dissuaded by family members; more than thirty per cent said they could be deterred if a respected religious leader urged them not to participate; and just under a quarter said they could be dissuaded by a respected news or social-media source. The implication, according to Wintemute, is “a large percentage are saying, ‘You can talk me out of it.’ ” That points the way to potential public-health interventions, which might include consistent messaging from the media, religious leaders, and others about rejecting political violence.

The threat of violence has hovered like a nimbus cloud over this election season. The spectre of the January 6th insurrection at the Capitol remains omnipresent, but the two most visible instances of violence during the 2024 campaign have been directed at Trump. On July 13th, during a Trump campaign rally in Butler, Pennsylvania, a man on a warehouse roof fired eight times at the former President. A bullet grazed Trump’s ear; one rallygoer, a former volunteer fire chief, was killed; two others were injured. Then, on September 15th, as the former President was playing a round of golf at his club in West Palm Beach, a Secret Service agent patrolling the grounds spotted the muzzle of a rifle poking out of the shrubbery along a chain-link fence. The agent opened fire and the gunman fled. After the authorities arrested him, they discovered that he had been staking out the course for hours. Democrats have also been targeted. In Tempe, Arizona, state Party officials recently closed a campaign field office after it was shot at three times in three weeks.

According to tracking by the Bridging Divides Initiative, at Princeton University, threats and harassment of local public officials surged in July. Despite this, violence by extremist groups, as reported by a different organization, the Armed Conflict Location and Event Data, has actually ebbed this year, likely because law enforcement has arrested dozens of members of these groups for their participation in the Capitol riot. It makes for a perplexing picture. Is political violence an imminent threat to Americans or not? Political scientists, applying their theoretical frameworks, have long made clear the reasons for concern, including the way the country’s deepest cleavages, over race, ethnicity, religion, geography, and culture, are now embedded in people’s politics; the weakening of democracy’s guardrails during the Trump era; and the spread of misinformation.

The promise of public health is that it rests on scientific data and offers pragmatic solutions. Treating political violence like a contagion could help safeguard the future of American democracy. And yet the same fractures that potentially drive political violence can imperil the collaboration needed to address public-health crises. They can also lead to the most dangerous symptom of all: a sense of helplessness. But, if we simply wait for the disease to strike, it may already be too late. 

[the-californicationist]

Hello hello! I got super happy once i saw your requests open again <3 i love your writing and i would love to see Price and a reader who is too recluse and uptight, cold and distanced. He somehow noticed she likes him and stuff and it turns into what you write best, something hot and more. Basically Price shaking some sense into her, breaking her down? I don’t know if this is too much detail and I don’t know if it gives any ideas. Feel free to ignore. Love you, have a best day 🧡

Thanks so much for the ask! This is really unique, and I like the concept. I'll do my best! <3 <3

TW: female reader, afab, cunnilingus

Price scanned the meeting room as his teams filed in. The 141's operations had grown, now that Shepherd was out of the way, and new recruits with a lot of promise had come in to aid in the operations. Gaz, Ghost, and Soap sat up front, reports prepped and ready to be handed out, the logistics team sat around Alex and Farah, and sometimes, when she wasn't out doing the dirty work, Laswell would hang around the back corner, arms crossed, watching the meeting unfold. But, he was waiting for you.

You were the newest addition. Your specialty with data analysis and reporting had meant a stream of fresh, sparkling intel that was immediately actionable and nearly allowed him to predict the enemy's movements. You were a magician, and you never talked over anyone's head. Very professional, but kind. Beautiful, even though you were not a fresh-faced youth.

You also had a body that would not let him rest. He'd taken more cold showers in the past two weeks than he ever took as a teenager, and his cock was in his hand, hard and drooling, hungry to bury itself between your thick thighs.

He tried not to stare, really, he did. But, you would wear those cargo pants, belted to your waist, and he could see where your generous ass stretched the tight canvas. The way your hips swayed when you walked across the base with your data-tablet made him want to fight someone for you, even though, as far as he could tell, there was no competition in sight.

That was part of the problem. You kept everyone at arm's reach. Well, that was about to change.

Price started the meeting and tried not to keep glancing back to you in your seat. You were listening diligently, doing your job, and he felt downright lecherous at what he was about to do...

"...and so we'll be pairing off for a full facility inventory."

Groans resonated throughout the team. Complaints flooded in.

"Check the board for your partner and meet in Hanger 3. We'll start in the back storage."

"Back storage! Cap'n, unless you're lookin' for flip phones and manuals from 2007, there's nothin' we need in there," Soap protested.

"Well, Sergeant," Price grinned, "We're about to find out. Spring cleaning!"

He felt someone's presence behind him, and when he turned, he was delighted to find you there, shifting from foot to foot, waiting to be heard.

"Yes, Corporal? Do you need something? Going to whinge about the inventory as well?" He joked with you.

"N-no. No, sir. I just... I checked the board, and you are my partner, sir."

Your eyes were wide and bright. You were staring up at him and clutching that data-tablet to your chest like a shield.

He threw an arm around your shoulder and walked with you side-by-side,

"I'm just pullin' your leg, Corporal. Let's get to it."

As you worked together, the ever-observant John Price noticed a few things. First, you would stare at him when you thought he wasn't looking. Second, you would move to the opposite side of the room to work if he decided to relocate. And third, you had a bad habit of chewing on your bottom lip when you got nervous.

"You'd be no good at poker, Corporal," he commented, stacking a set of boxes near you.

"What, sir?" You looked up at him, biting that poor, innocent lip again.

"That bottom lip gives you away," you fixed it as soon as he said it, but he forced you to sit with him and asked you, "Hey, what's going on? You're doing a great job here, but I can't help but feel like you're not keen on being a part of this team."

You shook your head, sighing,

"No, sir. It's not that. I love this team... I just..."

"Just what, Corporal? We're not leaving this storage crate until you tell me. You have a crush on one of my soldiers, or what?"

Fear, now. He could see it all over your face. He reached out tentatively and put a hand on your knee,

"Hey," he dropped his voice to a dark whisper, "It's alright. I won't tell anyone."

Your voice was so small when you answered him, but gods you were brave for answering him,

"Sir... it's you who I shouldn't tell."

Price's breath caught in his chest. All this nervous energy, all this seriousness... for him? You were nervous to be around him?

"Corporal..." He was stunned.

You stood up, quick as a flash,

"I'm sorry, sir. Please forget I said anything."

You were backing away towards the door, looking like you were ready to bolt, but he reached out and grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

"Me?" He stood above you, his body looming, covering you in the small storage room. It felt like it was getting smaller by the second.

You swallowed, nodding,

"Yes, sir..."

Price reached behind you and popped the metal lock into place, sealing you in,

"Mmm... Corporal, if you only knew how long I've been prayin' you'd say that to me."

"Wh-what? Really? Captain, I didn't --"

He put his thumb on your chin, pulling the skin so that your bottom lip would be freed from your teeth, and he bent to suck it into his mouth. He wasn't kissing you so much as he was working your full, lower lip, slowly and gently, taking it between his own lips and tongue, making you catch your breath.

"In here... I'm not your captain," he smiled, kissing you fully now, "And when I'm not your captain... you give the orders. We can stop, if you want to stop."

He let the news register, showing you how true it was, backing away a bit, giving you room to say no. Price watched your face as the information sank in. It was understood, analyzed, and filed appropriately in that beautiful brain of yours, and then, the results.

You set your tablet down on the boxes and took off your shirt. He still hadn't touched you, happy to let you drive. You pulled his face to yours, placing your hands on his furry cheeks, petting his hair and knocking off his hat until it hung around his neck on its string, almost letting him kiss you, but just before he could, you whispered into his open, gaping mouth,

"I don't wanna stop."

He kissed you, then. So softly it was almost chaste. He matched your energy. If you explored him with your tongue, he explored you just as far. If you spent time kissing his jaw and neck, so did he. After a few minutes of such restrained torture, though, he was breathing heavy, and his body was begging for more.

His hands rubbed across the tight muscles of your neck and down your arms before finally discovering your heavy breasts. He let them fill his warm palms, plucking softly at your nipples and making them harden beneath his fingers.

Price spoke to you as he kissed you, as he fondled you into pliant submission,

"Do you wanna stop, love?"

You shook your head, whispering back,

"I don't want to stop..."

He bent himself like the bough of a great tree, leaning to suck your sensitive nipple into his mouth. Price warmed it with his tongue, and put it between his teeth just enough to make you writhe. Then, he slid a huge hand between your legs and felt the heat you were hiding from him there. He sighed raggedly when he found it, like he had just dropped the weight of the world from his arms.

John pressed the canvas of your pants up into the spot where your folds would part, rubbing the seam against your center, making it shove your clit back and forth along its line, making it swell and tingle. You writhed beneath his teasing, moaning from it.

"Mmm. Do'ya wanna stop, love?"

"No, fuck, no. Don't stop."

He forced open your buckle with a swift pull, snapping the metal tines and popping open your button fly. Tucking his fist into the elastic of your panties, his fingers found their soft, wet prize.

The captain sighed again, that same ragged relief, and just before he opened his mouth to speak to you again, you clasped your hand over it furiously, and warned him,

"Don't you dare fucking stop."

He chuckled, but he said nothing as he sank to his knees, looping one of your legs over his shoulder as he began to eat from your body, hungry and thirsty and needy and ready to be full of you, smearing you all over his beard, smiling all the time.

If you liked this story, please consider buying a coffee for your favorite feral cat <3 Comments, reblogs, and kudos are also appreciated!

AO3 Link

[sunset-states]

To all the people who voted for trump; I wish the following things on you for the next 4 years.

-you are always sightly too hot or too cold

-both sides of your pillow are always warm

-your smoke alarm’s battery is constantly dying so you always hear a constant beeping sound

-the next time you try to hang something on the center of your wall you accidentally put it slightly off center

-you constantly get stuck in traffic after long days

-the next time you measure something your measurements are off

-whenever you are extremely board, your phone dies

-you loose your tv remote

-you get an infestation of a harmless bug like those really tiny ants

-the camera on your phone shatters

-whenever you go to the store for something specific, you have to go to multiple stores before finding it

-if you have a dishwasher, it stops working

-your favorite snacks aren’t in stock at stores

-you always have an itch somewhere

-you constantly get minor colds

-you can never seem to find what your looking for until you don’t need it anymore

-you constantly stub your toe on corners

-the graphite in your pencil keeps breaking

-glitter spills on your floor and now it is forever etched into your house

-you accidentally knock over a cup of water on your bed at night

-your favorite outfit gets stained

-you use up all your cellular data and don’t have any for a month

-the storage on your phone is always full

-your favorite restaurant stops selling your favorite dish

-your favorite tv show ends on a cliffhanger and than gets discontinued

-whenever you shuffle cards they never seem to be the same direction

-you get a bad haircut

But most importantly; I hope you regret who you have voted for.

[twipsai]

omega and silver fic is up! ill put the full thing under the cut yayyy

~

Days and weeks and months melted together, years going by as his body rusted and decayed, warping itself beyond repair as fewer and fewer people dared to enter the Flame Core, fewer caring to check in on them.

He wasn’t conscious for a large portion of it. How could he be? Why would he be? Any reason to stay present was gone.

So he sat. He waited. For what, he wasn’t sure.

…

And then.

And then one day.

One day, something new. The feeling of something stirring against his chest awoke him from a multi-decade slumber. It took minutes, maybe hours, for all of his systems to come back online. The ones remaining, anyway. Everything hit him like bullets— two lifeforms detected, tactile input detected, loss of ammunition, left shoulder joint disconnected, motor functions offline…

Everything buzzed faintly.

Finally, he could see again.

He shifted his cameras down to see…

“CHILD.”

The kid’s eyes flew open as he stumbled backwards from being curled up against his side. A scream erupted from the child’s body. Analysis showed he was a hedgehog, about six, not matching anyone stored within his database.

Though, there weren’t many people around who did, anymore.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Omega questioned, voice echoing unpleasantly against the cavern’s walls.

The child didn’t answer, his breathing picking up speed as his hands started to tremble. He fell to his knees, eyes wide and unblinkingly staring at Omega.

“I BELIEVE I MAY HAVE FRIGHTENED YOU. THIS WAS NOT MY INTENTION.”

It looked like the child couldn’t breathe, now, as if he was being strangled by an invisible force. He grasped a hand around his neck while tears rolled down his cheeks.

Somewhere in his data storage, something like a memory surfaced. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

At some point, someone he knew had something like this happen to them.

“INITIATING ‘COMFORT’ PROTOCOL.”

Through old, crackling speakers, a song started to play. Even with the terrible audio crunching, the piano still rang out as soft as ever. Slow notes drawled on. The lifeform behind him shifted. The child took about 3.49 seconds to visually indicate he had heard the music. His ears perked up and his terrified eyes softened. Over the course of six minutes and twenty-three seconds, the child’s heart rate decreased from 110 beats per minute to 100.

The first thing that tiny child squeaked out was, “Can you move?”

Omega responded after a moment to check. “NO.”

The child then slowly stood, inching forward on trembling legs to sit closer to the music. He leaned an ear to Omega’s chest where the sound crackled out from. He was way too warm for a tiny child, and if he wasn’t showing no other symptoms, Omega would have thought he was sick.

As the song steadily reached its conclusion, the child seemed about as relaxed as he was going to get.

“What is this?” he asked.

“GYMNOPEDIE NO. 1.”

The child looked up and squinted his eyes, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“IT’S A VERY OLD SONG FROM AN ESTIMATED 400 YEARS AGO.”

“A song? What’s a song?”

Omega was never very good at explaining the more… human aspects of life. The alive parts.

Others would be better suited to explain this.

He knew many that could’ve.

“A SONG IS TYPICALLY A COLLECTION OF NOTES PLAYED IN SUCCESSION TO CREATE A MELODY. WHY WERE YOU SLEEPING ON ME, CHILD?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I DO NOT CARE. YOU HAVE NOT ANSWERED MY QUESTION.”

The child’s grey quills flared out even more than they already had, and he fidgeted with the bandages around his wrists. “Your body is cold. It’s very warm here. I was just trying to cool off…”

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”

“I think it’s Silver.”

“YOU ARE NOT SURE?”

“No.”

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

“I’m trying to get to Crisis City.”

That was an unfamiliar location. Omega checked his residual memory, and cross referenced it with previous data he had archived. “THE RUINS OF SOLEANNA.”

“Um. Maybe?”

“THE HEART OF IBLIS. INQUIRY: WHY IS A TINY MEATBAG LIKE YOU MARCHING TO YOUR CERTAIN DEATH?”

Silver sat down in the place where his left arm should have been, under exposed wires sparking threateningly. This close, Omega could see the scabs on his knees, the blood soaking through the messily-wrapped bandages, the cuts littering his arms and legs, his calloused hands and feet— he could see the determination in his eyes as he folded his hands in his lap and furrowed his brows. “I'm going to defeat Iblis.”

If Omega could laugh, he would. “DOES NOT COMPUTE. SILVER THE HEDGEHOG: SMALL, MORTAL, POWERLESS. IBLIS: GIANT, IMMORTAL, POWERFUL. I ASK AGAIN; WHY IS A TINY MEATBAG LIKE YOU MARCHING TO YOUR DEATH?”

“Because I have to! I have powers no one else has, if there's something I can do, then I wanna help!”

“FURTHER DATA NEEDED. WHAT POWERS DO YOU POSSESS, CHILD?”

“Um, someone told me its called psy– psycho— um—”

“PSYCHOKINESIS.”

“Yes! Psychokinesis!”

There was no telling how powerful the child actually was. Omega knew better than to underestimate children at this point, when three had accompanied him on adventure after adventure before the flames had consumed the world.

They were children. Most of his companions were. 

His chest suddenly felt strange. Felt. He tried to run a diagnosis on his power core, only to find that it was still destroyed. Nothing had changed about his state. What made that feeling?

“Excuse me, uh… sir?”

“OMEGA.”

“Huh?”

“THAT IS MY NAME. E-123 OMEGA.”

“Oh. Well, your eyes are glowing.”

Strange. Someone once said that he was very expressive— he thought it was what she called “sarcasm”, but then went on to explain all the little things she noticed about him, and how he reacts to things. It seemed that, even with almost all of his functions offline, he was still finding ways to express himself.

“Omega?”

“WHAT.”

Silver looked up at him shyly. “Can I lean on you again? It’s very hot in here, and you’re very cool…”

“I LACK THE PROPER MOTOR FUNCTION TO STOP YOU.”

“That’s why I asked.”

A memory surfaced. Covered in rust and cobwebs and ash.

A very long time ago, he was carrying someone gently, as gently as he could. This person was tired— he had been through a lot that week. He could barely stand. So he carried him to his room quietly, trying his best not to tear the blankets he used to tuck him in. He must not have done a very good job at being quiet, because he woke up to a degree.

“Omega,” he mumbled, eyes still half-closed. “Don’t… don’t let anyone do anything to you. Even though you’re… you’re a robot… you should get to be your own person…”

He quietly took a step back. 

“YOUR MUMBLING IS INCOHERENT,” Omega replied. “TELL ME TOMORROW; I WILL STILL BE HERE.”

And he turned.

And left.

Silver, for one reason or another, was dragging up memories that he thought had been trapped in old storage. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t had a conversation with another person in over a hundred years. Maybe the long stretches of silence had a way of turning one into a poet.

“YES,” Omega finally replied, “YOU MAY LEAN ON ME.”

Silver crawled over his lap, smushing himself in between Omega’s in-tact arm and torso, forehead leaning against his upper arm. If Omega thought the child would listen, he would warn him about getting tetanus from his rusted fingers.

“I have a question now. Is that okay?”

“YES.”

“How old are you?”

“73,784.8 DAYS HAVE PASSED SINCE MY CREATION.”

“Uhhh… that’s a lot…”

Eggman didn’t program conversion to weeks, months, and years into his internal clock. Eventually it would stop counting up when it hit 999,999.999 days. It also meant that he had to mentally convert it himself. “APPROXIMATELY 200 YEARS.”

“Oh.”

…

The child looked up at him with impossibly large eyes.

“Oh! Were you around before Iblis was, Omega?!”

“YES—”

“Can you tell me about it?! Please! I’ve heard stories but— but not from someone who was there! You gotta tell me!”

Much to his dismay, Omega was finding this child amusing. And familiar. “WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW?”

“Um, um…” When he was in thought, Silver fidgeted with his poncho’s hem. “Tell me about the sky!”

“...THE SKY?”

“Yes!”

Omega hadn’t been outside for most of his lifespan— he had spent it in the Flame Core. But he did remember that— “IT WAS GIANT.”

A massive expanse that blanketed the entire earth. A constant in a chaotic life. No matter where you went, the sky followed.

“IT WOULD CHANGE COLOR. MANY COMPARED IT TO A PAINTING.”

The child looked up at him with wonder in his eyes, absorbing every syllable.

“IT WAS THE ONE THING IN LIFE THAT REMAINED.”

Absolute awe was written on Silver’s face. 

Omega could make a well-informed guess of what awaited him outside the cavern if he was ever fixed.

“Can you tell me about the people?”

“YOU ASK MANY QUESTIONS.”

“I haven’t gotten this many answers before.”

They were his companions. Teammates. Friends, though, that was pushing it a little, as one of them would say. After so long to think about it, to put his feelings into words, he came to the conclusion that he must have cared about them. They were almost all gone, now. Almost. But he could remember watching them from afar, completely captivated by how they moved. It was all just play to most of them. They would train against each other, race across continents, get takeout in the middle of a mission… Everything was just another day. They laughed in the face of danger. They stood tall. They cared.

Oh, how they cared.

“I BELIEVE THEY WERE NOT VERY DIFFERENT FROM THE PEOPLE OF THIS TIME.”

“No?”

“NO. THEY WERE ALL JUST PEOPLE. MUNDANE.”

Silver knitted his brows together in thought, then pointed past where Omega’s cameras could reach, behind the two of them. “Was he there?”

But he knew.

He knew.

Knew who he was pointing to.

“YES.”

“What’s his name?”

“SHADOW.”

“Why is he trapped in there?”

While Omega couldn’t see him in his position, he knew exactly how Shadow looked. Arms up and cuffed with giant metal rings, attached to a hexagonal cage that stretched over him in a diamond shape, glowing pink and white. The image was committed to his long-term memory.

Perhaps it was better he couldn’t turn to see.

“HUMANITY THOUGHT HE WAS THE CAUSE OF THE FLAMES OF DISASTER.”

Silver stood and walked behind him. The tingle of apprehensiveness of having his back turned to a sentient being was duller than he remembered. “Was he?”

“NO,” he could say for certain. “NO, HE WASN’T.”

“Then why did they do this to him?”

He could remember his claw gripping Shadow’s neck as he begged and pleaded for mercy. He remembered his body acting without his command as he unfeelingly attacked him. He remembered Shadow going limp on the floor, almost dead. He remembered watching as people crowded around him and quickly put him into stasis.

He remembered standing with him,

for centuries.

Maybe as an apology. Maybe because it was what he was built to do.

He remembered.

“HUMANITY FEARS WHAT THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND, CHILD.”

Quietly, Silver walked back to Omega’s side, leaning on him once again, and a little more curled up in his lap than he was before. “I know,” he said. “I know that.” 

Of course he did. Omega could have guessed that, especially in this world; this world that was dominated by terror. After all, Silver was here, alone, at six years old. Whatever reason he had for that couldn't be a pleasant one.

“YOU REMIND ME OF THE PEOPLE I FOUGHT ALONGSIDE BACK THEN.”

“Before Iblis?”

“YES.”

“I do?”

“YOU ARE MARCHING TO FACE IMPOSSIBLE ODDS. YET YOU REMAIN OPTIMISTIC. YOU STRIVE TO PROTECT A BROKEN WORLD THAT HURT YOU.”

Silver fidgeted with the hem of his poncho. His markings pulsed with light. “Even if the whole world was against me,” he whispered, “I'd still protect it.”

“I SEE. INQUIRY;”

“Mhm?”

“HOW CAN YOU FIGHT WHEN YOU KNOW YOU CAN'T WIN?”

For a long time, Silver stayed quiet.

He spoke slowly. “As long as I don't give up… there's hope.”

How optimistic. How cruel, for a child to say those words with a trembling voice. If Omega could, he'd weep. 

Then, he returned to his excited demeanor. “Hey, you know what? I could probably get Shadow out of there!”

“YOU COULD NOT.”

“I could try! If I could wake your friend up, then maybe—”

“CHILD.”

He stayed quiet.

“I MADE A VOW TO PROTECT THOSE I HELD DEAR.” He flickered some of the lights on his body on and off. “I BROKE THAT VOW ONCE. NOW, I WILL REMAIN HERE, BY HIS SIDE, UNTIL I AM GONE.”

Silver was practically curled up in his lap, forehead rested on his chest. His body temperature had dropped significantly since he had woken up. “Okay, then. Hey, I have another question.”

“ASK IT.”

“Can you make that ‘song’ again?”

How optimistic.

How cruel.

“YES. I CAN.”

The piano hummed through his broken speakers. It made ear-splitting popping noises occasionally, but Silver didn't seem to mind. He shifted so his ear was right above Omega’s internal speaker.

His companions would have liked Silver. It was obvious— maybe even Shadow would have. But they were separated by eons.

Omega only hoped the next time they met, it was for a kinder reason.

‘Hoped’...

Silver must have been rubbing off on him. 

[wyllzel]

get to know your tumblr mutuals tag!

i was tagged by @nfly5, thank you laura!! :))

1. what's the origin of your username?

i think wyll ravengard of bg3 fame and lae'zel also of bg3 fame should kiss and fall in love and ride dragons into the sunset (or, rather, the astral plane) together :)

2. otps + shipname

wyllzel 🥰 and vivwall (vivienne x blackwall dai) at the moment for sure!

i'm trying to think of more, but honestly i'm p easygoing when it comes to ships haha i'll take a peek at almost anything that seems compelling 🫣

3. song stuck in my head

"purple lace bra" by tate mcrae for uhhh no reason 🤫 and "feel it" by d4vd for also no reason LOL (🎶 you told me once that i was crazy i said babygirl i knooooowww but i can't let you gooo (away!) 🎶)

4. weirdest trait/habit

i have a growing aversion to cold drinks lol it's starting to feel odd drinking something that isn't hot... that's not that weird though, i think i'm just becoming a grandma LOL

5. hobbies

photoshop!! i like making gifs and edits and such :) i've also been writing a lot more recently which is crazy, i haven't felt this inspired or productive in forever :'D thank you DA lol 🩷

i am also v much a webtoon enjoyer (my all-time fave is "trash belongs in the trash can!" but i'm currently v invested in "nevermore," "i'm the queen in this life," "sisters at war," and "momfluencer"!), but i'll read manga (tatsuki fujimoto my GOAT) and comics (invincible also my GOAT)

6. if you work, what's your profession?

i write internal software documentation which means it's architectural, high-level design stuff... not so much code-specific, but the reasoning behind why software components are organized the way they are. it's not very fun, mostly mind-melting... i work closely w engineers and it's kind of a toss-up whether they'll be nice/patient or think i'm stupid lol

but my brain now contains so many company secrets :^) if you ever have any questions about data storage/virtualization i can possibly help lol

7. if you could have any job you wish, what would you have?

funny story—i applied for grad school, and i've been accepted to an english m.a. program that starts this fall!!! ��� we'll see where i go w that, but i'll likely enter education!

8. something you're good at?

uhh i suppose BG3 LOL i beat honor mode twice! 🎉 (i'm still trying to figure out how DA works 🤔 DA2 hard mode is chill idk if i'd ever do nightmare tho 😬)

9. something you hate?

ok it's not rly a "hate" thing but it does irk me when i see fandom claims/arguments that don't cite specific quotes/screenshots/instances lol (the english major in me activates and i am consumed by the thought "🚨‼️ where do you see this in the text 👁️👁️🫵" LOL)

10. something you forget?

the grief 😂🖐️ it creeps up on me! almost cried in my cubicle multiple times this week. haha.

11. your love language?

receiving is probably words of affirmation? giving is probably gifts, i like making silly things for my bestie (eg. fenris keychain lol) and finding weird stickers for my brother 🤡

12. favorite movies/shows?

my letterboxd top 4 are:

everything everywhere all at once (2022) (saw it twice in theaters and sobbed thru both times)

nope (2022) (BRILLIANT movie, so smart)

challengers (2024) (so fascinating!)

lust, caution (2007) (i need to rewatch this one expeditiously)

as for shows, i love succession (2018-23), invincible (2021-), and the twilight zone (1959-64)!

13. what were you like as a child?

apparently very friendly, outgoing, and extroverted! i would just run up to my fellow kids and yap at them?! i do nooot do that anymore lol

14. favorite subject in school?

english/literature!!

15. least favorite subject?

oh man, i was so bad at science, especially biology/chemistry... i could scrape by in physics bc i was decent at math, but it was still awful...

16. what's your best/worst character trait?

worst...??? according to my last annual review, i need to be more confident in the workplace LOL 💀 + sometimes i let my anxiety get the better of me... i think that's just a lifelong struggle thing though, but i know i can improve to be a better friend and such 💪

best... multiple reviews from mom-aged women say that i am a "nice" and "sweet" person so hopefully at least that means i can leave a good first impression haha

17. if you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

i'm not a huge fan of what-if-ing personally, but i do wish i were on vacation 😆

18. if you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

i'm currently very curious about my paternal grandparents... it's hard for me to conceptualize why they got married... and how my dad grew up... i guess i would want to witness some of that??

tagging: hello again haha!! @creaking-skull @andrewknightley @coolseabird @genderdotcom @bladeweave @grey-wardens @maironsbigboobs no pressure again :))