#scaffolding wire uses

[srjsteel]

Wire Binding: Essential Applications in Construction

Construction professionals understand that the right tools and techniques can transform project management, documentation, and overall operational efficiency. Wire binding stands out as a critical solution for organizing, presenting, and protecting crucial project documents in the dynamic world of construction.

The Foundation of Effective Documentation

Wire binding represents more than just a method of holding papers together. It's a sophisticated approach to document management that addresses the unique challenges faced in construction environments. From blueprint collections to comprehensive project proposals, wire-bound documents offer unparalleled durability and professional presentation.

Durability Where It Matters Most

Construction sites demand documentation solutions that can withstand harsh conditions. Wire binding excels in environments characterized by dust, moisture, frequent handling, and unpredictable weather. The robust metal wire allows documents to lay flat when open, providing seamless readability on job sites, in meetings, or during on-site inspections.

Key Applications in Construction Document Management

Wire binding proves invaluable across multiple construction document types:

Project Proposals and Bids Professionally bound proposals communicate attention to detail and organizational sophistication. Wire binding ensures that intricate project plans remain intact and easily navigable during critical review processes.

Safety Manuals and Compliance Documentation Regulatory compliance demands meticulous documentation. Wire-bound safety manuals can withstand constant referencing, survive outdoor conditions, and maintain their structural integrity throughout extended project lifecycles.

Equipment Maintenance Logs Tracking machinery maintenance requires documentation that can handle repeated use. Wire-bound logs provide a durable solution for recording critical equipment history, inspections, and service records.

Training and Procedure Guides Comprehensive training materials benefit from wire binding's ability to allow full page rotation and flat laying, enhancing readability and user experience during skill development sessions.

Advantages Beyond Basic Document Assembly

Wire binding offers strategic advantages that extend beyond simple document organization:

360-Degree Page Rotation: Allows complete document flexibility without compromising structural integrity

Professional Aesthetic: Communicates organizational excellence and attention to professional presentation

Customization Options: Available in multiple wire colors and sizes to match branding or project-specific requirements

Quick Assembly: Enables rapid document creation with minimal technical expertise

Selecting the Right Wire Binding Solution

When evaluating wire binding for construction documentation, consider these critical factors:

Document thickness and page count

Frequency of document usage

Environmental exposure conditions

Desired aesthetic and professional presentation

Compatibility with existing document management systems

Technical Considerations

Wire diameters typically range from 3/16 inch to 1 inch, accommodating document collections from 20 to 250 pages. Stainless steel and aluminum wires offer different weight and corrosion resistance characteristics, allowing precise matching to specific project requirements.

Implementation Strategies

Successful wire binding integration involves:

Investing in quality binding equipment

Training team members on proper document preparation

Establishing standardized documentation protocols

Regular equipment maintenance

Conclusion: A Strategic Documentation Investment

Wire binding transcends traditional document assembly, emerging as a strategic tool for construction professionals committed to operational excellence. By providing durability, professional presentation, and functional flexibility, wire-bound documents become more than passive records—they transform into active project management assets.

Exploring advanced wire binding solutions represents a forward-thinking approach to construction documentation. Professionals seeking to elevate their project management capabilities will find wire binding an indispensable strategy for success.

Ready to revolutionize your construction documentation? Investigate wire binding solutions that can transform your project management approach.

[newobsessionweekly]

Aftershock

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tim Bradford x younger!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You’re a bold, confident civil engineering student, used to taking control on construction sites. But when an earthquake hits while you're in charge of your father’s site, you meet LAPD Sergeant Tim Bradford. You clash, you work together, and slowly, something deeper begins to spark.

A/N: I have the second part almost ready so it'll be here soon!! Also is you have some ideas for this mini series, feel free to drop it in my box! Feedback is always appreciated!! I hope you like it! Lots of love, bubs! Stay safe! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Warnings: Earthquake/emergency scenario, mild injury, panic attack (comfort follows), age gap, not proofread

Word Count: 4k+

It starts like a whisper—barely-there tremors under your steel-toes as you walk the perimeter of the new mixed-use high-rise downtown. You've spent the last half-hour barking into your phone, coordinating crane placement and checking load-bearing support numbers. You’re dusty, focused, and completely in your element.

Until the earth moves for real.

You don’t hear it before you feel it. The tremor roars upward through your boots like a live wire. The scaffolding groans. A metallic shriek pierces the air. Then it happens.

The world shudders. A cacophony of screams. Cement rains down. You drop to your knees and roll, instincts kicking in, sheltering beneath a shipping container propped on steel beams.

Earthquake.

It only lasts seconds—long ones—but the aftermath feels like a war zone. You crawl out coughing, your lungs filling with grit and fear, but your brain is firing on pure adrenaline. You're not just some student or supervisor. You’re the boss’s daughter. And he’s out of town, which makes this your site.

Your chest heaves, but your eyes are already scanning. Where's the crew? Who’s accounted for?

“Luis!” you shout, dodging fallen equipment. “Jen! Mateo!”

Two workers emerge from a cloud of dust, one limping, another coughing blood into his glove. You guide them to the open lot beyond the scaffolding, mentally mapping the layout. Six missing. Maybe more.

And then, over the scream of sirens, two figures cut through the dust—uniformed.

The man in front moves like he was born in boots. Tall, broad shoulders, determined jaw. There’s something sharp and no-nonsense about him, like he’s the human equivalent of a battering ram. Behind him, a quick-footed brunette surveys the site with wide, alert eyes.

“LAPD!” the man shouts. “Is anyone hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you yell back over the noise. “There are still people inside!”

He reaches you in seconds. “You need to move—this whole site could still collapse.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you snap. “This is my father’s project. He’s out of town. I’m responsible for everyone here.”

“Name?”

“Y/n Y/l/n. Civil engineering student. Site lead for the day.”

“Sergeant Tim Bradford,” he grunts, scanning you. “This is Officer Lucy Chen.”

Chen gives a small nod and immediately moves to triage the injured worker. Bradford, however, keeps his full attention on you.

You don’t miss the way his eyes rake over you—not in a creepy way. He’s taking stock. Assessing damage. Dirt on your face, small gash on your arm. His brows tighten.

“You were inside?”

“Under that scaffolding.”

“You shouldn’t be standing.”

You fold your arms. “Well, I am.”

“You need to let us handle this.”

“No. I know this site better than anyone. I helped design the layout. There’s a crawlspace beneath the west scaffolding that no one else knows about. If anyone’s still in there—”

“You’re not trained for rescue ops.”

“I’m trained to know what’s safe and what’s about to fall on your head.”

His jaw ticks. “I don’t have time to babysit you.”

“Then don’t. Keep up.”

You step past him, and for a beat, he just stares.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re like if a Barbie Doll had a death wish.”

You toss him a grin over your shoulder. “Grumpy and unoriginal. Cute.”

He follows, grumbling something under his breath about stubborn civilians and lawsuits.

The two of you reach the compromised scaffold, and you crouch beside the twisted beams. Bradford stops behind you, way closer than necessary.

“Let me go first,” he says, voice low, eyes scanning overhead.

“I’ll fit through easier. You’re built like a linebacker.”

You feel his breath on the back of your neck as he leans down.

“And you think I’m letting you crawl into a death trap alone?”

You glance at him, only inches away. “So you do care.”

He doesn’t move.

“Protocol,” he says stiffly. “And… you’re bleeding.”

You look down at the gash on your forearm—dirt-caked but shallow.

“Didn’t notice.”

“I did.”

He steps forward and gently takes your wrist. His touch is unexpectedly careful—rough hands, but soft grip. He pulls a cloth from his vest and dabs at the wound. You watch his face as he works. He’s so serious. So guarded.

“I’m going in first,” he says, not giving you a chance to argue.

You don’t push it this time. He’s trying. In his own way.

You both drop into the crawlspace, the air thick with dust and heat. Your shoulder brushes his arm as you squeeze through. Close. Too close.

You hear it before you see it—a cough. Faint, raspy.

“There,” you whisper. “Under that beam.”

Bradford nods. “Stay low.”

The man’s pinned, conscious but trapped under a slab of drywall and steel piping. You approach carefully, testing for weight, and give Tim a look.

“If we shift the load here, I can drag him out.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

His hand grazes your back as he shifts to position. Again, he’s close. Protective. Your skin sparks where his fingers press.

He moves the slab, and you reach under, tugging the worker free with all your strength. It takes effort. You grunt, digging your heels into the ground. Bradford leans forward, adds his strength behind yours. The worker slides out.

You sit back, panting.

“You okay?” Tim asks, wiping sweat from his temple.

You nod, heart pounding—not just from the rescue. From him. From the way his hand didn’t quite leave your lower back.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Thanks.”

He meets your eyes. For a second, everything around you disappears.

And then his radio crackles. “Bradford, update?”

“We got one out,” he replies. “Sending location for medical. Continuing sweep.”

As you crawl back out, he places a steadying hand at your waist, guiding you up the incline. You feel the heat of it even through your shirt. It lingers. He doesn’t rush the touch. Neither do you.

Once you’re out, the EMTs swarm. The worker is taken. Chen updates the map with accounted-for crew.

You press your hands to your thighs, catching your breath.

“How many are left?” Tim asks.

You scan your clipboard. “Two. Maybe three. Could be hiding in the south exit shaft.”

“Is it stable?”

You pause. “Barely. But I can get us in.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not invincible, Barbie.”

“And you’re not my boss, Grinch.”

He exhales hard. “Fine. But I go first this time. You stay on my six.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gives you a look. You wink.

You both make your way through the wreckage, ducking twisted rebar and beams. At one point, you trip on a loose plank. His arm shoots out, wraps around your waist.

You freeze.

So does he.

You’re chest to chest, his hand splayed across your back, your fingers gripping his vest.

“You okay?” he asks, voice a touch lower now.

Your throat’s dry. “Yeah. You?”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches you for a moment, then slowly lets you go.

You keep moving, but now every time your fingers graze or your arms brush, it feels intentional. Loaded.

You find the last two workers behind a jammed gate. Tim breaks the lock with a metal pipe, and you help the shaken men out. One thanks you. The other looks at you like you’re a superhero.

But the adrenaline has started to fade.

The full weight of it all—the noise, the near-deaths, the responsibility—presses down.

When you step away from the others, your legs buckle just a little. Bradford is there instantly.

“Sit,” he says, catching you by the arm.

You nod slowly, dropping onto a low wall.

He crouches beside you, reading your face. “It’s catching up to you.”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“You held it together. You did everything right.”

Your breath hitches. “I didn’t… I didn’t think. I just moved. But what if I missed someone? What if—”

“Stop.”

His voice is gentle but firm. He places his hand on your knee. You flinch—but not from fear. From how it grounds you.

“Look at me.”

You do.

“You saved people. You helped us. You didn’t hide. You ran toward the danger.”

Your lip quivers.

His hand slides to your shoulder. His thumb strokes your collarbone, just once.

“You’re allowed to feel it now.”

And that’s all it takes. The panic hits like a wave—hard and fast. Your chest clenches, eyes burning.

Tim doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you. You bury your face in his shoulder, fists curling in his vest.

“It’s over,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe.”

His hand slides into your hair, combing gently through it. The motion is soothing. Familiar. Like he’s done it before. Or maybe just dreamed of it.

“You don’t have to be strong right now.”

You tremble in his hold. He doesn’t pull away.

“I’ve got you,” he adds. “Okay?”

You nod against him. When you finally look up, his hand lingers on your cheek.

“Didn’t think you’d be the nurturing type." you say, voice hoarse.

He chuckles, voice rumbling in his chest. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my brand.”

You lean back just enough to see his face.

And something shifts between you.

A quiet moment in the eye of the storm.

“I still think ‘Grinch’ suits you,” you whisper.

“And I still think you’re high-maintenance.”

“Excuse me?”

“Only a Barbie Doll would coordinate a rescue effort and sass a cop in the same breath.”

You smirk. “Maybe I’m both.”

The moment stretches. You’re both still, holding onto something neither of you fully understands yet.

Then a shout breaks the spell.

“Y/n!”

You turn. “Dad!”

Your father is running across the rubble-strewn pavement, suit jacket flapping, eyes wild.

You stand, and he pulls you into a crushing hug.

“I’m fine,” you gasp. “We’re all fine.”

He cups your face. “I got the alert mid-meeting and left immediately.”

You hug him tighter. “I had to take charge.”

“And you did,” he whispers. “I’m proud of you.”

You feel a shift behind you. Turning, you find Tim standing quietly, watching the scene with a measured expression. Your dad notices him too.

“You,” he says, crossing over. “You pulled her out.”

“Sergeant Bradford,” Tim replies, shaking his hand firmly. “Just doing my job, sir.”

Bradford looks at you. And he gets it.

You’re not just another young woman on-site. You’re his daughter. His pride. His heart. And you’re damn good at what you do.

Daddy’s princess—with steel in your spine.

He watches you hug your dad again, whisper something that makes the older man smile. And Tim’s jaw tightens, just slightly.

Lucy appears beside him, sipping water.

“She’s a powerhouse,” she says.

“Yeah,” Tim replies, watching you like he can’t look away. “She is.”

“You gonna ask for her number?”

He snorts. “She’d probably write it on an OSHA citation and tell me to lighten up.”

“You could use someone who challenges you.” his rookie shrugs.

Tim glances back at you—still in that vest, still a little scraped up, but glowing with that post-adrenaline shine.

Maybe he could.

[slowdrawl]

| Joel Miller X F!Reader | modern AU No outbreak. | 18+ MINORS DNI | Fluff ?✔️ Slow burn? ✔️ Age gap? ✔️ flirty!contractor!joel? ✔️

After leaving your abusive high school sweetheart, you left your hometown and everything you've ever loved, for Texas, you bought the most broken thing you could afford. A run-down house with bad wiring and a sagging roof. Hoping maybe it would be strong enough to hold the weight of starting over. Enter Joel Miller, the contractor you hired to help you do it. 🔥This fic will be sprinkled with lots of banter, flirting, sawdust, and SMUT! 🔥 ps. if you like this fic please tell me because your comments are what keeps me writing!

You are covering up your feelings with sarcasm and banter. You make jokes instead of apologies. You keep things light so they don’t get heavy. You’re not here to be saved. You just want to be left the hell alone long enough to spiral and figure out who you are without him.

Joel Miller is Stubborn. Brooding. Sexy. Hands like concrete. He doesn’t ask what you’re running from, and you don’t ask what made him this tired. But he keeps showing up. And you keep letting him in.

There’s grief between the walls. Ghosts pulling up in the driveway. And the man rebuilding your house might be the only one who sees you clearly. //1// The walkthrough |4k words|

//2// Fragile |3.6k words| //3// Foundation |4k words| //4// Scaffold |5.4k words| //5// Water Damage |4k words|

//6// Payday |3.5k words|

//7// Landscaping |4.6 words|

Reader has she/her pronouns, has hair, can walk. No other major physical descriptions.

WARNINGS: age gap (28/f x 42/m) strong language / smut / angst / masturbation (f/m) / oral (f/m) / dom!joel energy / possessive behavior / light voyeurism themes / use of pet names / house horror (bugs, leaks, infestations) / mild violence / female rage & resilience// grief and loss / mentions of stalking / past emotional & verbal abuse / implied PTSD / anxiety & panic episodes / some tags are hidden to avoid spoilers.

[thesimline]

The 1500s was a century of innovation when it came to hairstyles, with the introduction of both metal hair pins (1545) and wigs (1572). These pins were used to hold wires and pads in place that essentially acted as scaffolding for the shaped hairstyles popular during this period. The religious modesty of previous centuries was cast aside for the first time, with young married women now uncovering their tresses. The ideal hair was curly and fair or red, a fad influenced by British monarch Queen Elizabeth I. CC links and reference images under the cut.

You can find more of my historical content here:

1300s ✺ 1400s ✺ 1500s ✺ 1600s ✺ 1700s ✺ 1800s

1 - Queen of Curls by Teanmoon

2 - Beatrix by Sims to Maggie

3 - Mary's Braid Bun by Birksche

4 - Circle Braid by Simverses

5 - Rose Braid by Simverses

6 - Marzia by Talented Trait

7 - Princess Hair by Nightingale Songx

8 - Ethel by Buzzard's Bits and Bobs

9 - Rhaenyra by Sims to Maggie

10 - Queen of Quaff by Teanmoon

11 - Hilda by Birksche

12 - Gaia by QICC (Curse Forge)

13 - Ally Afro Puff V1 by Sheabuttyr

14 - Winifred by Simduction

15 - Betsy by Sims to Maggie

16 - Phaedra by Simple Simmer

17 - Verity by Birksche

18 - Rirrier by Carol Forest

19 - Twisted Bun by Birksche

20 - Nora by Buzzard's Bits and Bobs

21 - Gytha by Buzzard's Bits and Bobs

22 - Gentle Hair by Kiara Zurk

23 - Long Hair Braid by Birksche

24 - Isabel by Sims to Maggie

25 - Judy's Half Braids by Birksche

26 - Sunshine Braid by Kiara Zurk

27 - Wrap Around Braid by Leeleesims1

28 - Duna by Buzzard's Bits and Bobs

29 - Becca by aharris00britney

30 - Lucrezia by Tekri

With thanks to some amazing creators: @teanmoon @simstomaggie @simverses @talentedtrait @nightingalesongx @buzzardly28 @sheabuttyr @simduction @blogsimplesimmer @leeleesims1 @aharris00britney @tekri

[valtsv]

Do you have any tips to get better at writing? Your word usage is so amazing. the way u describe things are so utterly unique, it’s so mesmerizing. You motivated me to write more but I want to reach your level of skill

i'll be honest, i personally find my writing to be rather subpar and lacking in the necessary technical skill to justify its overly stylised prose and excessive wordiness, so i wouldn't necessarily recommend taking inspiration from me. that being said, i'm my own worst critic and i am very flattered that my writing resonates so strongly with you. i'm not a professional writer, so i can't offer much in the way of advice beyond what has, through trial and error and years of practice, worked for me.

something that people often point out to me when complimenting my writing is that i have a rather lyrical style, which i can see. i try to pay attention to the way that words flow together - which words best complement one another - and choose how to structure and order sentences based on that. i do have a fairly extensive vocabulary thanks to reading a lot from a young age, but i also frequently make use of the thesaurus (my most dearly beloved). obviously, trying to beef up your writing by simply using more obscure words that you found in a book will come across as clumsy, and detract from your writing rather than enhancing it, but if you learn how to stitch words together in a way that has a pleasing ear or mouthfeel, you can mitigate that somewhat, and even make it part of your repertoire of skills.

speaking of vocabulary, the more expansive it becomes, the more doors it opens to you in terms of what you can write and how you can write it. this is pretty straightforward common sense stuff, but you'd be surprised by how effective is if you actually start paying attention to it. likewise with grammar. not everything you write needs to sound like it was written for a sophisticated publication in a well-respected 19th century newsletter, but if you read widely and often, you'll find that your understanding of just how many ways the scaffolding of phrasing and punctuation can be used to support incredible linguistic architecture there are grows immensely, and start seeing opportunities to make all these little adjustments and additions and substitutions that enhance your work's overall presentation.

with regard to the above, i'd also recommend considering how you want your audience to feel. you can alter a reader's entire undercurrent of sensational experience simply by changing a few words, according to whatever emotional (or even more primal) response you intend to provoke. you can also mix your palettes, and flirt with crossing the wires (horror tinged with eroticism and vice versa, fantasy with a dose of down-to-earth pragmatism, tragicomedy, and so on). the more you experiment, the more your confidence will grow, and your skills begin to take shape, from crude instruments to refined, specialised tools.

one word of caution i'd offer you, based on my own shortcomings, is that my style of writing does very much neglect realistic-sounding dialogue. the way that i write and the way human beings talk to one another clashes without much grace or redemptive quality (at least in my opinion), and i have yet to find a satisfactory solution to this. i'll let you know if i ever figure it out.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: A Departure.

Commissioned by the very lovely @ohsotearful.

Pairing: Yandere!Scaramouche x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Spoilers For Sumeru's Story Quest, Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of Physical/Psychological Abuse, Themes of Forced Codependence, and Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms.

You arrived at the door of his shrine with no less than a dozen guards in tow – an even mix of Fatui soldiers and Akademiya matra. The most brazen among them attempted to follow you inside, but you dismissed them with a quick shake of your head, a pointed look to the more senior members of the mismatched legion. This was a well-trodden routine, by now, although one you never dared to come with the same entourage more than once. Your husband’s recent distance had not softened his jealous edge, and although you weren’t fond of those most complicit in the newest stage of your captivity, no mortal crime could be worthy of the wrath of such a violent god.

Your footsteps echoed – clipped and solitary – against the bare walls of the stone chamber. The architects of his divinity have already been sent away for the night, leaving you alone with the half-finished mess of wires and metal that was your husband’s fixation. The Shouki no Kami, you could remember the Doctor calling it during his first visits to your estate. A ridiculous name for a ridiculous machine that would only serve the ego of a ridiculous man. Bile rose into the back of your throat at the sight alone, but you swallowed your anger. He’d never been able to react to your rage with anything but his own.

You paused at the monstrosity’s feet, and his voice came to you – reverberating in the back of your mind like the final tones of a chapel bell. “Beloved,” he whispered in the back of your mind, sending a pang of pure agony through your skull. “You aren’t supposed to—”

“I will not hold a conversation with a mumbling voice.” You cut him off swiftly, teeth grit and eyes narrowed. “Either I will speak to my husband's face or I will not speak to him at all.”

A moment passed without a response. Then, stiltedly, one of his monstrosity’s hands tore free from its scaffolding, lowering itself to the ground beside you. With some reluctance, you stepped into his palm and allowed him to raise you to the frontmost panel of his abomination. You refused to call it a face, because to call it a face would be to admit it was his face, which would be to admit that this strange machine was in any way an extension of him. The metallic panel raised and disappeared into some unseen cavity, revealing the hollow, unit chamber behind it. Revealing your husband.

Or, rather, revealing the mess he’d made of himself.

He had never been the pinnacle of beauty, but his pale skin now seemed bleached and colorless, his lithe form limp and crumpled. Glass tubes filled with a pulsing, violet substance had been drilled into the nape of his neck, the base of his spine, the curves of his shoulder bones, and the smile he paid you as he came into view was labored, a fight against some artificial exhaustion. Before you could think better of it, you stepped out of his palm and into his chamber, falling to your knees beside him and wrapping your arms around his neck. “You are,” You pressed your lips into his temple. “the biggest idiot,” Then again, into his cheek, the curve of his jaw. “I have ever met.”

He let out an airy chuckle, melting into your chest. “It used to take a vat of water and thirty minutes of electrocution to make you kiss me like that.”

You ignored the phantom rope that coiled around your lungs at the reminder of the first decades of your relationship. You tried to think of it as little as you could, but his vision had always been more rose-colored than your own. “Can’t I show my husband affection?” You raked your fingers through his hair, resting your lips against his forehead. “It’s not as if I’ll be able to kiss the metal coffin you’re locking yourself inside.”

Another laugh, this one more labored than the last. “You could, if you wanted to. Just wait until it’s finished. It’ll be more glorious than you could possibly imagine – a vessel befitting of the most powerful archon this wretched world has ever bowed to.” He attempted to straighten, only to collapse under his own weight. “It’ll be an improvement to this form, at least.”

“I quite like your current form. It’s only a shame it has to house such a rotten personality.” You looked outward, to his empty shrine. At the time of your last visit to Inazuma (meaning, at the time of your last successful escape from your husband), his creator had still been locked inside a similar cage, or so another yokai had told you over bottles of sake and a game of cards. That visit had been one of your shortest. He knew you too well, by then, and it’d only taken him a few weeks to realize you’d run where you always would - home. “I suppose I’ll be left in the care of your doctor, when you’re finished.”

His response was immediate, purely reactive; a sudden snarl paired with a flash of bared teeth. “Dottore should be thankful to so much as breathe your air. You’ll be the paramour of a god.”

“I’ll be left alone while you turn yourself into a monster.” Your voice was hollow, distant. Even now, months into his transformation, it was difficult to describe the flavor of your devastation. He’d taken you from the place where you belonged and kept you as a trophy. He’d denied you any companionship aside from himself and cut away parts of your world until it revolved solely around him. He tucked dried flowers into the letters he wrote you near-obsessively whenever he couldn’t be at your side. He carved open your skin then demanded you keep your own mutilation out of his sight. He used to read you myths and fairy tales for hours every night, when human language was still foreign to your tongue. He was the closest thing to a friend you’d ever had.

And he was leaving you.

You wondered, briefly, if this was how he felt whenever you tried to get away from him, but discarded the thought quickly. It was your heart that ached the most in the wake of his betrayal, and your husband never did have one of those.

“I can’t remember the last time I was on my own,” you admitted, a pained smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I won’t ask you to stop. It’s just, when you’re done, I—” The air snagged in your throat. You inhaled sharply, then rested your head on his shoulder. “I’d like your permission to return to Inazuma, my lord.”

Silenced lapse, thick and heavy, between you. He was the closest thing you had to a friend, which meant he knew just how where to plant his knife and, more significantly, just how to twist the blade.

“No.” Stern, stiff, unyielding. Rather than softening over the centuries you’d spent together, he only seemed to grow more callous. “There’s nothing for you, there. You’ll stay here, with me, and I will rule this rotting land with you at my side.”

You opened your mouth, prepared to protest, to argue the way you hadn’t since the first years of your imprisonment, but closed it just as quickly. You buried your face in the crook of your neck, and your husband let you, eager to soak in the touch you so often denied him. Fire, despair, anger bit and thrashed inside of you, but it was all you could do to hold him, to keep him near.

It was all you could do to think of what you would become, after he was taken away from you.

[gildedphoenix]

Fire Escape - Dead on MAYn Day 1

Prompts uses: -Courting rituals -Flickering -Dinner interrupted by a fight -“Are they gone yet”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Not beta read. 6k words. Jason has a stressful day and shares dinner with his downstairs neighbor, Danny. The following week, Danny leaves something for him. A courting ritual between busy, stressed disasters.

AO3: Fire Escape Dead on MAYn Blog @deadonmayn

Fire Escape 

Life as a vigilante was stressful. Their world was not always easy. Cases did not always wrap up nicely in thirty minutes with everyone skipping off, hand in hand. 

This was definitely one of those bad days. 

A child trafficking case, after dragging on for the last 3 months, ended horribly. The head of the ring got away before Hood and Nightwing could to box him in. Most of the kids were already gone, whisked away to another location while Jason and Dick were fighting to reach them. And the kids they were able to find? Jason took a deep breath. This wasn’t a night he would be able to forget anytime soon. 

He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight so after Dick left, Jason cooked. He made chicken and bacon stuffed shells with a creamy marinara sauce. The recipe always took forever but it was a welcome distraction. Jumbo shells, chicken, bacon, broccoli, cheese, and sauce and a dozen other components to prep and cook. No time to think of anything else.

Two hours later, Jason was still wired, but he had stuffed shells. Enough for his whole family, if he was honest with himself. Enough to feed those kids who didn’t make it. Enough to fill the stomachs that hadn’t been full in so long but would never be hungry again. 

Jason was broken out of his despair by a noise on the fire escape. His gun was in his hand without conscious thought. Slow, steady steps took him closer to the window until he could see the potential intruder. 

Jason's shoulders dropped back down as he spotted his downstairs neighbor outside their window. It wasn’t unusual to see Danny out on the fire escape, one level down. Nothing unusual. Nothing to be concerned about. 

Jason reupholstered his gun before Danny spotted him and turned back to the kitchen. They’d introduced themselves when Danny moved in a few weeks ago at the beginning of the fall semester but hadn’t interacted much since then. 

Grabbing the casserole dish and an extra plate and fork, Jason stepped out onto his level of the scaffolding and called down to Danny. 

“Hey, you want some food? I made too much and can’t possibly eat it all.” Jason set the dish down between himself and the stairs and started in on his own plate. 

“Oh my god, Yes! I haven’t had food all day! You are a life saver. A knight in shiny armor.” Danny made his way up the stairs and peeked his head just above Jason’s level. He reached slowly for the extra plate and serving spoon while watching Jason. Jason motioned a little ‘go ahead’ with his own fork and Danny’s face lit up as he scooped a modest portion of shells onto his plate. “I was stuck in meetings all day. The council just wanted to drag everything out and every issue solved spawned two more. And it’s not even like they listen to me,” he stopped, eyes wide and he put the serving spoon back in the dish and looked intently at his own plate. “Not that they would. You know. I’m just a,you know, just an intern. I’m not even paid. Just an unpaid internship. Yep. I’m just there to take notes and get college credit. I’m an engineering student at Gotham U.” He glanced over at Jason, eyes a little panicked as he tried to sell his obvious lie. “But I don’t wanna bore you. You probably have a real job with real stress. I’m just an intern student. Aaaaaaand I’m gunna stop rambling now and go eat. Yep. Thank you.” 

Danny clammered back down the stairs (and Jason could swear he missed that last step based on the noises) before settling down against the wall next to his window. With a chuckle, Jason took another bite of his food. “You’re right, my job is stressful. That doesn’t mean you’re day can’t be stressful too, though. Stress is relative. We all handle it differently. It’s how I ended up making too much food. I’ve got a big family and I just went on autopilot and before I knew it I’d made enough to feed them all, even though none of them are over tonight. It’s still a nice way to decompress. I’ll give them a call tomorrow to see if any of them want some but this dish is better fresh.” He leaned back against his own wall, eyes closed, taking in the steady constant noises of the city. The chatter of Crime Alley and the more distant rumble of Gotham. It was several minutes before Jason heard Danny call up again. 

“This is amazing. I don't think I’ve eaten anything this good since….Actually never. I definitely can’t make anything like this and my parents didn’t really do home cooked meals.” 

Jason glanced down through the grates and Danny was scraping the sauce off the plate onto his fork. Jason decided to show some mercy before the poor guy started licking the plate. “Feel free to grab more. I’m not gonna eat this all and my siblings should have clairvoyantly known I was cooking if they really wanted any.” Jason chuckled a bit but it also didn’t seem that unrealistic. 

“Thanks! I’m going to be full for a week after this.” Danny popped back up the stairs, his face lit up in joy, as he pulled the dish over to him, spooning out a full plate of shells this time. “I guess their loss is my gain.” He went back down to lounge against his own wall. 

An easy silence fell. The noises of the city a distant juxtaposition to the bubble they had created. Just two people enjoying food. Enjoying a little down time. Enjoying peace.

****

A few days later, Jason came home to a surprise. He didn’t expect to really hear from his neighbor again beyond the occasional waves and hellos they had previously established. Just the coming and going in the stairs or passing on the street. But there on the outside of his window was a sticky note. Black with tiny nebulas, Jason’s name was scrawled with silver glitter gel pen and an arrow pointing down.

He opened the window and looked down to see if Danny was out, Jason spotted a ziplock bag full of cookies and a thermos. With Danny nowhere in sight, Jason inspected the note again and on the other side was more writing.

“I can’t cook anything near as good as what you made, but these are my favorite cookies from the bodega by campus. I like them with cardamom tea.” 

Jason opened the bag and caught a whiff of the cookies. He had fully intended to run them through a spectrometer but the enticing scent of ginger snaps and some urge deep within his soul overrode his caution. He took a small bite. And they were delicious. The spices were deep and warm. The molasses earthy. Setting them aside for a moment, he opened the thermos and took a tentative sip. The tea was still warm and lightly sweetened. The sharp spices of the tea playing well off the warmth of the cookies. 

He’d never had anyone leave him offerings like this. The thought stopped him for a moment. 

Gifts. Not offerings, gifts. He shrugged and grabbed a book from his TBR shelf. Settling in with the cookies and tea to relax before he had to go out for patrol. His mind was distracted by stray thoughts of what he might be able to leave his neighbor in return. 

****

Danny hated his teachers. He hated this city. He hated his creaky apartment. Though he didn’t mind the eye candy of his upstairs neighbor when they passed on the stairs. And if Danny turned around once in a while to watch Jason go up the stairs and enjoy the view? Well that was just the payment he deserved from the universe for the elevator always being out. There were other perks too, Danny decided thoughtfully. He and Jason had been leaving each other little offerings on the fire escape and it had become the best part of Danny’s day. It wasn’t every day, maybe more like once a week. But the joy he got when there was a little package outside his window? Unparalleled. As if matching Danny’s galaxy post it note energy, Jason left notes with his gifts on stationary that looked like old parchment paper, quotes from classic authors printed along the bottoms. Just a little explanation of what the gift was and where it was from. Or sometimes, if it were a homemade dish, Jason would include where he’d got the recipe from. Danny was on the look out for a larger notepad that was still space themed. He found he was running out of space on his post its and using two seemed like trying too hard, as if going out and buying all new stationary wasn’t also trying too hard. But Jason didn’t have to know it was new. Danny could have already had this. 

To Danny’s joy, there was a take out box outside under his window today. No Jason to be seen, but they rarely made it outside at the same time. Their schedules rarely lined up.

“I found a new korean place over off Vermont St. I got you some char sui pork buns. I hope they help tonight while you’re studying for finals. The things you’ve left for me have always made my evenings better.  -Jason”

And at the bottom, the little book quote read “‘Why did you do all this for me?’ he asked. ‘I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.’ ‘You have been my friend,’ replied Charlotte. ‘That in itself is a tremendous thing.’” -Charlotte’s Web

What had started as a simple shared meal from Jason making too much food after work had become the best part of Danny’s week. And it seems like Jason might feel the same. A lovely give and take of food offerings. A courtship. Or at least, Danny liked to think of it that way. But even just simple friendship was a welcome feeling. At least now he knew Jason also liked their little dance and this wasn’t out of some misconstrued obligation. And Jason even remembered that he was a student and that it was finals week. That extra thought had Danny blushing as he took the buns to his kitchen counter and stuck the note on his fridge with a comet shaped magnet. Danny kept all the notes Jason left. Luckily the fridge couldn’t be seen from the window because otherwise Danny would die (again) of embarrassment. As it was, he simply enjoyed his dinner while rereading Jason’s words.

****

“Wait a minute” Dick interrupted Jason’s story description of Danny’s most recent gift of curry and boba tea. “So you and this guy-” “Danny,” Jason corrected. Dick nodded, a conspiratorial smile growing. The kind of smile your brother gets when he stumbles across potential blackmail material on you. “So you and Danny” Jason did not like that tone, “have been leaving gifts outside each others windows.” Jason nodded, “Every week, or MORE,” Dick looked pointedly at Jason for confirmation, to which Jason nodded again. “And you FINALLY tell him that his gifts ‘make your day better’ and you use the page with a quote from Charlotte’s Web about FRIENDSHIP?” 

“What’s the matter with that? It’s not like I picked it specifically. It was just the next page.” Jason was beginning to regret sharing this joy with his dick of a brother.

“Ok, So.” Dick threw his arm around Jason’s shoulders, “We need to either work on your delivery, or get you some stationary with better quotes. You’re clearly over the moon about this guy-” “Hey, what makes you say that? I just- It’s- I…”Jason stuttered, trying to gather his scrambled thoughts. “Having something to look forward to after I get off patrol is nice. And having someone go out of their way to do that for me…” 

Dick really looked at his brother. It wasn’t often that Jason managed to look small these days. But there he sat, shoulders hunched, fingers fiddling with Danny’s most recent note. It wasn’t a sticky note size, but a small half page. Very much like Jason’s own notepad with the quotes from famous authors. He was absentmindedly folding the paper back and forth, making lines from star to star among the constellations decorating the page. “Jason,” Dick dropped his teasing tone and waited for his little brother to look up. “It sounds like you’ve got a good thing going here. I wouldn’t want you to mess it up by being impatient. You laid out your cards, in a small careful way, and you received something in turn,” he nodded to the creased note. “Keep taking those steps. I can see how happy this has made you, even as simple as it is. Keep finding things you think he’ll like. Keep leaving your little courtship gifts. And maybe just flip through your stationary and pick the quotes a bit more deliberately,” Dicks eyes glinted dangerously, “You lit’ nerd.” Dick quickly flipped backwards from sitting into several handsprings across the training mat, his maniacal laughter echoing across the cave as he tried to escape the very predictable ire of his younger brother.

“Oh that’s it! You’re in for it now!” Jason rolled up onto the mats to chase Dick, joy in his heart and violence on his mind. Danny’s note settled to the floor, waiting for Jason’s response. “I hope you like curry! I got a medium spicy, but eat it with the naan if it’s too hot. Your gifts are the highlight of my day whenever you leave me something.” And then, hand written at the bottom of the page where Jason’s stationary had quotes, “With all the stars in the sky, and all the people in the world, I’m glad I ended up in a constellation next to you.”

****

“Guys, I’m going to die.” Danny declared and then promptly face planted into Sam’s couch. They were having their monthly catch up dinner and hang out. Sam was attending Metropolis University for Law with a minor in environmental studies. Her parents weren’t happy with her obvious post grad plans, but she was fulfilling their terms of getting a traditional, respectable degree, so they were footing the bill. That included her off campus apartment because no daughter of theirs was about to live in those dingy college dorm rooms. 

Tucker was attending MIT while also building a name for himself in the hacker community. Two streams he was desperately trying to keep from crossing, lest MIT expel him on ethics. 

Danny, of course, was attending Gotham U for aerospace engineering and astronomy. Their schedules made it hard to find a common evening once a month that they were all free. Danny’s ability to make portals (thanks to a new set of powers and abilities that came with being Ghost King of the infinite realms) made it slightly easier to get everyone in the same room once they found the time. Danny’s muffled voice drifted up from the couch cushions. 

“What was that Danny? I couldn’t quite get that through the literal couch in your face.” Sam sassed.

Danny lifted his face from the fluff and whined, “I left Jason the sappiest note and by the time I came to my senses, he had already taken iiiiiiiiiit! And now he’s read it and he hates me and he’s never going to talk to me again or leave me homemade cookies or anything else ever again and it’s all because I read too deep into a quote from fucking Charlotte’s Web!” He flopped onto his back and then slowly melted off the couch, thumping to the floor when Sam pushed him to make room to sit down with her pho bowl. 

“Come on man, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Tucker said. “Tell us what you wrote.” “No.”

“Don’t make me check the security footage. You know we’ve got HD cameras on your place.” Tucker, horrible friend that he was, was already pulling up the footage. The cameras had been installed as a valid security measure but were mostly used to retrieve blackmail footage against Danny by his friends. Danny had a tendency to glow and float as he stargazed on rare clear nights in Gotham and Sam and Tucker gave him no end of shit about it. 

“Did you find it?” Sam asked excitedly, crowding closer while holding Danny off with a boot to the face. 

“Yep! Let’s see, ‘Hope you like curry,’ blah blah blah, oh here. ‘With all the stars in the sky, and all the people in the world, I’m glad you ended up in a constellation next to me.’ You’re right.” Tucker declared solemnly. “It is bad. He’s never going to talk to you again. He’s gunna move states. Dye his hair. Change his name! You’ll never find him again and you’ll never find love.” Tucker lost his deadpan demeanor and dissolved into laughter. 

Danny glared at him and phased the couch out from under him. Tucker hit the floor still laughing and didn’t stop. 

“Captain Chuckles can stay on the floor, but please re-solidify my couch. I like it to exist in this dimension.” Sam nudged Tucker ever so gently out of the way so that the couch could exist again. 

“But really. Was it too much?” Danny asked Sam, since Tucker was clearly just going to be useless. 

“I think it was honest and forward. I think if you guys had been going on traditional dates, then it might be too much.” Dannys face fell and his shoulders slumped. “But!” Sam interjected quickly, “That is not what you guys are doing. For better worse, you have some archaic courting ritual going on. You’ve only been exchanging words and gifts. Small offerings of your heart and soul. To give less than your full self in this situation would be disingenuous. I don’t think it was too soon, especially since he initiated the sentiment. Sure, writing down undying love,” Danny and tucker both chuckled at the ‘undying’ part and Sam kicked them both for it, “Would have been too much. But directly stating that you enjoy the little dance you have going on? And that you like him? Nah. I think you did good. Especially since he’s clearly a literary nerd.”

“Yeah” Tucker chimed in, “He matches well with your space nerd!” 

“Oh that’s it! You’re in for it now!” Danny rolled off the couch and chased Tucker around Sam’s spacious apartment, promising to freeze him to the ceiling once he caught him. 

****

Jason decided to take a night off patrol. Nothing major should be going on tonight. The Alley could do without him being a helicopter parent for one evening. He wanted to make a more involved meal for Danny. There was a good chance that they would see each other tonight. Jason had connected some dots and realized that Danny, the beautiful face and soul that he was, liked to stargaze on clear Gotham nights. This would be the first clear night in weeks and there was no way that Danny would miss the opportunity. 

So Jason got started early. Rissoto didn’t look fancy but it took skill to get right. The results, when done right, were amazing. Jason had also picked up a bottle of wine. Call it wishful thinking, but he hoped Danny would share it with him and they might sit down and really get to know each other. That would be nice. 

****

As Jason stood, stirring his hopes and risotto, Danny was one floor down trying not to burn the entire building down. This was his fourth night trying to make the same thing.  He’d watched so many videos. So many tutorials. All of them said this could be done by a beginner cook if they just followed the steps. None of them really sold how difficult it was though. Someone needed to start a cooking channel where an average person tried to follow these recipes. 

The first attempt, several nights ago, ended in him realizing that he could not melt sugar on top of a creme brulee in a plastic ramekin. Fire plus plastic is bad. That was the first batch ruined. 

The second batch didn’t set in the oven. Which didn’t make sense because he’d done everything the same as the first batch, which had turned out fine. 

The third batch, he turned the oven up just a but realized while he was cleaning up egg shell that he’d never actually put eggs into the second batch. By the time he got the third batch out of the oven, they were horribly over cooked. 

For the fourth batch, he laid out all his ingredients, portioned and in order of use. Set his oven back to the right temperature and gave an offhanded prayer to Clockwork for proper timing. 

The timer dinged, the custards wobbled ever so slightly and Danny about collapsed with relief as he got them safely removed from the oven and set on his counter. He took a moment to contemplate how he’d ended up cooking the same dessert four nights in a row. These were way too complicated for him. But he’d done this to himself. He’d looked up “impressive desserts to make for your date” and Creme Brulee topped half the lists. Last step was to toast the tops with a micro torch after they cooled. 

Danny returned to his homework while he waited.

****

Jason opened his window, two servings piping hot seafood risotto plated and ready. He’d heard muffled cursing from downstairs, so he knew Danny was home. Most likely cursing one of his professors. Jason left the bottle of wine just inside his window. He was hopeful that the evening would go well but no sense in being presumptuous. He wasn’t even sure if Danny liked wine, or drank at all! 

Starting down the fire escape, Jason was surprised to see Danny already out. He was peering into the eyepiece of a telescope muttering to himself. Danny did talk to himself a lot now that he thought about it. Not wanting to startle him, Jason waited on the upper level of the fire escape and simply watched. Admired the object of his affections these past months. It was odd to think how much they’d both put into the relationship so far for how little time they’d actually spent together. Danny sat on the stairs in his Nasa hoodie and some Justice League pajama pants, which caused Jason to chuckle quietly to himself.

Sitting next to Danny was an open notebook, Danny’s chaotic handwriting scattered over the page along with some very precise charts. Jason almost didn’t believe they were hand drawn except that they were penned in the same aggressively bright neon green sparkly gel pen as the chicken scratch writing. What a strange dichotomy. Next to the notes sat a tray with two ramekins of creme brulee. As Dannys hand moved down to make some notes Jason noticed several bandaids with burns peeking out from under them. Had Danny made the creme brulees himself? He’d mentioned a few times that he was hopeless in the kitchen. Had he gone to all that trouble and apparently pain, to make something for Jason? 

For no particular reason, Jason needed to clear his throat, which startled Danny of his concentration trance. “Oh! You’re here!” Danny said. He capped the eyepiece and looked around. “I made you something. You’re always making things for me and I’ve just been buying things so I wanted to put more work into your gifts. So I made these. For….For us. I was hoping you’d eat with me? I waited out here for you. Also it was a great night for some stargazing so I was just doing that while I waited, of course, because sometimes you come home really late. Not that I’m watching you!” Danny’s hands came up defensively, a blush coloring his cheeks as he rambled. Eyes darting away, he started clearing off the stairs for them to sit. Moving his notebooks and the creme brulees. Jason just smiled at the disaster he was already half in love with. He couldn’t wait to learn all of Danny’s quirks and habits. Would he always ramble on or was this just jitters? Would Danny’s face light up the same way every time Jason came home from patrol? He hoped so. He wanted to make this work. He wanted to come home to that face.

“I’m actually really glad you’re out here,” Jason said, saving Danny from himself. “I’ve seen your telescope and noticed that you like to come out on clear nights. I was hoping you’d have dinner with me again. I made seafood risotto. It’s shrimp and muscles. Would you like some?” Jason presented the plates to Danny as he came down the stairs. 

“Yeah. I’d love to have dinner with you. I like any food that doesn’t try to eat my back. I don’t think I’ve ever had risotto. Let me just finish moving my junk.” He smiled as he set everything off to the side in a pile.

Jason settled down and handed one of the plates and a fork over to Danny. “How has school been going? I think you mentioned you were going for engineering?” Danny nodded. “What made you pick Gotham U? Most people are trying to leave the city, not come here.”

“Oh, that’s easy. But two reasons really. First, Gotham U has the Wayne Tech scholarship program and the great internship programs. I’ve also heard hush-hush rumors about some great job opportunities that recruit from Wayne Tech. If it’s true, I want to be here.” Danny gazed up longingly at the sky. Wayne Tech of course had partnerships with NASA but that was a well known connection. It wasn’t hush hush. The only thing Jason could think of that Danny would be alluding to would be jobs on the Watchtower. They did hire civilians, but the Justice League hand selected the best of the best. Bruce and Lucius kept their eyes out for those people. Not that he supported nepotism, but Jason wouldn’t mind making sure Danny’s name got added to the hat once he was ready. 

“The other reason,” Danny said, breaking Jason out of his future planning, “is that Gotham is the only city I could find with even half the amount of crazy as Amity, my home town. We had some crazy super villains and after growing up with that daily madness, I can’t settle down in a peaceful city.” He took a moment to savor the food, bliss coming across his face. It made Jason want to make more food for him. Jason wanted to bring him that joy again. To provide for Danny and take care of him. “This is really good! I love your food. Best thing I’ve ever had every time. I just hope what I made doesn’t give us both food poisoning.” “Hey, I’m sure it’s great. Did you burn your fingers making that? I saw the band aids. Even if you need chaos, I’m sure you don’t need to make more by burning yourself making dessert. Just walk through the alley in the daytime and I’m sure you’ll get enough excitement.” 

“Nah, Muggers are small potatoes.” Danny contested. “Most exciting thing that can come of that is Red Hood showing up. And I’m typically not out while he’s patrolling. Hood keeps most of the rif raf out of the area, so I generally feel safer here than the rest of Gotham.” 

“Hmmm. So Hood is doing better than the bats and birds? I’m sure Batman would love to hear that.” Jason bumped Danny’s shoulder playfully. “Since you’ve been here for a few months now, do you have a favorite bat or bird?”

“Red Hood.” Danny said quickly and decisively. “Definitely Red Hood. Not only does he have his area on lock down, so much so that even the other Bats stay out. Black Mask? Nope. Traffickers? Gone. Most violence? Low level. I know some of the bigger name rogues will ignore all the boundaries but they’re really not known for following the rules so they don’t really count. And also he’s….” Danny stopped abruptly, a blush coming over his cheeks. “But what about you? You grew up here. Who’s your favorite?” 

“That’s a hard choice. I remember when it was just Batman and Robin OG. So I would say it was original Robin, then Nightwing, but then he abandoned us for Bludhaven. Now It’s probably BlackBat. Though the current Robin is also doing a great job. He gets a lot of shit for being so young and violent but what do people expect? Of course he’s violent. Being Robin is not easy. It’s- And now I’m rambling on.” Jason chuckled. “BlackBat. She’s my favorite. For now.” 

“Hmmm. I haven’t heard a lot about her. It makes sense since what I have heard is that she’s the stealthiest of the bats.” 

Some time during the conversation they had relaxed, no longer holding a strict gap between their bodies. Forks clinked as they sat shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip on the narrow fire escape staircase. A peaceful silence fell around them like a cozy blanket. 

“Can I try one of the creme brulees?” Jason asked, having finished his food already. “I would hate to see all your hard work, pain, and suffering go unappreciated.”

“Sure, but you’re taking your life into your own hands. Just do me a favor and lie to me about how good it is.” Danny passed one of the desserts and a small spoon over to Jason. Their hands touched and they both paused, but neither pulled away. 

A gentle smile grew on Jason’s face as a blush returned to Danny’s cheeks but still neither pulled away.  The world seems to pause around them, allowing them this moment. The soft light coming from the windows flickered….and then went out. 

“Um…What just happened?” Danny asked, looking around. The ambient glow of Gotham still loomed in the distance but most of the closer lights had gone out, just street lamps remained. Down at the end of the street, a red glow flickered. The glow of fire. “I gotta go.” They both said at the same time. Their eyes met in the dim light. Shadows made masks on their faces and sudden understanding lit their eyes. A mutual epiphany.

“Be safe.” Danny said to Red Hood. “You too.” Jason responded before darting back up the stairs and into his apartment. 

****

Danny’s mind was reeling. How could he not have noticed? All the clues were there in hindsight. The late nights. The tired days. The various bruises and scrapes. Even the vague half answers and glaring lack of personal info in their brief conversations. But in that moment of calamity, Jason’s entire demeanor shifted. His shoulders squared and resolution threaded every fiber of his frame, and what a great frame it was. On the plus side, Danny felt less conflicted about staring at Red Hood’s ass while courting Jason. They were the same ass. The same thighs. The same broad shoulders that Danny had way too many private thoughts about. 

Focus Danny!

Once he got into his closet, he transformed. While he no longer shouted “Going Ghost” at the top of his lungs (He was young, leave him alone), he didn’t have any way to dampen the bright flash of light his transformation gave off. So into the closet he went. 

Flying through his apartment walls and over the battle zone he quickly assessed the lay of the land. There seemed to be two groups shooting at each other from opposite corners of the street. Behind every available place of cover and down every alley, people were hiding. Sneaking into the intersection from their apartment was Red Hood, also assessing the situation from the ground. His eyes raked over both factions, the civilians, the fire escapes and windows, and even the rooftops. Danny was impressed because few people thought to look up. Danny allowed himself to pop back into the visible spectrum as Jason’s gaze passed over the rooftop Danny was hovering over. Nobody else was looking up. Nobody ever looked up.

Danny pointed at Hood, then at the violence. Then after a pause, pointed at himself and circled his hand around to indicate the surrounding area. He hoped Hood would catch that Danny was going to take care of the civilians and general crowd control. Jason nodded and took out two of his guns, checking the safety and loads before focusing on the task ahead. Danny faded back to invisibility and looked around for the most vulnerable of the civilians to get them out first.

****

The firefight took much longer to handle than Danny expected. He was used to one on one or maybe himself versus a group, but never a gang war like this. Never with so many people. So many combatants. So many innocents in the line of fire. 

The noise in the streets had been like listening to a bag of popcorn. Shots overlapping. Echoing endlessly. A constant incomprehensible cacophony of gunfire. As Danny got more civilians to safety, the density of noise began to wane. Little by little the gunfire spread out as Hood disabled the shooters and their weapons until it went from constant noise to just isolated pops to silence. 

Danny allowed himself to become visible atop the same roof as earlier when he noticed Jason looking for him once more. Danny held his fist out, thumb to the side, head cocked in question. Red Hood returned the thumb out fist and turned it up briefly, before pointing with his thumb over his shoulder back towards their apartments. Danny turned up his thumb to match and nodded before disappearing and leaving Hood to the mercy of the converging Bats. Danny didn’t even remember them showing up. He was so focused on getting people to safety. He was glad Jason had help though. He sped back to his own apartment to wait. To pace restlessly and hope that Hood hadn’t been hurt.

****

Jason was annoyed. Bruce was annoying for trying to act like he was in charge while standing in Jason’s damn apartment. Tim was annoying, standing off to the side while silently judging Jason’s lack of coffee choices. Oracle was annoying for sending Bats his way when she heard him get winged by a stray round at the beginning of the firefight. He was even annoyed with himself for somehow missing that Danny was apparently a vigilante? Or maybe a rogue? He needed them to leave. He needed to check on Danny. There was clearly some kind of powers involved but nothing to say that Danny couldn’t be hurt. That he wasn’t hurt. He’d seen Danny peek his head around the window frame three separate times before literally disappearing from view each time. Clearly waiting until Jason was alone again to talk.

“Look.” Jason interrupted whatever Bruce was saying. “I’m tired. I was already in for the night before that clusterfuck even began. I need you both out of my place because I have a date with a cup of tea and possibly a shot of whiskey.” Jason stalked over and opened the front door in clear invitation to leave. “Out. And tell O to mind their own business and butt out of my feeds.” Jason continued to motion out the door. Gentleman that he was, he even waited politely until their capes were all the way out the door before slamming it behind them. Jason took a deep breath and turned around as he felt the air shifting.

“Are they gone yet?” Danny asked. His inexplicable white hair from the battlefield was gone but he was floating a couple inches off the floor. 

Jason wondered if he knew he was doing it as he walked over to retrieve the bottle of wine. 

“Yeah. They’re gone for now. Let’s talk.” 

[ornii]

Oh, the Misery Part 6: “I’m here for You, Powder.”

Part 6

The Last Drop, the burdened building that has literal skeletons in its closet. A man was tending the empty bar. His simplistic but fun train of thought was cut off by a voice.

“Chuck!”

“Chuck”, gasped and turned around, his eyes quickly tracing the bar to a girl, Jinx. She was sitting at the counter playing with a blue Hextech crystal.

“Thieram. Uh... My name's Thieram.” He said, but Jinx smirked.

“Nice try, Chuck. What's all the hubbub?” She tilts her head, Chuck takes Jinx’s favorite cup out and pours into it, hand shaking.

“Uh. Boss wants us to grab someone up.” Chuck says, his eyes not able to meet Jinx’s who fiddles with her Hextech orb.

“Someone? Anyone? Who are you grabbing?” She asked

“Some girls and a guy. I mean, I mean not... I'm not grabbing the girls. Oh, other than the... those ones... I guess.”

“Focus. Who are they? Why wasn't I invited to the party?”

“Uh, I don't know. They... they got in a fight with Sevika. They did a number on her.”

“Oh really? Which number?” Jinx was an oddball, unhinged and her direct and sokehow indirect questions somehow.

“It's like a saying— but the person who fought her, someone said he had a metal arm.” Chuck said, Jinx’s fun attitude for a moment halts, his eyes dilated for a moment, and she quickly puts the mask back on. Disbelief filling her brain. he starts to explain to her, but Jinx decides to give him a biiiig hug.

“You're doing great, Chuck. Here, for your troubles.” She let him go and leaves with her cup. Chuck felt and heard the ticking and panicked, one of Jinx’s bombs was on his back. He panicked and thought his life was over. Only for it to explode with Pink Paint.

Deep in Zaun, (Y/n) was getting hauled up a cliff side to avoid Silco. Vi was carrying him as he attempted to stay on his feet. Caitlyn had her rifle, taking a more serious approach, staying in front of the two in case something or, someone.. were to intervene.

“Silco's goons aren't far behind. We have to keep moving.” Caitlyn turned around to them, Vi looked around and noticed the Neon sign.

“Is it still here?” Vi asked, “What?” Cait replied but Vi shook her head. “Never mind, just help me to the edge. We gotta get down there.” She said, Vi helps (Y/n) over to the ledge.

“Okay, Can you get down on your—“ Vi asked, (Y/n) didn’t hesitate and leapt. His metal arm jams into the wall and slides down. He leaped to a scaffold but missed the beam and tripped and rolled on the ground, hard. Cait looked a bit worried, Vi shook her head, angry. “Shit!” Vi leapt down after him, and Cait took a more cautious route.

As This happens, Sevika returns to Silco’s office after catching a generational ass kicking. She barged into the office, with the chair’s back facing the door.

“We lost them…” she said, and the figure who turned around wasn’t Silco. It was jinx.

“Lost who?” She said, Sevika stepped up to fight, but triggered a trip wire that filled the room with gas. Quickly losing consciousness, Sevika stumbled around as Jinx put on a gas mask, watching the lights in Sevika go out. She awakens, strapped to a chair. And Jinx sitting on the desk, smiling.

“I feel like you and I got off on the wrong… arm. Maybe we should try the other.” She said, with the simplest of threats.

“No need. It's your sister and brother. They’re back. And he’s looking for you.” Devils spoiled the surprise, that unhinged aura reverberated though Jinx.

“It's not what you think. He’s with some girl enforcer. Guess they replaced you.”

“You're lying!” Jinx was beside herself, deep unfiltered breaths.

“Why bother? With them back in town, it's only a matter of time before you implode and Silco finally gets the message that you're about as good for our cause as you were for your family…” Sevika pours salt into the wound, Jinx looks ready to cry, until she laughs and kicks sevika back.

“Ten outta ten, toots! I think I know just how to deliver that message…” Jinx spins Sevika around and a very uncomfortable smile was on Jinx’s face.

(Y/n) finally opens his eyes. Pain still in his side as he laid on the cold hard ground. His eyes are a haze but two figures are over him. Vi and Cait.

“Do You realize his dumb that was?” Cait says, and looked around. She noticed the lack of light but tents. Caitlyn saw the movement of, bodies somehow. Covered, their bodies malformed and ragged. The after effects of Shimmer.

“What is this place?” Cait was horrified at what this was, Vi walked up next to her.

“It's where the kind of people you topsiders don't want to think about, wind up. It was never this big, though.” She said, Vi turned around and pointed to an old house that stood under the scaffolding of a neon sign, “There.” She walked over and helped (Y/n). Up and walked him into the run down building, lacked any furniture or other equipment. Vi laid him against a wall, and on a crate. Vi knelt down, (Y/n) hasn’t made any joke of self deprecating humor. It’s serious. His breathing was more labored, strained. Cait watched Vi put pressure on the wound but it isn’t doing much.

“I know you have your reservations about me, but this only works if we can trust each other.” She said, “He’s going to die if we don’t—“

“It doesn't work. It never has. You topsiders always find a way to screw us.” Vi’s response was cold, the only thing they had in common was (Y/n), the glue holding their unstable team together.

“I suppose topside is to blame for all your misfortunes.” Cait says. Vi looked around her old home, and painted on drawings on the wall. Things powder did.

“No…Not all of them.” She replied, a look of guilt washed over her face. Caitlyn reached into her backpack and took out a rag and handed it to her.

“We aren't monsters, you know. We're people, just like you.” She tried to reach an understanding between them, but Vi still isn’t as trusting as (Y/n).

“You don't know anything about me…” Vi scoffed, but she took the rag and pressed it against his wound. (Y/n) opened his eyes, He blinked. He saw Vi but looking at Cait reminded him of, someone The soft, delicate features of a woman, emerged before him, her face illuminated with the gentle glow of memories long past. Her golden hair framed her face like sunlight breaking through clouds, and her familiar smile radiated warmth he hadn’t felt since childhood. The woman smiled at (Y/n) so warmly, Lost in a daze (Y/n) could only mutter one word.

“…Mom?” He whispered in his delusion. Vi was surprised, he almost never ever utters that word. Cait was slightly surprised by it. Vi put his hand on hers and leaned in. “Can you hear me? It’s gonna be okay.” Vi held on tight, Cait took a moment to step out of the building, mainly to check for anyone who knows they’re here. She stepped out for a moment, and a scraggly voice whispered.

“Is he all right?” Cait heard and turned around swiftly, rifle aimed at someone’s face, a man with glasses and the affliction of shimmer. He was a local to the last drop, a pair of cracked glasses.

“Wait, wait, wait! Easy. Easy. That's (Y/n) and Vi, right? I'm a friend. Or at least I was. I mean, I... I owed his old man my life. Probably more than that. I guess.” He explained, Cait slowly lowered her rifle, but kept her head on a swivel.

“He’s bleeding. He needs a doctor.” Sje said sternly. The man sighed

“Not so simple to come by around here. Oh, oh. But, ah, I do know someone else who might be able to help. Come with me.” He motions for her to follow though the decrepit undercity, and Cait follows with little choice left. They reach the end of the alley and to a shop. Barred off they await as a shadowing, massive figure creeps out of the dark, not human.

“Ailment?” The being asked. Its eyes lock onto Caitlyn who didn’t know how to respond at first.

“Uh... Uh... he’s been stabbed.” Cait said, the Shopkeeper snarled and crept into the darkness. Dark colors shine faintly in the light as beakers and bottles sound, shake, and echo.

“She makes potions. Helps people here with...with this.” The man revealed his face to Cait, the disfigured man man’s body was malformed due to the side effects of shimmer.

“Shimmer. Why would you take something that does that to you?”

“I just... wanted to feel what it was like...

To be somebody. To make other people afraid. Instead of—“ he wished to elaborate but the Shopkeeper was done. They crept to the barred window with the vial.

“Trade.” They spoke, Cait considered her options and didn’t have much in terms of value. Caitlyn used the only thing she had, she unloads her rifle and places it down on the counter as her trade. The shopkeeper growled and poured a drop of shimmer in the vial. It glows with a haunting aura and they trade. Cait takes the vial happily.

“Thank you, I really—“ the Shopkeeper slams the window shut, leaving Cait a bit shocked, but regardless.

“Let's go. I think Vi will be happy to see a friendly face.”

“No, no. You go ahead. They knew me when I was still...Anyway, I don't want them to see me like this. Just tell (Y/n).., uh, tell him I'm sorry. About everything, about his father..” the man crept back into the darkness, leaving Cait to consider much. She returned back to the house as (Y/n) was holding on, taking deep breaths. Vi opened his mouth and poured what the shopkeeper concocted. A surge of pain and unease washed over him, manic he sat up but felt Vi’s palms grip his cheekbones. His eyes locked with hers as he tried to catch his breath. “Easy, easy, easy. You’re okay.. look at me, you’re okay.” She reassured him as he regulated himself, he stood up, still a bit dazed.

“We needed you back on your feet. What was the name Sevika gave you? Jinx?”

“Yeah. No idea who though, Vi?” He asked, for a moment he saw a tinge of guilt in her eyes, but Vi shook her head. “No.”

“Then I guess we keep looking?” (Y/n) asked, feeling his body return to normal. They stepped outside and were caught, Vi’s eyes locked with Silco, who stood with a few of his goons.

“Vander's prodigy. I've regretted that we never had the opportunity to speak.” Silco kept his eye on Vi, as he hands a vial of Shimmer to the man who “Helped” Cait, rats.

“What have you done with my sister?” Vi stepped closer.

“I've freed her. Candidly, I thought you were the prize of your bundled family. But Jinx... Oh. She is more than I ever imagined.”

“I'm gonna find her and erase whatever fucked-up delusions you put in her head. But first, I'm gonna bring your bullshit empire down all around you.”

(Y/n) finally stepped out of the house, he and Silco are finally face to face. “The Child of Wonder..” Silco said with such sarcasm. It’s been years since they saw each other. (Y/n)’s older, grizzled, and now has a damaged eye, just like—

“Silco.” (Y/n) could only make out a growl. “I’m going to put you in the dirt.. with all the other maggots and worms!” he stormed over, but Silco stepped back.

“You don't know your limits, boy. It's what got Vander killed. What drove Powder away. And it's why I'm here right now.” Silco hands the shimmer to the people, and they consume. “The only good thing of this mess… your mother never had to see what your father became, a coward.” Silco’s words were the catalyst. (Y/n) aimed his arm in rage, his eyes locked dead on Silco, ready to kill him. For a moment, time slowed down and he had a choice, the shimmer victims were transforming and they wouldn’t survive a fight with them.

“One day.. I’m going to watch the light leave your eyes, but not today..”

(Y/n) aimed downward and fired. The shockwave impact causes a small quake on the earth. The shaking finally pushes the sign and scaffolding past the limit, and it falls, tipping towards Silco and his monsters. The trio use this to escape, rushing away to abound being crushed by the overwhelming force of the rubble. Climbing out of the Hell they created itself, Vi, Cait and (Y/n) try to recover on the cliffside. Vi looked up to the sky and something caught her eye, a blue flare flew into the sky. Vi knew what that meant, and rushed to the origin. “Vi? Vi!” (Y/n) stumbled up and gave chase, and So did Cait.

Rushing and leaping though Zaun and its rural inhabitants and residents made it a bit of a slog though it, but (Y/n) kept on Vi’s tail, trying to see just what has her so perplexed. It wasn’t until she hit a corner and he did a few second after that he saw it. In the middle of a tower, the one firing the Flare, powder. His eyes adjust to what he’s seeing and he slowly approached Vi and Powder. Vi lets go of her sister and Powder finally sees him.

“Powder?” He whispered, and walked over, his legs heavy but though sheer anxiety and will (Y/n) moved to her.

“Are.. are you real?” She asked, reaching out and touching his face. “Yeah, it’s me Munchkin.” He hugged powder and vi tightly. For a moment, it was real. He lets go and sighed, trying to hold back tears

“Powder, I’m so sorry I.. I should have been here, for you. For you two Vi I… it’s okay now, we have to get you—“ he starts, and Cait arrives, and all Hell broke loose. Powder immediately stepped back, Gatling gun in hand.

“Who's she?” She says. Vi and (Y/n) try to play the middle men.

“It's okay. She's a friend.” (Y/n) stepped a bit closer to Jinx.

“Sevika wasn't lying? You're with an enforcer?” Jinx grits her teeth, and Caitlyn leans in a bit.

“Your sister is Jinx?”

“Caitlyn, just listen, we can work this out.” Vi then turns her attention to Caitlyn but (Y/n) was confused, “Wait.. Did you call Her Jinx?” He begins to piece it together now.

“This is a trick! You're playing me!” Jinx was losing what cool she had left, talking to people who aren’t there. “Shut up! I'm in no mood.”

“We didn't say anything.” Cait starts.

“I wasn't talking to you!”

“Powder, it's okay.” (Y/n) stepped closer, and Jinx lifts the Gatling Gun. “Stop calling me that. It's Jinx now. Powder fell down a well.”

“What are you talking about? You’re powder! You’ve always been powder!” He got a bit worried. “Just put down the gun and—“

“Stop talking to me like I'm a child! Was that why you came? For this stupid stone?”

“What stone? Powder! I'm here for you. We’re here Only for you.” (Y/n) grips her wrist as she holds the gun, fear, confusion, pain in her eyes. Before they continue, a sound echoes from metal and the four look around, they weren’t alone. Green hue emerges from one of the tunnels and it was someone riding what looks to be a hovering board. Multiple of them arrive and set theit sights on the four of them.

“Cait? Gun!” He said, she bit her lip a bit. “I.. sold it.”

“You what?” (Y/n) was a bit perplexed. “Medicine, for you!” She replied, that guilt hit (Y/n) and he didn’t have much time to consider it, as they attacked, whoever they are. Jinx immediately railed up her gun and fires, bullets dance and hit along the steel and brick to a psychotic laughter, (Y/n) ducks under one swing by a rider and uses his pulse arm to blast one right off its board. He effortlessly kicks them off the tower and to a lower railing. Vi and Cait do their best but everyone is getting overwhelmed but also trying to abound getting turned into Swiss cheese by Jinx.

A pair fly at him from different directions, he blocks one pipe swing but gets one to the back of the leg, he rolls out of the way of another and stands up, he ends up back to back with powder. One big rider was going for them both. They give each other a look, Jinx laughs and fires at the ground, letting all the debris and dust kick up, the Rider avoids any gunfire but once he comes out of the smoke, he gets a nasty clothesline line. (Y/n) quickly picked up the board and hurled it at another, hitting their board and making it slowly crash into a wall as they roll off into a small pile of scrap metal. (Y/n) was ready to keep going, but someone leapt on his back, trying to choke him. He used his weight and fell back, slamming the person down. out of breath they let go and he quickly goes full Mount. Before he can land a single strike, another rider attempt to choke him with a pipe. While one blasts an unknown smoke in his face, coughing badly, (Y/n) pushes them off but it’s not enough. He falls back, slowly losing consciousness as Jinx’s manic shooting echoed in his thumping eardrums, he sees her face, they lock eyes once more and a look of rage was on her face and she fired at them for what they did. That wasn’t powder, that wasn’t the little girl he knew so long ago, all he saw was a maniac, a loose cannon.

A monster.

Those thoughts lingered, until it all went black.

[undertheopensky]

Helping Hands

Characters: Wild, Four

Tags: Chronic Illness, Dislocated Joints, Medical Care, modern au but it's so vague you could be forgiven for not noticing

Warning: This fic contains information of a medical nature. This information should not be considered professional medical advice and should not used to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent injury or disease. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME UNLESS YOUR DOCTOR HAS EXPLICITLY INSTRUCTED YOU TO AND HOW TO DO IT.

———

The trust inherent in letting your brother wrap their hands around your neck.

———

“Hey, Four. You know I trust you, right?”

Four glances up from his pliers. “Yes, but you asking me directly is a little concerning.”

“Would you be able to do me a massive, massive favour?”

Bemused, Four sets his wire project aside and hops off his stool. “I mean. What do you need me to do, exactly?”

“Well first get back on the stool, I need to be standing and you’re too short to reach otherwise.”

Four complies with a snort and an eyeroll. “If this is just an excuse to harass me about my height—”

“It’s not, I swear.”

Actually, now that he’s looking, Wild looks — tense. Moving slow and stiff and not turning his head, with something that might be pain tucked into the creases at his eyes. “Is your neck bothering you? I have painkillers—”

“It is, but later. Right now I need you to hold your hands like this-” Wild demonstrates — “at the base of my skull, and apply pressure without moving at all while I pop my neck back into place.”

Four’s heart stutters. “I’m sorry, your neck?”

Wild looks sheepish. “The second vertebra subluxated and it hurts like fuck, I can pop it back in but I need your hands. Will you do it? Please? I trust you.”

“That’s — are you sure?”

“Yeah, my physio taught me how to do this. Wrists and stuff too. Since… y’know.”

Four does know. Wild dislocates bones like most people change clothes. It wasn’t until his twenties that someone actually went hey that’s kinda weird and they started looking into it, started getting him help.

He does better now.

Four takes a deep breath. “Yeah, of course I’ll help. You gotta tell me exactly what to do, though, okay? I do machines, not squishy humans.”

Wild laughs, a flutter all in his chest as his head stays unnaturally still. “Yeah, you got it, bud.”

Wild turns his back and steps trustingly into the cradle of Four’s legs so his small hands settle over his shoulders and his fingers splay down towards the collarbones peeking out of his shirt. Between his thumbs sits the line of Wild’s spine, bone under skin. It looks delicate. It looks normal.

Four’s stomach churns.

“Okay, now brace your hands, and dig your thumbs in a little,” says Wild. “More pressure. More pressure. That’s perfect, just like that. I’m gonna move my head but I need your hands to stay exactly where they are, okay? Don’t follow me.”

“Alright.” Four steadies himself. Not locking up, just — bracing, tensing the muscles to make an unmoving scaffold for Wild to use.

Slowly, Wild turns his head to the left, then the right. The bones under the skin press against Four’s thumbs. He holds fast, doesn’t let them push him aside. He’s never paid attention to it before but now it’s right in front of him and the hard shapes flexing under the skin is — it’s disturbing. The way the muscles in Wild’s neck flutter and jump doesn’t help. Goddesses.

Wild tips his chin up with a hiss of pain.

“All good?” Four asks. He’s pleased by how steady his voice is.

“Yeah. Just can’t quite — get that one. Hurts too much.” He switches tracks and tilts his head slowly to the side, and under normal circumstances he can touch his ear to his shoulder without lifting it at all but he’s so stiff right now. Wild barely gets halfway before hesitating and switching sides. Avoiding the pain. Avoiding hurting himself, maybe damaging himself, and Four trusted him to know his limits but was this really safe —

Under Four’s right thumb there’s a faint click like a door latch closing and Wild gasps with relief. “Yes! Got it. Fuck that’s so much better. Four, thank you so much, fuck, I can’t do that on my own and it’s a pain in the ass getting an appointment with my physio every fucking time—”

“Doesn’t it go back on its own sometimes too?” Four pulls his hands away as Wild turns to face him.

“Yeah. Some little movement and it just slides back in, but it’s not consistent. It’s so much easier with a helper. Thanks again.”

“You sure we don’t need to go to the doctor? Oh, I need to—” Four digs around in the desk drawer, he knows he has a spare bottle here somewhere.

“No point. It’s not like they can do anything for me that you didn’t.” Wild beams at him. “Thanks, Four.”

“…shut up and take the painkillers.”

[ssunspotted]

It's an odd thing, watching without eyes. A mind wired like an animal's scrapes to interpret the light hitting hundreds of photoreceptive leaves and stems and forces the resulting puzzle pieces together into a stitched together whole.

The thing is, they can interpret it. Somehow, they do see, even where that vision shifts and refocuses, blurs in strange fractaling ways and has to correct itself by shifting their leaf 'eyes' into the right places to complete the picture. They think of themself as watching because the only word they have for what this IS is watching, and so..

They watch. They watch their weak, tied-down body with the honed fascination of a predator staring down prey.

The parts of themself they use as internal scaffolding to pilot their old carcass have been dying to some kind of creeping disease for a while now, and by the time it was clear that things wouldn't improve on their own, the new, alien, burning pain of even moving the body was too much to bear. They'd opened the flesh up and tried to tear the sickness out, finding their vines so withered inside that what they could even get a hold of amongst the viscera seemed to melt and shred apart. It had taken help to even dig out a proper sample. What's left inside of it now is practically useless, clinging weakly to life in a body that's freed of most of the tethers keeping control over it, a situation siphoning energy from them more and more. The body twitches now, it twitches so much it hardly seems to stop. Somewhere off to the side of their consciousness, there's a sensation of what it's experiencing, lingering burning, the return of old aches, a confusion that reaches out and tries to catch hold of the rest of them. It's given no space to. They don't dare try to center themself in the body anymore. They know they'd have a hard enough time standing, and the thing is convulsive not for the disease within it now, but for what they were dying of before they went.

It's morbidly fascinating to see themself from the outside, this body they've learned to find beautiful, caught in a state that they'd found so shameful in the moments of lucidity that it had allowed at the end.

A flurry of emotions swell within them, but more than anything, as they use wooden faux-hands to still this thing's struggling and tether it down, they find an urge to eat it. Sink new roots in, recycle the poor thing.. It's theirs, after all.

They see its own eyes, unfocused and unseeing, pale and fluttering and lost.

They watch it try to twist in on itself, struggling over and over in an attempt to swallow, the muscles of the jaw tensing in repetition. There's a moment of memory for that exact feeling, a sort of flinch that knocks the fantasy of crawling down the thing's throat out of them. Their attention turns to her. Belle, unwilling to leave this body again, who's braided its hair where they would struggle to do it themself, all to keep it from tangling in a mess. A vine twines up to wrap gently around her leg and give a concerned squeeze.

Soft hands, the hands of an artist, brush over an ashen forehead no longer capable of fever or flush, tucking a strand that had escaped its braid back into its place. She looks into a face that cannot see her. Doesnt know how lucky it is.

But it.. does, doesn't it? They do.

That thought is what shakes off what seems like a layer of disgust that's stuck itself to them like armor. And something in them softens.

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - Spooky Squalid Splatter Scare Squad

For: @bellsandmischief and Jackskellletor

Teenagers desensitized to danger make for ridiculously dangerous paintball games, especially in an ‘abandoned’ construction yard.

Danny stands atop a dilapidated half-built building thing, eyeing the abandoned construction yard stretching out before him like a decaying jungle gym of concrete, rebar, and rust. Warning signs flapping in the breeze. Graffiti covered crumbling walls. It was an absolute twisted mess of steel beams and broken pallets. In short, it was fucking perfect.

No other people.

No ghosts.

No cameras.

And enough broken shit that more broken shit wouldn’t be noticed.

Danny nodding to himself before scaling back down the building to his friends, “cool cool, this works”.

Tucker quirking an eyebrow, “dude, you sure this place isn’t, like, actually condemned or some shit?”, squinting up at a hanging platform that sways concerningly.

Danny shrugging, grabbing his two friends by the waist, and moving to float up, “eh, condemned is just another word for ‘exclusive’”. Landing them down and yanking the strap of his paintball mask tight over his hair, “besides, it adds a hint of the unknown. Makes the game spicy without being, you know, our usual brand of a Bad Idea”.

Sam grumbling, fixing her full face mask, “I swear, if I end up on crutches again, I’m going to break all of your toes and then break them again as soon as they heal up”.

Danny putting a hand to his chest, feigning offence, “ah! How dare!”, then tossing her a fresh clip of neon paintballs, “you said that last time we raced Johnny on foot and still backflipped off of a roof”.

She flips him off, “fuck you and your good points”.

Tucker rolling his eyes at them as he finishes rigging his own harness and checks the pressure on his gun, “okay, remember the rules: no shooting below the belt, some of us have precious jewels to protect. No hits within five feet, because at least two of us can die. No ghost powers, for obvious reasons. And absolutely no shooting my pda-”.

Danny kicks Tucker’s gun, knocking him off balance, and leaps off of the building, shouting, “GO!”, and leaving a bit of a dent in the rusted truck cab below.

Tucker and Sam looking down, both sighing and shaking their heads at each other. At least Danny was nice enough to let them get down before opening fire on them.

Paintballs exploding against the walls as Sam bolts after him, doing a wall run along a cracked cement barrier before springing up onto a ledge that used to be part of an elevator shaft.

Tucker sighing again, “okay cool. So we’re having that kind of day”; promptly sprinting after them. Physical exercise sucked but at least this was fun, gym class should take some pointers on not sucking. Maybe then people will actually like the stupid class and ‘want to be active’.

The three move around like little nightmare gremlins, nightmare gremlins trained in ghost fighting and how to wield a fucking gun. Danny’s a blur, vaulting over steel drums, rolling off of gravel mounds, paintballs flying from both guns like he was actually trying to damage things (he kinda was). Danny landing behind a half-built cinderblock wall, firing three quick shots, and grinning when he hears Sam audibly scowl.

“Oh you really wanna do this today, ghost boy?”.

Danny was definitely not aware that Sam was peeking at him through a slit in some wood scaffolding. Meaning Danny very dumbly responds with, “fuck yeah! Just try and get me. Maybe if you teamed up with Val, you’d have a chance! But she isn’t here is she!”.

Sam scowling and flipping over the edge of the scaffolding, dropping straight down and landing in a crouch before sliding under a barbed wire fence. Popping up on the other side mid-fire. Danny barely ducking, the paintballs splashing behind him.

“Tuck! Wanna cover me!”.

“Fucking why! She’ll kill me!”.

“Didn’t she fill your secondary monitor with sunflower seeds again!?!”.

Tucker blinking, “oh shit yeah, Sam you’re fucking dead”, and he pops up, squeezing off a few bright orange shots that zip past Sam’s shoulder as she dives into cover. Tucker trying to sprint along a bent I-beam after her, leaping the five-foot gap to a crumbling ledge, and scrambling up a rebar ladder to higher ground. Tucker snickering, “nice, sniper perch unlocked!”. The ledge wobbling dangerously beneath his weight. Tucker chuckling nervously, “heh, mostly unlocked”.

But Danny hurls a smoke grenade and a thick green cloud mushrooms out, swallowing half the yard in seconds.

Sam coughing, “THIS IS WHY YOU NEVER WIN STRATEGY GAMES! AND SOME OF US NEED TO BREATH ASSHOLE!”.

Danny cackling, “I PLAY TO CAUSE CHAOS AND MOCK RELENTLESSLY! WINNING GLORIOUSLY IS A BONUS!”. Danny bursting out of the smoke, doing a front flip over a pile of tires, and absolutely nailing Tucker in the chest midair with a blue paintball.

“Are you serious?!”, Tucker wheezing, flopping backwards into the dirt, “I literally just got up here man!”.

“Sucks to suck, Tuck!”.

Sam popping out of the fog and taking advantage of Danny’s smugness to tag him on the arm with a vicious splat of yellow. Danny spinning around and firing practically on instinct, missing her by inches as she rolls into cover.

The yard is practically alive, probably for the first time in a while, with color now; pink, green, blue, and orange paint splattered all across random surfaces like a neon battlefield. Smoke curling in the air, paintballs clattering off of metal, and all three of them are grinning like lunatics.

Tucker wheezing from inside of a low crawl space, “truce?”.

Danny snickering, “only if we use the bucket crane thing next!”.

Sam snarling, “I heard that you goddamn dumbass!”.

But Danny just keeps smirking, pointing up at the old construction crane looming above them, its ladder looks to be still mostly intact, “how much you wanna bet there’s water inside that things bucket?”.

Tucker glares at Danny before sighing, “there’s probably a rusted hole in it, so I’m betting twenty against that”.

Danny snickers and cracks his knuckles, bolting out for the ladder. Tucker sighing and dragging himself across on his belly to get out from his spot and attempt to give chase.

Sam shouting, “you dummies!”, and chasing after too when she spots them, firing twice at them. Tucker absolutely stumbling a little from getting nailed one in the back of the head.

The metal ladder is ancient, spotted in rust, and creaks like it’s narrating its own funeral as Danny hoists himself up the thing. Getting halfway up before either of his friends can get anywhere near the base of the ladder.

Tucker chuckling awkwardly, eyeing Sam who looks a wee bit pissed, “you're gonna kill him, aren’t you?”.

“Oh yeah”, Sam huffing, “but only after I’m done beating the shit out of him”.

They both sprint after him, boots thudding across plywood and gravel. Sam taking a bit of shortcut, leaping from a stack of pallets to a hanging catwalk that swings dangerously under her weight. Tucker, wisely, takes the longer but more stable path; he’d had enough perilous places for today thank you very much. Him ducking under steel beams and crawling over a pile of bricks.

Danny getting to the top of the crane and standing triumphantly in the control booth, sticking his arms out wide, “BEHOLD! MY THRONE!”, grabbing at things, “now to get this baby moving”.

Sam snapping, halfway up the ladder herself, “DANNY GET OUT OF THERE, YOU GODDAMN PAIN IN THE ASS!”.

Danny snickering, “no can do, I’ve got a chance to fuck with one of these things and I’m gonna take it”; and he yanks a lever. The crane’s massive arm groaning, then slowly beginning to swing the bucket around. Danny wiggling a little before starting to crawl out of the drivers area and moving to scale his way up the crane neck.

Sam freezing on the ladder as it creaks, “Danny, for the love of everything. That better be in demo mode”.

Danny shrugging his shoulders as he scooches along, “eh totally probably maybe“.

Below from the base of the ladder, Tucker stares up, groaning, “we’re all gonna die. This is how it ends. Covered in paint and Danny’s poor decisions. Why did I ever agree to this?”.

Danny only laughing more as the wind whips his jacket around as he inches forward, one hand holding one paintball gun like he’s anticipating someone being above him and in need of a shooting. He was getting to that bucket and he was going inside of it and its water. Tucker is so gonna owe him a twenty!

Sam grumbling incoherently as she hauls herself into the control booth and yells up at him, “you are out of your mind! Get down here before you fall or break something!”.

Danny grinning and standing up a little to be crouching on the narrow beam, “can’t. Having too much fun. If you want me you gotta come get me!”.

“You’re gonna end up in the hospital”, Sam shaking her head, “and no. I am not trying to die today Danny”.

Tucker having made his way up and into some scaffolding, starts firing at Danny, it’s not like the guy would die if he fell, would just make a very Danny-shaped crater in the ground. The crane gets painted in orange and Danny starts flailing, “TRAITOR!”.

Tucker chuckling, “YOU DECLARED WAR DUDE!”.

While Danny’s flailing and struggling to cling to the crane neck, Sam leans out of the control booth and starts launching a flurry of shots back at Tucker; before moving onto the crane neck herself, shaking it with every step she takes. She weighs significantly more than Danny after all, everyone does. Tucker starts firing at her too just to be an ass, paintballs zipping past her. Danny also sticking one arm and gun behind him and firing at her while starting to yank himself on his belly further up the crane neck.

Danny successfully making it to the very end of the crane’s arm, where a massive rusted closed bucket dangles above the yard. Without hesitation, he clips his climbing harness onto the buckets connections and shit and leans back like a human pendulum; basically flipping and belly flopping into the damn thing.

Sam stopping her own ascent and gesturing at him, “oh for fucks sake”.

Danny cackles and starts crawling all over the thing to find himself a nice rusted hole big enough for him to squeeze through to get in, maybe he rips off some chunks of weakened metal or two but oh well. Not like anyone’s gonna be using this thing ever again anyways, and no one’s on the ground to get pelted by chunks of falling yellow bucket metal.

Danny’s managed to get his shoulders in, happily splashing his hands in the gross ass water inside, wettest twenty bucks he’s ever made, when a bunch of paintballs slam into his legs in just the right way to make him smack his face into the water before knocking him back out of the bucket. Sending him swinging across the open yard like a soaked neon-streaked wrecking ball; dangling from his harness and the bucket. Tucker ducking just in time as Danny starts blasting paintballs down back at him from midair.

Tucker laughing, “DUDE YOUR FLYING WITHOUT ACTUALLY IGNORING GRAVITY?!”.

“FEAR THE FLYING SWINGING DANNY BALL OF DOOM!”, Danny then doing upside down jazz hands, “AND LOOK! MY HANDS ARE WET! MY FACE IS WET! MY HAIR IS WET! TUCK! YOU OWE ME A TWENTY!”.

Tucker getting up to kick a wall, “damnit!”.

The bucket groaning under Danny’s weight as he swings back towards the crane, still firing. One of his shots hitting the edge of a support beam right as Sam was sliding behind it for cover.

“Danny! That was my face, you shithead!”.

“Battle wounds!”.

Tucker chuckling and shaking his head, “this is the dumbest thing we’ve ever done. Somehow”.

Danny gets slammed against a nearby ledge with a nasty sounding thud, unhooking himself frantically, and pulling himself up. Him wheezing, “that, was goddamn majestic. Ten outta ten would swing again”.

Sam stomping up beside him, yellow paint streaked across her helmet, “sometimes I wonder how you managed to die so young, and then I remember that you’re like this”.

“Aw you love me”.

“Unfortunately”.

Tucker joining them from around a pole, limping slightly, “we good now? Can we not die for, like, five minutes?”.

Danny snorting and rolling his eyes, “fine. Truce. For real this time”, stretching his arms out, “now let’s get out of here before cops or something show up”.

Sam groaning and shaking her head, while Tucker just sighs. But before Danny can fully get up to run off, the ground under him creaks and gives way completely, Danny blinking, “oh shit!”, him falling all the way down and his body banging off of random metal poles, stairs, wood, and bits of paint.

Sam and Tucker looking down the hole, shaking their heads as dust plumes out of the hole followed by a groan. Both of them actively wondering why the moron didn’t just go intangible.

Sam crouching down and shouting down the hole, “YOU ALIVE?!”.

Danny wheezing back, “define alive?”.

Sam making a face, standing up, and firing a few shots down the whole at him, “fuck you and your stupid dead jokes!”.

“JUST FOR THAT I’M NOT HELPING YA’LL GET OUT! HAVE FUN!”.

Tucker sticking his hands out to the side, “DUDE!”. Both him and Sam watching Danny drag himself off, half limping to a wall, flipping them off, and starts climbing it, leaving little finger puncture holes the entire way up.

Sam exchanging a look with Tucker, both lift up their paint guns and start firing at him again.

“HEY!”.

Danny still makes it over, leaving them behind to find their own ways out. Neither are amused but neither have a particularly hard time getting out either.

---

Joseph blinks, lowering his binoculars, and shakes his head, “what the actual hell?”, rubbing his forehead, “I don’t even know how I’m supposed to report this? And this? Yeah this shit is why I never had kids, holy fuck”. He didn’t really care about the trespassing, still had to call it in of course, but it’s not like they were luting or trying to commit acts of arson. The paintball guns made that much super obvious. So sue him, he put off calling it in at first, give the kids some time to have fun. You know, until one of them started climbing the goddamn crane! Yes he’s impressed the kid made it the whole way up but he could have died! And Jospeh’s ass would have been on the line for that! Goodbye Christmas bonus!

But now he has to report on this shit, at least one of those kids definitely got hurt, and he so doesn’t need some angry parent trying to sue the company for not having the place secured enough! Sure he’s glad they got out before the cops showed up, kids should get to be kids after all even if they’re reckless dumbasses about it. But geez.

… He needs a drink.

Well… he might as well get started on that paper work, hopefully pictures of all the paint splatters will keep his bosses from accusing him of being high on the job again. Ugh.

End.

Prompts: Danny sam and tucker play paintball Get in the water.

[xichilie]

Two sides of a Gem (part12)

Aventurine x (stoneheart)reader

Part11

The Dreamscape shifted again, the sandy winds of Sigonia dissolving into sterile white walls and the faint hum of machines. The stark brightness of the lab contrasted harshly with the surreal haze of their previous surroundings. Aventurine let out a low whistle as he adjusted his collar, eyes scanning the cold, pristine space.

“Well, sweetheart—” He paused, catching Y/N’s glance and correcting himself. “Y/N, this is a charming little place. Very clinical. Let me guess… another one of your childhood memories?”

Y/N didn’t answer immediately. Her crimson eyes scanned the room with a mix of familiarity and unease. “Yeah… this is where my brother worked.”

Aventurine’s brows raised slightly as he strolled further in, hands in his pockets. “Michael Laurent, huh? I’ve heard the name before—genius researcher, some crazy theories about consciousness and artificial intelligence. You’re telling me this was his playground?”

Y/N nodded, her steps hesitant as she followed Aventurine deeper into the lab. Workstations filled with scattered tools and data pads were frozen in time, glowing monitors displaying indecipherable graphs and schematics. There were containment units on the far wall, some empty, others covered with opaque glass.

Aventurine stopped at one of the consoles, leaning in to examine a display. A few lines of text flickered across the screen:

“Prototype-7A: Cognitive Adaptation Status — ACTIVE. Neural Mapping: COMPLETE. Emotional Responses: STABLE.”

Aventurine frowned. “‘Prototype-7A.’ Sounds like a… pet project. Your brother’s?”

Y/N hesitated before answering, her arms wrapping around herself. “You could say that.”

Aventurine glanced back at her, catching the flicker of discomfort on her face. His sharp mind was already piecing things together, but he didn’t push—yet. Instead, he turned back toward the far side of the lab, where a platform bathed in soft white light stood, covered partially by metallic scaffolding and wires.

“Y’know, sweetheart—” Aventurine caught himself again with a faint smirk. “Sorry. Y/N. This place doesn’t exactly scream fun childhood memories.”

Y/N’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It wasn’t. Not after Michael…” She trailed off, her voice fading into a whisper.

Aventurine’s eyes softened briefly, but before he could respond, something caught his attention. His gaze snapped to the platform in the center of the lab. Through the metallic gaps, he could make out the faint silhouette of someone—or something.

Slowly, he stepped closer, his boots echoing against the cold floor. Y/N stayed rooted in place, her body tense as if preparing for something inevitable.

"Aventurine...wait ... you shouldn't..." her voice trailed off.

And then Aventurine froze.

Suspended in reinforced clamps, lifeless yet hauntingly familiar, was Ruby. His face was serene, eyes closed, and his body eerily still. Wires were attached to various points along his arms, legs, and head. His appearance was pristine, mechanical perfection crafted with almost obsessive attention to detail.

Aventurine’s breath hitched slightly. “What… the hell?”

His voice cracked through the silence, and Y/N flinched slightly. Aventurine turned toward her, eyes wide, disbelief etched into every feature.

“This is… Ruby. Isn’t it? What is this, Y/N?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her voice trembling slightly as she spoke. “That’s… him. Or rather, that’s what he used to be.”

Aventurine ran a hand through his hair, pacing in a small circle. “No, no. Hold on. He’s—he’s a machine? Like, a robot? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Y/N winced. “Not a robot. A puppet. There’s a difference.”

Aventurine pointed at the suspended form of Ruby, his voice sharp. “That’s not just a puppet, Y/N. That’s a person. Or at least… he acts like one. He thinks, he reacts, he gets annoyed at me, and—” Aventurine stopped himself, his breathing uneven. “How? How does that even happen?”

Y/N took a step closer, her voice steadying slightly. “Michael created him. With his team. Prototype-7A was supposed to be a weapon...but he turned out to be more like the pinnacle of artificial consciousness—something that could think, adapt, and even feel. But he wasn’t finished. Michael died before he could understand him fully.”

Aventurine’s head was spinning. His sharp mind was catching every detail, but the weight of the reveal left him slightly unsteady. “And yet… Ruby’s here. With us. He’s part of the Stonehearts. He’s not supposed to—”

Y/N cut him off softly. “Because he’s not supposed to be here. He’s not supposed to exist like this. But he does.”

Aventurine’s cyan-magenta gaze locked onto her crimson eyes, sharp and calculating. “Then how did he become a Stoneheart, Y/N? Because I’m starting to think he isn’t the real one here. diamond wouldn't just allow an unpredictable puppet to take this position unless....”

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Y/N opened her mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. Aventurine stepped forward, lowering his voice. “Y/N. Are you the real Ruby?”

Her shoulders sagged slightly, and for a brief moment, she looked impossibly tired. “…Yes.”

Aventurine took a step back, letting out a low exhale. His head tilted slightly as he processed everything. “And "Ruby"… he’s standing in for you. So you can run around in the shadows while he takes the heat.”

Y/N nodded silently.

Aventurine let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “Well, damn. That explains a lot.”

They stood in silence for a while, the only sound the faint hum of the lab’s machinery. Aventurine finally spoke again, softer this time.

“Does he know? About… everything?”

Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Yes. And he accepts it.”

Aventurine studied her carefully for a moment, then let out a faint sigh. “Alright, Y/N. You’ve answered enough—for now.” He glanced back at the suspended form of Ruby. “But we’re not done talking about this.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her crimson eyes dimming slightly as she turned her gaze away.

The Dreamscape began to shift again, the lab dissolving into fragments of light and shadow. Aventurine gave one last glance at Ruby—before following Y/N into the next memory.

The sterile white of the lab returned, cold and unforgiving, but now there was a heavy tension in the air—a sense of dread hanging like a storm cloud.

Aventurine glanced at Y/N, whose face had gone pale as recognition set in. Her fists clenched tightly by her sides, and her eyes darted nervously to the figures forming in the memory. Aventurine remained silent, his sharp gaze following every detail with an unsettling intensity.

The faint hum of machinery filled the air, and fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an eerie glow on the polished floors. In the center of the memory stood Y/N—small, fragile, clutching a stuffed cat toy so tightly it seemed it might tear apart. Her face was streaked with tears, her shoulders trembling under the weight of grief and fear.

Her brother Michael was gone. The lab felt emptier now, colder without his presence.

Two IPC guards flanked Dr. Finch, whose sharp, narrow face was twisted into an expression of irritation and impatience. His coat flared slightly as he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the heavy silence.

“Y/N Laurent, this laboratory is no longer your home. Your brother is gone, and without him, you are just a child occupying valuable space. The IPC has arranged for you to be placed in an orphanage.”

“No…” Y/N’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “No, I can’t leave. Please… I’ll help! I’ll clean the equipment, I’ll—”

“Enough!” Finch’s voice snapped like a whip. “You are not needed here, girl. You serve no purpose. Obey, and come quietly.”

The IPC guards stepped forward, heavy boots clanging on the metallic floor as they reached out to grab her. Y/N stumbled back, clutching her stuffed cat to her chest.

“Don’t touch me!” she cried, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face.

One of the guards grabbed her arm, pulling her forward roughly. Y/N struggled, her small frame trembling as she tried to wrench herself free.

It was then that Aventurine noticed it—the faint hum from across the room. His sharp eyes snapped to the side, locking onto the familiar figure standing on the central platform.

Prototype-7A was no longer motionless. His head was tilted downward, his sharp crimson eyes glowing faintly. His hands, usually relaxed at his sides, were clenched into tight fists.

“Release her.”

The voice was steady, low—but something about it felt alive. It wasn’t just programming. There was intent behind it.

The guards froze, glancing back at Dr. Finch for instruction. Finch’s face twisted into shock and anger as he barked, “Prototype-7A, stand down! That is a direct order!”

But the puppet did not move. His glowing red eyes remained locked on the guard holding

Y/N.

One of the guards reached for his weapon. “It’s malfunctioning! Restrain it!”

The moment the guard’s hand brushed the holster, Prototype-7A moved.

In a flash, he was off the platform. His landing was almost soundless, but the force of it caused a ripple through the floor. Before the guard could draw his weapon, Prototype-7A’s hand shot out, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it with calculated precision. The weapon clattered to the ground.

The second guard lunged at him, but Elias—*because that’s who he was to Y/N, not a prototype, not a tool—*sidestepped with inhuman speed. His arm shot forward, palm flat, striking the guard in the chest. The man flew backward, gasping for breath as he hit the floor hard.

Dr. Finch was panicking now. His sharp voice wavered as he barked, “Security override, engage emergency defense systems!”

Alarms blared overhead. Panels in the ceiling slid open, mechanical drones descending with targeting systems locking onto Elias. Turrets emerged from the corners, their barrels spinning to life with ominous clicks.

“No!” Y/N’s voice broke through the chaos, raw and desperate. “Stop! Don’t hurt him!”

But Elias wasn’t stopping. His red eyes glowed brighter as the first drone fired a burst of electricity. Elias twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the strike, and grabbed a nearby metal rod. With a powerful throw, he impaled the drone mid-air, sending sparks and broken parts scattering across the lab floor.

The turrets roared to life next, bullets tearing through the air. Elias moved in a blur, weaving between the shots. He leapt onto one of the turrets, his hands gripping the barrel tightly. With sheer strength, he bent it out of shape, disabling it. The second turret spun to track him, but Elias hurled the broken barrel with precision, smashing the firing mechanism and silencing it.

Dr. Finch stumbled back, his pale face slick with sweat. “This… This isn’t possible… He’s disobeying orders!”

Amid the chaos and the acrid scent of burning metal, Elias turned away from the destruction and walked back toward Y/N. His crimson eyes dimmed slightly as they focused on her tear-streaked face.

He knelt down, carefully lowering himself to her eye level. His voice, though steady, softened.

“You are not alone, Y/N. I will not let them take you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hands trembling as she reached out, her small fingers brushing against his cheek. His skin was soft, warm—not the cold, unyielding metal one might expect from a puppet.

Dr. Finch stood frozen, his expression unreadable as he stared at the scene before him.

Aventurine watched the memory play out, his smirk long gone, replaced with something far more fragile—something raw and uncertain. His magenta-cyan eyes reflected the red glow from Elias’ gaze as the Memory continues

The lab was in chaos. Broken equipment sparked in the dim lighting, security alarms blared overhead, and the acrid scent of burning circuits filled the air. Elias stood protectively in front of Y/N, his glowing crimson eyes locked onto Dr. Finch, who was frantically typing into a shattered console.

“Override! Activate containment protocol!” Finch’s voice cracked with frustration and fear as the unresponsive screen flickered with static.

But before he could slam his fist against the controls, a loud bang rang out. Sparks flew as a bullet struck the console, disabling it completely.

In the doorway stood a young woman with sharp green eyes and auburn hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Her lab coat was stained with oil and faint streaks of blood, and her hand shook slightly as she lowered the smoking sidearm.

“Enough, Finch,” she said firmly, her voice tight with emotion.

Dr. Finch turned on her with wild eyes. “Liana! Are you insane? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

Liana ignored him, stepping carefully over the shattered glass and debris. She clutched a worn backpack in one hand as she approached Y/N and Elias.

Kneeling before Y/N, she unzipped the bag, revealing neatly packed supplies: food rations, water, a first aid kit,

a small datapad and some personal belongings.

“This bag has everything you’ll need,” Liana said softly, her voice steady despite the quiver in her lips. Her green eyes met Y/N’s tearful gaze. “You have to leave, sweetheart. You can’t stay here anymore.”

Y/N clutched the backpack tightly, her small shoulders trembling. “But… what about you, Liana? And the lab? What about Elias?”

Liana’s face softened into a bittersweet smile as she brushed a lock of Y/N’s hair behind her ear. “That doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’re safe. And Elias… he was never meant to be a tool. You showed us that.”

She turned to Elias, her voice firm but kind. “Protect her, Elias. Keep her safe. You hear me?”

Elias’s crimson eyes flickered, and he gave a slow nod. “Understood.”

Finch’s furious voice cut through the moment like a knife. “You traitor! You’re throwing away everything for her? For a child and a glorified puppet?”

Liana’s expression hardened, and she turned to face him. “She’s more than just a child. And he’s more than a puppet. You never understood that, Finch.”

Y/N hesitated for just a moment before stepping toward the main data center. Her small hands fumbled in her pocket until she pulled out a metallic USB drive. The initials M.L.—Michael Laurent—were etched onto its surface.

With a deep breath, she inserted it into the main data terminal.

The screen flared to life as lines of code flooded the interface, warning symbols flashing red across every panel.

DELETE ALL DATA.

“No!” Finch lunged forward, but Elias was faster. In a blur of motion, he stepped between Finch and Y/N, his piercing crimson eyes glowing brighter.

“Step. Back.”

Finch froze mid-step, staring into Elias’s unwavering gaze. For a moment, it felt like the entire lab was holding its breath.

The terminal continued to process the deletion. Years of research—Michael’s brilliance,

everything stored within those servers—was disappearing, line by line.

Liana let out a shaky breath, nodding sharply. “It’s done. Now go. The Astral Express is waiting for you at the port. I made sure of it.”

Y/N clutched the backpack tightly, her voice trembling as she whispered, “Thank you, Liana…”

Liana smiled softly, cupping

Y/N’s face one last time. “Be brave, little one. And… don’t forget us, okay?”

Finch let out a strangled sound, lunging toward the emergency override panel at the far side of the room. But Elias stepped in front of him again, his movements sharp and deliberate.

“You will not touch her.”

The crimson light from Elias’s eyes illuminated Finch’s terrified expression, freezing him in place.

Liana backed toward the lab’s entrance, her gaze lingering on Y/N and Elias. “Go now. You don’t have much time.”

Elias gently took Y/N’s hand, his touch firm but careful. As they turned toward the exit, Y/N looked back one last time.

Liana stood silhouetted in the flickering lights of the broken monitors, her expression resolute despite the chaos around her.

“Goodbye, Y/N. Goodbye, Elias.”

With that final farewell, Y/N and Elias disappeared into the labyrinthine corridors of the lab, alarms blaring behind them.

The memory faded, dissolving into mist as the dreamscape reasserted itself.

Aventurine stood frozen in place, his vibrant magenta-cyan eyes wide with shock. The usual sharpness in his gaze was replaced with something raw and uncertain.

He looked over at Y/N who stood there motionless. Pain and sorrow written all over her face, He wanted to reach out ...but he couldn't...he didn't know how...He began being Ruby in a different light.. this is nothing like the calculated and stoic man he knew.

Y/N took a breath and simpli began walking out of the Memory, Aventurine followed suit, neither of them said anything as they made their way through the long dark corridor or the Memory Zone. Aventurine had a lot of questions.... but he knew now wasn't the time, not like this....

[letthemkook]

Soulstitch K.TH

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Dystopian, Angst, Tragedy, Slow Burn

Word Count: ~2000

Tone: Gentle, Emotional, Devastating

Warning: Very Sad, Themes of Death

Intro: He promised to protect you when the world fell apart. And he kept that promise. Quietly, completely, piece by piece.

—————

note: this piece took a lot out of me i was lowkey thinking like omfg there’s something wrong with me while writing this. Lmk what you think:) and hope you like it <3

You were ten when the world fell apart.

They called it The Divide—the moment when cities cracked open and humanity was split into those who had control, and those who didn’t. Those in the Core kept power, warmth, and medicine. Those on the Edge—like you—got nothing but cold and hunger and silence.

But you weren’t alone.

You had Taehyung.

He was eleven. Just a year older. But to you, he felt like a shield. A wall against the wind. Someone who always knew which corners to sleep in so you wouldn’t be caught by the roving tax enforcers. Someone who knew how to break into the vending machines with just a sliver of wire.

He made you laugh when you cried.

He held your hand when you screamed.

————-

The Divide wasn’t one day. It was a thousand little collapses. First the power grid. Then the water. Then the food lines that stretched for blocks, then snapped like brittle wire. By the time the government pulled out, the walls had already gone up—splitting what was left of the Core from the rest of the world.

And in the Edge Zones, where no maps reached and no rules remained, you were just another mouth.

Another orphan.

Another nobody.

Except to him.

Taehyung found you digging through the ruins of a ration house, your fingers raw and bloody from scraping concrete. You didn’t look up when he spoke. You were used to being chased off. Hit. Ignored.

But he didn’t do any of that.

Instead, he crouched beside you and offered half a protein wafer.

“I’m not hungry,” he lied.

You looked at him then. Skinny. Dirty. Smiling like someone who didn’t know what the world had become—or maybe did and chose to smile anyway.

You took the wafer.

He sat beside you in silence, chewing the other half with solemn ceremony.

“My name’s Taehyung,” he said eventually.

You didn’t answer.

He waited.

“Fine,” he shrugged. “You don’t have to tell me yours. I’ll just call you… ’Sunspot.’”

You scowled. “That’s not a name.”

He grinned. “It is now.”

That night, he led you to the place he called home: an old commuter station buried beneath ash and rubble. He’d turned it into a shelter. One generator. One water purifier. Two blankets.

And he gave you both.

“You’ll freeze,” you protested.

He rolled his eyes. “Nah. I run warm.”

You weren’t sure if it was kindness or stupidity. Probably both.

But for the first time since the world ended, you slept.

⸻

The next morning, he drew a map in the dust.

“These are the barter posts,” he explained. “Here’s where the gangs run territory. Here’s where the old med unit is—what’s left of it, anyway.”

You stared at the careful lines, the way he marked safe zones, where the guards wouldn’t shoot, where the good wire could be scavenged.

��Why are you showing me this?”

He looked up. “Because you need to know how to survive.”

You bit your lip. “You said this is your shelter. You don’t even know me.”

He smiled again—quieter this time.

“I know enough.”

You didn’t trust him. Not completely. But that night, he wrapped a heat pad in fabric and tucked it into your blanket without saying a word.

You didn’t give the warmth back.

⸻

You lived like that for months.

Scraping. Scavenging. Avoiding patrols.

He taught you how to hide in plain sight.

You taught him how to climb broken scaffolding without breaking your neck.

And then, one day, you fell.

Not far. Just enough to split your palm open on rusted wire. The blood wouldn’t stop. You tried to pretend it didn’t hurt.

But Taehyung saw.

He carried you all the way back. Cleaned the wound. Boiled the water. Wrapped your hand in strips torn from his only shirt.

You hated the sting in your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you insisted.

He didn’t argue. Just placed a cracked bottle cap into your other palm. Inside, a single copper wire twisted into a loop.

“What is it?” you asked.

“A promise,” he said. “That I’ll take care of you.”

You frowned. “Why?”

He paused.

And then, with a softness that hit you harder than anything ever had, he said:

“Because someone has to.”

⸻

You wore the bottle cap loop around your neck after that.

And Taehyung never made you say thank you.

Because he didn’t do it for gratitude.

He did it because, somehow, in a world that had nothing left to give, he still believed in giving what little he had.

Even then.

Even as a boy.

Even before you knew what it would cost him.

—————

The years passed.

The world didn’t get better, but you and Taehyung got smarter. He became quick with his hands, good with tools. He could hack ration bands, siphon heat from old utility cores, make water filters out of scraps. He kept you fed, safe, hopeful.

You called him your miracle. He laughed and said he was just “resourceful.”

You grew into your limbs. Learned how to barter with your eyes, not your voice. Learned which metals traded best, how to stitch up your own skin, how to make a filter out of crushed charcoal and a broken air valve.

But no matter how much you changed, Taehyung stayed the same.

Not in the way he looked—he was taller now, leaner, with sharper angles and quiet eyes that didn’t miss anything. But in the way he treated you.

Like you still mattered.

Like you were still the soft, angry kid he found in the rubble all those years ago and promised to protect.

You tried not to need him as much. Tried to be strong. Fast. Useful.

But Taehyung never stopped giving you the better blanket. The last piece of bread. The cleanest corner of the shelter. Every night he ran until his lungs burned, trading with black-market tech salvagers, siphoning power, stitching up broken wiring for scraps.

And every morning, you’d wake up to something new.

A salvaged battery. A fresh can of tomatoes. Once, even a real orange—small and half-rotted, but still impossibly bright.

You stared at it in awe.

He shrugged. “Some Core kid must’ve dropped it.”

“You stole this from the Core?”

“I borrowed it permanently.”

“You’re insane.”

He grinned. “Maybe.”

You split the orange in half. He gave you the bigger piece.

You didn’t argue. You never did. Not then.

One night, you heard him coughing.

Sharp, wet, ugly.

You jolted awake and found him hunched outside the station, one hand pressed to the wall for balance.

“Tae?”

He waved you off. “Just dust.”

“Since when does dust make you bleed?”

You saw it then. The red on his sleeve. The way he couldn’t quite straighten his back.

“Tae,” you said again, your voice smaller now.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not—”

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped.

And the way he said it—it scared you more than the blood.

You didn’t push him that night. But the fear settled in your chest like a seed. You started watching him more closely. Noticed how his shoulders slumped when he thought you weren’t looking. How his hands trembled sometimes when he worked. How he flinched when cold rain hit his spine.

You told yourself it was just fatigue. The weather. The usual.

But you started setting aside your own food rations. You started stealing extra med kits from patrol routes. You started learning the backdoors to the Overflow Unit, just in case.

Because Taehyung would never ask for help.

And you were starting to realize that maybe—maybe—he never really stopped bleeding for you.

⸻

The day the fever hit you, he didn’t sleep.

You don’t remember most of it—just flashes. Taehyung’s hand on your forehead. His voice, raw from yelling your name. The sound of wind screaming outside the station, or maybe that was you.

When you finally woke up, everything smelled like burnt fabric and metal. Your throat felt like it had been scraped hollow.

Taehyung sat beside you. Pale. Shadowed. But smiling.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Still with me?”

You blinked. “What… what happened?”

“You got sick. Really sick. But I fixed it.”

You tried to sit up. He gently pushed you back.

“How?”

He hesitated.

“Don’t worry about it.”

You should have pressed him. Should have seen the hollowness under his eyes. Should have noticed the bruise on his arm, the thin line of IV marks that hadn’t been there before.

But you were too relieved. Too weak.

And he was so good at pretending.

⸻

You got better.

And he got quieter.

The cough never came back. But he stopped climbing with you on scavenging runs. Stopped taking the long routes. Started sleeping more—when he could. And when you asked if he was okay, he always smiled the same way.

Like he wanted to believe it.

Like he needed you to believe it.

You thought you had time to ask.

To figure out what he was hiding.

To pay him back.

But the thing about slow deaths is… you don’t see the edge until you’re already over it.

——-

Winter in the Edge Zones didn’t announce itself. It didn’t creep in gently or turn the leaves. It struck like a warning shot—an airless, brutal silence that stole warmth from your lungs and color from the world.

The frost came early that year.

And with it, something else: desperation.

People began to vanish. The barter markets closed. Gangs stopped patrolling—not because they were gone, but because they’d moved deeper into the shelters, into homes, into corners where they could take more without being seen.

You and Taehyung stopped leaving the station after sundown.

He reinforced the doors with melted pipe casings and steel mesh. Rewired the solar battery packs. Taped the windows. But it was never enough. Nothing was ever enough in a place that kept taking.

“We need to leave,” you said one night, your breath fogging in front of your face. “Find somewhere warmer. Somewhere with food.”

“We can’t,” Taehyung said without looking up. He was soldering wire to a circuit board with shaking fingers. “The next safe zone is three days away. You wouldn’t make it.”

“I wouldn’t?”

He hesitated.

“You wouldn’t let me.”

You both froze.

And then he laughed—dry, too quiet. “Guess I’m not subtle anymore.”

You sat beside him, pulling the frayed blanket tighter around your shoulders. “You think I don’t notice? You limp. You flinch. You go pale every time we pass a Core drone.”

“I’m just tired,” he said.

“You’re always tired.”

“I’ll rest when you’re safe.”

You didn’t say anything after that.

Because you didn’t know how to argue with someone who’d already decided you were worth more than himself.

————-

You never noticed when his jacket changed.

You thought it was a new patch—some salvage find from an abandoned supply drop. You didn’t realize he’d sold his own to buy antibiotics when your lungs started to go bad.

You never asked why his hands shook sometimes, even when it wasn’t cold.

You thought it was the weather.

You didn’t know he’d sold plasma to the Core’s black market for months—because their scanners only accepted DNA from people still “viable,” and you weren’t. Not anymore. Not after the fever.

And you never asked why he walked with a limp after the winter ration riots.

He said he’d slipped on ice.

The truth was that he took a pipe to the leg when they came looking for people to conscript. He volunteered in your place. With a smile. With your name still carved in the inside of his boot.

⸻

You didn’t know.

Not until it was too late.

⸻

It started small.

He’d come home late, eyes foggy, lips pale. Said he was just tired. You made soup. He smiled.

But then one day, he didn’t come home at all.

You searched the sectors. Checked every burn clinic. Asked every contact. And finally—finally—you found him.

In the Overflow Unit. Sector 13.

The place they sent people after their bodies gave too much.

Taehyung lay on a cot surrounded by machines. Barely breathing. Skin drawn tight across bone. He looked like a shadow of the boy you once clung to during sandstorms.

“Tae?” you whispered, kneeling beside him.

His eyes fluttered open. The light in them was dim—but still warm. Always warm.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he murmured.

You clutched his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He smiled weakly. “Because you still smile when you think we’re going to make it. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

Your chest shattered.

“You gave everything,” you whispered. “And I never saw—”

He cut you off gently. “No. I chose.”

And then, softer:

“I didn’t think I’d make it this far. Not really. But then you’d laugh, or braid your hair, or complain about stale protein packs like they were five-star meals, and I’d think—‘Yeah. One more day. I can give her that.’”

You sobbed into his chest, curled against a heart that had beat for you more than it ever beat for itself.

“Stay,” you begged. “Please. I’ll take care of you now.”

But he was already slipping.

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he whispered, his voice barely air. “I just needed you to live.”

His fingers curled loosely into your palm.

“I’m not afraid,” he said. “I kept my promise.”

And then he was gone.

⸻

You buried him in the greenhouse sector—the one he once said smelled like “what dreams might’ve been.” You wore his old jacket, now patched and fraying. You carried the knife he gave you when you turned fifteen. You kept the pendant he made from salvaged wire and old Core glass.

And every time someone asked how you survived the Divide, you said only this:

“There was a boy who kept me whole. Until there was nothing left of him to give.”

And even in a world stripped of mercy, the name Taehyung became a quiet prayer.

The echo of someone who never stopped believing that love could outlast ruin.

————-

It was raining the day you returned to the shack where you and Taehyung spent most of your lives. The metal roof sang softly with the storm, like it remembered the way he used to hum under his breath whenever he was fixing something.

You weren’t sure why you came.

Maybe grief is a compass. Maybe it always leads you back to where you loved someone the most.

You wandered through the clutter—tools still hanging neatly, even now. His cot, still tucked in the corner. A small glass bottle filled with spare screws and notes. And then… you saw it.

His jacket.

The old one.

Not the one you buried him in—the one he stopped wearing the day he started bleeding for you in secret. The one with the inside pocket you’d always thought was stitched shut.

Your fingers trembled as you pried the seam open.

Inside was a folded scrap of synthpaper. Fragile. Soft from time.

You unfolded it, breath held.

His handwriting—looping, careful, familiar—spilled across the page.

Hope you never have to read this.

But if you are, it means I couldn’t keep the final promise.

I’m sorry.

Not for what I did. Never that.

I would give myself again. And again. And again.

You once told me I looked at you like you were the whole sky.

The truth is, you are.

I don’t know what kind of world you’ll have when I’m gone.

But if it ever hurts too much to move forward, take this jacket.

Put your hand over the left side. Feel it? That patch is made of three layers: one from your old blanket, one from my first ration card, and one from the shirt I wore the day I met you. It’s everything I was. All stitched in one place. So you remember.

You were always worth the sacrifice.

I just hope you never feel like you have to make one for someone else.

Live. Laugh. Complain about food. Fall in love again. Build something better.

And when the wind feels warm, that’s me. Still walking beside you.

I love you like no one has ever loved before, my Sunspot.

—Your Taehyung

[artbyrobot]

Here's my completed V2 archimedes pulley system finally done! It is 16:1 downgearing and this pairs with my 2.77:1 downgearing on the turn in place pulley on the motor for a total of 44:1 downgearing. It is fully rigged then from motor to finger and ready to go into testing soon. I just need to do a couple reinforcements here and there on some stuff but overall we are more or less ready to move onto setting up the return springs that my last post mentioned. So that is next. Then electronics to actuate it and test it finally! Exciting times! Also, I have come to the realization that these straight spring wires may be perfect for forming the exoskeleton mesh shapes that create the framework scaffolding over which the artificial silicone skin will overlay. The fact it has memory and wants to return to its prior shape after impacts is perfect for this application. I'd be simply forming a grid in the shape of the muscles over the bones using this stuff and then onto this grid I would overlay the silicone skin suit. The grid can be configured to even move under the skin, emulating muscle contractions to simulate real muscles moving under the skin in terms of its appearance during movement. I was originally leaning toward zip ties to make this part or nylon 3d printer filament but this spring wire may be even better due to being strong, resistive to breaking even more durability wise, holding its shape perhaps a bit better, etc. The other options I mentioned aren't bad but I just think I might like working with spring wire a bit more intuitively. We'll see.

[wazzappp]

Ok @moosemonstrous here we fuckin go.

OK SO. I apologize if it comes off more Evangellion than Pacific Rim but I thought that making The Charger more slender would help to differentiate it and allow for a focus on agility (also helps it to look more skeletal and unsettling).

The Charger is built in layers. An outer layer that constitutes the armor, a thinner covering, metal scaffolding, secondary thin covering, and then finally the essential wiring that makes the 'nervous system' of the Jaeger. Most of the damage (corruption scars, nicks, paint chipping) is just cosmetic, and the structural nature of the Jaeger is intact.

HOWEVER. The same can not be said of the reactor core. At some point (maybe during Eli's death?) corruption made its way behind the main fans of the outer engine and into the main reactor that powers the Jaeger. In theory this should lead to a catastrophic failure, but in this instance Im thinking there was a chemical reaction that essentially stabilized the corrosive nature of the Corruption (were gonna circle back to that).

For the most part my version of Robbies suit is fairly standard. I added an orange tint to his helmet screen for flavor because hey. Why not.

The spine of the suit is probably newly integrated to allow for an updated interface, I imagine theres at least a little development in the technology between the time Eli dies and Robbie comes into play. That would make the suit a weird mishmash of past and new technology which could be VERY fun.

Also I LOVED the white accents @cicada-candy added for their design but I didn't want to steal ideas so I just added it in my own places. Your art fucks severely bro I just wanted to make sure and let you know that <3

TIME FOR MY FAVORITE PART: SPECULATION ABOUT THE CORRUPTION AND ITS THEORETICAL GENETIC EFFECTS IN DOSES ON A SUBJECT!!!!!! (AKA self indulgence part 2 electric boogaloo)

I believe you mentioned the Corruption being a Neurotoxin which would be Very fun and VERY cool but I also have a suggestion. Mainly because you also referenced an increase in Robbies strength, as well as another person who got fuckin deaded shortly after.

A rapid growth in muscle density to allow for this strength would be very interesting, but why would the Corruption cause that? Simple answer; it isn't. At least not intentionally. Whats actually happening is a kind of nerve damage that changes the brains regulation of muscular exertion. Our brains really only let us use a certain percentage of our real strength, because if we just let loose and used it all we would cause significant physical damage to ourselves. Like. ripping your own tendons free from their anchors. you could break your own bones. you would die SO fast bro.

Now it is POSSIBLE to access this strength in situations of extreme stress and thats how you get people lifting cars off of loved ones, but this does still cause damage. It also gets more complicated when you consider Fast Twitch muscle reactions but for the sake of simplicity: You Would Die.

So a release of cortisol and other stress hormones, combined with a lessened ability to control strength. This means they would be USING that strength A LOT against ANYONE AND EVERYONE. But maintaining this sort of metabolism is not reasonable. Someone suffering from Corruption would likely also suffer from Hypoglycemia fatally. So extremely strong, extremely scared, and extremely short lived is the kind of deal we would be talking about here.

SO. Having said ALL OF THAT. WHAT IS ROBBIES DEAL. Well heres my proposal: The Corruption is a virus that causes neurodegenerative disease.

If Robbie was exposed to very small amounts of it as a child, it's possible it was inactive or defective, which would have allowed for an immunization point. Its also highly possible that this is a virus that can not survive (well i say survive very lightly. theres significant debate as to wether viruses are actually alive at all but I digress) outside its usual area AKA Inside a demon. He could have been exposed through contaminated water, direct contact, maybe even breathing burned version through the air. Either way, he came into contact with a weakened version of the virus and it helps him later on.

As he comes into DIRECT contact with Corruption via plugging into The Charger this is when we would start to see some more interesting effects. This Corruption would still be different though because of the aforementioned stabilizing chemical reaction in the reactor. Also, because I think Eli's DNA would be integrated into it. This provides Robbie with genetic compatibility for the virus to jump off of. Remember, viruses don't want to kill a host, they just want to reproduce as much as possible (which does end up killing a host but still). And a fun fact about viruses is that we never actually get rid of them, we just get rid of the symptoms. Once you have it its in you forever.

SO. 1. Immune response from Robbies body begins to cause the nervous damage that would allow for his rapid increase in strength. 2.Immune system recognizes the genetic material is familiar (Eli doing something good even inadvertently I guess). 3. Immune system neutralizes the virus and incorporates it into Robbies genetic coding. All good right? Happy ending? WRONG.

BECAUSE WHEN THERE ARE COPYING ERRORS IN YOUR DNA (SOMETIMES FROM VIRUSES) WHAT DO WE CALL IT?? DING DING DING 10 POINTS TO THE MUTUAL THAT SAID ✨MUTATION✨

This virus still carries genetic material from demons, this would also be getting integrated into Robbies DNA. Places like his spine which would have the most regular contact with the Corruption would probably take the brunt of these changes. It's possible that the nerve damage never truly goes away and he continuously tears and then rebuilds those muscles, resulting in overall increased strength thats technically?? stabilized?? Also I could totally see his body going 'oh shit were finally growing with decent access to fuel? BET' and just. Reactivates the growth plates in his bones ('Look! I've fixed his runt of the litter insecurity!' 'YOU FUCKED UP A PERFECTLY GOOD PILOT IS WHAT YOU DID. LOOK AT HIM. HES GOT ANXIETY ABOUT THE STATE OF HIS HUMANITY').

Oh yeah its also worth noting that this would be like. Pretty painful. We're talking constant soreness, cramps, deep aches that just won't go away. General suffering <3

Of course tapetum lucidum OF COURSE TEEF obviously as if I could go without it. You can get funky with mutations because hey. fucky wucky demon genome integration whoop whoop. Also could be interesting to see damaged areas on the Charger manifest on Robbie as damaged tissue. His skin says 'AH. Damage' and copies itself as scar tissue instead of the usual.

Oh god Ive been writing for a solid hour and a half I was supposed to be asleep a while ago ok. Moose I love this au and its making me unwell thank you for sharing with the class I hope you will consider my virus proposal for body horror purposes.

[trooper1023]

The Train to Tyranny

By Tony Pentimalli

On April 17, 2025, America changed.

Not with a bang, not with a broadcast, but with the quiet, booted steps of ICE agents boarding a train in Montana—dressed in military-style tactical gear, rifles strapped to their chests, eyes scanning faces like searchlights in the night. Their mission? Not to apprehend a wanted criminal. Not to respond to a credible threat. No—just to ask every passenger, one by one, where they were born.

This is not a scene from Children of Men. This is Havre, Montana, in the United States of America. This happened to a sitting judge’s colleague—someone who assumed, like most of us, that our freedoms weren’t something ICE could rifle through like luggage on a baggage rack. But Judith Roberts, Chief Judge of the Fort Berthold District Court, saw it differently. She had the courage to say so. Her account is not alarmist—it is a factual, firsthand chronicle of what it looks like when constitutional norms are eroded not by revolution, but by routine.

Let’s be clear about what happened.

ICE agents, empowered by a loosely defined interpretation of the so-called “100-mile border zone” authority, boarded a domestic train and interrogated passengers without a warrant or probable cause. They did so solely based on geography. According to the conductor—who has worked that route for nearly 40 years—this was the first time he had ever seen such a display of force. Think about that: four decades of rail travel, and never once did armed agents march the aisles demanding proof of citizenship. Until now.

This wasn’t about immigration enforcement. This was about conditioning compliance. This was about planting fear. About sending a message that borders aren’t lines on a map—they’re everywhere. They’re around your children’s school. Around your hospital. Around your courthouse. Your train. Your home.

This is not theoretical. We have seen the normalization of this authoritarian creep elsewhere:

In Tucson, migrants were shackled and denied water as part of a deliberate show of power.

In Florida, a U.S. citizen was illegally detained by ICE for nearly a month.

In California, a 14-year-old was tackled in front of his classmates when agents raided a bus.

In Texas, the border has become a live-action movie set for Greg Abbott’s political theater—razor wire, floating barriers, and now military checkpoints well inland.

The legal scaffolding for these abuses is weak, but the fear is effective. That’s the point. We are being taught to accept these intrusions as “security.” But they are not security—they are signs of a soft fascism, one that comes not with a coup, but with a clipboard and a badge.

And let’s talk about the 100-mile border zone for a moment. This legal gray area—established decades ago under different circumstances—was never meant to become a permanent state of exception. But under Trump, and with the ideological backing of the Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025, it has become the staging ground for a domestic surveillance state. Two-thirds of Americans live within that zone, including entire cities like New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles. You could be questioned, searched, detained—not because you did anything wrong, but because of where you happen to be.

If that doesn’t chill you, it should.

This is not about whether you support immigration reform. It’s not about whether you’re conservative or liberal. It’s about whether you believe in the rule of law or the rule of men with guns. It’s about whether we’re okay letting our country be run by fear, suspicion, and racial profiling—just because we’ve been told it’s “necessary.”

The most dangerous part of all this isn’t the agents themselves. It’s our willingness to accept it. Our silence. Our fatigue. Our belief that this is “just how things are now.”

But it doesn’t have to be.

Judge Roberts was right to speak out. And we must follow her lead. We must ask ourselves: How many rights are we willing to lose before we stop calling this a free society? How long before ICE is no longer checking papers on trains—but dragging people off them? How long before “Show me your ID” turns into “Get off now or be arrested”?

History has taught us that when authoritarianism comes, it often doesn’t announce itself with flags and fanfare. It shows up quietly. On a train platform. In an unmarked van. On a dusty stop between Montana and North Dakota.

If we are not willing to stand up now—loudly, urgently, unapologetically—we may wake up one day to find we’ve ridden that train too far.

And there’s no coming back.

*Tony Pentimalli is a political analyst and commentator fighting for democracy, economic justice, and social equity. Follow him for sharp analysis and hard-hitting critiques on Facebook and BlueSky

@tonywriteshere.bsky.social