#like maybe this is a ‘we have the technology. we can rebuild him’ situation

[dynmghts]

So. Fuck it, we ball, let's talk about the consequences of Katsuki's actions.

(Vague) manga spoilers ahead! (It'll apply post-war though, so I'll do my best to graze over unnecessary details to get to my point.)

KATSUKI'S ARM: WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?

The short answer: Katsuki got up, chose violence, and in doing so, condemned his arm to a state of irreversible repair that'll stay forever.

The longer answer: The situation called for Katsuki to immediately jump back into the fray the moment he woke up. His arm was actually splinted before he headed into the fight, thanks to Best Jeanist being the best mentor taking care of him, but it's completely disregarded when he goes charging into the fight of his life.

By the end of it, his arm is barely holding together - it appears as though he can't really use it properly.

THE DAMAGE.

Let's assume, thanks to a general progression in medical technology in the My Hero universe, that Katsuki gets access to a range of care and therefore doesn't lose the arm. You can call it a miracle.

The damage sustained to it is still severe. We can only deduce what we know based on the damage prior and then the damage by the end of his fight, but the outcome of the fight isn't good; prior to his next battle, the arm is completely shattered and splinted to try and support the bones fusing back together. That sort of healing doesn't happen immediately, though, and by the time he runs back into the fight, the splint is disregarded - and it's likely that the bones have further shifted out of place.

It also looks as though there is serious damage to his muscle, and therefore, likely some damage to his tendons and his nerves; even if there was benefit of the doubt, Katsuki will have most certainly lost a bit of definition in his right arm. If we do give him some leeway because Manga Logic, he might get lucky and not need any muscle grafts and the muscle can rebuild itself, which would likely be the safest thing, since he would need surgery to reset and secure his arm in the first place. But if not... There's the risk of multiple surgeries to fix different issues.

Nerve damage is practically irreversible. Once the nerves are fucked enough, they won't be able to recover back to the state they were originally in, and that can manifest in different ways; it could lead to sharp, sudden pains. Maybe it's a temperature difference. Maybe they will not give as many signals, and so things are more noticeably muted compared to nerves that haven't sustained any damage.

Then, tendon damage is a toss-up - usually, it's pretty damn bad. The only solace Katsuki might get in that regard is that only select tendons are torn, and thanks to his younger age, he will be able to recover from them better.

So to recap: there is definitive damage to his bones - breaks and likely hair fractures accompanying them - and muscles. His nerves are highly likely to be damaged. Some tendons may have been lucky to be intact, but in the end, at least some of them are torn.

THE HEALING PROCESS.

There is just no way this is going to be completely solved in the matter of days.

Recovery Girl is a godsend in the universe, but she even says it herself, she just hastens recovery based on the energy that a person already has. She can't use her Quirk too much because that risks putting her patients into a more dangerous situation than they were already in. We also know that because it takes her several days to administer treatment, things will not be completely healed; for instance, Izuku's arm after the Training Camp.

If this is solved in days in the manga whenever it gets there, Katsuki has some massive plot armour and as much as I'm glad he's still around, Horikoshi, I expect at least SOME consequence.

So, the main idea is this: due to the complicated nature of the damage sustained, and the fact that this affects not just his arms but his joints (wrist, elbow, shoulder), Katsuki cannot make a complete recovery from the injuries. He's probably got some really nasty scarring from it too (which I will personally save for a separate post). He will say it's worth it. He'll say he can work around it. The issue is that he needs to take a lot of different precautions to ensure a proper and fulfilling recovery, and that may frustrate him, even if he follows it to a tee.

The first few days, he's in a cast. Until his bones are fully set and secured in place, he can't remove the cast, and he is in no way permitted to use his right hand. When the cast finally comes off, he's bombarded with different things he's allowed to do and things he is not: no lifting. No training. Movement is good, but always supported by a shoulder and wrist brace. If he is still in pain, he has to take a heavy dose of pain medication as specified by a doctor for the duration of his healing. It's also a daily visit with Recovery Girl.

Even after the main healing sequence is complete, he's told that he should give his arm more time to make a recovery on its own before he uses it. He spends the time that his arm is out of commission in learning to be ambidextrous, so he can use his left hand for things while his right hand cannot. He's permitted to do light exercises and has been recommended to try writing occasionally by an occupational therapist, but his handwriting - with both hands - is pretty sad for a while there.

And you might be thinking, hey, Cam, why can't he use his arm normally at this point? My answer is this: because Recovery Girl needed so much of his energy for the major damages, aka his breaks and any tendon damage and reversing at least a little of the nerve damage, she could not spare his energy to completely heal other areas. Think of it as... An incomplete healing process, due to the limitations of her Quirk and the energy required from Katsuki. And even if she continued for days after the initial treatment, any damage there would have reached a point that it cannot be healed in a convenient way. Katsuki needs to give himself time to heal normally.

When he's as healed as can be though, it's a few months after, and he's got most of his function back. He's allowed to start doing the things he did before. The catch? Katsuki needs a lot more support for his arm.

THE AFTERMATH: WHAT SUPPORTS DOES HE NEED?

On a pretty consistent basis, Katsuki will almost always be wearing athletic tape on his shoulder, elbow, and around his wrist. Athletic tape helps with supporting the muscles in that area which becomes vital after the healing is complete.

Rarer occasions call for the use of compressions and braces. Katsuki very often wears a shoulder brace when it comes time for him to wear one, and sometimes he has a wrist band that acts as a brace and compression - the reason these are the most important for him is because of the force that his explosions have on his entire arm. While yes, his elbow feels the blow, the joints that take the biggest brunt are his wrist and his shoulder. Through support students and outsourcing, Katsuki even considers built-in support on his right arm for his hero costume.

The rarest occasions call for cold or hot compresses. While they don't necessarily solve problems in the same way a brace might, they are there to help ease pain when it flares up; cold works best when it is nerve, and hot is better when it's muscle or tendon. Typically, he only has to worry about this when he's home. If he's on the job when it happens, he'll either find a window to apply it, or take pain medication and call it a day. He tries not to fight with it unless he deems it necessary.

(And most of the time, he is of a firm belief that he could chuck assailants into jail with one hand anyway. He's not wrong.)

So to summarise: Katsuki fucked up his arm, spent months healing it to a usable state, and while he still feels the effects, he wouldn't change a single damn thing about it.

[sleeplesshq]

Sleepy Hollow welcomes you, Blaster! We hope you enjoy your stay in town as we work hard to rebuild the unity that was once lost! Please send in your account within 24 hours to secure Simu Liu as your faceclaim!    

name: Sebastian Chen (Seb)

faceclaim: Simu Liu

gender & pronouns:  Cis-male He/Him

species: (if shifter, please specify which animal(s)) Sprite

age: 30

occupation: Holy Grounds Coffee Shop Owner? Or Barista

BIOGRAPHY

Born to sprites Helena Li and Carter Chen. Both being survivors of the war 50 years ago. Helena was a fighter on the front line while Carter tended to the wounded as they were coming in. Their first meeting was when Helena came in with a deep gash across their chest and Carter was the attending medic at the time. She thought that it would be the end of her fight, but he wouldn’t give up. From there, she would be going back and forth between the front line and the medic tent, and he was always being the one having to fix her up. Years later, after the war had ended, they got married and ended up having Sebastian.

Helena didn’t think twice when she volunteered to become one of the scouts for the town. She said that since she had already fought for the town to be built, then why shouldn’t she fight to protect it. Sebastian was 6 at the time and hadn’t seen her since. Carter does his best to raise Seb. He’s always looking out for the people around him. Doing what he can with little regard for his own safety. However, that does not make him a pushover. When things get serious, he knows how to take a stand. Maybe that’s why she picked him.

Seb took after Carter more than Helena. He learned what he could from Carter about how to control his Sprite powers. With enough practice, and with some help from the people at school, eventually Seb got the hang of it. There is the occasional gust of wind or sprinkle of rain whenever Seb gets emotional, but he’s been getting better at it.

Seb didn’t have many aspirations as a child. As many other sprites might, he had a certain love for plants and nature in general. As the times changed and with the information that came in from the scouts, he began to learn more about technology. Trying to combine sprite magic and technology was one of his favorite past times. Some inventions work and some “work”.

Seb wasn’t the smartest person around, but he made up for it through effort. Seb didn’t make time for university. He always felt a little guilty about his mother’s disappearance and for his father having to raise him on his own. He was self-taught and could only learn by borrowing books from the library and understanding information that came in from the scouts. He picked up jobs here and there helping people around town. Just like Carter, he enjoyed helping people around him regardless of his own safety. People often scold him for willingness to throw himself into rough situations, but they know that he won’t do something that he doesn’t believe he can handle.

Eventually Seb found his way into working at Holy Grounds Coffee. The combination of a good cup of coffee to go along with his books and the occasional interaction with people around town was perfect for him. If things weren’t busy, he often pulled out a book, practiced his magic, or tinkered with whatever invention that he was focused on that didn’t blow up. If the occasional person came in asking for a helping hand, you can bet that Seb would make some time for them. He probably got it from his father.

[prometheusinitiative]

MICHIYA USOKAMI || INTERVIEW

Michiya Usokami had waited so long for this to arrive. His interest in Ascentsy was surely enough to show them that he was fit for the Prometheus Initiative! So when he received the interview package, he squealed with delight! He sat in a dark empty room, curtains closed over the window that leaked bright light over the minimalist background. He sat in a rolling chair, leaning back as he watched with glee. Once the message was over, he shot his gloved hand out, pressing the round silver button a few times, just to make sure it began. He sits back in his seat and gives a gentle wave, ready to begin his interview. 

“What draws you towards working with Ascentsy? What can we offer you? What can you offer us?”

“Ohhh boy oh boy!” He rubs his hands together, hopping in his seat a little. “The good work you’re all doing to help rebuild the world is phenomenal! You could offer me the ability to work with technology and resources to make the world a better place!”

When asked what he could offer them, he spins in his chair 360 degrees with a giggle. 

“My genius intellect, of course! I am an inventor! The dreamer of dreams! Creator of… dreams! With my mind, wit, and cunning, I’ll be the best Ascentsy employee you’ll ever have! Prommy!“ 

“Do you consider yourself more of an independent worker, or a team player?”

“Oh I love people! They’re so fun, and interesting! I’m used to being the cool, red haired lone wolf of a pack, but I adore working with others! Soooo… Yeah, I’m a team player. I simply haven’t found my team yet…." 

Michiya reaches up to wipe an invisible tear, melancholy at his lack of teammates. 

“Where do you see yourself a month in the future? A year? A decade?”

"Oooh! Oh! I love this sort of question! Got this at job interviews like all the time! Let’s see…" 

He rubs his chin, swaying back and forth in thought. 

"In a month, I see myself in your facilities! I’m an Ascentsy employee helping you with the Prometheus Initiative! In a year, we together with a pretty cool team of super geniuses such as myself, are rebuilding the world after the disasters that plagued it! Oooh.. And in a decade? I see myself as a board director, maybe head of an engineering branch? Aging gracefully and deliciously like fine wine!”

“A paranatural disaster strikes the building– the first things you notice are how the lights cut out and the air grows thin. What’s the first thing you do? Anything you’d prioritize?”

“Ohhh my gosh! That sounds terrifyingly fun!" 

His eyes glimmer with delight as he imagines the situation. Then, almost on a flip of a dime, Michiya grows serious.

"Well loss of electricity is manageable. What isn’t manageable is low oxygen! The threat of hypoxemia is very real, and very scary! No panicking, as hyperventilating can make it worse! You can restrict the oxygen in your blood and even in your tissues! The first thing that would be prioritized is the oxygen situation! Finding a low ground opening like a window or a door might be a good starting point, if the air is only being restricted in a building! Also medical kits for breathing apparatuses would also be a go-to way to start!" 

He chuckles. 

"No starting fires to light the way, either! That’s no good!" 

“Tell us about a time you experienced failure, and what you learned from that moment.”

Michiya stares at the screen for a moment. Pale green eyes dig into the computer screen, almost begging for the interview to be over. He doesn’t fail, and if he does fail, he certainly doesn’t like to share that he does. He leans back in his seat, idly circling around on its wheels. A lightbulb goes off above his head as he straightens up, nodding excitedly at the screen once again. 

"This one time, I was part of a robotics team! We were doing these vicious cage matches against the opposing team! I was so proud of the bot I created! I named him Beepo…" 

Michiya sighs with nostalgia.

"Anyways! Beepo was the littlest runt of his whole entire bot family! He only had two small spikes on his front… He was very small, and very very sad. He lost his first battle! It was brutal, as he was torn to shreds! I cried for, like, three hours. But!" 

He spins once more for dramatic pause. 

"We have to break things down to build them back up! Better and bigger and stronger! So that’s what I did! I went back to the drawing board! I took the internal pieces of my baby Beepo and made him strong. I reinforced his body with scraps I found at the junkyard! I even built him a sawblade to protect himself! When the next battle rolled around, my Beepo was no longer little! He was big Beepo! And he destroyed, like, three bots!" 

He sits back, crossing his arms with a passionate nod. 

"When I fail, all that means is you’ve been given the chance to rebuild. Everything has a chance to be salvaged! Even a high schooler’s tinker toys." 

Michiya felt satisfied with his final answer, and he gives the briefcase another wave. 

"Thank you for this opportunity! You know I’m a rearin’ to go over here! I also have a resume if you need me to send that too! Oooh! Also! I can lick my elbow! And I know three languages! Oh! I also know how to survive in the woods aloneee!" 

“Thank you for your response. Please return this case by the same means it was delivered to you. We of course have already covered the cost of delivery. Should you be chosen for the program, you will be hearing from us soon.”

Michiya reaches out carefully, closing the case once the message had concluded. His toothy grin softened as he sighed with satisfaction. If they didn’t hire him, they would be fools! 

[king-there0f]

Hands u a fucked up little guy

[phoenixyfriend]

I’ve been trying to figure out the best obi wan ship. They all have one slightly problematic thing this way or that. I’ve landed on the idea of obi wan and an equal is pretty top tier. But then I saw a picture of Coran from voltron. Coran and Obiwan might be a disaster but also both are dad shaped, both are bad ass, both are ginger, both have an accent. I think it could work. But another part of me is like Coran is just obi and jarjar mashed together. At the very least they hooked up.

Hey I just had restaurant ramen and Starbucks and actually feel like a human being so let's do something unnecessary but funny. I'm taking this as a challenge, anon.

Also IMO Coran has more in common with C3P0 than with JarJar

So obviously, both of these happen in Big Space, but the difference appears to be density. We see about the same complexity of culture and species interactions, but Voltron covers more galaxies. It's vaguely implied that Earth, at least, is the only planet with sapient life in the Milky Way.

I think the way I want to play this out, culturally, is that the Voltron area of the universe covers a much wider, but much more sparsely populated area, while the SW-verse is just the one very densely populated (in part because apparently humans just went Literally Everywhere) galaxy, where they didn't necessarily bother with developing the tech to go to other galaxies (except Rishi, which only sort of counts) because they haven't really even charted out their own yet. It was never contacted by the Voltron side of things because [checks notecards full of excuses] it's really far away from Altea and all that, and the Force shielded the galaxy from Galra interests because Reasons.

All this to say that the two franchises didn't interact until after the Voltron plotline was already over. We'll say it went mostly canon, except Allura survived because uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuck that.

We'll say that this is mid-TCW, you know, before Obi-Wan is a bundle of repressed traumas and bad coping mechanisms that's lost almost everyone he's ever loved to the dark side through death or corruption. He's still (mostly) okay! Anakin's not dark (or at least, not as dark as he could be; Obi-Wan doesn't know about the Tuskens), and Ahsoka's still in good standing and most people are alive and--and okay the army is a massive ethical violation he hates with his very soul and he misses Qui-Gon and Anakin's keeping secrets and pulling away from him every day but He's Fine, Guys.

He's Fine.

In comes a ship from not Wild Space, but beyond that. Intergalactic visitors, from the direction of the deeply concerning Force bullshit they felt a few years ago. Translation tech is decent enough on both sides that they get to talking pretty quickly. The explorer is actually a member of the Blade of Marmora, who gets the absolute most basic info (approximately this many inhabited planets, approximately this many trillions of sapients in the recorded galaxy, basic structure of the government for the past however many years, most recent conflict, etc.)

BoM person is like "cool, okay so you guys are really well set-up so I'm just gonna head back and kick this up a few rungs of the coalition ladder because this is way above my paygrade, I'll make sure you get some diplomats who can maybe help out with the whole galactic civil war situation as neutral parties."

The Voltron Coalition does send a diplomat! They, uh, also send Coran, who isn't technically a diplomat, but he's high-level.

The thing is, okay, that Coran is mostly just... passably competent at things. He's a jack of all trades, master of none type. He knows a lot of things, actually, but his practical knowledge in high pressure situations tends to be up in the air. He knows how to fix the Castle Ship and various technologies, but all of that info is ten thousand years out of date. He was a competent fighter at one point but these days his back gives out. He's very knowledgeable regarding intergalactic politics but, again, that information is ten thousand years out of date. He's also a little prone to social gaffs in dicey situations (e.g. the inciting incident in the Voltron Show episode where he misses the single day with clear skies), but puts in so much goddamn effort to make things happen.

In this manner, he's like a warped mirror of what Obi-Wan is and could be.

THAT SAID

Coran is actually really good with teenagers, and specifically with training them.

And Obi-Wan... isn't.

Obi-Wan's snarky and snippy and sassy, and he's decent enough at teaching and he's great at being a jokey friend and all, but he's not necessarily very good at emotions. And unfortunately for Obi-Wan, the teenagers he spends the most time with are Really Full Of Emotions. He tries, bless him, but he's just... he doesn't respond well to emotional conversations at the best of times.

His son-figure saying "You're like a father to me" leads to a response of... radio silence. Guys. That's not the mark of a man who knows how to talk about his feelings with the people he cares about.

In swans Coran with the various other diplomatic envoys of the visiting extragalactic community. The entire situation is really leading to a lull in the war because nobody wants to risk pissing off this clearly well-funded, well-powered third party. As a result, many of the High Generals can interact with the envoys, even if they spend quite a bit of time eyeing the Separatist representatives on the other side of the room, because clearly Everyone Needs A Seat At This Table.

It's a very tense situation.

Obviously, Coran is exactly the weird uncle that goes around telling plausibly-exaggerated stories about Weblums and Yalmors and Balmeras. I'm going to say at least one former Paladin is there, maybe Hunk. Hunk's fun, and also very willing to help Coran make friends and seem Amicable instead of Distant by correcting some of the exaggerations. There's a nice, calm atmosphere in a bubble around Coran and his nonsense, and it's a weird situation but arguably just... you know. It's good. He's good at making people feel safe around him.

Cue the hissed argument between Skywalker and Kenobi. The actual cause of said argument isn't important, just the fact that, in a dark corner where they're less likely to cause a PR issue, Anakin and Obi-Wan are having it out. Anakin's maybe twenty, still a lanky ragebaby, all that fun stuff. Obi-Wan is a the endpoint of every too-young brotherdad. He's thirty-six but feels like he's sixty-three. He's tired, but trying so damn hard to still connect with Anakin and just--just--

Obi-Wan gives himself a few minutes to calm down before following Anakin. He doesn't even remember what they were arguing about, really, but he has to mend the bridge before it frays even more than it already has. If Anakin goes to Palpatine for advice again, he's going to... do something. Obi-Wan isn't sure what, but he just has to fix this.

What he finds is... well, Anakin did end up going to vent to a man of an earlier generation who acts like a slightly eccentric older relative, but it's not Palpatine for once.

The goofy, slightly abrasive but mostly charming, brightly-colored representative of the Voltron Coalition is standing in the little balcony that Anakin's made it to, listening as Obi-Wan's recently-knighted padawan vents. The man nods and makes noises at the appropriate times, and then asks questions that are... maybe a little too accurate.

"You said that you view him as a father, that he raised you after you left your mother."

"Well, yeah, but he doesn't think I'm ready, or--"

"No parent ever does."

"...my mom thought I was ready to become a Jedi."

"I can't speak for your mother," the representative says, "but the princess of my people, Allura... I half-raised that girl from the beginning, and after the destruction of Altea, we were all the other had left. I watched her lead battles and bring life to planets, trying to rebuild a universe out of the ashes of what we'd left behind... I saw the evidence with my own eyes, and I still, every time, I worried for her."

"Why?"

"I worried that she'd be hurt, that she wasn't ready, that she'd make a decision she regretted. Often, she did, and I had to help her back up, and while she's always come back, stronger than before... she is the closest thing I have ever had to a daughter, and I will always worry for her. Every parent does. Do you think, perhaps, that your own Jedi Master, that you consider a father, may worry because he looks at you like a son? That it's not that he doesn't trust you, but that he doesn't trust the world around you?"

Obi-Wan feels his heart in his throat.

The conversation continues in that vein. While Obi-Wan can't say he likes the fact that this stranger is putting words in his mouth, if only as hypotheticals, he can't deny that there's a part of him that relaxes as Anakin does, as every frustrated fresh-knight question gets a measured elderly-steward response that's angled to consider the interpretation that favors Anakin and Obi-Wan in equal measure. Every word encourages Anakin to talk things out and lay boundaries and express his frustrations to Obi-Wan in the plainest words possible.

There's a story in there, more than one. The representative tends to go off on tangents, ones that Anakin sometimes finds interesting and sometimes just resigns himself to. Mostly, though, it goes well, and Obi-Wan... well, he's always been 'a nosy little bastard,' according to quite a few people.

(In his defense, the terms they'd used about Quinlan's 'investigative personality' had been quite a bit stronger.)

He eavesdrops to the end, and Anakin doesn't notice at all. Obi-Wan's not sure if he should try to address Anakin's lack of awareness of the world around him. He's not technically Anakin's master anymore. The comment may be taken as a criticism of his worth and capability, rather than a sincere desire to see his padawan not die.

He approaches the representative instead. He intends to introduce himself. Instead, the first words that tumble out of his mouth are:

"How do you do it?"

The man--older than he looks from a distance, more wrinkles than the bright hair would suggest, but not quite elderly yet--turns and lifts a brow. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry, I'm--" Obi-Wan grimaces. "I'm Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. The young man you were just talking to is my former padawan, er, my former apprentice. I've been finding it harder and harder to speak with him over the past few years, and it seems that every interaction we have leads to an argument. How do you... manage that? I can't get him to listen to me at all."

"Ah, teenagers," the man sighs.

"He's twenty."

The representative pauses, and turns to him. "Are you the one he says raised him? The father?"

"Well... yes, I suppose that's one way to phrase it," Obi-Wan says, eyes darting to the side. He doesn't know how to explain the whole attachment situation to someone who barely knows what a Jedi is. He has even less of an idea of how to explain his own broken ability to speak of emotion, the parts of his mind that Bant clucks over and attributes to his own complicated relationship with Qui-Gon. "I had custody as his primary guardian from ages nine to nineteen and was the primary individual for handling his schooling, health, and general upbringing."

"That sounds to me like a very convoluted way of saying you were his father in all but name."

Obi-Wan grimaces. "I'm not exactly old enough to be his father, and I wasn't exactly the person he was supposed to learn from; I was the... back-up option."

"It seems he cares for you very much."

"He didn't have much of a choice," Obi-Wan says, with the kind of helpless smile and awkward shrug he's long gotten used to sharing with people when they ask. "And I assure you he'd have been happier with the man that was meant to teach him."

"I'd say that the 'would have' in this situation is much less important than what is," the representative says. Obi-Wan probably should have paid more attention to his name. "I wasn't in a position to define my relation to Allura or her father in the way that truly suited our situation, by... oh, tradition, social norms, public relations, take your pick. I was a very well-regarded official, of course, but I wasn't royalty, not even nobility, and I certainly wasn't wasn't legally or publicly part of the family. But for all the limitations there, I was still able to find ways to tell her and her family what they meant to me, and they in return. Your apprentice cares for you very much, and I'm sure you care back, but I'd hazard quite the guess that you've no idea how to tell him that."

"I... I shouldn't," Obi-Wan says. "I'm fond of him, of course, but I've no wish to smother him, and to simply say it would be undignified. I imagine he'd laugh in my face."

The representative raises one eyebrow and takes a sip of his drink.

"Master Kenobi," he says carefully. "Might I suggest you go find your young man, tell him you love him, and perhaps give him a hug?"

Obi-Wan's face flares red. It's been years since anyone short of Yoda has spoken to him like that.

"I'm not a child," he sniffs, trying to angle enough away that the blush isn't as noticeable. He's damnably prone to such things. "You're not that much older than me."

The man laughs, and Obi-Wan lifts his glass to his lips in a futile attempt to hid the embarrassment a little more. "Oh, not counting the stasis, I've well reached the age of six hundred and twenty-four, my boy!"

Obi-Wan chokes on his drink.

The man laughs a little more, but thumps him on the back until he's breathing normally again.

"Yes, most of the humans I've told have had quite the reaction!" the representative assures him. "But yes, even with the times adjusted to what any given local year is, I am significantly longer-lived than most species."

"No kidding," Obi-Wan manages. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and looks over at the representative. He takes in the wrinkles and bright eyes, and says, "Well, I must say you look very well for a near-human of such an age. I can only name one person in that category that has managed better, and I haven't seen her since I was a child."

"I shall take that as the compliment it's intended to be," the representative says, twisting the edge of his mustache and beaming.

The man is... well, goofy, really, and quite a bit older than Obi-Wan had thought, but he's quite the charmer. Obi-Wan faintly compares him to a few different people in the back of his mind, but nothing quite fits. For all that the man is quite the jokester and--going by some things he'd seen from the corner of his eye in the main party--a master of physical comedy, the representative is actually more competent than he looks, and for all his visible age, not bad to look at. He is also, seemingly, an expert in dealing with teenagers and young adults, something Obi-Wan himself is... decidedly not.

He really should go speak with Anakin.

And there's a war to fight.

He doesn't really have much time, even with the recent lull.

He's in no place to be looking at the clean-shaven jaw and wondering what it would feel like under his lips, or to let himself consider whether this man would be the kind to have an hours-long discussion as to the narrative forms common in other galaxies, and whether they have anything paralleled to those in Obi-Wan's own, or if this man would show the same enthusiasm over teas that he'd shown over the hors d'oeuvres inside.

He should... really go find Anakin.

"I suppose it's time to find my padawan," he says, more to fill the air than anything. "Er... thank you, both for speaking with him, and for speaking with me."

"Not a problem at all, Master Kenobi!" the representative says, and Obi-Wan realizes that there's one last thing he may have... forgotten.

"This is terribly embarrassing, but I don't believe I caught your name?" Obi-Wan says.

"Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, at your service!" the man says, with a sweeping bow. "As you can imagine, most simply call me Coran."

"Then I insist you call me Obi-Wan," he says, and before he can stop himself, "Might I bother you with an invitation to a shared tea time? You seem a knowledgeable fellow, and I'd appreciate the chance to... eh, pick your brain, shall we say."

It's not the smoothest come on he's ever put out there, or the most easily interpreted, but... well. Perhaps it's for the best. He's rather often found his tastes going in irresponsible directions, and it'll be much easier to brush this off without diplomatic incident if there's room for Coran to politely ignore the less platonic options.

Obi-Wan hopes he doesn't.

It's very selfish of him, but a dalliance with an older gentleman... well. He does, perhaps, make such irresponsible decisions, even now.

"I do believe I'd enjoy such a thing!" Coran enthuses, grabbing Obi-Wan's hand and shaking it in large, effusive movements.

Oh, this is a terrible idea, Obi-Wan thinks, even as he exchanges comm numbers and says goodbye.

Still.

He likes the idea of having at least a little fun, sedate or less so, while they have some time to themselves.

[tmngoose]

Some Assembly Required: a Rottmnt story

Remember this post? Well, I decided to clean up what I had and show it to y’all. This was supposed to be a much longer story, but back when I was writing it, I jumped ship for a different fic I was working on and never came back OTL Characters: Donnie, Mikey, Raph, Leo, April, Shelldon, Draxum, Huginn & Muninn (albeit super brief) Tags: Lab accidents, fires, minor injuries, hurt/comfort, obscure UHF reference I won’t be uploading this to Ao3, so you can read it under the cut :U

For the longest time, Donnie dreamed of the perfect lab partner. Though Shelldon was an impeccable assistant, there were moments where Donnie longed to work side-by-side with another scientist. Someone with a thirst for knowledge! Someone who shared his passion for all things technical and methodical; a scientist, just like he considered himself to be! 

To think Baron Draxum would be Donnie's long-awaited lab partner was not a scenario the Softshell had ever fathomed. Still, it was one he accepted with great enthusiasm. 

Draxum and Donnie saw no reason to doubt their capabilities. However, the rest of the family remained wary whenever the two of them went off meddling in the lab. With April's help, Raph, Leo, and Mikey devised a strict set of guidelines to ensure Donnie and Draxum wouldn't get into too much trouble. 

"Scoff!" Donnie threw the hefty packet of rules down at his feet, offended. "What do you take us for: a pair of unhinged Frankensteins? Y'know, it'd be nice if, just for once, you guys would have a little faith in our scientific endeavors!" 

"It's not that we don't trust you guys," April explained, "It's just... you guys tend to get a little carried away with your projects, that's all!" 

"What's that suppose to mean?" 

"The last time Barry was in a lab, he created the Oozesquitos," April folded her arms, "And don't get me started about the time you messed with your brother's brains."

"Okay! I get it!" Donnie sighed. He picked up the packet of rules and flapped the dust out from its pages. "We won't get carried away: Todd scout's honor." 

April smiled, "Thanks, Dee." 

"Yes, well, if you'll excuse me, Draxum and I were just about to partake in our latest  scientific acquisition: Professor Philo's Chemistry Set for the At-Home Scientist!" Donnie started off for his lab, tucking the packet into a compartment in his battle-shell.

April shook her head, smiling as she headed inside the living room, where the sounds of 8-bit gaming welcomed her. Raph and Mikey were too invested in whatever racing game they were playing to notice April. 

"Soo, how'd it go?" Leo asked from his beanbag chair. "Is Donnie mad that we're afraid he'll bring Potatozilla into existence or what?"

"I say he handled it pretty well!" April plopped herself down in the recliner. "I told Donnie that we just wanted to make sure he and Draxum toned it down a bit, that's all." 

"See? I told you he'd listen to April!" Mikey grinned smugly at Leo.

Leo rolled his eyes, "Whatever." He went back to scrolling his social feed on his phone, "I'll believe it when they don't create a giant mutant potato or somethin'."

"Be nice, Leo," April swung her legs over the armrest. "We've gotta have a little faith in 'em. Besides, I've never seen Donnie this happy since-" 

KA-BOOOOOOM!!!

A powerful tremor shook the lair, taking everyone by surprise. The trinkets Splinter's 'Do Not Touch' cabinet rattled and shook, a few of the lighter items clattered to the floor. April held onto the armchair with Raph steadying it before it could topple over backward. Mikey hid inside of his shell out of reflex as Leo jumped to his feet, prepared to face whatever threat was upon them.

"Omigosh!" Mikey exclaimed, popping his head out of his shell. "What was that?!" 

"You don't think DIGG's tryin' to take down the Kaufman Coliseum again?" Raph frowned, trying to rub the ringing out from his ears. 

"Um, guys?" Leo sniffed the air, "Does anyone else smell something burning, or is that Raph's 'Taken-By-Surprise' stink?" 

Raph sniffed at his underarm, "Nope. It's not me!" 

April and Mikey took a moment to smell the air, their noses wrinkled at the familiar acrid odor of smoke. 

And smoke could only mean one thing: something was on fire. 

Oh no! Donnie! Barry! April's stomach dropped over the thought. She bolted out of the living room with Raph, Leo, and Mikey right behind her. "Please let it be a giant mutant potato!" 

It wasn't a giant mutant potato. 

By the time they entered the atrium, a thick cloud of smoke had spilled out from the mouth of Donnie's lab, billowing up into the rafters above. Although they couldn't see it, they could hear the fire roaring from deep within the lab.

"Mad Dogz!" Raph barked, "Initiate ‘Fire Safety Plan Alpha!’"  “FSssPAH!” Mikey pronounced the acronym from the back of the group.

But before Raph could lead the rescue, Draxum leaped out from the smoke carrying Donnie in his arms; their matching lab coats singed. Shelldon flew out, not too far behind, with Huginn and Munnin holding onto his back. 

"Barry!" April ran up to the soot-stained alchemist. "What happened?! I thought y'all we're gonna take things easy? Didn’t y’all read the packet?!" 

"We were," Draxum rasped, passing Donnie's limp body into Raph's arms. "If it weren't for a pair of idle hands." He gave his gargoyles a sharp look while removing the safety goggles from his face, leaving clean rings around his eyes.

Munnin's wings sagged, "The instructions weren't joking when it said 'everything in this chemistry set is a fire hazard.'"

"Yeah, including the instructions," Huginn hung his head, "Our bad."

"So, how're we suppose to handle this whole situation?" Leo asked, gesturing to the raging inferno that was (formally) Donnie's lab.

"I'm on it, dudes!" Shelldon replied, concentrating on his emergency protocols hardwired into his drives.

The fire-alarm system blared to life. Then came the hissing of the sprinklers going off and the gush of extinguishing foam spraying deep within the lab. Slowly, the smoke was beginning to ease up, much to everyone's relief.

Slowly, Donnie began to stir, groaning as he slowly regained consciousness, "Ugh... what? M-my lab..." His confusion morphed into panic as he realized the severity of the situation. "My lab!!" He squirmed feebly in Raph's arms, mortified.

"Woah, take it easy," Raph held Donnie against him, firm enough to subdue him yet careful not to hurt him. "That chemistry set of yours nearly got you guys barbequed." 

Donnie frowned, "No, you don't understand!" His eyes stung with tears as he thought of his life's work gone in a blaze of unsupervised stupidity. "Everything's ruined!"

"Hey, you don't know that for sure!" April gently touched Donnie's shoulder. "Besides, what's important is you're both okay!" 

"April's right," Mikey agreed, clinging to Draxum's side, "We're glad y'all made it out safely. A little flambéed, but you get the idea."

"But my lab," Donnie emphasized. 

"Lab shmab, we can worry about that later!" Leo nudged Draxum with his elbow. "For now, let's focus on getting you toasted marshmallows taken care of."

"Yeah, what Leo said!" Raph adjusted Donnie in his arms, heading for the bathroom where the first aid kit was kept. "Just you wait; maybe it's not as bad as you think!"

                                                            -x-

Raph's sense of judgment was always a mixed bag, and this time, he couldn't have been farther from the truth. 

The lab was a smoldering mess, virtually unrecognizable to the Turtles, Draxum, and April. The walls were blackened, and the smell of burnt wiring and computer parts hung sourly in the air. Puddles of foam and water gathered in parts of the floor, adding to the disarray.

Donnie searched desperately for anything salvageable, but the prospects were slim to none. The bandaged Softshell approached the remnants of his workstation, absolutely gutted. He reached for what was once a prototype for a new battle shell, but it crumbled into ash in his hands. 

"Alas, this must've been what it felt like to lose the Library of Alexandria," Donnie mourned poetically, sinking to his knees. Shelldon drifted up to his heartbroken creator, pressing his head against Donnie's side like the loyal drone he was.

"Okaaayyy, so it's a little charbroiled in here," Leo cringed. "But if anyone can fix this, it's you!" 

"Do you have any idea how long that'll take me?" Donnie moaned, overwhelmed by the daunting task. "It took me years of refurbishing junk and computer parts, and now I have nothing! Zilch! Nada! No equipment, no materials, no anything!"

Donnie's outburst left the others speechless. They had seen him upset before, but nothing to this extent. 

Quietly, Draxum approached Donatello, "As someone who has lost their life's work twice, I understand your plight," he said, joining the turtle on the floor. "However, unlike myself, you are fortunate not to face this endeavor alone. You have your friends, your brothers, and... your lab partner," Draxum looked off to the side, somewhat flustered by the sentimental mushiness his words implied. 

"Draxibald's right, Donnie!" Mikey beamed. He was so proud of Barry for stepping up to the plate. He popped up in between them, slinging his arms over their shoulders, "You've got us to help you! We'll have your lab up and running in no time!"

Leo smiled, "Yeah, with you bossing us around, we can totally get the job done!"

"But a total rebuild of this scope requires a certain level of technological sophistication!" Donnie deflated, "So unless you know of any tech-savvy geniuses out there, I don't see how any of this is possible."

"Oh, I know a guy," April answered, "And I'm lookin' right at him~" She smiled at Donnie, who didn't know how to process the compliment. "Have a little faith in yourself, Dee!"  Donnie blinked, stunned that his own words were used against him.

"Yeah, you said so yourself!” Raph joined in, “You and that big brain of yours built this lab out of nothin' but junk! If there's anyone who can build back better than ever, it's you! So whaddya say, Don?"

Donnie looked at Raph's hand extended out to him. He then glanced over at Leo, Mikey, and April, all eagerly awaiting his response. He turned to Draxum, who gave a curt nod.

Touched by the support of his family, Donnie wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye, "I say let's order some pizzas and chop-chop! Rome wasn't built in a day, people! We've got our work cut out for us!"  He took Raph’s hand and was lifted up from the ground.  Yes, Donnie supposed he could have a little faith in himself, and everyone else as well.

[bleachluna]

Letters

Ended up skipping day 2 of @hitsukarinweek as I had no ideas for it but here’s my fic for day 3! Also on AO3

Dear Toshiro,

Can you please explain to me how the hell Soul Society managed to copy mobile phones from humans, and even put hollow tracking technology in them, but didn't make them able to send stuff across realms? I know you explained that SS phones in soul society can only contact those in soul society, and when they're here in the human world they can only contact those here, but I only realised how ridiculously stupid that is until after you left. What if there's an emergency and you need to contact someone across realms for whatever reason? Surely you need to get this fixed, I cannot believe if I want to talk to you I'm stuck writing letters like it's the 1800s. I'm even writing more formally than I expected, apparently letter writing brings it out of me and I absolutely hate it. You've gotta fix it. Not to mention I'm not a fan of leaving letters for Urahara to pass on for me, I'm not totally convinced he won't read them.

Anyway, it's been a couple of months since I saw you last. That's probably a good thing, that a captain hasn't been needed here, but I'll admit I wonder about you sometimes, I hope everything is ok on your end! I don't know what it was about turning sixteen but all of a sudden all of this stuff about trying to figure out careers is on me constantly. Yuzu figured out years ago that she wanted to go into healthcare, she took to it way back when we were kids. She was originally planning to go into nursing but her grades have improved a lot recently, she might be a doctor instead, but she's also thinking about midwifery. So there's stuff she's gotta figure out for sure, but at least she knows what area she wants to go into? I don't even have that. I mean how do you figure out what to do with the rest of your life when you're sixteen? I haven't even figured myself out yet. How did you decide to become a shinigami?

Other than that though things are ok. School is a little stressful because grades suddenly feel so much more important, but the work's manageable at least. Hollow level seems to be stable at the minute too which is great, one less thing to worry about! And Urahara improved his reiatsu blocking bracelet thing, I've had this one for almost four months and it hasn't broken so even less chance of getting eaten! Always a plus. But anyway, I hope things are good on your end as well, and that you aren't buried up to your ears in paperwork. Let me know if you ever have any plans to pop up in the human world!

Best Wishes,

Karin

P.S. - I sent this on the 22nd of June, let me know when this gets to you/when you send yours, I wanna know what sort of delivery time we're looking at here.

- - - - -

Dear Karin,

I don't even remotely have the skills or know-how to fix something like that, that's what the Research & Development Team is for. I agree it's a little daft that our mobile phones can't send things across realms, but I'm sure said team knows this and is likely working on it, as you said, it would be unfortunate in an emergency situation. Plus I know Urahara can be a little eccentric, but do you really think he'd read the letters? I'm sure it's fine.

It is a good thing I've not been needed, the last thing Karakura needs is more trouble and destruction. Have they managed to rebuild that major bridge you were talking about yet? Everything is alright here, or at least in my division anyway. I've been kept busy recently, a set of students graduated from the academy last month so I've had 18 new recruits to introduce to squad 10. As for the careers stuff, I honestly assumed from the work you did here and there for the clinic that you were interested in healthcare as well, I take it that's not actually the case then? Do you at least have rough ideas of the sort of thing you'd want to go into? I'm not sure I'll be much help in that respect, I can't wrap my head around half of the jobs that seem to exist in the human world. In some ways I had it easier, the choice was out of my hands. My reiatsu was getting stronger and Hyorinmaru came to me before I even knew what was happening, I needed to go to the academy to make sure my reiatsu didn't become dangerous, therefore I became a shinigami. I never had to wonder what to do with myself in terms of employment.

I'm glad to hear things are going well with you, I'm certainly glad to hear you don't have to worry as much about the bracelet breaking. Is your reiatsu still increasing? If it's stabilising that might be part of why this new bracelet is managing better. I know you're not particularly interested in getting involved with shinigami stuff, which frankly I agree with, but if your reiatsu is still increasing I do think it's worth training you to hide it properly. I am unfortunately always at least a little buried in paperwork, particularly recently with the new recruits, but it's manageable. I don't think I'll be in the human world soon, but I will let you know if I plan to.

Best Wishes,

Toshiro

P.S. - I got your letter on the 2nd of July, I should be handing this letter over to be sent on the 4th, schedule permitting.

- - - - -

Dear Toshiro,

Well I hope you make sure that the research team are working on it, because this really is ridiculous. And you're kidding right? I trust Urahara about as far as I can throw him, which is probably all of three feet.

The bridge is still being rebuilt, but I think they're in the last stages now thank god. All the diversions needed really messed with the traffic, maybe I can finally stop leaving the house half an hour earlier just to get to my soccer club. It's supposed to be twenty minutes max by bus and it's been taking easily twice that. Let me know if you find out which shinigami it was that released their zanpakuto on that bridge, I have some choice words for them.

An entire class of students graduated and you only got 18 newbies at the tenth? Was it a small class or is that the normal kind of numbers you see? I assumed there's like, thousands and thousands of shinigami, is there less than I thought? Is that why I only ever see you and Rukia besides the dude who's currently stationed here? And I don't know about going into healthcare, that's my whole problem! I don't know what I want. Healthcare is fine but I don't feel like it's my life purpose to go into it either so yeah, I don't know. Healthcare would be alright, sports would be cool maybe? But I don't think there's a whole lot of sports careers outside of professional (which is definitely not happening) or teaching, and I'm not convinced I'm the teacher type. I just don't seem to have this strong urge to go in a particular direction like Yuzu does. But wow, I didn't know that, you basically HAD to train to be a shinigami? I didn't know that was a thing that could happen, that your reiatsu can go that far on its own. That kind of sucks though doesn't it? That you had no choice? I hope you enjoy being a shinigami at least.

To be honest I think my reiatsu probably is still going up. I don't think it's as quick as it was before, it's settled a little bit, probably because there hasn't been much danger around recently, but I do think it's still inching up. Is that a huge issue? Obviously it became a huge issue with you so now I'm kinda nervous. I'm not gonna get kidnapped into the shinigami am I? I can train to hide my reiatsu without actually becoming a shinigami right? Frankly I trust you more on this than Urahara. And you better let me know in advance if you can, Yuzu says she wants to make you those dumplings you liked again.

Best Wishes,

Karin

P.S. - I got excited at first thinking that sending these took less than two weeks, that didn't seem that bad considering we're sending them via Urahara whenever someone comes through realms, but then your letter took almost a month to come, it arrived on the 27th :( I'm handing this letter over on the 28th.

- - - - -

Dear Karin,

The Research & Development Team is not under my command, they belong to the twelfth, I cannot make sure that they're working on it, but I shall ask at the next opportunity I get. I think you're selling yourself short, I'm sure you could get at least five feet, but I do see your point, I can't say I fully trust him either, not on an individual basis anyway. I trust him to want the best for everybody, and to work towards that, but I don't think he pays attention to what that means for the individuals in the situation. More of a 'the end justifies the means' sort of person from what I've heard. And I'm afraid I have no idea who it was who damaged the bridge, but given they were fighting a powerful hollow at the time I imagine it was the correct course of action. Better on the bridge than in the middle of town.

I get the impression there is less shinigami than you think. Most squads have just over two hundred or so members, so 18 new recruits is actually a pretty good year. As for why you only really see me or Vice-Captain Kuchiki, it's a combination of needing a strong enough shinigami to deal with the sort of problems that crop up in Karakura, while also needing said shinigami to have a vague clue on how to navigate the human world. Vice-Captain Kuchiki presumably has rather extensive knowledge having lived in the human world for months, and I've been known to visit for years so they know I'm alright with being there as well. I think it's alright to not have an idea of a 'life's purpose' when you're in your second year of high school. Maybe just pick something for now as a sort of in-between while you continue working out what it is you want? Sometimes a job is just a job after all. You could always try a career in sports and see how it goes if it interests you now, and switch later on? I'm sure you'll figure something out. I'll admit I was definitely reluctant to train as a shinigami at first, it was never something I wanted originally, so it was hard to deal with to begin with I suppose, but I don't mind it these days. It's stressful, but at least I'm doing something where I'm trying to keep people safe, that suits me well enough.

Unfortunately yes, in my case my reiatsu continuously going up was an issue, but I don't think it's as serious with you. Firstly, you've not got a zanpakuto knocking on your subconscious as far as I know (the telltale giveaway is weird dreams where someone/something is trying to talk to you and tell you it's name, in case you were worried about that), and the people around you aren't vulnerable. You're unlikely to cause issues with your reiatsu because everyone around you has some degree of spiritual power already. As for the other questions, I certainly hope you won't be kidnapped into the shinigami, and I don't think your brother or even Urahara would let that happen, but it's possible you'll get Soul Society's attention if it keeps going unchecked. Of course with Urahara keeping on eye on it and keeping the reiatsu blocking bracelet on you, I'd argue that it's largely taken care of and shouldn't get other shinigami on you. There isn't much shinigami training you can do without becoming a shinigami, but you can learn to withdraw and hide your reiatsu even as a human so don't worry about that. I would say to ask your brother but he's never been very good at controlling his, Urahara is your other option, or possibly Vice-Captain Kuchiki if she's around. Or if those don't work out and your reiatsu gets to a point where you're truly worried about it let me know, I'll train you in it myself if it comes to it. Also, I appreciate the thought but your sister doesn't need to go to trouble like that for me.

Best Wishes,

Toshiro

P.S. - I got your letter on the 17th of August. I think it's safe to say they take anywhere from over a week to just under a month to arrive each time.

- - - - -

Dear Toshiro,

Let me know what the research team says! If they say they're not working on it please heavily suggest that they do, and if they say they are working on it, please ask how long they think it'll take them. Just think how much easier communicating would be if we could just call each other. The end justifies the means is EXACTLY Urahara's vibe, which is exactly why I don't really trust him. So yeah, it wouldn't even remotely surprise me if he's been reading these the entire time, better to assume the worst and be pleasantly surprised than the other way around. I suppose you have a point about the bridge being a better location than in the middle of a bunch of people, I'll put up with inconvenient travel times over unnecessary death.

Only a little over two hundred per squad? There is less than I thought! That's way less than your average university over here, that's crazy! 18 newbies is good in that case, your squad must be pretty popular. And no wonder I only really ever see you or Rukia, you guys clearly need to work on getting more people up to the speed with the human world or you're gonna end up over-worked! I guess I could just go for sports now and switch later? I don't know, you kinda get it into your head that you've gotta figure out what you want and stick to it, but I guess there's nothing actually stopping me from changing paths later. Once school goes back in I'm gonna get a meeting and talk to the careers lady, see what she says. I'm glad you're alright with being a shinigami now, hopefully it isn't stressful too much of the time.

Well, I'll take your word for it, you know more than me on this but I'm still kinda wary. You're right that there's no zanpakto trying to get my attention so far at least so that's something. If I do get kidnapped by the shinigami I'm trusting you to break me back out, but yeah that is kind of the whole point of the bracelet, that it blocks off my reiatsu from others so hollows can't find me so easily (and shinigami apparently, yeesh) so hopefully this won't actually be an issue. I don't really want to ask Urahara to train me but I will if I have to I guess. Asking Rukia's a good idea though! I'll ask whenever she next pops up, she seems like she'd be good at that sort of thing, maybe that'll solve this whole situation. Or you know, you, if you happen to come sooner, whoever comes to the human world next I guess! I'd feel better knowing that I myself could do the thing the bracelet's doing. Although I do have a question, how do you do it in your sleep? Or is it not possible and you're just vulnerable a third of the time? That seems unfortunate. Also you're kidding right? Cooking is the primary way my sister shows her care and affection, if she wants to cook for you there's no stopping her so you can at least give us notice so we can get ingredients and stuff.

Best Wishes,

Karin

- - - - -

Dear Karin,

I will let you know what the research team says as soon as it actually comes up. I can see your point, I suppose it is better to plan for the worst and be pleasantly surprised otherwise. Good to see you have your priorities in order, is the bridge finally finished though?

I remember being surprised by the size of your high school, I assume universities are even bigger? Must be an administrative nightmare to keep track of all those students, I feel like I can have a hard enough time with the 226 members I have. Squad 10 was surprisingly popular this year, the only other squads who had numbers like that were the sixth and the eleventh, both of which always have high numbers. We did have 'human world' classes at the academy at one point, but they ended up being scrapped a decade or so ago, any information learned was rendered almost completely obsolete within a few years, meaning the stuff the students learned was more or less useless by the time they were actually getting stationed in the human world. These days we just give a brief information pack about the human world before they leave, currently being updated semi-regularly by Vice-Captain Kuchiki. Meeting with a staff member whose job it is to deal with career pathways certainly sounds like a good idea, I hope it goes well if it hasn't already taken place.

Once again, I certainly hope Soul Society would try such a thing, it would be incredibly stupid considering I don't think your brother, who damn near took on the whole of Soul Society and pretty much came out on top, would ever let you get kidnapped in the first place. And I'm fairly sure me, a captain, breaking out someone Soul Society captured is probably considered treason of some kind, but I can promise I'll be in your corner one way or another. Not to mention, I don't think most shinigami would be prepared for you anyway, most are too used to sword combat, I don't think the average shinigami would handle your hand to hand very well. I'm sure you've got nothing to worry about. As for hiding your reiatsu in your sleep, generally speaking you just practice it enough that it becomes second nature, most shinigami do it subconsciously after a while, including in sleep, although nightmares and the like can interfere a little bit. Your sister has met me what, three times? She feels strongly enough to cook for me? It really is unnecessary although I'm sure the thought is kind. I did say I'd give you notice if I came to the human world though, our sensors are showing an increase in hollow activity in Karakura recently. We're currently just monitoring, we're holding off for now as it might be temporary, but if it gets worse I'm coming to monitor the situation properly and to make sure no incidents happen with the hollow increase. Judging from the current rate, if it keeps going as is I'll probably be there in two weeks or so. With any luck this letter will arrive before I do but if not, I'll make sure to meet up with you somewhere.

Best Wishes,

Toshiro

- - - - -

Dear Toshiro,

Your letter got here super quick, less than a week after I sent mine! Looks like there's increased shinigami activity to match the hollow activity, which boy, you're not kidding that its increased. My reiatsu's jumped up again and I couldn't tell you if it was a response to all the hollows around, or that the hollows arrived because of me. I really hope it's the former. Hopefully you'll be here soon! I think I could do with the training sooner rather than later and if I'm being honest I'd feel safer. But anyway, in response to your letter:

The bridge is actually finished! Just in time for the increased hollows to fuck it up again I'm sure! Most universities are like 10,000 to 30,000 easy, and I think some are bigger than that? So yeah, only two hundred or so shinigami per squad is insane to me. I'm pretty sure the universities have whole administrative teams just for the purpose, does your squad have an admin person at all or is it just you? When I first found out about the shinigami I didn't think I'd sit here wondering about the bureaucracy of it all but here I am. Oh wow I would've loved to sit in one of those human world classes, would've been hilarious I bet. At least you give newly stationed people something, I imagine the culture shock must be a bit much, I'm sure Rukia's information is very accurate given how much time she's spent here. And the careers meeting is actually in two days, I kinda nervous about it to be honest, but hopefully it'll be helpful.

Well I suppose when you put it that way Soul Society kidnapping me would very much be poking the bear huh? I'm extremely saddened to hear that you wouldn't commit treason for me though, what kind of friendship is this??? But I suppose I'll take comfort in you being 'in my corner one way or another', whatever that means. Does it mean in the event of soul society kidnapping me and forcing me to be a shinigami you'd immediately put me in your squad? That's the vibe I'm getting. But that's good to know about the hand to hand combat and the reiatsu withdrawing while still asleep, I'll bear those both in mind. As for your potential visit, given hollows seem to be popping up left right and centre I'm assuming you're probably coming in a week or so, I'll look out for your arrival! I get the impression this letter isn't going to get to you before you arrive in the human world but just in case it does I'll let you know, Yuzu added the dumpling ingredients onto her shopping list. That means you've gotta be at our house for at least one dinner! Consider it repayment for the training I'm gonna demand from you.

Hope you get here safe,

Karin

[tagsecretsanta]

From @willow-salix

to @fallenfurther

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Grandma Tracy might portray herself as a hip, cool, down with the kids granny to anyone that would listen but even she had to admit that she was a traditionalist at heart. Not in the way that many might expect, not in the boring way of not moving with the times when needed, she could work the holoprojector almost as well as John when it came to coordinating a rescue, she just subscribed to the ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ school of thought.

She knew that old fashioned things still had a place in the world, they still had a use, even when people thought they were antiquated and fit for nothing but a museum or a rubbish pile. She’d proven that to Virgil when they had been stuck in London with no technology whatsoever and since then Virgil had had more of an appreciation for the older things in life.

Traditions were important in her eyes, although rarely were they the common ones that everyone in the world did. Mostly because Sally Tracy did not follow the pack, she never had. She refused to do what everyone else did, to her traditions began at home. They should invoke memories of a time long ago and remind you of the things that were important. Family traditions, now they were the way to go.

She could vividly remember her mother singing along to the radio as they decorated the Christmas tree. They would drink hot chocolate and have a lovely time as they decorated, dressing up in the tinsel and talking, catching up on the things they might not have had time to talk about before. Always on the 1st of December, always with Christmas songs playing and always as a family. And Sally had made sure that she'd done exactly the same with her boys.

Now it was Christmas Eve, the gifts had been purchased and wrapped, the tree had been decorated and the family had just about escaped with their sanity after a month of non stop christmas songs on the stereo courtesy of Grandma. Jeff had been the only one brave enough to suggest that maybe they listen to something else but he had quickly backed down when she had speared him with a glare that could have stripped the paint off Thunderbird Two’s hull if she had been close enough to it.

It’s tradition, she said, one of the only ones she could count on since moving to Tracy Island. Beautiful as the island was, it was far too tropical to feel in any way christmassy and the only way she could get in the mood (or so she claimed) was by listening to festive music.

She missed feeling the days grow colder as summer lost its grip on the world and the crisp, chilly days of fall took over. Once fall was firmly there and you couldn’t leave the house without a sweater it was only a matter of time before the smell of burning leaves and woodsmoke filled the air and winter came nipping at its heels. The cold of winter, the first flurries of snow, brought with it the sound of carols, bells and the smell of baking gingerbread. She loved being wrapped up in warm clothes and feeling the icy blast of wind that stole her breath and she missed it when temperatures on the island rarely changed at all.

Rescues often made regular meals and time off difficult, they often interrupted family time and special occasions. The Tracys were used to it, but it did make getting into any kind of routine difficult and often meant that such things as birthdays and christmas felt unimportant. But not to Grandma, to her it was of vital importance and no one had better argue with her. Jeff, wise man that he was, had given up and retreated to his office, his almost soundproof door and peace.

Gordon was in London spending the day with Penelope for her birthday before they returned to the island that evening for Christmas. John was in Five as usual, finishing up preparations for a few well deserved days off (although he would probably be regretting his decision by dinner time Christmas Day), Kayo was visiting Kyrano for Christmas Eve and would return in the morning and Brains was wishing he had never walked into the lounge.

“Snow is falling, all around me, children playing, having fun,” Grandma sang, joining in with the video playing out on the holoprojector as she attempted to crochet a scarf figuring it was as traditional a pass time as any to indulge in, maybe it would be ready by next Christmas if she was lucky. “Come on, Brains, you know the words, join in.”

“B-but it’s not accurate for our climate,” he argued, never having been one to enjoy a sing-along like some members of the family. “There is never snow on T-T-Tracy Island.”

“That’s not the point, Brains,” she sighed, trying to untangle the yarn that insisted on knotting on her lap rather than in the carefully ordered way it should.

“It’s not?”

“No!” She tossed the scarf, all four wonky rows of it, onto the table, giving up for now before she was tempted to lob it up Thunderbird Two's tail pipe.

“I d-don’t understand,” Brains admitted, something that was very hard for him to do. He was used to being one of the smartest people in the room, if not the smartest, and now, here he was, not understanding a simple thing like this. Maybe he’d been working too hard?

“It’s not about the song, it’s about the meaning behind it,” Grandma explained patiently for what felt like the millionth time that December. “It’s traditional.”

“A song is traditional?”

“Well, yes, but not just the song, it’s the image it portrays. Christmas in my day meant snow, cold weather clothes, wrapping up warm, skating on a frozen lake, then coming inside to drink hot chocolate around a crackling fire and listening to carols on the radio with my mother as we waited for my father to get home. We knew that once he was home the holidays could really start. He worked hard and had very little time off in a year, only every other sunday, two days for Easter and Christmas Day.”

“Kinda like us then,” Alan muttered from his spot on the couch where he had been relaxing before breakfast, playing a handheld game.

“Yes, and because we have none of the weather here or the time off, not that I would want to be anywhere else, but the only thing that really makes it feel like Christmas is the songs. So we’re going to keep the music and you’re all going to like it.”

A new song came on and Grandma sighed happily as Alan groaned as if in pain.

“I love this song, it was one of my favourites,” she stared dreamily at the screen. “Oh, it’s Christmas time, mistletoe and wine. Children singing Christian rhyme. Isn’t he handsome? I wouldn’t kick him out for eating cookies.”

“Grandma!” Alan gasped, shocked to the core, his tone showing his disgust.

“What? Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I can’t look and do a little window shopping. I’ve got all his albums, including his live concerts, it’s just not Christmas without seeing him on the TV. Here, I’ll show you. Just listen to him some more and I’m sure you’ll learn to love him.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, it’s Christmas.”

“That’s your answer to everything,” Alan grumbled but he put down his game and prepared to do his duty as a grandson.

“I’ll start you off easy with Little Town,” Grandma told him, pressing play.

                                                              ***

“This comes to pass, when a child is born. When a child is born… oh, oh, o-” Grandma sang along to the fifth song of her playlist when, to Alan’s intense relief, John’s hologram popped up, replacing the music video that had been playing.

“International Rescue, we have a situation,” he started, then paused looking around the room, frowning when he saw only Grandma, Brains and Alan in attendance.

“A situation? Yes! I’ll get Scott and Virg,” Alan cheered, jumping up.

"That's not the reaction I usually get," John observed, wondering what could have brought about that sort of excitement so early in the morning from the brother who liked his sleep the most.

“Never mind that. What have you got?” Grandma asked, all business now, her Christmas spirit in song form now forgotten.

“Guests trapped in an ice hotel in Sweden.”

“Scott! Virgil! It’s safe to come up, the music’s off and John needs us to go to Sweden,” Alan yelled as he clattered down the stairs to the kitchen where the older two were no doubt hiding.

“A what now?” Grandma asked, ignoring Alan.

“An ice hotel,” John repeated. “The hotel was first built in 1990 in the small village of Jukkasjarvi, Sweden, now they rebuild it every year and add to it with a different architect for each room. I’m sure it looks very beautiful when you can actually see it and a freak snow storm hasn't covered the entrance then frozen.”  He pulled up a feed to show what must have been the hotel but all that was visible was two large piles of snow.

“What are we looking at, John?” Scott demanded to know, jogging up the stairs with Virgil hot on his heels, Alan bringing up the rear.

John brought up a picture of the ice hotel in its normal glory.

“This is the Winter Heart Hotel in Sweden,” he began. The picture showed a beautiful backdrop of a frosty night with the northern lights visible dancing in the sky behind two pure white domes of snow which were obviously the hotel. They looked like elaborate igloos, connected by covered tunnels and slopes that had formed on the sides with big, wooden looking doors on the front of the domes. The snow sparkled in the moonlight and even though it was clearly freezing cold the whole place looked very welcoming. Little cabins were scattered here and there around the hotel itself, giving the whole scene a picture postcard feel.

“Looks great,” Virgil commented.

“That was it three months ago,” John answered before flicking aside the picture to replace it with the previous image. “This is it as of four hours ago.”

“Woah,” Scott breathed, his eyes tracking over the large mounds of snow that covered the domes so effectively they looked to be nothing but snowy hills. “What happened?”

“Freak snow storm blew in from the arctic circle and dumped around seven feet of snow on the hotel overnight. By the time morning came the fresh snow had frozen solid, trapping a number of high profile guests inside.”

“High profile?”

“The Winter Wonder charity concert happens there every year, people from all over the world pay big money to stay there and not just for the music,” John answered. "It's reported to be an amazing experience but not for the faint hearted. They keep the inside at a constant -5 degrees centigrade, although they do have warm rooms of the hotel such as bathrooms and some bedrooms. They should be fine in there for now, but we obviously need to get them out. The hotel itself has been trying to dig their way through for the past hour. They had a snow plow of their own but it broke a week or so ago and as no snow was forecast they hadn't rushed to replace it.”

“Any casualties?” Virgil asked, already walking across the lounge to his launch chute.

“None reported, apparently they have placated the guests with numerous free drinks and dinner, but unfortunately they are now reported to be getting a little rowdy.”

“Rowdy? Well it won’t do to keep them waiting much longer, will it?  I guess we had better hit the skies,” Scott grinned, crossing over to stand in front of the wall where his launch chute was hidden, reaching up to grasp the light fittings that triggered the revolving door. “See you out there!”

“Alan, you're with me,” Virgil called, much to Alan’s delight. He dropped down in one of the bucket seats that would take him or a passenger to Thunderbird Three so he could suit up, grinning like a mad man, happy to be off the island for a few hours.

“I’ll send the coordinates and brief you when you’re airborne,” John told them as they all vanished, his hologram blinking out a moment later.

“Well,” Grandma sighed, turning back to the holoprojector. “Now that they have gone I guess it’s just you and me, Brains.” With a quick flick of her wrist she had turned the music video on, the sound drowning out Brains’ pitiful groan.

                                                    ***

“Bulldozer Pod is go!”

“Alan, be careful with it!” John warned, his voice echoing around the pod cabin, as the bulldozer shot forward at a much faster speed than was sensible. His hologram popped back into existence to give their littlest brother one of his patented death stares when Alan dared to roll his eyes at him.

“I think I know what I’m doing, it’s just a little snow.”

“No, it’s not just a little snow, if you go too deep or too far you’ll risk taking out one of the walls of the hotel itself. It’ll register as snow, exactly as the rest of it does. Here,” John paused to send through the holographic map overlay he had just finished creating. The overlay settled on top of the map already in front of Alan from the pods scans, then sank down over the snowy mounds, now showing the outline of the buildings.

“Avoid the ice walls, I got it,” Alan assured him.

“Just make sure you pay full attention,” John ordered.

“I’ll be fine, go bug Scott, he’s the one you can’t trust.”

“Unfortunately there isn't just one, I can’t trust any of you,” John sighed and, against his better judgement, left Alan to his own devices.

Alan trundled forward a little slower than before, heeding the warning. He might be excitable but he wasn’t stupid and now that he had a better idea of what he was looking at and supposed to do he could see that he would have to be a little more careful.

As John had said, scans from their equipment were registering nothing but ice and snow, there was no clear definition between what was fresh snow and what had been there before and was part of the building. He could detect life signs deep inside the snow piles, as expected, but they seemed calm enough, their heart rates slow and easy, showing them to be totally relaxed.

He moved the pod closer to the huge wall of snow and maneuvered it into place, his plan being to work in a square, side to side, front to back, moving in closer and closer until the majority of the snow had been removed, allowing Virgil and Scott access to come in with a modified Sherpa Pod. The idea being to use the heat bank element to create what amounted to a high powered hair dryer to defrost the ice that had the guests trapped.

With his first run he plowed a wide path in front of the hotel a good twelve meters away. He checked the map overlay, calculating that he could manage two more full sweeps, working back and forth before he’d be risking getting too close and would have to hand over to his brothers.

Scott and Virgil were configuring the modifications to the Sherpa Pod when John called in to give them an update.

“Alan has removed the snow down to quarter of a meter from the doors, now it’s down to you guys.”

“FAB Thunderbird Five,” Scott answered, swinging up into the passenger seat of the pod. He’d finally grown out of his desire to drive every single vehicle he got into and had learnt that Virgil was, in general, a much more capable pod pilot than he was, although he’d never admit that out loud.

Virgil gave him that look that said he knew exactly what he was doing but, being the more peace loving Tracy, he declined to comment. Instead he climbed effortlessly into the driver's seat and settled in. He carefully guided the vehicle down the module ramp and out onto the snow, ignoring Scott’s impatient huff in response to his sedate pace.

“Slow and steady,” he quoted, knowing that snow was tricky terrain to navigate at the best of times and this wasn’t the time or the place in which to push their luck.

“The danger here is with the hotel itself,” John told them as Virgil made his way across the snow.

“How so?” Scott asked. “I thought the reports said that the hotel was stable.”

“It’s made of the very thing we’re going to be melting,” Virgil answered, checking his instrument readouts as he navigated up and over the snow into the ditch that Alan had excavated.

“Oh, yeah, good point,” Scott conceded. “So what’s the plan?”

“The snow fall isn’t the real problem here, the hotel can take the weight of it easily having been subjected to weight tests to ensure it could retain its structural integrity for these exact reasons,"John answered. "In this case all we need to do is concentrate on freeing the doors, the rest, as long as they take precautions, should be fine to leave in situ.”

“Got it, just the doors,” Scott confirmed.

“You’re going to have to go steady,” John warned. “There’s not a lot of clearance there, Alan has done his best but it’s going to be a delicate operation.”

“Steady is my middle name,” Virgil assured him. “I’ve got it under control. You just concentrate on keeping the hotel employees in the loop.”

“FAB,” John answered, blinking out as quickly as he had come.

Heat bank raised, Virgil worked the controls expertly, taking his time to melt away the snow that was left, being careful to keep it moving and only work on the front of the hotel where the doors should be, following the same map overlay that John had provided for Alan.

Alan, they saw, had done a thorough job, moving the snow far out of the way and was now using the loader and the pod’s caterpillar tracks to tramp down and spread out the snow he’d plowed, eliminating the possibility of the new snow piles posing a danger to anyone.

After only a few minutes of careful work the doors to the main entrance of the hotel began to appear through the snow as it melted away, sliding down the wood. Virgil checked the map one more time, realising that there was little more he could do without risking the ice of the hotel itself.

“I’m gonna have to get my exo-suit and do the rest by hand,” he decided, sounding like he was talking to himself, almost like he had forgotten that Scott was even there. Scott declined to comment, busy watching Alan work, pleased to see that, although the youngest Tracy sometimes had the same kind of offbeat humour as Gordon, he was as competent and sure as ever in his work.

Virgil turned the pod back to the module, not wanting to walk the entire way and, leaving Scott to reconfigure the pod to something a little more manageable for travelling across snow, he got himself into the mechanical suit.

Twenty minutes later a stream of grateful employees and guests came pouring out of the freed doors, all talking at once, jabbering away in excitement at seeing the mighty Thunderbird vehicles up close.

“Please, please come inside,” one waiter gushed, grabbing Scott by the arm and hauling him into the hotel. Virgil glanced at Alan who shrugged, it wasn’t like they couldn't be spared for a little longer. "My name is Felix, please, anything I can do, just tell me."

"It's OK, Felix," Scott started. "We don't need you to do anything…" he trailed off as they stepped inside, their attention instantly taken by their first look at the hotel.

“Woah,” they all breathed in unison, their eyes feasting on the beauty in front of them. They were surrounded on all sides by sparkling, crystal like slabs of ice that formed a lobby area that immediately opened up into an ice bar, a warmly wrapped up waiter behind the bar ready to take their orders. Several guests sat on fur covered ice chairs, sipping from thick glasses that looked to be crystal but were obviously made of ice too.

“This is just...wow,” Virgil’s eyes darted here and there, trying to take in everything at once. He slipped his arms out of the exo-suit and allowed the mechanical limbs to fold down alongside the suit against his back. Reaching out a hand he stroked the delicately carved face of an ice maiden, one of the many sculptures that were dotted here and there. “Can I have a look around?”

“Of course,” the waiter, Felix, who had invited them in nodded eagerly, clearly happy to be of service. “Come, I give you a tour.”

Virgil knew that he must have looked a sight, stomping down the icy walkway with his suit on so, with Scott’s help, he shed it and left his brothers to guard it while he followed the man who had already darted ahead.

Now that he was free of the cumbersome machinery he was able to navigate the icy corridors and smaller walkways with ease. He descended a staircase, again completely made of ice, something he found hard to get his head around as it all looked like crystal, and stepped into a high ceilinged room that sported the most magnificent chandelier he had ever seen.

The ice shards hung down in elegant lines that culminated in three perfectly formed circles. The artist in him was in awe of the work that had gone into creating something that was not only visually stunning but practical at the same time.

Walking through the rooms he saw more exquisite sculptures, fur draped beds in bedrooms that each had a different theme such as under the sea with giant ice jellyfish hanging from the ceiling, clowns, dancers, and solar systems. On the way to the beautiful chapel with its ice shard altar and fur covered pews, he saw a magnificent unicorn that dominated a large part of a hallway. Here and there he saw leaves, animals, birds, faces and flowers, all carved from the ice and snow that made up the hotel. It was, simply put, stunning.

He returned to find Scott and Alan, who had taken up residence in one of the warm rooms with cups of hot chocolate, surrounded by guests. Many of them seemed a little worse for wear after their extended stays in the bar areas where the drinks had been flowing freely in an effort to keep them unaware as to the predicament they had been in.

It seemed that the guests were also fans, their voices carrying that slightly raised, mildly slurred tone that drunk people got, as they peppered the boys with questions.

“We really can’t reveal any of our secrets,” Scott told them, sounding as if he were repeating himself for maybe the twentieth time.

“You eat?” someone popped up behind them and offered a delicious looking burger on a plate.

“Oh, don’t mind if I do,” Scott grinned, reaching to take it. “Thank you.”

Alan and Virgil happily accepted their own plates, diving in to take large bites, eager for some food that hadn’t been cremated by Grandma. Decent food was hit or miss on the island, but everything dished up was met with a general sense of trepidation until the first bite determined its edibility.

“Damn, this is good,” Alan mumbled, his mouth full.

“I’ll say it is,” Virgil agreed, his cheeks resembling hamster pouches as he answered with his mouth full.

"I am glad you like,” Felix smiled, looking rather proud of himself. “They are our speciality, made from our own reindeer.”

Alan choked, his eyes growing wide as he stopped chewing and stared at the burger. Reaching for a napkin he, as politely as possible, spat out the food in his mouth.

Virgil looked a little horrified while Scott just shrugged and kept right on eating. Scott counted himself as a foodie, he would try anything once, or even twice if he was undecided the first time. He had eaten in top restaurants around the world, in little cafes, from carts on the side of the road, anywhere and everywhere that there was food, there was Scott, willing and ready to try it.

“What?” he asked when Alan stared at him in disgust. “It’s a burger, plus it’s good.”

Virgil was obviously fighting some internal war between his stomach and his brain. On the one hand he was hungry and Scott was right, the burger was damn good, but on the other his brain was insisting on conjuring up visions of Santa and his sleigh. In the end his stomach won and he took another bite.

“Virgil!” Alan gasped, making Virgil wince guiltily.

“There’s nothing wrong with the burger, Al. They were good enough to feed us, it would be rude not to.”

Alan, clearly torn between his desire to not be seen as impolite and his desire to not eat Rudolph, was spared from making a decision by a sudden burst of music coming from deeper in the hotel. All three Tracy brothers groaned in unison.

“Is there a problem?” Felix asked, concern etched on his face. Had he given them a bad burger? Food poisoning? Insulted their ancestors? “Anything I can do to thank you, please do say.”

“No,” Virgil assured him. “We just recognised the music, that’s all.”

“Ah,” Felix smiled, clearly relieved. “That is the band beginning a last minute rehearsal and sound check before the concert.”

“Concert?”

Felix pointed to a holographic poster on the wall.

Alan’s eyes widened in recognition and he leant over to whisper to Scott. Scott listened, his eyes widening too as he realised what his little brother meant.

Clearing his throat he made his request. “Maybe there is something you can do for us, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course! Anything!” Felix gushed, pleased that the high profile Tracy brothers weren’t mad at him.

“Can you get us their autographs?”

Felix grinned, looking even more proud of himself than he had before.

“I can do better than that.”

                                 ***

Grandma hadn’t known what to think when Virgil had called home and told her that Scott was on his way back to collect her, telling her only to wear as many warm clothes as she could, but she had done as she was told.

Digging deep into the back of her wardrobe where she kept the clothes that had languished there for more years than she cared to remember, she had dragged out a thick winter coat and a warm top to wear under her customary onesie, along with wooly socks, gloves, scarf and hat.

She was waiting impatiently in the launch bay before Scott had even made it home and was soon comfortably installed in a passenger seat as her eldest grandson whisked her away into the unknown.

Virgil and Alan were there to greet them as they landed, a pair of ice skates in hand and identically proud grins on their faces.

They had spent a pleasant hour or so sliding around on the custom built ice rink. The ice, as with the hotel, had been imported from the nearby Torne River. Grandma was pleased to find that, although slightly rusty at first, she was able to take to the ice with a reasonable degree of competency, much better than that of her grandsons.

Scott was all long limbs and over enthusiasm, trying to go fast straight off the bat and failing spectacularly until he slowed down and figured out how to walk before he ran. Virgil was a little better, adopting the tactic of trying to place his feet carefully, as he would while walking, getting his footing before doing a slow first lap around the outer edge of the rink, gaining confidence the longer he was on there.

Alan it seemed, much to their surprise, had inherited her grace on the ice and took to it easily, executing an almost perfect first lap before streaking off across the ice like a bullet.

Skating gave way to an impromptu snowball fight started by Scott aiming at Alan and finished by Grandma who pelted the troublemakers with snow while Virgil held them in place.

“How about we head inside and grab a warm drink before heading home?” Virgil suggested, shaking the snow off his shoulders, thankful that their uniforms protected them from such a wide range of weather conditions.

“That would be wonderful,” Grandma sighed happily as they walked towards the hotel.

“I want to thank you boys for such a lovely surprise. Much as I love our home it’s been nice to feel snow again and experience an old fashioned Christmas eve again after so long of endless summer.”

“You deserve it,” Scott assured her, draping an arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah, it was our pleasure,” Alan agreed, holding the still freely swinging door open for her.

Grandma experienced much the same wonder as they had as she enjoyed a tour of the hotel at the hands of the ever accommodating Felix, who had been more than happy to be her guide, showing her all the hotel had to offer.

It was beautiful, a true once in a lifetime winter wonderland of crystalline ice and exquisite sculpture that reminded her of the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, her favourite book as a child, when the White Witch had frozen all of Narnia in an endless winter.

Felix was happy to let her wander at her own pace, never trying to hurry her as she explored, her eyes taking in all there was to see. But, eventually, she grew tired and needed to rest, not being as young as her mind would have her believe. She was more than happy to be delivered back to her waiting grandsons with the promise of a hot chocolate in one of the warm rooms.

The function room was beautiful in its simplicity, decorated in a cozy cabin style with insulated fireplaces here and there which gave off no heat but looked perfect in the wood panelled room. There were comfy couches and wooden tables with rings of chairs dotted here and there, all arranged in a semi circle that faced towards the raised platform that was acting as a stage if the instruments there were any indication.

The room was still empty apart from five men sitting around a table, enjoying a quiet drink before the show started. They looked up expectantly when the door opened and the three Tracy boys led their special guest into the room.

Grandma had never been one to be lost for words before but there was a first time for everything and this appeared to be that time. She froze in the doorway, requiring a gentle nudge from Virgil to get her moving again. Her eyes were firmly fixed on one man as he put down his drink and moved towards them, a bright smile of welcome on his face.

“Hi there,” he started, holding out his hand, “I’m Cli-”

“Cliff Richard Jr!” Grandma shrieked, coming out of her starstruck daze to grab his hand between both of hers, yanking it closer, reeling him in for a smothering hug.

“Woah, easy there, Grandma!” Scott laughed as the singer’s arms flailed in shock. “Let the man breathe.”

Alan gently untangled Grandma’s arms from around Cliff, allowing him to back up and regain his freedom.

“So,” Cliff wheezed, straightening his tie and clearing his throat, regaining his composure before he bestowed upon her another dazzling smile. “Am I right in assuming you’ll be staying for the show?”

“You bet your ass I am.”

“Grandma!” all three boys yelped in shock but, thankfully, Cliff just laughed.

The music might not be to their tastes, in fact for Alan it was akin to torture, but seeing the look of joy on their Grandmother's face made it all worth it.

And wasn't that the true spirit of the season? Taking the time to think about others before you thought of yourself, spreading joy and happiness whenever you could.

Grandma was the heart of International Rescue, the heart of the house and the loving center of their family. She had always gone out of her way to look after them, now it was their turn to give something back to her. Something that she would never, ever forget.

[writingwitheli]

GrandMech

Most mechs were hard to function, even with experienced pilots.

They didn't move like people do, the mechanics don't really allow for that. You have to know the engineering intimately to clearly envision how the thing was going to react to your direction. Most pilots spend months learning their piece before going into the field. There were simulators, and for a while the board argued for mechs to be built in a uniform manner for faster learning.

But technology went a bit too fast for that. And the things were way too expensive to mass produce.

Grandma Katersfield knew this well. It was her life's work.

I mean she wasn't my grandma. But she kinda was. She was everyone's grandma, in a way. Most mechs these days still have her work in them, even if there were scraps rebuild around it. Some people called it practical. Pilots called it good luck. The engineers called it "Finally someone who knows what they're fucking doing."

When she passed away, in her garage (had she ever existed anywhere else?), the military held a funeral. Most of the planets held a funeral. The board, somewhere in their core-planet bunkers, held a meeting.

The war wasn't over, and we weren't winning. And we'd just lost our best engineer. It was a big fucking hit for morale. There were losses everywhere.

Presumably after sending a swarm of government drones through the property, the board very quickly touted "Katersfield's Final Work", and "The culmination of everything she's ever done". Some people pointed out the public images that showed how the thing was half-done. But enough people wanted hope that everyone gradually bought into the idea.

The board appointed Katersfield's daughter to lead the finalization of the thing. Ann wasn't exactly an engineer, but they knew how the public would read it. They gave her a team of their best to work with.

When construction was nearly done, the board officially announced that Katersfield's son-in-law would be piloting it. Everyone expected it; he was the only striped pilot in the family. But it hit the top of everyone's news anyways.

The public test run was expected to be simple, and broadcasted live as far as the outer-space colonies.

It… didn't go so well.

Okay, it went very badly.

I mean.

Bad.

What followed was a lot of media confusion. The board hastily tried to put the blame on over-eagerness. People were fired. We lost four moons while our squadrons re-evaluated their lives.

Mark and his husband, Will Katersfield, had a very public divorce. Some people argue it was the media pressure. Some people suspect that the board forced them apart. I think it was a long time coming.

For a while the board pushed forward other candidates. They ran competitions for new mech designers and engineers and electricians. Offered an absurd amount of money and resources. A lot of cool stuff came out of it, but nothing really compares to Katersfield's work.

It was three years after that when media went into a frenzy over a low-grade video of the mech doing cartwheels over the family farm. Fucking cartwheels, man. I can't even do those in my own body most days.

Every news ship went down there as quick as they could. A bunch of civilians, too. Granny says a board member actually showed up in person.

Everyone was immediately on Ann about it. She was the only one that really stayed on the farm. She knew the machinery well enough. And maybe she'd inherited the pilot skills of one of Katersfield's late spouses.

To the dismay of the board, Ann insisted that the pilot was Thoma, one of Will's children. The media went ballistic. Kids weren't even supposed to be piloting mechs in the first place.

Thoma gave an interview to their school teacher and described the sensation of piloting upside down as "even better than going all the way around the bar on a swing and then having Grandma's cookies with two scoops of ice cream!" Their wide grin with missing teeth was eventually made into metal-cards for soldiers to attach under their breast plates and remind them of home.

At some point, Ann made the mistake of admitting that she'd taken it out for a test-run while she was tuning up some joints (she hadn't been an engineer when this started. But things change).

The board came down hard. They publicly announced that Ann was the cartwheeling pilot, and further that she'd accepted a high raking military title with absurd honors and enough pay to buy a moon. They posted a date with a public countdown clock for her departure to the front lines.

Now the way Granny tells it; Ann didn't know about any of this until her neighbor came by with the milk and a congratulations. Granny would probably piss on the board if she still could. Don't let her try it.

Ann did go. She didn't have many options, really. Her bio-logs phrase the situation as "the board made a decision. I complied."

We pushed back the front by two whole planets. Ann wasn't much of a pilot; she spent too much time thinking, but the war pushed around her. Most of the time it only took a three second clip of her unnaturally smooth landing and quick gravity adjustment to a new planet. My old mech would take two minutes to land and readjust. A lot can happen in two minutes.

The official report says Ann died on Mitas 9. The board will probably censor this whole damn thing if I try to explain what happened, but just remember that official reports are. Well. Official.

The mech was commandeered immediately. They cleaned it up, threw on a new coat of paint, and put their highest ranking pilot in the hotseat.

Everyone was in a hurry to get back to it and have a plan ready before Ann's death was publicly announced. Yeru knew the schematics by heart and spent one month living with the mech every hour of every day to make up for lost time. The board went as far as making them legally exempt from standard reports. Yeru's bios were never made public, but you can pull them from the military archives in Section B. They clearly knew their way around a mech, and honestly seemed to be a good person as far as I can tell.

The board had seemingly learned from prior incidents. The Generals hosted a secluded military showing of the first test-run. Those archives are probably deleted, but all you really need to know is that Yeru never made it off the ground.

For a few months, the military looked into sabotage. Yeru's bio-post about the joints being "just plain creaky no matter how much I oil the thing" convinced a bunch of higher-ups that the mech had been swapped out or something.

I know. Creating a whole fake mech to replace it with? Somehow managing to swap the thing out with as much board, military, and media surveillance as it has? Absurd.

Also I'm sure you're well aware that plenty of good mechs have creaky joints. I hear you ran Sacrifice 2 for a while there. Lt. Jen complained about how loud that thing was for months after he shared a hangar with it near Osylus. Not sure if that was your time or not. I'm going to tell him it was, so he'll have something to complain to you about. When he does, ask him about the wardrobe cloning incident. I'm sure he'll know what you're talking about.

Anyways.

The news about Ann went public, and the board pushed it down the feeds with reports about a new Stealth Carrier that would move faster than a pilot-ship. It did. Everyone loved it. I'm sure it's shit compared to the last carrier you were on.

Thoma, meanwhile, had grown up and gotten their way through military school. It might seem strange to you now, but Thoma actually didn't touch a mech the first decade of their service. They had a few friends and plenty worshipers, but still hadn't officially earned enough stripes to be a pilot. The Generals wanted to make sure Thoma was knocked down enough to keep from getting big-headed about it. But Thoma didn't really care.

Thoma fought hard and studied harder. They proved themselves again and again. You can look up the public records of their medal-acceptance speeches. Every damn time they would say "This is a great honor. Can I trade it in for a mech?"

Pissed a lot of people off, but it was fucking hilarious if you ask me.

Eventually Thoma led a fairly large squadron and took a half a continent in a week. When I asked them about it, they said they had sent a text message to the Generals saying "I could've gotten all of it, if I had my own mech :,(". I know them well enough to know they probably actually sent a frowny-face emoji to the Generals. Don't do that. It's hilarious. But, Don't.

Probably.

For now, anyways.

The board reluctantly let Thoma break the mech out of some museum somewhere as a reward for their service. They weren't intending for Thoma to actually run as a pilot since Thoma had already gotten to be in charge of things. It would be a media mess, at best, a military loss at worst.

Thoma did a fucking backflip over live media.

Anyways the board and the Generals argued about it for a week, but eventually did the only thing they could do. They made Thoma a pilot. There were lots of assurances that Thoma would still be holding their responsibilities as Planetary Sergeant. No one cared. Thoma had done a fucking backflip; the Katersfields were at it again.

I'm told that week of debate consisted of at least fifteen other pilots trying the mech out and reporting up failures of various kinds. Don't worry about that, you'll do fine.

I'm sure you know most of the story from there. Thoma took Belet 5 through Belet 11, and some other smaller planets along the way. Majestic. War hero. Idol. Etc etc.

The board immediately pushed Thoma’s son, Madene, into the military and straight into pilot's school. They make a lot of dumb decisions, but even the board could see the pattern here.

You might not have read this about me, but I used to be an electrician. I worked on Thoma's team for a while. The Generals gave Madene special permission to visit us sometimes so he could learn the mech hands-on. He'd always wanted to be an artist or a planetary refurbisher. That was clear from the first day we met.

I'll tell you this now, it's not part of public record: Madene ran the mech just fine when it was just us around. Thoma would give some long drawn-out speech about minding your manners and being careful with her. It was their Grandmother's soul in that machine, after all. Madene didn't really listen, but the mech ran just fine anyways.

When Madene was nearing graduation, the Generals sent their scouts around to see how things were going. The mech ran straight into their drones and fell convulsing onto the ground.

It was a hard time for a while, Thoma was upset with Madene and Madene was embarrassed. There were lots of arguments, and the Generals tried to pretend Madene just didn't have enough experience as a pilot. The idea that Madene did it on purpose didn't get recorded, but it's what a lot of people assumed. I don't think that's what happened, anyways.

Madene tried really hard after that. He pushed himself in school, and as a result they let him try out a bunch of other mechs. He proved he could handle it just as well as some of our better pilots. He took Entrapment marching around the school-system planet four times.

Thoma tore their knee in a pretty brutal fight, and since they were nearing retirement anyways the board arranged for a public hand-off of the mech.

I used to talk to her when I worked. My old pilot - the one I worked electricity for before Thoma - had always been superstitious about this sort've thing. She used to spend a good half-hour reassuring it before she's let me do any work on it. I guess I'd picked up the habit. You might want to pick it up, too, if you haven't already.

I'd asked her to help Madene out. He'd worked so hard and I could tell Thoma was slowing down.

You might have seen the media of that. Afterward Madene was particularly… verbal. Even if you didn't see that, I'm sure you heard about what happened to him after. Don't be too harsh on him, it's really not his fault. We were all too hard on him.

All the media says the Generals did a lot of research and realized I was better suited as a pilot and they shifted me over. How that actually happened was… well. A little boring.

One of their scouts had caught me helping her move over so I could get a better angle at the spinal wiring.

Blah blah blah. I'm sure you know the highlights from there.

So here's where we get to the advice that was the whole point of this message:

I admit the public eye is a little difficult to get used to. Honestly I recommend you just ignore it. They'll say shit no matter what you do.

Don't call her by the name the board gave her. I know that's what you learned in school and in training. Don't do it.

Don't piss her off.

Be patient - her memory isn't what it used to be.

Don't tell her what to do. I read your file, you have a lot of experience. I know this will be the hard part.

If the mediacom switches to one of those awful family gameshows. Just. Let it happen. No, they do not get less annoying to listen to. Yes, she knows they're all the same.

The internal heating will be On when you're on any below-regulation temperature planet. I know you're from the outer colonies. I know that will be too warm for you. Get over it and try not to dress down too much; she's easier to maneuver when you're in layers.

The one exception to the above is her tune-ups and maintenance. She doesn't like it. She never does. We have four crews to make it easier and I still do it myself sometimes to help her get over it. You're going to have to get good at negotiating.

If you leave a battle with a sudden craving in your neurons for hot and hearty soup, go get some hot and hearty soup. She'll get stubborn with you next time if you don't.

Granny will take care of you from there.

-Captain Layfar

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 38 – Something None of Them Wanted or Expected

“Care to explain why I have to refresh my sore eyes with that face of yours? What a way to start a morning.”

<You know, you tend to turn more talkative and annoyingly eloquent whenever you see me. Did you modify your tongue by any chance? Does it run evolution on your linguistic ability whenever you spot me?>

“I’ve never done that, but that doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I’ll see what I can do with it.”

<Geez, looks like joking is not an option any more in your presence.>

Despite his manners, Frankenstein aimed for more than vexing the werewolf lord.

“Please tell me you have a good reason why you requested a conversation with me so early. I’d thought I told you we must for the time being be cautious of every word we share, including those exchanged through transmission. And I couldn’t possibly be the only one who told you so.”

<Uh, the thing is, my kid will be busy for the next few days. So Adne and I decided to lend a claw or two.>

My kid?

Frankenstein was about to snap at him that he should be more specific with his term, when there are dozens of werewolves under his care.

But he held his voice, upon reminding himself that there is only one werewolf aside from Adne that Muzaka would ever mention to him at a time like this.

<Lunark found something lately from a facility in Crombel’s ownership. And she claimed she must take them outside to have them audited by an expert. So she won’t get to deliver you the data that Adne unlocked most recently.>

Audited by an expert?

Who could this expert be?

Whatever it is that she discovered, I doubt she can find the best expert other than me, in anything related to Union or Crombel.

But how come she didn’t come to me and......

Frankenstein sealed his lips tighter, albeit already zipped, in the middle of his cognitive complaints.

‘You shouldn’t be missing her, Frankenstein.’

He told himself a number of times that she is off-limits, especially since they had ended up exploring each other’s lips.

Nevertheless, here he was, painfully savoring how his heart was sailing towards her. He had to struggle to anchor his heart back to his chest.

<But Lunark did examine this data before she left it with me. And she said it’d be best to relay it to you as soon as possible. Let’s see what it...>

Muzaka began to fidget with something, unavailable for witness at Frankenstein’s angle of vision.

“Stop it. We didn’t get to diagnose the exact cause of the failure in activating QuadraNet. It’s not safe to disclose such an important resource on transmission, lest there be loss or leak.”

<Then what? Lunark is not available. How am I supposed to send this to...>

“I’ll fetch it myself.”

Muzaka made a peculiar face; it appeared as if he honestly wanted to slap his ears to see if they are functional.

<What do you mean, you’ll fetch it yourself?>

“There’s no other way, is there? Oh, no need to be concerned that other werewolves would be curious or suspicious of my visit. I’ll make sure no one else can see me.”

Frankenstein exhibited not the slightest hint of hesitation. If it was guaranteed that he will not get to see the certain gray-haired werewolf, there was no reason for him to stay away from wolfkind’s realm.

“So make sure I can receive it upon arrival. I’ll leave as soon as I get it; I’m a busy man myself.”

<Uh... Okay. Okay! G-great! I’ll see you soon.>

Frankenstein headed to 3rd Elder as soon as Muzaka’s face flashed off from the monitor, to let him know that once again he will be absent for a while.

“There is this jer... I mean, there is this someone I must see. So stay tucked. I won’t take long.”

Frankenstein did not even wait for a reply from the white-haired man.

The moment he was surely gone, 3rd Elder’s eyes were caught on fire.

Though he wished Frankenstein would have revealed where he was off to, he knew he should not wait to determine his destination.

So he drew out the plastic bag containing the sample of Frankenstein’s tonic, kept hidden all this time for this moment – the moment to let his old lab techniques shine.

Simultaneously, he prayed that Helga and their accomplice assistant would be ready.

*****

A few days later, in the werewolf realm

“Man – even the Kertias would flush in shame at your skills in stealth. How did you get here without sounding the alarm?”

“There is always a way, but don’t expect me to tell you. That’s not what I’m here for, after all.”

“Well, you’ve got a point.”

Muzaka stepped down from his thrown to lead his guest to one of werewolf labs, to present him with a pile of documents.

Frankenstein scanned the contents, before his eyes glinted.

“Huh...”

“What? Is it really that important?”

“...Pretty much.”

That was when he emitted an exasperated sigh, as if he could not believe he was saying this.

“I’d hate to admit it, but the Union and Ignes were not too shabby. The former actually devised such a genius weapon, and the latter sought to make it better.”

“A genius weapon?”

Now inquisitive, Muzaka peeked over Frankenstein’s shoulder.

“Genetic... Calibrator... Chip... GC chip? A weapon based on biochip technology? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Biochip. It’s a trick I’d often make use of. It’s no longer a stranger to the civilians, either. It requires human genetic information – DNA or protein – to work as a conductor on an electronic device or parts, to be connected to a computer, thereby allowing calculations and data interpretations of rate and accuracy beyond any human imagination or preexistent semiconductor. It’s a dreamlike technique that...”

“Speak human, will ya?”

“......Simply put, a biochip enables your computer to deal with data and information at a rate that only a biological brain can conduct. Consider it an essential element in shaping a computer into a fine mechanical mimicry of human brain.”

Muzaka did not withdraw the puzzled look on his face, but he did not ask for further explanation.

“Okay, if you say so. So what does this GC chip do?”

“It was to be used for weapons developed or manufactured by the Union. And for the computers that would control such weapons. They would download the DNA data laid inside the chip to target only the designated foe for assault.”

“So it makes a weapon capable of telling its targets on its own? I have no idea how that’s possible, but you’re right. Those rascals are not too shabby.”

Frankenstein continued with his ardent inspection of the document, wondering why Union had never flaunted such weapon. However, he could soon presume why.

‘Those monsters had long been standing as the summit of the world, thanks to their modified humans, technology in human modification, and the derivative profit. I doubt they could find a threat fearsome enough to take on with such weapon. And even though we later served as their great adversary, they wouldn’t have had samples to use against us, nobles, or werewolves.’

His assumption was proven by the note on the document, specifying how the GC chip never made it out of the list of weapons on a hold.

And obviously Ignes did not agree with such course of action.

“She was hoping to refine this weapon, to make it work exclusively on modified humans loyal to those that oppose her.”

“So they laugh and chit-chat under the chandelier but seek for a chance to bite at each other’s head on their carriages back from the ball. That’s so much like the Union, though I shouldn’t be saying this as an ex-tenant of Crombel’s lab.”

Frankenstein retorted with a snort and an expression that he is not completely brainless.

“Speaking of which, is the reconstruction all over now?”

“Sort of. This isn’t the first time, so there was no need for me to give orders.”

Muzaka grinned, despite the fact that having to rebuild his land on multiple basis is nothing to be proud about.

“But I couldn’t help getting scared during the process. I mean, we’ve already experienced destruction and construction several times. So I even came to think that maybe we should just leave things the way they are, since there’s a good chance they’d be dismantled again.”

“You know you can’t do that.”

“Oh, of course I do. But I’m scared as I speak. I wouldn’t be surprised to witness another facility breaking down to dust. Or hear something exploding.”

“No need to make yourself sound so ominous. The odds feel too high whenever you offer them.”

Muzaka snickered, as if telling his audience that he is worrying for nothing.

And just then resonated a CRASH, something none of them wanted or expected.

“...What was that?”

“H-how should I know? But it came from the biggest lab in our...”

“You mean the main lab? Where Mr. Jang worked?”

“Uh... Yeah. What about it?”

Then why are you still here?

Frankenstein glared at the werewolf lord briefly before he bolted. Muzaka soon caught up to him and outran him.

They soon got to see how the lab was already teeming with werewolf researchers and warriors.

“What was that all about?”

“Something just blew up, right?”

“Ugh, what’s the smell? This is the foulest, thickest smoke I’ve ever smelled!”

The atmosphere was close to chaotic, but werewolves did not fail in noticing Muzaka and letting him through the unbearably malodorous stench of smolder, followed by Frankenstein, whose presence nobody questioned due to the magnitude of the situation.

Once he reached the center of the commotion, Frankenstein could see why no one kept much interest in him.

“...What happened?”

Muzaka murmured at the sight of a hunched, terribly quivering werewolf, his tone no longer merry, now steeled with utmost rigidity and coldness.

Frankenstein’s heart seized as well upon identifying who he was.

“M-my lord......”

Adne was holding onto something with hands just as quivery.

Muzaka closed their distance, and Adne stepped back as he shook his arms like they were on fire.

“...This must be the network transmission modem. The one that human researcher installed for the QuadraNet. How come it’s in pieces? He told us never to touch it. You told me an urgent business came up before you left; is this what you were talking about?”

Adne’s lips mumbled something inaudible in a hurry, but with skittish eyes he surveyed the faces looking down at him before trembling once again.

“We gotta talk, Adne. We have a lot to talk about.”

Muzaka sternly announced, as Frankenstein narrowed his lips.

(next chapter)

The ideology and terminology for “biochip” and “biological computers” are not fictional. My original plan was to get into more details regarding the current research and commercial progress that has been made regarding these technologies. However, I decided to include only the most basic concepts about them, for I believe including something that requires professional comprehension would prove as hindrance in readers’ appreciation of a work.

Also, it’s about time to bring out the star of the show so far hidden - the apparent traitor in QuadraNet project. I’ve been providing hints about this traitor over the several past chapters; I’m not sure if you caught every single one of them, and I’ll definitely get into details about them in future chapters! Hopefully you’ll stay tuned until then!

[danwhobrowses]

One Piece: Mini-Theory Mashups (Part 3, Wano Edition)

So, I’m bored XD And it’s been almost 8 months since Part 2, so why not do another theory dump huh? Before we were at 958 and since then 26 Chapters and a Pandemic have happened, so that has been plenty of time to theorycraft some new stuff, this one being all specific to the Wano arc and potential aftermaths from it.

Part 1 -> Here Part 2 -> Here None have been confirmed so far, but I still believe all of these can happen, but onto the newer stuff

Spoilers leading up to Chapter 984, just so you know

Hawkins Joins the Marines or Big Mom

So, yes, I still think Hawkins is alive, you can fight me on that all you like! And I would love for Hawkins to be on Luffy’s side 100%, for the notion of him being a man of chances and Luffy just trampling all over that so he can also experience Law’s eternal headache. But in reality I think it’s doubtful, we do still underestimate the full extent of his strength, and why he went out to sea is still a mystery, but knowing what we know of Hawkins I don’t think he could handle the energy that emit from the Straw Hats for long periods of time. The flaw he also has is that he never takes unnecessary risks, which is why he’s a Headliner for Kaido despite hating it. But, if Kaido’s defeated then what is left for him? I don’t think he can be direct opposition for Luffy to be King, he was already jumped by Law (despite proving his tactical skills) so he would have to find a safer situation for him and his crew, and for me that’s either the Navy or Big Mom. For the Navy it comes down to any solidarity he has with X Drake, the SWORD infiltrator seems to get along well with his Worst Gen member at the least, and Hawkins hasn’t said anything bad about him, maybe he does pull a Jango and become an interrogator. I would see him more on Big Mom’s side though, like Hawkins BM likes to plan out her actions so the conclusion is inevitable, they are both overly patient in a way so their strategies fit, also being a Straw Man would entice Big Mom’s collecting nature. This way if BM’s crew does become a begrudging ally with the Straw Hats there’s still an option for Hawkins to return into view.

Yamato is not Nakama, but can be Grand Fleet

I know everyone’s excited by Yamato, and also excited by Yamato. But I am not one of those ‘Yamato 4 Nakama’ people. Nothing against them at all but Yamato’s purpose does not fit the crew at all. I still stand by Team Carrot, since her goals offer more space to sail at sea and she has already established herself a position on the Sunny as the Crow’s Nest (hinted already with her being a Kingsbird in Zou), all of which Yamato has yet to demonstrate. Yamato’s primary goal is to be Kozuki Oden, which means opening Wano’s borders. But with being Oden would also be to feel cramped by the stationary lifestyle of Wano, so after the dust clears I do believe that Yamato will take to sea, just not with Luffy. Instead I can see them either commit to the remnant Whitebeard Pirates - since Oden promised Whitebeard to return to them after completing Roger’s voyage, or to set up their own crew, being one of Luffy’s allies/Grand Fleet. This theme with Yonko kids is also one I see with Katakuri as well, either by smoothing things with Big Mom or breaking off themselves (as hinted when the kids fractured a little over who BM’s successor would be).

Kin’emon is the Next Shogun of Wano, Proven by Fighting Kaido

This one is a deep take, because many have their eyes on the Kozuki children for this one; either Momo by bloodright, Hiyori for female empowerment or Toki because we didn’t see a body. But my bet for Shogun of Wano is actually Kin’emon, one of the few Wano characters we have the most exposure of, it’s through finding Kin’emon did the Straw Hats become embroiled in Wano affairs. Additionally, Kin’emon’s history is quite a storied development from the delinquent he was to the noble warrior he is now. Sure he is a tad perverted still, but current Wano perception is that Kin’emon is a master strategist, one of Oden’s oldest confidants and the man entrusted with the protection of Momonosuke. But what will establish him as the future Shogun will be near the conclusion of the raid, when Kin’emon helps the pirates fight Kaido. It may just be a single opening, but Kin’emon has one thing that can factor in as an edge against Kaido: he can cut fire. If his Kitsune-Ryu can negate Kaido’s super-destructive dragonfire, then Kin’emon may indeed be seen as a legend worthy of leading Wano as an open country, all while the Kozuki either remain in Kuri or rebuild until they are ready and/or willing to be Shogun themselves.

CP-0 freed Law, because they need Kaido distracted

This panel mostly sells it for me. CP0 are of course the most secretive but also the most underhanded group of the World Government, they only have to face Orochi to request weapons because the Shichibukai system has put Buggy out of option and Wano is more technologically advanced. But Orochi is cocky, he thinks himself untouchable with Kaido by his side, so wouldn’t it be a ‘shame’ if Kaido was somehow incapacitated? That the alliance’s plans came to fruition and Orochi and Kaido fell to them? This plays into CP0 hands nicely, because while Kaido and co are preoccupied with the raid, CP0 can steal the blueprints for all their new and deadly technology Kaido has spent decades working on, saving Law also means he owes them a favour, and Law is definitely someone you’d want one day to request a favour from.

Kaido saves Momonosuke!

The general story between Kaido and Momonosuke seems to be that Kaido expects more from Momo and is thus disappointed to find him to have no goals, no strength and no courage. Right now Momo is about to be crucified so Orochi can feel at ease, but interestingly Kaido (nor Black Maria) seem all to enthusiastic about this. I do think that many people can kill Orochi; Zoro, Hiyori and Denjiro being the top 3 options, but I think Kaido is also an option himself and the reason will be Momo’s Devil Fruit. It doesn’t feel like coincidence that Momo can turn into a dragon, nor that Momo’s dragon form has never been seen to Kaido or the wider public, right now Momo would be a goner because the mere presence of Kaido negates the number of infiltrating Samurai, Robin, Jimbei and the Momo Rescue Squad, but if Momo - like he often does when he’s scared - turns into a dragon, his tough hide would spare him from any blade or bullet Orochi has. The mere sight of a fellow dragon may be the trigger as well for Kaido to change his mind on Momo and finally, FINALLY toss aside Orochi, killing him or at least leaving him at the mercy of the nine shadows Toki prophecised.

Wrath of the Queen of Beasts: The Bewitching Kunoichi, Tama!

Tama is of course not present in the raid, and there is good reason for that. The battlefield is no place for her to be endangered, but she may also be a decisive key to Luffy and co turning the tides. Tama’s Devil Fruit works on SMILEs and normal animals, so far she’s been able to turn Headliners such as Babanuki and Speed to her side, all of Udon’s SMILE guards are under her control as well as Hihimaru and Komachiyo. Add on the also-absent Caribou, Hitetsu and Onimaru and we may still have a vast army primarily populated by Tama’s new subordinates waiting to also raid Onigashima. It’d also be quite fitting that the ‘Animal Kingdom’ Pirates would be forced to fight actual beasts, one other beast that can be fought that Tama may’ve been seeking are the Mountain Gods, I’m unsure if the main god is still alive (I mean, Nola made it and she’s much older) but its son at least must have a part to play, and if Tama was really tactical the dango from the O-Shiruko would be her Kibi Dangos. The final cap to Tama’s importance to the raid and Kaido’s downfall can also be her friendship with Big Mom back when she had amnesia. Big Mom was angry in Udon because there was no O-Shiruko to share with the leftover towns, it’s this waste of food that also sets Luffy off to blow his cover in Onigashima, so if Big Mom also notices the waste of food with Tama in mind, this could also trigger her in the same way. She may not be directly involved, but Tama’s lasting effect on the characters themselves can still provide a key impact to the story.

And with that I’ll stop, I do have others but not really Wano-exclusive, and those that are can quickly be debunked within the next 2 or 3 chapters, so I’ll keep those close to the chest XD  As with Parts 1 and 2 feel free to expand on this for other theory videos/posts, I’m sure more digging can be found. Until next time!

[jemimaboultonmessagesmultiverse]

Asemic writing

Today we created our own abstract messages and secret script (asemic writing) by layering wet and dry media and creating opportunities for suggestions of letter forms by weaving slices of writing together. we used our articles to inform what our initial writing would be and researched Pokras Lampas, Simon Williams, Cecil Touchon, Fabio Zanino and Jerry Iverson to take inspiration from and create ideas from their form of asemic writing.

Simon Williams

Simon Williams is a contemporary painter who mainly uses Alkyd oil and acrylic paint to create his abstract painting. He takes inspiration from many things such as childhood comic books, propaganda posters and graffiti art, which personally I think really shines through in his work due to the large sweeping curves and the bold colours shown throughout. 

Texture is a very prominent thing within his work as there are many brush strokes where it appears as though the brush didn’t have that much paint on it and therefore the brush has left a scratchy texture. This contrasts with some of the very smooth round shapes created in his work which have an almost 3d look to them due to the way the paint has been applied. I really like the curves and flow of the lines in this piece and that is something I would like to achieve in my own work at some point.

I also like the use of colour in this as Williams has put the majority of the vibrant colours in the background, leaving the foreground to be mainly black and white. This intrigues me as it is something I have never thought about doing in my own work but definitely something I should experiment with. I really like the simplicity of this piece and how the shapes created could suggest letters but it is not obvious from which language or alphabet the are derived from, since they don’t actually exist. This is the exact effect I want to create in my own work.

The piece below is my favourite because of the colours found within it. While the main colours appear to be teal and purple, a small amount of pink and red can also be found within the black which is very interesting to me as it makes me wonder why Williams decided to include such a small amount of a warm colour which contrasts the cool colours throughout the rest of the piece. In my opinion it could be to send the message that a warmth and hope can be found in every cold bleak situation.

This piece is also different to the previous piece as there is colour in the foreground and the background. There are also much more hues of all the colours used, which is something I would like to do in my own work along with creating textures similar to how Williams does in is work, with very dry brushes containing only a small amount of paint. I would also like to create a general theme with the shapes I create as Williams only uses very round curves and I would like to only use one type of shape in my work, possibly the opposite shape, with many angles and straight lines.

Pokras Lampas 

Pokras Lampas is a graffiti artist from Russia who has created many large scale installations and worked with many brands on advertising campaigns due to his eyecatching patterns which resemble letters. His lines have a very calligraphic style to them and usually follow an overall uniform shape for example lines of the asemic writing forming circles in a similar way to a mandala.

I really like the colours within his work and how it is usually a black background with colours over it as I could achieve this effect by inverting some of my own work which is going to be made on white paper. I also really like the large scale and versatility of his work as it works on many different surfaces such as walls, cars and even people in a very detailed and interesting way as by using these different canvases the intricacy isn’t lost.

I particularly enjoy the piece above as the brightness if focused surrounding man and the art gradually gets darker and more shadowed towards the edges of the photograph. I also like the way this has been captured as by having him sit in the middle of the art it displays the central focal point and how large the installation really is in a photograph which prior to him sitting there wouldn’t have made clear the scale of the piece.

The campaign and product below are some of the most visually appealing pieces by Lampas that I have seen due to the variety of colours used in the body paint and how vibrant everything is. The way the lighting makes the shadows appear as pink ties the whole photograph together as without the adding neon pink it would’ve appeared rather bland. 

The shapes of the the letters in Lampas’ work remind me a lot of blackletter and therefore if I wanted to display something old and ancient in my own work I could use shapes similar to this o=to do so as Blackletter is the oldest typeface.

I do also like the combination of red and yellow and how the shapes fram the neck and shoulders in a similar way to how clothes do. From looking at Pokras Lampas’ work I have learnt that in my own asemic writing I should think about what shapes my asemic letters are making and whether they form any other shapes such as circles in his work.

Cecil Touchon

Cecil Touchon is an artist who creates abstractions based on typography. The he creates hints at letters and has much depth to it due to the way he makes the rectangles and rounded wedges overlap and interact with eachother. He uses billboard fonts as inspiration for the type of font he is subtly adding into his work and this makes for some big bold shapes and colours that are very striking to catch people’s attention as billboards typically contain adverts and are definitely made to be noticed.

I really like how he has mixed a very natural colour such as tan with a bright periwinkle blue in this piece as I could use this in my own work to portray the messages of my articles as many of them draw parallels between 2 very contradicting subjects, for example nature and technology. The colours also remind me of the sea and a beach and therefore the dark areas could be pollution, or the white and blue could be the sky and the tan could be the ground.

I really like how colours and shapes carry over many of the rectangular shapes and connect them all together, creating very abstract shapes in the process. In my own work I could use this as I could think about how long I want to continue a line for and how much I want the shapes within my work to overlap and affect eachother as by not having them overlap I could end up with a very different outcome than if I did.

The second piece I looked at by Touchon is very different to the first one as it contains no colour and the shapes of the letters are much more similar to letters usually seen in everyday life. We took inspiration from this in our own work as we started our pieces by weaving together some black and white type. This piece reminds me slightly of David Carson’s work as it has the same elements of a glitchy sort of type and scramble up words that his work commonly contains.

 This also reminds me of the tomato project due to the black and white and bold lettering which is making shapes in an unnatural way. I think it would be very fun to try and create a piece similar to this in photoshop as I could splice together words and then use the threshold tool to make them very dark and computerised, which would work well for many of my articles, especially the one about robot flies as that is very technological and I think that the outcome could be very technological and futuristic.

Fabio Zanino

Fabio Zanino makes sculptures which are created from objects which he has broken apart and then put back together but only using certain pieces to give the entire object a new identity. He calls this work “Decostruzioni” as he deconstructs things and reassembles them to give them a new purpose and makes them abstract artworks. 

I think Zanino’s work is extremely interesting in the way that he will take something which already had a purpose, destroy it and separate it from the original purpose and somehow rebuild it in a way which makes it yet again purposeful. By ridding the objects words and textures of their meaning he can then manipulate them by changing the shape and arrangement of the object and make the textures be interpreted in a completely different way.

Unlike the other artists researched today, Zanino doesn’t necessarily create asemic writing all the time as not all of his pieces contain text, but the way in which he works is similar to that of asemic writing and we took a lot if inspiration in how we worked from him as we disfigured our own writing and our own work and then rearranged it to give it new meaning and new purpose, and I then even went on to rearrange and reweave the asemic pieces I had already created and manipulated them further giving it a third layer of hidden meaning.

Jerry Iverson

Jerry Iverson creates art based on the balance and grace if Asian calligraphy. To do this he uses many layers of paper ink and glue to chop up the words and experiment with how black lines can look like words even if they mean absolutely nothing. I really like this nihilistic approach to asemic writing where the intention is to have it be meaningless as it more or less gives Iverson the freedom to do what he wants without having to think about context. This may have been why there is no colour in this piece as while many of his pieces aren’t colourful some have very subtle colour and this has none to show how it means absolutely nothing.

I really like the texture created by a dry brush and ink in this piece and that is definitely something I could put into my own work and maybe even create something similar using oil pastel or charcoal as they both have a very scratchy texture similar to this.

I also really like how a lighter wash of ink has been used in his work to create a shadow like image behind the harsh black lines that replicates them. The shapes in this piece are something I would like to use in my own work as they are very harsh fine lines with lots of texture which really appeals to me as texture is something I want to include more of in my own work. I also like the way he has copied some of the lines in a lighter wash to add depth as it makes he entire piece more visually appealing in my opinion due to the use of many tones.

The piece below is from the series “Line Bombs”, based on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and the disruption they have caused. Iverson has displayed this disruption very successfully by using many layers and textures in a very messy way which is effective for showing an explosion. The ink splatters could represent the corruption and damage that the bombs and wars are doing.

The choice of applying ink in this way could also be to display the aggression and anger associated with war and the way that the ink interacts with the other media on the page could be as a representation to how that anger goes on to affect people unknowingly as you cant plan how ink is going to react to the page you are putting it on.

I really like the use of many shapes and textures and the way that Iverson chooses to layer his work as it makes interesting compositions with lots of depth and many different shades from black to white, I also like how he doesn’t opt to use gradients and instead applies colour in a more jarring way to send the harshness of the messages he is portraying across.

My asemic writing

For my own asemic writing I decided to based all on my article about mammoths being revived, as I haven’t done much work concerning this subject and alspo I thought it could work well for asemic writing due to them being ancient and how I could link them to cave drawings.

For all my pieces I first started off by writing words rather largely on an A4 piece of paper repetitively to then be cut into strips to weave together and hide the message. The words I chose were “mammoth revival extinct animal restoration” as they all link to the chosen article and almost make sense as a phrase. When slicing my words up I decided to do it lengthways down the paper to allow myself longer strips to weave together as I wanted to weave across most of the page and this would be easier to do with longer strips.

I then went on to create the asemic writing and I did this with a biro at first just to extend the lines and shapes created by the sliced up letters and continued the shapes they made, overlapping and connecting some of them in a way which reminds me of Pokras Lampas. I also wanted to replicate something which looks like It could’ve been made in caveman era, but I don’t think I achieved this in my writing very well as it reminds me more of Asian or Russian architecture and the patterns seen on that. I did however make the ends of all my lines very scratchy and not uniform to hopefully replicate some of the textures which could been seen in very old cave drawings.

After continuing the lines I added some oil pastel to create the rocky scratchy texture I was trying to achieve. I think it did a successful job of adding texture and following some of the weaving which was glued down on the page already. Because of the ridges in the paper due to the weave it made very interesting depth as the oil pastel would pick up more in some areas than others. I then also used oil pastel to highlight some of the shapes I created and enlarge them in grey in a similar way Jerry Iverson. I think the grey and the orange look very nice together as it is a warmer grey and therefore more on the brown side than the blue side.

Finally in this piece I added an ink wash of a very pale peachy orange colour which ties the whole thing together as it makes the whole think have a colour overall. I got this idea from looking at Simon Williams work as he using long sweeping strokes and I tried to make my brush not too wet to display some of the brush texture like he does. I also used the ink to further replicate some of the shapes I saw and give the piece a border with shapes that make sense in context to the rest of the piece. Overall I believe this outcome was very successful and other than the writing not looking exactly as I had Hoped I really like how the textures turned out and I believe I achieved my goals regarding texture and composition as it all works in harmony with eachother.

In the second piece I wanted to aim to have the writing be more reminiscent of the textures and shapes seen in caves so I used oil pastel instead of biro to do the original asemic writing and I do think this helped overall give the entire thing more of a rocky texture. I then went on to add some blue oil pastel too as mammoths lived in the ice age and I though it would make sense to use blue as blue is a cold colour associated with ice. I like how the blue oil pastel turned out so I added more blue and this is where it all went wrong.

When adding the blue ink I added too much of it and completely covered the whole piece, overwhelming it, which is not at all what I wanted to do, so I tried to fix this by adding white acrylic paint. I like how the white acrylic looks as it adds a frosty look to the blue but it didn’t many to fix the mistake I made and therefore I don’t like how this outcome ended up. If I was to do this again I would use a small brush for the blue wash or maybe I would choose a different colour than blue altogether or maybe a different shade as it doesn’t look like ice as I hope and instead looks much more bright and possibly happy.

On the other hand I do like how this composition started and how the oil pastels looked when used as the original writing and I do believe that there are many appealing textures within this which the addition of acrylic helped a lot with as it made the piece even more rough and scratchy which is overall the appearance I was aiming for.

For my final piece of asemic writing I wanted to create an overall shape and have all the lines I created be inside of it. To do this, when I was placing the weave I considered how I could frame the page so I decided to put the weaving in 2 corners diagonally from eachother so I could connect them with lines through the middle of the page, I used a black sharpie to do the base writing and I made the lines very thick to develop onto them later. I made them very sketchy as well to create a similar effect to the previous piece but in a different medium. Some of the lines got extended very far across the page to connect both halves together. I really like the way that placing the weaving in this way affects the lines as it makes both corners much more full with lines than the middle and I think this works very effectively in creating a balance across the whole page.

I then used oil pastel on the weaving to dark the corners, causing the middle of the page to be a break of light in the darkness. This also added a lot of depth in areas where I wanted it and worked just as I had hoped it would. From doing all these pieces I have learnt I really enjoy the textures which oil pastels can create and how using them subtly can change the entire theme of the whole piece.

I then added ink washes in the shape of the piece and I think it worked very well to tie the whole shape together and emphasise how the piece shows and follows an overall shape, which is something I started to consider in the first place because I looked at Pokras Lampas. 

Finally I added white down the centre of each black line which made the overall piece have lightness where it needed it so it wasn’t tot dull. Overall the outcome of this composition is something I enjoy very much and I think it was very successful in the way that it flows from one side of the page to the other, If i was to fix elements of it I would’ve made the white lines much less jagged and more smooth compared to the way that it is so that they could contrast the jaggedness of the black lines they are surrounded in.

As an additional composition I photocopied my first piece and put it into negative as well as one normal photocopy and I weaved them together as I had been with the rest of the pieces. I really like how this turned out as the contrast between both pieces is very visually appealing to me. If I was to fix any elements of this I would’ve cut the pieces into strips more neatly as they look rather jagged and not in straight lines the way I wished they are. I do really like how I weaved from one side of the page to the other as that is something I think make the page very balance in a simple way.

[atheistforhumanity]

I Address Trump’s Address on Iran

If were not able to listen to or read about Trump’s address yesterday on his Iran strategy, let me quickly bring you up to speed. The bottom line of their strategy is to immediately impose economic sanctions on Iran, and at the same time announce the need to a new deal with Iran that will bring peace and an end to their nuclear ambitions. 

Let me first acknowledge that I was pleasantly surprised when Trump did not announce a massive bombing or other military strike against Iran. After Iran made it’s attack on two Iraq bases, which had no casualties, they immediately announced that they did not want to escalate the conflict any further. So I was glad that Trump resisted to push the conflict further. 

Trump seemed to be sending two messages at once. On one hand he made significant threats against Iran. On the other he talked about the need for peace and Iran having the prosperous nation they deserve to have. This is somewhat understandable given the current situation. 

The ironic part of Trump’s call for peace and a new agreement is that this was relatively achieved in the Obama administration. Trump entered his presidency ranting and raving about the Iran Nuclear deal with no legitimate criticism. The deal had Iran’s nuclear program under control and would have kept them under weapons grade for around 15 years. This was an agreement that the US, and other countries, reached after years of diplomacy. This is not something that’s achieved over night. It was Trump that tore that deal up, even though it was actually working. Now he announces that they need the same type of deal again. 

I will say that I am not against sanctions on Iran, they definitely bring it upon themselves. However, before Trump came into office we were in a place with Iran where we did not need extreme sanctions. Trump has personally dissolved any positive relations that had been built with Iran by himself. For anyone who knows anything about the history of conflict between the U.S. and Iran, they would know they are not the type of country that will be dictated to, no matter how powerful their enemy. Sanctions can be effective, and they are much more preferable to war, but suspect Trump believes they will simply roll over under the pressure. That will definitely not happen, and I suspect President Rouhani will do everything to ride out this situation until our election. 

My sincere concern is about how patient Trump will be and how he will react over the next month or two as Iran furthers its nuclear capabilities. There is a real chance that his temper will overwhelm him before he gets anywhere with diplomacy. We’ve seen from North Korea that Trump’s skill at diplomacy is much less than desired. 

Overall we are in a much better place than we could have been, and my hope is that both Trump and Rouhani will take very little action at all, and they will both tough it out until the election. I definitely do not see Trump making any progress with Rouhani. 

Lies and Inaccuracies

Trump’s speech was relatively short, but still contained a few significant lies or misleading comments. I believe it’s important to highlight these for two reasons. One, cataloging them proves our stance that he is liar. Two, his lies are specifically meant to make himself look better and Obama worse. This type of manipulative propaganda has wreaked havoc on our country. Some of these might seem insignificant, but the truth is that they show a high level of dishonesty and purposeful deception. 

Trump tried to minimalize the effectiveness of the Iran Nuclear Deal by saying it was ending shortly anyway. Well, if you think of 15-25 years as shortly then fine, but that is not the word I would use. This is part of constant attack Trump has made on the deal with misinformation and lies. 

Maybe the most significant lie is when he said, “Iran’s hostilities substantially increased after the foolish Iran nuclear deal was signed in 2013, and they were given $150 billion, not to mention $1.8 billion in cash.” This is seriously misleading, because he phrases this in a way that sounds like the U.S. or Europe paid Iran this vast amount of money to get them to comply. That’s not accurate in any way. When the original Iran Nuclear Deal was signed, part of the incentive for Iran was to loosen the current sanctions on them. This unfroze money that had been in limbo that belonged to them. We did not give a penny to Iran, that was money that already belonged to them due to normal trade. Trump is trying to frame the Obama administration for giving away money to terrorists. This is actually a falsehood that’s been debunked many times in recent years. This is a part of a much larger issue of the Republican party constantly pushing known conspiracy theories. 

“Over the last three years, under my leadership, our economy is stronger than ever before and America has achieved energy independence. These historic accomplishments changed our strategic priorities. These are accomplishments that nobody thought were possible. And options in the Middle East became available. We are now the number-one producer of oil and natural gas anywhere in the world. We are independent, and we do not need Middle East oil.“

As you can see from the quote above, Trump boasted about our oil production and energy self sufficiency. He clearly made it sound like his administration made of all of this happen. In reality, America achieved becoming a leading petroleum producer in 2013. Measuring independence is tricky, but no one thought it was impossible, we’ve been making steady progress on that front for years. Again, Trump is telling bold faced lies about his accomplishments. 

Trump also claimed that under his presidency they completely rebuilt the military, saying, “the American military has been completely rebuilt under my administration, at a cost of $2.5 trillion.” This is a ridiculous claim, as nothing fundamental about the military has been rebuilt. They did add additional funding to the military, but this is a far cry from “rebuilding” the military. Trump was recently called out for lying to soldiers overseas about them getting brand new planes. Mostly the military refurbishes equipment and there has not been substantial wave of new assets. I also haven’t seen a large portion of this funding go toward vets. 

In addition he claimed that we currently producing “many” supersonic missiles. The truth is that this technology is still in the testing phase and there are none available for use. Again, trying to give himself an accomplishment that hasn’t happened. 

He also claimed to have destroyed 100% of ISIS, which is clearly not true. Although they’ve been badly defeated, they clearly still exist throughout the middle east. Trump bragged about all the ISIS members killed and captured in his administration, however, when he suddenly pulled out troops that allowed Turkey to slaughter Kurds, ISIS fighters being held by the Kurds escaped. 

End

I just want to stress that for such a short speech on such a serious matter, this is a shameful amount of lying that all serves to bolster his supporter’s image of him. This is a perfect example of how we liberals are always saying that Trump lies constantly everyday. He could not even lay out a simple strategy without dropping lies on every subject he brought up.

[anneapocalypse]

RWBY 7.01 - 7.02

There is so much to talk about here. Spoilers!

(Please note that I’m not currently a FIRST member, so please don’t spoil me, thanks!)

We’re in Altas now! I love the aesthetic of Mantle, and I like that they didn’t go for the kind of full-on steel-and-glass futuristic aesthetic you might expect for all of Atlas. Instead, it’s more of a Victorian-futuristic look, with brick buildings and cobblestones and narrow streets.

Qrow’s new voice actor is killing it. Jason Liebrecht delivers a performance that is virtually indistinguishable from old Qrow if you aren’t listening closely for it. akisawana pointed out to me that he’s emoting more, which I think tracks for his character growth, but his voice and inflection is spot-on Qrow.

Themes of distrust build immediately, with Qrow uncertain if they should take to Ironwood. Weiss is concerned about the increased military presence in Mantle. We see the face of Winter Schnee on a screen, apparently the public face of Atlas military, and perhaps despite Weiss’s confidence we wonder if our heroes can trust her.

There is a fair amount of talky exposition in these first two episodes and some of it is rather on the nose, as the story quickly tries to get us up to speed with the situation and the general atmosphere in Mantle. People don’t love the surveillance state—we see some children throw a rock at one of the camera bots. But people love Atlas, and they’re proud of their city, even if difficult times.

And we meet Giapetto—I meant Pietro! Something of a convenient character, as he’s both high up in Atlas security and living and working down among the common people; he knows Ironwood, and Maria Calavera, and of course, his daughter has told him all about Team RWBY.

And as many of us probably suspected as soon as we laid eyes on this man, our sweet Penny has returned! I loved it through and through. “I thought you were dead” is one of those tropes in fiction that just always gets me, so Ruby’s face when she realized her friend was a live, and Penny’s face when she saw Ruby and recognized her… I needed a minute. It was just a truly delightful moment, made even more so by Penny’s exuberant tackle-hug.

I’m curious how it is that flightless Grimm are getting into Atlas, since I would think part of the appeal of a floating city in the first place is to keep them out. It wouldn’t stop flying Grimm, of course, but these monsters weren’t flying. EDIT: They weren’t in the floating city, they were down in Mantle, that’s my bad. Anyway, it was a fun battle to watch, as Oscar has learned a few things, and Blake backing up Yang and giving her that little nod was very sweet.

I am still banking on Oscar becoming the official new leader of Team JNR, making them Team ORNJ. Oscar’s outfits even have orange in them, and for nothing directly to do with his name. It’s a sign, I tell you!

Sadly, Qrow’s optimism must never go unpunished! and our heroes are promptly taken captive by the Aesop’s—er, I mean, the Ace Ops. ;) This feels more for drama than anything else, and it’s kind of reminiscent of Wash, Donut, Sarge, and Lopez being taken captive by the Feds in season 12 of Red vs. Blue. But there’s a valid reason: the did steal a ship.

I love how Weiss says, “Ironwood’s Ace Operatives” like they’re a big deal, but as soon as someone else acts impressed by them, she’s like, “They’re not that big a deal.” Oh Weiss! Some things about her never change, and the way she throws shade is one of those things.

I also think it’s pretty obvious that Weiss is still influenced by her upbringing, both as an Atlesian and as a Schnee. “Tyranny” honestly isn’t that much of an reach from what Ironwood’s doing. It’s easy to sympathize with him, because he’s just so goshdarn likable and he make a sadface and we do kind of know his heart’s in the right place—but he’s misguided as hell and even the people close enough to give him the benefit of the doubt can see it. Ironwood puts his faith in technology, and when his tech failed him he only doubled down, trying to make it stronger. And now that we know who the leak is from Atlas security, we can pretty much assume it’s only going to backfire on him harder next time.

“Robyn Hill and her Happy Huntresses” sounds very intriguing, and I’m always excited to meet new female leader characters! I’m also thrilled to hear we have an old Winter Maiden, and I can’t wait to meet her. Really appreciating the introduction of cool old ladies in recent volumes.

I love Blake’s expression of trust in Ruby’s leadership, which seems representative of everyone present. Ruby really is the reason they’re all here—it was her journey to Haven with team JNR that brought them all to where they are. She is not just the leader of Team RWBY but the leader of this whole expedition, especially with Ozpin having lost the trust of so many of them, and now absent entirely. They all trust her.

Ruby, by contrast, is not sure if she can trust Ironwood. I really like this. I like Ruby learning to be cagey and not bestow her trust and optimism on everyone she meets. This feels more like character growth than frankly anything we’ve seen before, and I will take it!

Ironwood has brought Penny and Winter into the inner circle. That alone I don’t really question; they’re both loyal and responsible. What I do question is his decision to tell the Ace Ops, given that… well, I know they’re supposed to be the best, and they did capture our heroes, but it’s also been kind of hard to take them seriously thus far and I question that their discretion and judgment is up to the level required.

But Ironwood doesn’t just want to tell them. He wants to tell everyone. And this is where we’re reminded, not just of the constant threat of Grimm, but that they’re drawn by negative emotions. This is a world where fear brings literal monsters, and in a world like that… the rules are just different. It’s easier to understand Ironwood’s protective instincts, I think, in that context. Managing the emotions of the public is a question of national security. It doesn’t make him right, but… it’s important context.

And here we come back to Ironwood’s reliance on technology and military might. He believes the Atlas military can keep the Grimm at bay and keep people safe. I think he’s vastly underestimating how little anyone outside of Atlas trusts the Atlesian military anymore. They won’t feel safe under his protection, especially in Vale—they might even actively resist his aid. And the more afraid and angry they are, the more Grimm will come.

There is something comical about the fact that Ironwood’s grand plan is… to rebuild Amity Arena. Oh, with a comm tower. That latter part makes perfect sense! Why it needs to be attached to a colosseum, less so. Style points, I guess? Morale booster? Sure.

It’s also comical how much our heroes buried the lede on Oscar being the new Ozpin. And here, we get confirmation that Oz is still gone. Not present, not communicating with Oscar. I thought maybe they’d come to an understand, but… nope. He’s just gone. Which feels ominous, but also makes me wonder: what if Ozpin really is gone from Oscar? What if he’s in someone else? We’ve kind of assumed that couldn’t happen, but we don’t really know for sure. It’s a far out theory, and I don’t really think it’s true, but wouldn’t it be wild if he was now in Ruby—if Ozpin’s presence were at the heart of her reticence, her keeping Ozpin’s full story from Ironwood.

Of course, it’s probably better character development for Ruby if she just did that on her own.

But that leads me to another point, which is that it just kinda seems foreshadowed at this point that Ozpin will probably, somehow, be removed Oscar. Everyone’s been thinking of the aura transfer machine from volume 3, and at this point I’d say it’s likely that’s what the machine was always for in the first place: Ozpin, who after so many lives might be tired of having to inhabit the bodies of unwilling hosts. Ironwood, with Pietro’s help, was probably trying to find a way to free Oz from the cycle of death and rebirth, by transferring him permanently into a synthetic body. It seemed like a possible solution when Amber was attacked. But the machine had to have been in development before then.

When Ruby tells Ironwood that according to Ozpin, all the lamp’s questions were used up, Ironwood says “Right… right” in such a way that makes me think he either knows, or suspects, that this isn’t true. Probably suspects. He walks to the window and says thoughtfully, “Oz told us that too, a long time ago.”

So Ironwood no longer fully trusts Ozpin. And Ruby can’t fully trust Ironwood. Even Qrow is uncertain. I think Leo’s betrayal was a real blow to him.

But the moment that I think truly cements Ironwood’s character is that despite all that, he returns the relic to Ruby for safekeeping. It is a gesture of good faith that I think is pretty unlikely to be anything but genuine. I cannot imagine him parting with that relic if he truly only wanted power for himself.

The Ironwood and Qrow hug was beautiful. Whether friendship or romance, there is definitely some kind of deep connection between the two of them. Enough that Ironwood needed to tell Qrow, personally, that it was good to see him, and underscore his sincerity. And Qrow, when James hugs him… he smiles. He looks affectionate. It’s honestly really sweet.

Our heroes are about to get weapon upgrades! I do think it’s interesting the way Winter says this: “While assisting the military, we will provide you with the best equipment our scientists can devise.” And if they are no longer assisting the military…? Yeah, I do highly suspect our heroes will fall afoul of Atlas military again at some point.

This feels a strong opening to the new volume, and it’s laying out these themes of trust and distrust quite heavily, which I think will be very interesting to watch play out among all the characters involved. Most of all I’m looking forward to more of a character arc (read: any character arc) for Ruby, but there is a lot going on here in this new Atlas-centric part of the story. I’m excited to see more.

[seeaddywrite]

i’m not sure if you’re up for writing mylex, but if you are, mylex+62? or 20 for malex 💕

someday, i will try my hand at mylex because HELLO OT3, but i went with malex this time. i hope you enjoy! 

Keeping Michael at arm’s length is the hardest thing Alex has ever done.  It’s the right thing, because while Alex made it back from Baghdad alive, he didn’t survive unscathed, and his head is a dangerous place. How can he commit to anyone, let alone Michael, when he’s not even sure that he’ll be able to sleep through the night?  It’s easy to fool everyone else; he projects the perfect image of a calm, competent soldier whenever he’s in public, and no one ever questions it. No one but Michael, who’s always known him too damn well. So the mask becomes rigid, even cruel, when faced with Michael’s attempts to talk, or fix things, and Alex is left wondering if he’s ever going to be able to just feel like himself again. He’s pretty sure he won’t.

But at Cauffield, Alex is forced to give up all pretenses of being the rational soldier and makes the decision that if Michael’s going to stay and become another of his father’s victims, Alex is, too. For the past week, since realizing that Guerin’s been trying to rebuild a spacecraft and leave the planet, Alex has tried to imagine what a life without Michael in it, even at the fringes, would be like. And every time, no matter how creative Alex got, the image hurt. There is no scenario in which Alex is content with that reality — so he stays. He tears down every wall he’s put between the two of them since coming back to Roswell, and he lets Michael see exactly how deeply he’s loved, even if it’s by someone as messed up as Alex. “You are mine,” he tells Michael desperately, reminding him that he has someone, a family, even if it’s not his mother. “I never look away, Guerin!”

There are tears in his eyes as Michael throws the honesty back in his face, but Alex knows him well enough to see the lie in his desperate, grief-stricken eyes. He calls him on it, and thankfully, the woman in the cell intervenes, her hand glowing against the glass as she imparts another devastating truth to Michael.

Between Alex and whatever message the woman in the cell — Michael’s mother, god! — passed on, Michael leaves the prison and is physically safe, but Alex isn’t stupid enough to say that he’s fine. The entire ride back to Roswell is terrifyingly silent, and there are two instances in which the SUV beneath them shakes, and Alex knows it’s not because there’s something going wrong with the engine. Michael is in pain, and Michael is losing control. But he won’t let Alex help, won’t let him even try. Instead, as soon as they return to the garage where he lives, Michael slams the car door in Alex’s face without a word and tears off like a madman behind the wheel of his own truck. Alex is left staring after him, aching and bereft with the knowledge that there’s nothing he can do for Michael, now.

So Alex decides to help in the only way left to him; he turns to technology. There are other bases like Cauffield — there have to be. Because if Alex knows anything, it’s how his father operates. He’s been studying Jesse Manes for years remotely, searching for weaknesses, a way to bring him down as he so richly deserves. During those years of recon, Alex has learned that his father never puts all of his eggs in one basket. If Cauffield was rigged to blow the moment anyone stirred in the quarantined section, he had to have other research centers. He wouldn’t be willing to give up the only source of information about his perceived ‘enemy’ so easily.

That means that there are other aliens out there, maybe more of Michael’s family, or Max or Isobel’s, being tortured by Alex’s family. That means there’s still a chance to save someone, and not just stand back to watch them burn. And even if he hadn’t wanted to put an end to everything his father cares about, Alex would have been driven to save those people just to be sure Michael never had to watch his only chance at family go up in flames in front of him. When push comes to shove, Alex knows he’d put his father in the ground before he could ever hurt Michael like that again.

Three days pass, somehow, in a blur of codebreaking and recon. The guys in Alex’s squad had always ridden him about his focus while working — apparently, there’d once been an air raid at their base and he’d missed it while trying to hack into the enemy computers and take out their bombs. Anderson, one of his best friends, had always been the one to bring him food and pry the computer out of his hands on those missions, while Cooper, their best gunman, had the joy of shoving Alex into bed when he was feeling his most stubborn. Alex had never liked leaving important jobs unfinished, and his own physical well-being was a small price to pay if it meant success. But his friends are half a world away, now, and Alex is on his own. He remembers to eat, shoving an energy bar from his bag in his mouth when he notices that he’s hungry, and sleeps when he gets tired enough to start making mistakes. There’s no room for error in hacking; one wrong keystroke, and he could tip off whoever’s on the other end — and he can’t have that. Not yet. They’re not ready.

“You working on setting a world record for longest amount of time without a shower? Because if so, you should really do us all a favor and set up shop somewhere with more ventilation.” Valenti’s voice makes Alex freeze; he’s close, only a foot or so away from Alex’s chair, which means he hadn’t even noticed when the man opened the door or climbed down the stairs. Christ. His situational awareness has been on overdrive since his teenage years; living with a man who seemed to want him dead did that to a kid. War only made it worse — so it was damned scary that Valenti could sneak up on him so easily.

Exhaling slowly to rid himself of the threat of panic, Alex flicks his gaze to Kyle’s face and raises one eyebrow in a distinctly flat expression of judgment. “Funny,” he says scathingly, and is startled by how hoarse his voice sounds. From disuse, apparently. Huh. “What do you want, Valenti? I’m working.”

“I can see that,” Kyle says dryly, glancing around at the scatter of files, hard drives, and backup systems that Alex hasn’t bothered to keep neat. His eyes linger on the screen currently running location algorithms, but only for an instant. Then, he’s back to looking at Alex, expression distinctly unimpressed. “You planning on rejoining the world anytime soon? Or, you know, sleeping?”

Sometimes, it’s still utterly bizarre that this is who Kyle Valenti grew into after high school. He’d always been smart, so the MD wasn’t exactly a surprise, but the genuine care he seems to exude for people under his purview is hard for Alex to swallow. And the fact that he’s here, trying to babysit Alex, is even more so. Alex has been taking care of himself since he was a teenager; he doesn’t need Valenti barging in and telling him how to run his life, even if his intentions are good.

Alex turns back to the largest screen in his set-up without a word, moving the algorithms to run on one of the smaller monitors so that he can multi-task. He takes half a second to point curtly at the sleeping bag in the corner of the bunker, where he’d rested in the recent past … in the somewhat recent past, at least. It had definitely been in the last twenty-four hours. He thinks. But that isn’t any of Valenti’s damn business.

“Manes.” Kyle’s voice is full of exasperation, and a moment later, he’s standing too close, his eyes narrowed and one hand half-extended, like he can’t decide whether he wants to rest a hand on Alex’s shoulder or shake him. “A sleeping bag on the floor doesn’t count as decent sleep, and you know it. Have you left this room at all since we got back from Cauffield?”

Alex lets his silence speak for himself. Obviously, Kyle already knows the answer to that question, and his brain power is better focused on the task at hand than verbal sparring with Valenti. He knows, logically, that he’s going to have to take a break sometime soon. The cyber protections around the rest of Project Shepherd are much more sophisticated than his father’s systems, and Alex is only one man. But he’s so close to a break through, and he doesn’t have any actionable intel — and if Alex has to sit on his ass doing nothing after everything he’s witnessed lately, he thinks he might lose his mind for good this time.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Valenti,” Alex snaps, when it becomes clear that Kyle isn’t leaving. “I’m a grown man, and I need to do this — you standing there, breathing down my neck, isn’t going to make me move any faster!” The anger coursing through his body doesn’t quite fit the situation; Alex recognizes that as if from a distance, but is powerless to stop himself. He’s too worn, too emotionally and physically exhausted.

“Fine,” Kyle snaps back, folding his arms over his chest stubbornly. “I’ll just go sit in the corner and wait for you to pass out from lack of sleep or lack of nutrition, then, huh? My bet is it won’t take long, and then I won’t have to deal with the attitude when I’m just trying to look out for you.”

Alex takes a long, slow deep breath, and forces himself to swallow the rejoinder that no one had asked Kyle to look out for him. It’s hard, and the words threaten to emerge anyway, but Alex manages to control himself. After a moment of tense silence, he looks back at Valenti, his eyes hard. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Kyle,” he says, and it’s only sort of a lie. “But I need to do this. There could be other facilities like Cauffield, and if we don’t get to them before my father realizes what we know —”

“You think I don’t get that?” Kyle’s back to looking exasperated, but there’s a rigidity to his spine that suggests that he does actually understand. He wants to know what his father was involved in as much as Alex wants to take it apart, and Kyle isn’t the sort of man to relish in the deaths of of innocent people. “I’m on your side, Alex, remember? We’re going to take these sons of bitches down, and rescue anyone left. But you’re not going to be able to do that if you don’t take care of yourself— and I’m pretty sure Guerin would tell you the same thing, if he could see you right now.”

The mention of Michael hits Alex like a blow, and he clenches his jaw in automatic response. “Michael has bigger things to worry about right now,” he says, somehow managing to keep his voice even. “And he’d want me to find the other facilities, if they’re out there. It’s the only chance he has of finding more family, and I’m not going to take a nap instead of -”

“For god’s sake, Manes! You’re the most stubborn son of a bitch I’ve ever met, you know?” Kyle shakes his head, and the muscle in Alex’s jaw jumps. He decides to take the high road and ignore the comment, because he’s pretty sure that Valenti is right at the top of that list with him. “You know what? Forget it. I should’ve just started with the back-up plan.”

Alex isn’t curious enough to wonder about what Kyle’s planning to turn around. He listens as footsteps recede out of the bunker and returns his full attention to the task in front of him. For a long while, all that he hears is the hum of the modems and the tap of his fingers on the keys — and the occasional yawn, because apparently, Valenti’s speech has reminded his body of exactly how little rest it had gotten in the last few days. Massaging the base of his leg where it met the join of the prosthetic absently, he reached for a Red Bull stashed in his knapsack  — only for the can to float out of his hand and disappear over his shoulder.

Blinking, Alex stares at his empty hand, trying to decide if he’s more tired than he realized for a fleeting moment. It takes an embarrassingly long time for him to figure out what must have happened, and spins his chair so quickly that he nearly goes for a second turn around.

There in the doorway, silhouetted by the light streaming in from outside, stands Michael Guerin, Alex’s energy drink in one hand and a narrow-eyed look on his face.  

He looks like hell, Alex registers first. There are deep blue circles beneath his eyes, standing out in stark contrast against the pallor of his skin, and the usual warmth in his gaze when he looks at Alex is conspicuously absent. In its place is a terrible emptiness, one that makes something in Alex’s chest feel cold. He’s never seen Michael this closed off, this isolated, and he hates it, and the part he’s played in causing it.

“Hi,” Alex says quietly, making no move to get up. If Michael wants to be closer, he’ll close the distance himself — and Alex doesn’t want to push him, no matter how much he wishes he could wrap the other man in his arms and banish that devastating emptiness from his expression.

Michael shifts under his gaze, and glances around the room, much like Kyle had done when he came in earlier. Anger swamps him again when he realizes that Valenti must have gone and found Michael — that was his back-up plan, apparently. As if Guerin doesn’t have enough on his plate right now, as if Kyle has any right to drag him here when he clearly needed to be working through the shock, grief, and pain that obviously hadn’t been dulled by a few days.

“I’m sorry Kyle called you,” Alex tries again, when Michael says nothing. “He doesn’t know when to mind his own business.”

“He said you haven’t left this room since we got back,” Michael says finally, obviously avoiding any direct reference to where they’d been or what they’d witnessed. Alex wonders if that’s because he doesn’t want to think about it, or because he doesn’t want to talk about it with him. Either one is fair, he supposes, even if it sucks to think Michael might not want to share his burdens with Alex. “That’s almost a week, now, you know.”

No, actually, Alex didn’t. A week? He’s been guessing three days, though, admittedly, it’s hard to gauge the passage of time when there’s no natural light in the room. God, has he really gone a week without a shower? No wonder Kyle had commented on the smell.

“Wanna tell me what’s so important that you can’t take a few hours away from the computer?” Michael prods, and takes a cautious step closer, like he’s afraid he’ll be turned away — which makes no goddamn sense, since if Alex had his way, he would never have left him in the first place.

“Valenti didn’t tell you?”

Michael snorts, and it’s the first real animation Alex has seen from him since he arrived. “All Valenti said was that I needed to get my ass over here and make you go home before he has one more patient at the hospital. I didn’t ask a lot of questions after that.” He gestures back at the screens, still running algorithms and password-bypass software, even while Alex isn’t watching. “Looks like you’re trying to find something, but that’s about as far as I get. Math, I can follow. Computer code, not so much.”

As always, it’s incredible to watch Michael’s mind at work. Alex is fairly certain that he’d have the algorithms figured out on his own if he gave him a few minutes, but he doesn’t really want a computer to be the one to tell him what Alex is looking for. Then again, Alex doesn’t particularly want to tell him, either. Not when Michael’s obviously avoiding the subject.

“I — I’m looking for other facilities like Cauffield,” he admits, his voice uncharacteristically timid. Alex hates feeling or sounding small or uncertain; he built his military career on being frosty under fire and quick to take charge of any given situation, and there is no room for uncertainty in that persona. But he’s never quite managed to keep that mask around Michael, not for long — and he can’t bear the idea of adding more hurt to the man he loves by rebuilding the walls that he’d torn down so completely when he was sure they were going to die together. “My dad, he wouldn’t have sacrificed one facility if there weren’t others. It would cut off his research, and he just wouldn’t do it.”

Michael sucks in a breath, and a wave of power emanates from him, slamming Alex’s chair back against the wall before he realizes what’s happening. The unexpected impact jolts his entire body painfully, and he winces before he can modulate the expression. He’s been sitting for days, and hasn’t removed the prosthetic for as long as he’s been in the bunker, so he’s more sore than he should be.

“Fuck,” Michael breathes, and he’s at Alex’s side, looking him over as if he expects to find blood or something. “I’m sorry. I didn’t -”

“Don’t, Guerin,” Alex admonishes immediately, unwilling to allow what amounted to a bruise to make Michael look so guilty.  “I don’t need you to apologize. I get it.” Fury is an old friend for him, one he’d met as a teenager desperate to escape his father, and Alex had only gotten to know the emotion better during the war. He doesn’t need Michael to explain why he’d lost control in that moment — the idea of other people being held and tortured for decades by Jesse Manes makes him homicidal, too. The only difference is that Alex doesn’t have telekinetic powers to lose control of.

Michael opens his mouth as if to say something else, but closes it again. There’s a thoughtful quality to his silence, so Alex doesn’t interrupt. Instead, he grabs the armrests of his desk chair and levers himself out of it, cursing the wheels when it wobbles and sends him back into a seated position. He’s been sitting for too long; the muscles in his bad leg are tight and stiff, and he’s going to be in a hell of a lot of pain when his body catches up with him.  For now, though, Alex can stand and drag the chair back to the computer monitors.

“You’re not going back to work on that,” Michael says incredulously, and the surprise in his voice is enough to have Alex turning back around to look at him. “No, Alex. It can wait. You need to go home and sleep, and give your leg a break — don’t think I didn’t notice the look on your face when you had to stand up.”  Alex feels strangely warmed by the words. He doesn’t like to be coddled, and never has, but the fact that Michael can be suffering so intensely and still be here to lecture Alex about his own well-being … it gives him hope, as inappropriate as it may be, considering their circumstances.

“It can’t wait, Michael. If my father figures out what we know, he could —”

“Do you seriously think that I don’t know what your father is capable of?” Michael interrupts, his voice low and cold in a way that’s never been directed at Alex before. “Fuck you, Manes. I was there. At least twenty people like me, including my —” He stops, swallowing hard, and the unshed tears glimmering in his eyes are nearly Alex’s undoing. “All murdered in cold blood right in front of me. I fucking know what he could do.”

Alex swallows, and looks down at the floor, thoroughly chastised. What he’d said had been stupid, and he never would have warned Michael against Jesse Mane’s motives if he’d been running on all cylinders.

“But you’re going to go home, anyway. Because people who’ve been working for days make mistakes, and we can’t afford any,” Michael continues, his voice firm. “And Jesus, Alex, if you’re doing this for me, I can’t — you’ve gotta stop, okay? I can’t be the reason that you’re isolating yourself down here and not sleeping. Whether you meant what you said or not, I —”

Alex can’t keep his mouth shut at that. It hurts too much to listen to Michael doubt him, and to know that he’s taking way too much responsibility for Alex’s own actions and decisions.  It’s not a surprise, not really, but Alex is exhausted, and his emotions are running away with him. “What do you mean, whether I meant what I said or not?” he demands. “When? When I told you that you’re my family? Or when I told you that you’re not the only one who never looks away? Because damn it, Guerin, both of those things are true!”

Michael stares at him for a long moment, his gaze inscrutable as he presumably tries to decide whether Alex is lying or not. Slowly, he nods, just once, and Alex is incredibly disappointed in the non-reaction.

“That algorithm you’re running looks pretty self-sufficient. Any chance you can set an alarm or something to let you know when it’s done while you’re at home?”

It’s a good solution. Alex can, in fact, set up a notification system pretty easily, but he’s still resentful of the subject change. He wants to know what Michael’s thinking. For once, he wishes he could borrow Isobel’s powers and take a peek, just to figure out where he stands. Does Michael hate him for being a part of the government that killed his mother? Is he pushing him away because seeing Alex’s face just brings back bad memories? Is it too much, to be involved with the son of the man who’s been torturing his people for decades? There are a million reasons for Michael to not want him anymore, even before one considers the fact that Alex has walked away from him over and over again.

Maybe it’s all true. Maybe they’re done. But this time, Michael will have to be the one to end it, because Alex is done pretending he can.

“That’s what I thought.” The satisfied words bring Alex out of his spiraling thoughts, and he raises an eyebrow at Guerin as he finishes, “Do it, get your stuff, and go home, Manes. I mean it.”

Normally, Alex would have bristled at the preemptive tone. He doesn’t take orders well, not even from superior officers — it’s gotten him in hot water more than once. And letting Michael boss him around this way sets a terrible precedent, one that suggests that he can walk in while Alex is working and make him stop at any time. But Michael doesn’t look nearly as desolate while he’s ordering Alex around, and it’s hard to be annoyed at that.

Before he can fully consider the ramifications of his words, Alex says, “On one condition.”

Michael’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and he crosses his arms stubbornly. “Oh, yeah?” Alex has the impression that the other man will try to drag him out of here, if he thinks he has to, but Alex intends on stopping things before they can get to that level. He just can’t help but give this a try, first.

“Yeah. You come home with me. We’ll both get something to eat, get cleaned up, and sleep. Because it’s pretty obvious you haven’t done any of that recently, either, and if it’s so wrong for me, it is for you, too.” Alex is fairly proud of the argument he makes, and the way that he doesn’t reveal how nervous he is to make the demand while he speaks. The thought of Michael in Alex’s private space is simultaneously thrilling and terrifying, since it’s new level of intimacy for both of them, but Alex can’t stand the thought of going home to rest and recuperate while Michael continues to torture himself. He wants to be there for him, wants to wash his ridiculous curls and twine  protectively around him in bed and know that he’s safe. And that desire outweighs any anxiety.

For a too-long moment, Alex is sure that Michael’s silence means he’s going to be denied. He wasn’t allowed to be there for Michael before — why would he think that would change now? Just because Michael showed up here, worried about him?

“How else am I gonna make sure you’re not just working from the cabin?” Michael asks finally, a wary sort of acceptance in the question.

Alex’s breath rushes from him all at once, and he worries his knees will buckle from the onslaught of relief. He smiles, big and earnest, at Michael, and tries to wordlessly convey how pleased he is by this turn of events without coming off as insane. With the speed and ease born of a decade of practice, Alex sets up the notification system on the computers and shuts everything down. The only thing he wants to take with him is his laptop, so he shoves that in a bag - only for it to float out of his hands, much like the Red Bull can had earlier.

He glares over at Michael, who’s got the strap of his laptop case clenched in his good hand. “You just said you’re coming home with me. How will I be able to use it for work if you’re right there?”

For the first time since he arrives, a flicker of the usual warmth shows in his eyes when he looks at Alex. “This way there’s not even a temptation,” Michael says easily. “Better safe than sorry. It’ll be fine here — just leave it with everything else, and we can come get it tomorrow.”

Again, Alex finds himself wondering why he’s not pissed at the orders. He’s not a child, after all, and Michael is hardly the right person to be lecturing him on taking care of himself! But instead of irritation, all Alex feels is pleasure that Michael seems more like himself, and that he’s letting Alex in, at least a little.

So instead of fighting like he probably should, Alex sighs and acquiesces. The laptop case is left on the desk with the other information he’d been trying to sort through, and Alex takes a few moments to shut the rest of the equipment down. He avoids the chair as he works, a little afraid that he wouldn’t be able to get back up again if he sat down. Guerin doesn’t take his eyes off of him the entire time— he just leans against the wall, arms crossed casually over his chest. The stance would look comfortable, if he didn’t know Michael as well as he did, but Alex could see the tension in his muscles, the thin veneer of calm painted over the emotional turmoil of the past week. Or …however long Alex has been down here.

Michael waits for him to lead the way outside, like he suspects that Alex will turn around and try to get back to work if he looks away for a moment. He’s patient with Alex’s slow, halting steps as his body adjusts to the new position after so long seated and his muscles cramp painfully. Eventually, they make it topside, and Alex blinks in the fading sunlight of early evening. Wordlessly, Michael opens the door to his truck and stares at Alex expectantly.

A quiet Michael isn’t one that Alex has much experience in dealing with, so he just follows his lead, keeping his mouth shut and clambering none-too-gracefully into the vehicle. He pulls up the GPS on his phone to give Michael directions to the cabin; he’s never been there, so as far as Alex knows, he needs directions.

The drive passes in silence, and by the time they pull up to Alex’s cabin, he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. The thought of inviting Michael inside wakes him up, though, and sends a surge of adrenaline through him. The reality of his life is inside that cabin in black and white, impossible to ignore. The spartan decor, the grab bars in his shower and near his bed, the wide aisles purposely created so that he can navigate the space on days when the prosthetic is not an option and he has to use his crutches. There’s the other things, too, like the anxiety medication on his bedside table with the muscle relaxant he’s probably going to need tonight, and the freezer full of frozen dinners that he’s been subsisting on for the last few months, since he’s a godawful cook. Michael doesn’t know most of that about him; Alex has taken great pains to keep it that way. If he opens the door and invites him in, there won’t be any going back —

But going back hasn’t been an option since Alex was seventeen, when he fell in love with Guerin the first time. That kiss at the museum had ascertained that Alex would never be able to let go of his feelings for Michael for any reason, no matter how noble it was — and the truth of the matter is that Alex wants to let Michael into the less romantic parts of his life. Because he knows that opening himself up and offering Michael the most vulnerable parts of himself is the only way to keep him, to prove that Michael trust him in return, after far too many mistakes and heartbreaks. Laying himself bare is the only way they’re ever going to move past this awkward phase somewhere between cosmic love and tentative friendship, and though Alex has never been so frightened in his life, he takes the first step by unlocking the door.

Michael waits for him to go inside first, but follows closely on his heels. Alex gives him a minute to look around the sparsely furnished space and moves to the coffee table to drop his cellphone on the surface. Now that he’s home, he feels disgusting — he definitely needs to take a shower before he goes anywhere near the bed that’s practically calling to him. But Michael is in his living room, running his good hand over the surface of everything he can touch, and how is Alex supposed to act normally?

“Well, I can definitely tell you’re a bachelor,” Michael says, breaking the silence with quirked lips.

Alex huffs a laugh and shrugs self-deprecatingly. “Hey, we don’t all have sisters that come in and decorate for us,” he teases, thinking of the crowded space of Michael’s airstream. “And I finally sprung for the coffee table, so I’m moving up in the world.” The small talk rankles; he and Michael have never done a lot of talking in their relationship, but it had never been small talk, either. They’d always shared important things with each other – like Michael’s entropy, or whatever he wants to call it, or Alex’s dreams to escape from his father. This feels like a conversation he’d have with a stranger, and Alex loathes it.

Michael seems to notice, because he comes closer — still tentative, but more sure of himself than he’d been in the bunker. “I need you to tell me that you meant it again,” he says, in a voice that Alex can barely hear over the suddenly frantic beating of his own heart. Alex knows exactly what ‘it’ Michael is referring to, even without any context, because when Michael’s guard is down, his heart is on his sleeve, and Alex can see the fear and the cautious hope mingling with grief and fury in his eyes. Michael’s always felt too much all at once, Alex knows — it’s part of the noise in his head that bothers him so much.

Maybe Alex can help with that again, like he used to. Some day.

“You are my family, Michael,” Alex tells him, reaching out to tangle their fingers together so he can’t draw away. “You’re the only person in the world who has ever made me feel safe, and I don’t think you understand how much that means to me.” For a boy who had been abandoned by his mother and hurt and hated by his father and brothers, then pushed out into a war he wanted no part of, safety isn’t something to take for granted. And to be given that feeling by another person is — well, Alex doesn’t have the words to explain how it feels.

The cautious hope he could see in Michael’s eyes was growing, now, becoming more and more certain as Alex spoke, so he kept going, determined to get it all out into the open so he could spend the rest of the night looking after Michael the way he’s wanted to all along. “No matter how hard I’ve tried to deny it, I’ve never been able to look away from you.” He leans forward to brush a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of Michael’s mouth — anything more would lead them places they shouldn’t go tonight. Alex doesn’t want to be used as a sexual distraction from Michael’s pain, and doesn’t want either of them to regret anything in the morning.

“I believe you,” Michael says in a hoarse voice, clutching at the lapels of Alex’s filthy flannel and resting their foreheads together. The position is so reminiscent of the one in Cauffield prison as the bomb was about to go off that Alex’s first instinct is to jerk away, but he stifles the impulse at the last second, moving his arms to wrap around Michael’s waist, instead, so that they’re chest-to-chest in the middle of the living room. At some point, Michael moves his face to the space between Alex’s shoulder and neck, and there’s a dampness against his skin that suggests he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s crying. Alex says nothing; he allows Michael his pride and simply strokes a hand up and down his spine, hoping that his proximity is as comforting to the other man as vice versa is to Alex.

“We both really need a shower,” Michael says finally, pulling away reluctantly. His eyes are lined with red, and there’s some residual dampness on cheek — otherwise, Alex wouldn’t have known he’d been crying mere moments ago. “And food. I forgot on the way back. Does anyone even deliver all the way out here?”

Alex chuckles, and nods. “I’ll take care of food if you want to shower first,” he offers generously. “There’s a decent pizza place on the edge of town that delivers up here.” He doesn’t mention that the only reason they deliver to Alex is because of the owner’s friendship with his father - it’s not relevant, and since it’s the only way they’ll have anything to eat other than frozen meals, Alex doesn’t want to go there.

Michael shakes his head. “Why don’t you just shower with me?” he asks, stretching his arms above his head until Alex hears his back crack. He seems so sure it’s a good idea, but part of Alex balks. He and Michael have never been naked around one another without sex, and that’s not on the table tonight — plus, showering isn’t exactly as easy for him as it sounds.

“Showering is kind of an ordeal for me,” Alex tells him frankly, biting at his lower lip. “I’m not supposed to shower with the prosthetic on.” There’s a chair in the shower for that purpose, along with grab bars on either side of it to he can get in and out without fooling around with crutches. He’s sure Michael can put those pieces together on his own — and Alex isn’t sure he’ll ever be comfortable spelling it all out for him. Not because he doesn’t trust Michael with the information, but because it’s a weakness, and Alex can’t help but be embarrassed.

“I won’t let you fall,” Michael promises, smiling faintly. “I’m an engineer. I’m pretty sure we can figure out the mechanics.”

Alex considers, trying to put aside the nerves from that obstacle and focus on the next. “I want to,” he says, and reaches out to grab Michael’s hand again, just in case he only hears the ‘but.’ “But I don’t think either of us are up for sex tonight. And we’re not exactly known for being able to keep our hands to ourselves.”

A complicated expression flickers on Michael’s face, but is gone before Alex can properly parse it. “I didn’t know sex with me was such so bad for you, Alex,” he says, bitterness obvious in the words. “Here I was, thinking you liked it.”

“Stop it,” Alex admonishes, rubbing tiny circles in the backs of Michael’s hands with his thumbs instead of letting go when Michael tries to pull away. “You know I do. But I don’t want to be a distraction, Guerin. And I don’t want to use you as one, either. I just want to — I want to be there for you. Especially since I know I haven’t always been, before.”

Now, Michael yanks his hands back, putting more space between them. Alex’s heart drops when he sees how close the other man is to the door — he’s ready to run again, to hide and lick his wounds in private. Alex has said too much, and he can’t take the words back.

“Don’t try to fix me, Alex,” Michael says harshly. “I’m not broken.” But his body language suggests that he doesn’t even believe his own words — and Alex is an expert at reading him, after all this time. Desperate to keep him there, to make him understand, Alex ignores the way his thigh muscles twinge and moves quickly toward Michael.

“We’re both a little broken,” he says, eyes pleading. Alex has no idea what he’ll do if Michael takes that last step out the door — probably follow him, like some sort of stalker. He doesn’t think he’s capable of watching him leave while he’s obviously hurting in ways Alex can’t begin to understand, and wonders, briefly, if this is how it felt when Alex shut him out of his own recovery after his amputation. If so, he’ll never be able to apologize enough for that pain. “But I’m not trying to fix you, Michael. I’m just trying to help. If you’ll let me.”

No one moves or speaks for the longest minute of Alex’s life, and then Michael is back in his space, one palm against the back of his head while the other seizes his lapel and pulls him in. The kiss is fierce, full of desperation and reassurance, and by the time Michael pulls away, Alex is already reconsidering his stance on sex for the night — not seriously, but his body is definitely on board.

“So, if I promise not to jump you —”

Alex smiles, and leads Michael to the bathroom.

It’s a big room, one Alex had installed after he moved in. The closet-sized bathroom that Valenti had used hadn’t cut it for someone who used crutches both early in the morning and late at night, and nor had the weird shag carpet. So Alex had hired people to knock a wall out and enlarge the space, install tile, and a giant shower with a head at either end. It was a luxury he couldn’t really afford, but Alex justified it with the fact that nothing else in his home was remotely luxurious— and he needed the handicapped access.

Once they’re in the bathroom with the door closed behind them, Alex begins undressing Michael, starting with the stubborn buttons on his shirt. The other man raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, and simply stands still, letting Alex do what he wants. Slowly, his chest and torso is revealed, and Alex tosses the dirty shirt to the floor. Michael returns the favor, but when he’s done, Alex’s shirt is tossed telekinetically in the trash. “Trust me,” Michael murmurs at Alex’s note of complaint. “There was no saving that thing.”

Since he’s probably right, Alex just shrugs, and steps out of his pants. When he’s in just his boxers, he sits down on the closed lid of the toilet to begin unfastening the harness holding his prosthetic in place — but Michael stops him with a gentle hand on his good knee. “Let me,” he offers, already kneeling in front of Alex with no sign of hesitation on his face.

Alex swallows, but nods once. He’s usually independent to a fault, and has never let anyone else deal with his prosthetic before, not even his doctors, if he could help it. But if this is what Michael wants, Alex can let him — this one time, at least.

Deft mechanic’s hands unfasten the mechanisms that hold the leg in place, and Michael pulls it away and props it against the wall before removing the compression sock around Alex’s residual limb with equal care. Not once does he spend too much time staring, or look even remotely pitying, and for that alone, Alex could kiss him — so he does, gently, at the crown of his head.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, afraid that using a full voice would shatter the quiet tranquility of the moment. Michael’s answering smile is small, but honest, as he stands to get rid of the rest of his own clothes.

It’s awkward, at first. Alex hasn’t showered with anyone but his squad mates, and that was never even remotely intimate — just a bunch of men, trying to get the desert sand out of uncomfortable places before they ran out of hot water. And on top of that, he’s still getting used to showering while seated — adding another person makes it even more confusing. But Michael doesn’t seem bothered, and shoves his head under one of the spigots to wet his hair.

Eventually, the awkwardness eases. It helps when they stop trying to look everywhere but at each other, so Alex allows his gaze to amble along the strong lines of Michael’s body, appreciating his physique in a way he’s never really had the chance to before. Eventually, Alex reaches out with a soapy rag to scrub at his lower back because he can’t quite help himself — they’re so close, but they haven’t touched since Alex hauled his body into the shower, and he misses the contact. Michael sighs, pressing back into the touch, which Alex takes  as permission to continue. He ends up washing every part of Michael that he can reach, from his shoulders down to his knees, and lingers over his work. Touching Michael like this, with care and no intention of turning it into something sexual, is a new experience — and one he wants to repeat as often as he’s allowed.

“Any chance you wanna do my hair?” Michael asks, when Alex has cleaned both of them more thoroughly than necessary. He’s been itching to get his fingers tangled in those curls, but he has no idea how to maneuver to make it happen. His concern must show on his face, because Michael touches his cheek and drops to sit in front of him, legs folded. Alex stares down at the top of his head and the line of his back, amazed that for Michael, it’s just that easy.

“Can you hand me the shampoo?” The bottle flies into his hand before Alex can finish asking, and he can’t help the startled noise he makes. Michael glances up, more challenge than apology, so Alex nudges him back around with his good knee so that he can get started.

Michael has always melted immediately as soon as Alex got his fingers into his hair — he’s not sure who enjoys it more, in all honesty. But this is the first time Alex has had an excuse to do it for any real length of time, and he takes full advantage. He massages Michael’s scalp as he works the shampoo into a lather, moving the whole way down to the base of his neck and back up with sudsy hands and gentle pressure. In moments, Michael is boneless against Alex’s leg, his head lolling backward, and Alex feels a strong sense of satisfaction. He’d done that. He’d relaxed Michael this way, made him feel secure and comfortable in his home and allowed him to lay down his burdens, at least for a little while. And that, Alex knows, is more intimate than any quickie in the truck bed could have ever been.

Eventually, they have to get out of the shower. Alex lets Michael help him, rather than heaving himself out by the grab bars, and they dry off in comfortable silence. He sends Michael to get them both sweats to sleep in, and pauses when he realizes he should have asked for his crutches, too. His pride isn’t going to let Michael half-carry him to the bedroom, and that’s not a habit he wants either of them to get into. He’s about to lift his voice to ask when Michael reenters the room, dressed, and carrying an added pair of sweats and Alex’s crutches under one arm.

“Thought you might need these,” he says, propping them up by the door, and Alex finds himself robbed of speech. Does Michael realize how unbelievably thoughtful that is? Alex is pretty sure that there’s not another person in the world who would have realized that Alex hates having to ask for help, or that he’d never let anyone carry him to bed like an oversized toddler. With that one simple gesture, Michael had given him his independence, his pride — and he didn’t even seem to realize how important that was.

“Alex? You good?”

Alex nods, his smile a little more emotional than he’d like. “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’m really good.” Michael returns the smile, and leans down to kiss Alex’s cheek before disappearing into the bedroom — somehow knowing that he’d want a minute to himself to get dressed. It’s an awkward, difficult thing to put pants on while sitting down, and Alex would just as soon not have a witness — and somehow, again, Michael just gets it. They fit together so easily in the bedroom for all those years; Alex doesn’t think either of them realized how easy it would be to fit their lives together, too. Even the messy parts.

He meets Michael in the bedroom, and even though he knows that the next thing on their to-do list was food, the warm water and activity has made him lethargic and reminded him of exactly how long it had been since he’d slept in a real bed.

“We can make breakfast in the morning,” Michael yawns, when Alex voices his thoughts aloud. The other man seems as tired as Alex, and when the sun rises, he knows they’re going to have to talk about why. They’ve done an excellent job of avoiding reality since they got back to Alex’s cabin, but he’s not naive enough to think they can escape it for long — not with a serial killer tied up in Michael’s cellar, and Jesse Manes still out there, unsupervised, with access to innocent aliens.

But there’s nothing they can do about either of those things tonight, and honestly, Alex thinks they need this even more than they need a plan to keep everyone safe. Michael had been minutes from falling apart — and Alex supposes he wasn’t much better, as irritating as it is to admit it. So when he curls around Michael beneath the covers and cuddles in close, Alex doesn’t feel guilty for taking a break. They’ll wake tomorrow refreshed and ready for war - tonight is about rest, and reconnection.

Later, when Michael is sleeping peacefully on Alex’s chest, Alex takes a minute away from carding his fingers through unruly curls to text Kyle Valenti: I’m still going to punch you for not minding your own damn business, but … thanks.

[angryteapot]

Healer of My Heart

Pairing: Bruce Banner x Avenger!Healer!Reader

Summary: Bruce’s injuries may be irreversible to even the most advanced technology, but not if you have anything to say about it. 

Warnings: <<*ENDGAME SPOILERS*>> feels, slight angst

Word Count: 3105

Request:@no1brucebannerfangirl requested “Can I suggest a Bruce Banner x Reader where the reader has healing powers and is able to repair Bruce’s arm? ‘Cuz I heard that his arm injury is permanent and THAT’S NOT OKAY!”

A/N: Since Reader is a healer, I took the liberty of changing a few extra canon things! Hope you enjoy it hon!

You all stood in silence - it was done. The stones were all in place, and it was time for someone to wear it. You were the first to shakily reach for the Iron Gauntlet, but several hands grabbed at you, pulling you away from the box.

"It should be me," you snapped. "My powers… we've seen what it did to Thanos, and Rocket told us what happened when the guardians wielded one stone. Who knows what it would do to a mortal? My advanced healing might be able to handle it.

"Besides, compared to all of you, I'm the most expendable. You're Earth's mightiest heroes. I'm a healer. The world doesn't depend on my existence like it does all of yours."

They looked uneasy - you made a pretty solid argument about your powers, but you were too precious to all of them. You may have been 'just a healer,' but you had made them each a better person, and you really held the team together in tough times. Bruce was the first to speak up.

"You can't do this Y/N, we won't let you. Me least of all. Besides, the gamma, it's like… it’s like I was made for this."

He nodded to someone behind you, and iron-clad arms circled you waist, pulling you back.

"No. No! Let me go, Tony, let me go!" You fought against his hold and almost broke away, but Steve caught you and caged you into his chest, immobilizing you.

"Steve. Steve let me go. Please! It has to be me. Not him, please no!"

You beat against his chest with your fists and tried to escape his hold, but it was useless. Steve looked down at you with a remorseful look as he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I really am. But Banner's right. And it's his decision." Steve nodded to Bruce, and you struggled even harder as he reached for the Iron Gauntlet.

Bruce smiled sadly at you and breathed, "It'll be okay. Let me do this."

Traitorous tears escaped your eyes as Tony covered the three of you with his holo-nano shield. A tense moment as the gauntlet expanded, an ethereal and foreboding glow, and then Bruce was yelling in agony as a myriad of colors and power visibly flowed through his veins. You clamped your hands over your mouth to contain your own screams. Steve was trying to cover you view of Bruce, but you couldn't look away.

It should have been you.

> > > > > > >

A metallic snap, and the air was suddenly lighter. Bruce was splayed out, right arm a charred, smoking mess. Tony's suit was administering a suture spray to suppress the damage already done, but you knew it wouldn't be enough. You ripped away from Steve's loosened grip and stumbled forwards, dropping to your knees at Bruce's side.

"Move. Move!" You nudged Tony out of the way and cradled Bruce's face, your hand barely covering the curve of his jaw, but his groans subsided and he leaned into your hand nonetheless. You gingerly placed your other hand on his injured arm, letting your powers take over.

Bruce let out a relieved breath as the charred and cracked skin of his arm started to very slowly knit together, so slowly it was nearly imperceptible. You could see the muscle and sinew slowly rebuilding itself beneath the charred mess, the semi-healed skin turning from ashy gray to a sickly green.

Whew. It was working. You slumped a little, leaning to hug Bruce as you continued to heal his arm. It was taking more of your energy than you had anticipated, and the process was much too slow for your liking. The skin was still damaged, his arm immobile and emaciated as you crumpled onto his chest.. God, you were tired.

Bruce's left hand gently caressed your head, the sight and feel slightly comical due to his hulking size. Heh, you were really going loopy if you were making horrible puns.

Your hearing was muffled, and you could barely make out Bruce's voice saying, "Y/N, please stop. You're wearing yourself out. I'll be fine, I promise."

You tried to respond, you really did, but the words just wouldn't form on your tongue. Your mouth was too tired, brain a muddied mess. A hazy voice pierced your thoughts.

"Guys, I think it worked." Scott Lang's disbelieving laughter was heard in the background, scarcely leaving his lips before the air vibrated and the building shook, suddenly exploding the space around you.

Panic filled you as the shock-wave sent everyone careening in different directions. The floor gave way beneath you, plummeting you into unknown depths. The mix of emotions and exhaustion you were experiencing, with the sudden adrenaline and panic, was too much for your over-stimulated body and you blacked out as you and Bruce fell into the darkness.

> > > > > > >

Soft. But… firm? You opened your eyes with a groan, seeing nothing but darkness. Your body hummed with nervous energy, exhausted but alert. A rattling cough, a strained groan, the shifting of metal and concrete. Your ears were suddenly assaulted with a symphony of sounds.

Your eyes soon adjusted, and you saw Bruce straining to hold up a giant slab of concrete that threatened to crush you both. Gasping, you scrambled to move, but you were pinned to the spot.

"No Y/N, don't move," Bruce grunted out the words, and you heeded the warning.

Taking stock of your surroundings, you were filled with dread at the sight of the obliterated building. How were you even alive after an explosion like that? The answer - Bruce. His body was shielding yours, half smothering you as he struggled to both keep you safe, and to hold up the concrete.

"Bruce, what happened?" Your hushed whisper seemed loud in the space between dripping water and crumbling foundation.

"Explosion. Barely managed to save you," he grunted again, shifting to stabilize his grip.

"Okay. Okay. Oh god, I hope the team is okay. We're gonna be okay, right? We have to be." You rambled hysterically as you looked around, trying to shut yourself up, but your mouth kept moving without your consent.

"Maybe… maybe I can call for help. Somebody will come, right? Those bastards are too stubborn to die. Oh god, please don't let them be dead. This isn't helping."

Bruce let out a strained chuckle, "No, no it's not helping, but I'm just glad it's you I'm trapped with. Even in an impossible situation, you can make me laugh.”

"Very touching, but could you bozos stop yapping and help me out from under here?"

Rocket's pained voice echoed in the space around you. Another groan, and you heard Rhodey's voice ring out, "I got you buddy, just hold still."

You heard a metallic clang, Rocket's relieved sigh, and the thud of more falling concrete.

"Rocket? Rhodey? You guys okay?"

"Yeah Y/N, we're fine now. You and Banner okay? Keep talking so we can find you."

"Oh thank goodness. Rhodey, be careful. We're stuck, and the area's unstable. Is anyone else around?"

Rhodey's voice grew closer, "No, just us, as far as I can tell. Hang tight, we're coming to you."

"Wow. Okay. We're gonna need backup for this."

As they came into view, Bruce snorted and you sassed, "Y'think? We figured we'd just chill out here, maybe have a picnic. Care to join?"

Rocket laughed dryly, "Ha ha. Okay, wise-ass. I'm going to see if anybody else survived."

"No, wait! It's safer to stick together -"

You were cut off by Bruce's shout, curling in on yourself as he suddenly scooped you towards him and strained to hold the concrete up.

"… Hello?"

Nothing had ever sounded so beautiful as Scott's echoing voice.

"Scott! We're over here! Be careful though, everything's unstable."

You saw his miniaturized form navigating the rubble, and you nearly cried when he said, "Oh hey! What's up guys? Here, let me take care of that for you."

In the blink of an eye, Scott was a giant, grabbing the four of you in one hand as he flicked the huge slab of concrete away.

"Okay gang, let's go find the others," Scott's optimism was astounding.

As he carried you all to safety, you started to heal Bruce's arm again. He knew that resistance was futile, so he sat back in Scott's palm and let you do your thing. "This is so weird. I'm used to being the biggest one around here." You just laughed at Bruce's glum face.

The team was soon reunited outside the destroyed compound, the relief short-lived as you now faced Thanos' army.

"Suit up kid, can't leave our super-medic without protection."

You caught the bracelet that Tony had tossed your way - your very own nano tac suit. You grinned and tossed him a lazy salute as you activated it.

> > > > > > >

"On your left."

You were exhausted. Again. But you supposed that running around trying to heal your wounded teammates would do that to a girl.  As you had been healing Tony's concussion, you had looked around to see Steve standing alone against Thanos and his entire army.

So yeah, when you heard Sam's voice over the comms, you choked back a sob of relief. They were back.

After Steve's triumphant "Avengers, assemble" call to arms, it was chaos. You darted around trying to heal and patch up as many people as you could. There were so many allies on the battlefield, it was so hard to keep track of what was happening. You flitted around, doing your best to heal the injured and moved on to the next person. The battle was still raging when you saw it - Tony and Thanos in a clearing. You raced towards them with an unnatural speed.

There was a small shock-wave when Tony snapped his fingers.

"Stupid, dramatic bastard," you sobbed as you fell at his side, his vacant stare crushing your heart.

"C'mon Tony, stay with me. We need you, the world needs you," You slammed your hands against his chest, draining all your energy just to heal his deteriorating heart. One last effort - "Morgan needs you."

With those words, you pushed your remaining energy into healing him, and you briefly heard, "Kid?" before your vision faded.

> > > > > > >

Ugh. Everything hurt. Newly conscious with eyes still closed, you tried to gather your bearings. What the hell had happened? Oh. Right. You had almost killed yourself trying to save Tony… Tony! Your eyes flew open and you saw yourself in a sterile-looking, but comfortably homey, room with a sleeping Bruce at your bedside.

You put your hand over his large one resting on the bed, and promptly fell asleep again.

You woke days later, feeling a lot better. Each member of the team visited you and caught you up on what had happened after the battle with Thanos. The others came and went, but Bruce remained a constant.

"So let me get this straight… we won?"

"Yep."

"And Thanos and his goons dusted?"

"That's correct."

"And Tony's okay?"

"Well, I wouldn't say okay, exactly, but he's alive thanks to you. He's on the mend."

"Oh thank goodness. Which brings me to my next question. We're in…?"

"Wakanda."

"And I almost died."

"Yes. Which I'm still pretty pissed about."

"Hey! I couldn't let Morgan lose her dad."

"And that's why I adore you, but I can't stand to lose anyone else. Especially not you."

"… I'm sorry about Nat. I know you two used to  be close," your voice softened and you fiddled with the blanket covering you. "I miss her, Bruce."

He gently massaged your hand, lost in his thoughts now. "I miss her too, Y/N. I really did try to bring her back."

> > > > > > >

"And how's my injured healer doing?"

You smiled at the young girl that walked in. "Shuri! Well, I'm still alive, thanks to you. A little queasy, but it'll pass. How's Tony doing?"

"Stark is progressing well. You did the most important part and saved his heart, the rest is manageable. He should wake soon." Shuri talked as she scanned your body with her kimoyo beads and studied the data.

"You're healing nicely as well. Try not to use up that healing power until you're fully recovered, hm?" She hummed and looked pointedly at Banner before waving goodbye.

You looked at Bruce in confusion, "What did she mean by that?"

"Hm? Oh nothing, it's nothing," his left hand went from cupping his face, to scratching his neck, then settling at an odd angle on his lap. You noticed his right arm remained immobile.

You narrowed your eyes at him, "You're a terrible liar, Bruce. Tell me."

He sighed and lifted his right sleeve - arm still emaciated and damaged.

"You mean… Shuri couldn't…?"

"No. Despite everything that she tried, the only thing that can even begin to repair it is… well, you."

"Ah. I now understand why she said that."

"Yep."

"Shit. And now all I wanna do is fix it."

"Yeah I thought as much," Bruce only sighed.

> > > 6 Months Later > > > >

"Hold still please."

"It's itchy."

"I haven't even put it on you yet, you big green baby!"

"I meant my arm."

"Yeah well, that's what happens when something takes forever to heal," You eye the sling. "Well, mostly."

"I can't even tie my own tie."

You smile, "And that's why I'm the one tying it for you."

Your fingers continue their work, carefully folding and manipulating the fabric.

"How'd you learn to tie a tie, anyways?" Bruce fidgets until you poke him in the chest pointedly.

You shrugged, "My mom taught me, said I should always know how to do thing 'just in case.' And hey, lookie here, she was right! It's certainly come in handy now."

You pat the perfect half-windsor knot, letting him know you were done. "Ta-da! Lookin' sharp in your suit there, Banner."

"Thank you Y/N. You look beautiful, by the way. "

"Why thank you, Sir Jeffers," you say with a laugh.

"Sir… what?" Bruce just looks confused.

"Eh, it's from a cartoon thing. You ready?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Oh wait! Last minute healing session!"

"Y/N…"

"Hush, it'll only take a minute. Slow as it may be, every little bit gets you closer to normal."

You spent a few minutes channeling your energy into his still-injured arm. It was mostly back to normal, the skin his now-normal green and the muscle mass was almost back to its original state, but still a work in progress.

"Thank you, Y/N." The quiet emotion in Bruce's voice put a lump in your throat.

"You're very welcome, Bruce." You pat his arm and stood up, a little weaker from the healing now.

Brushing your hands together and smoothing out your stylish pant suit, you grinned and said, "Now let's get to our seats, I can't wait to see Pepper's dress!"

Bruce offered you his good arm to escort you out. "Why are they having another wedding, again?"

You took his arm, "Because half our friends were dusted, and the remaining ones had a stick up their ass at the time? Besides, now Morgan and Peter can be the flower children, while Harley is a dashing groomsman! Peter is still a little miffed about that," your laugh was music to his ears, and he couldn't help but smile.

You made it to your seats and sat through the ceremony. It was breathtaking, and you choked up as Tony and Pepper said their vows. Even old man Steve shed a tear and smiled a little wistfully. You had offered to regenerate his cells, but he had declined, saying he'd had enough lifetimes, and it was time to step down. You were a little sad, but you'd understood and respected his choice.

The ceremony ended, and the reception was now in full swing. Tony and Pepper walked up to you and Bruce, hugging you both tightly before Tony quipped, "Hey kid, where's my wedding present?"

"Tony!" You laughed as Pepper smacked him on the back of his head.

"What, saving your life and fixing your arm wasn't enough?" You crossed your arms and stared at him with a raised brow.

"I - I wasn't -"

Your straight face split into a shit-eating grin  at his floundering. "Oh my god, your face! Priceless. You know I'm kidding. What the hell am I supposed to buy a billionaire? I got you the Avenger set of Hot Wheels."

Tony shook his head and Pepper just laughed. He grew serious as he pulled you into a hug and whispered, "I really owe you, kid. You've given me the greatest gift I could ever have asked for." You pulled away, both of you misty eyed, before you shared a parting nod as the newlyweds went to greet others.

Bruce stuck by your side throughout the night, and you eventually ended up on the dancefloor, his good arm wrapped around your waist.

You looked up at Bruce and joked, "I can't believe you made me heal Tony first. We could have been properly dancing."

He smiled sweetly. "You take good care of me. And besides, we'd never be able to dance properly, I'm more than twice your size." He paused, "And I couldn't let Morgan see her dad like that, not if you could help him."

You practically melted from his pure and sweet demeanor.

"And that, dear Bruce, is why I adore you."

Dancing with only one arm was awkward, so you discreetly did the last bit of healing needed on his arm and said, "My feet hurt, can you pick me up please?"

Bruce looked at you a little funnily, but complied with his good arm and held you to his wide chest, you being seated in the crook of his elbow and arms around his neck. You slyly undid the strap to the sling behind his back and let it fall to the ground.

"What the…? Aw man, hold on Y/N, give me a second please." Bruce saw the sling fall and bent to let you down and grab it, but you deliberately 'lost' you balance and fell back.

Bruce gasped and reflexively went to catch you with his right arm, catching and cradling you before you could hit the floor.

"That was stupid," he admonished. "You could have gotten a concussion or -"

You grinned up at his dumbfounded look.

"Cat got your tongue?" you cheekily asked.

"You - you - healed me? Completely?"

"Yep! Now c'mon and put me down, you owe me a proper dance!"

Bruce shook his head and smiled adoringly, "You're really something, you know that?"

"Only for you," you sighed happily. This was it, this was home - in Bruce's arms, surrounded by your crazy makeshift family.