#insert microwave noises

[todayisafridaynight]

Government mandated masato posting time

[wakahoeshi]

Hii! Could I get a scenario where Toji is taking care of reader when she’s on her period? Thank you!

(Hello Hello! Oh my I love that hell yes hehe! I'm in love with roommate bf/gf scenario so imma insert this idea into that if that's okay!)

You were laying face down on the couch in a plank position after you had taken some pain relief medication and put on a new pad. Your cramps were sending shocks of pain through your body. You groaned into the couch cushion and tried to focus on something else.

The bedroom door could then be heard opening and a familiar sleepy grunt coming from the hallway. Part of you wanted to look up to see who it is, even though you know it's your boyfriend, Toji.

"Y/N? There a reason you're layin' down like that?"

You heard him speak in a gruff and sleepy voice, having woken up from one of his common naps. You then just groan and turn your head to speak properly, looking to the blank TV screen.

"Bleeding..."

You answer with a single word, getting straight to the point. You heard footsteps approach the back of the couch and a large hand rest on your lower back.

"Sit your ass up and I'll take care of you, got it?"

It was a breath of fresh air to have a man understand how to take perfect care of you. This was also one of the times where Toji was his most gentle. He had extremely rough edges and a harsh personality, but he was good to you.

You groan once more and lift your head, turning your body so that you're laying on your back. You really didn't want to sit up straight, but you'd followed his directions.

Your eyes were squinted as you sat up,hearing a few noises coming from the kitchen. You wanted to turn around to take a look, but you'd rather not even move.

Time felt like it passed a bit slowly as you waited in place for a few minutes, hearing a familiar beeping noise from the microwave, making you smile. Footsteps approaches once again, rounding the couch.

Toji stood in front of you, his green eyes tiredly looking down at you. He held something in each hand, a heating pad and some simple lemon tea.

"I'm guessing you already popped some pills, right?"

He referred the the meds in his own way. You nodded and gave him a weak smile, first taking the heating pad and setting it in in your lap- up against your navel. Then taking the cup of tea, the perfect temperature to be able to hold.

"Hungry?"

You hear him speak again and you sigh, thinking for a moment. You were so foggy brained from the exhaustion and pain that your thoughts were a bit slow.

"Mm...Grilled cheese?

"\You look up and meet his gaze, it was soft, but he wasn't smiling. You gave him a pleading look, and expression he liked to see on your face. He let out a chuckle.

"Your wish is my command, princess."

He walked away, rubbing the extra sleep from his eyes. You follow him with your gaze with a smile on your face, settling into the couch and sipping at your tea.

After about 10 minutes or so and you just resting your eyes, you smelled something familiar and the sounds of cabinets.

Toji returned with a plate, a grilled cheese resting on it. You hummed happily and moved to set your tea on the coffee table, grunting at the sudden pain in your navel. You pulled back with a small whimper.

"C'mon, don't move so much."

You feel Toji's fee hand on your shoulder, pulling you back to rest onto the couch. He motions for you to take the plate and you so with a pained look on your face.

"C'mon, eat up so I can kiss you better." Toji spoke sweet but insistent tone as you feel him wrap the couch's blanket around your shoulders. You blush and take a small bite of my grilled cheese, shutting my eyes and sighing. It was good, as always.

You feel the cushion beside you being sat on by Toji and you immediately lean against him, his arm instinctively wraps around you.

"Thanks, love..."

You say before peeking up at Toji. He looked down into your eyes, free hand reaching up to smooth your hair back.

"Yeah, yeah, now you owe me~"

(I have never written Toji before fujvnevr if I made him to nice, I'm aware. My headcanons might be different than most idek, but it seems like you might feel the same as I do. I hope you like griilled cheese and lemon tea!)

(And I apologize if you wanted more physical touch! I can totally do that if you wanna send another ask lol)

[rdm00n]

Insert microwave noises here

💌 : @reblogs-are-the-love

[lavenderbexlatte]

day 24: food play

nct/wayv 1.3k words gender neutral reader insert Reader x Xiao Dejun NSFW

🖤 warnings: my ridiculous passionate undying love for xiaojun, not letting ur puppy watch u get down n dirty, improper use of ice cream bars 🖤

kinktober masterlist

connect with me! / masterlist

"What the hell are you doing?"

He's completely frozen like you caught him committing a petty crime, like a dog with its head in the cupboard.

That's not too far off, actually, because Bella is right behind him, beagle tail wagging as she expects a bite of whatever her dad is trying to find. In the freezer, though. Not the cupboard.

"Nothing," Dejun answers.

Really, you're not shook about the snack. He can eat what he wants, when he wants. You're just wondering why this is happening at nearly three in the morning. The witching hour, man. Middle of the night. Making suspicious noises in the dark, dark kitchen.

"I heard a noise, I thought Bella was breaking something," you say, squinting even in the dim light of the freezer.

He relaxes. "Oh. No. Just me."

Just him. No dog messes to clean up, which is a huge relief. You're sleepy as hell.

"Then eat your whatever and come back to bed," you say.

"Wait."

"What?"

"You wanna try this?"

You really want to bury yourself back under the covers, and pass out for the remaining few hours until you need to get up for work, but you're only human. Your ability to resist your most favorite boy, with his messy middle-of-the-night hair, still rifling through the fridge, is extremely low. Basically nonexistent. If he's having fun, you want to be there.

He's just so excited. Tail wagging, basically.

It's three in the morning.

You sigh. "What is it?"

He brightens. You swear you can see the fine, sparkly glitter cascading off him, like a cartoon character at peak power. See, this is the energy you can't resist.

"I found these Oreo ice cream things," he says.

Of course, they're Oreo.

After the second or third time Ten roasted him for making shitty desserts in the microwave, Dejun made it his personal mission to find the best store-bought Oreo flavored snacks and desserts. Cookies and cream flavored confections are included, you've been told, but on thin fucking ice.

The best one needs to be found, and he's gonna be the one to find it.

"They're good. I ate one on the way home," he tells you.

"How many did you get?"

The heavy plastic shopping bag that comes out of the freezer is all the answer you need.

"A few," he says, diplomatically.

"More than five?"

"No comment."

"More than twenty?"

He grins. "No."

"Then we're fine," you decide.

"Do you want one?"

"Sure."

Dejun hands you a flimsy blue packet emblazoned with the Oreo logo. Looks pretty good, at least.

You open it up and take a bite. Yeah, pretty good. Nice.

In stark, pitiful contrast, Dejun opens his own ice cream, bites off the end, and immediately drops a big chunk of black chocolate coating onto his white tee.

"Fuck."

"Clumsy," you say, fondly.

It stains, because of course it does. You watch his panic build, as you lean down and retrieve the piece of chocolate so that Bella doesn't get to it. He darts for the sink, and he scrubs at the dark spot with some water, but it doesn't budge.

"It'll come out," you tell him.

"Still," he grumbles.

He strips off the shirt, while you watch with pointed interest. You get to see him naked a lot, but hey, sue you. You enjoy it every time.

The shirt gets yeeted, and the ice cream melts down his hand.

"Careful," you warn.

But the vanilla bar melts down his hand, down his arm, and as he raises the bar up, panicky, to try and fix it, the trail of white drips onto his abs.

He's gotten skinny-guy jacked, lately, and the melted dessert falls enticingly into the little ridges between his abs. He just stares down at it, annoyed.

You, on the other hand, are getting an idea.

"Hey," you say.

He glances up. "Yeah?"

You grab hold of his wrist, and push the softened half-eaten ice cream bar into his chest. He yelps. Which, yeah. It's still cold and the texture is weird. But still...

"Jeez!" he yelps louder.

"Let me just-"

It's three in the morning. It's not your fault.

You lean in, take hold of his thin, broad shoulder, and you lick a stripe up his chest. The ice cream is sweet and cool, and the warm smoothness of his skin underneath is a strange thrill. You just kind of vibe with it for a second. You go in to lick him again, this time, sweeping over a nipple.

"Oh-KAY!" he says, stumbling back a step. "Okay! Wow!"

Poor guy is flushed and wild-eyed. He glances down at his dog, who's just watching, like she wants to go next.

"Sorry, should have asked," you say, shameless.

Dejun looks down at his chest, at the flecks of ice cream and the clean trails you've left behind. You're looking a little lower, at the very sudden interested shape in the front of his pajama pants. Incredible. Your impromptu plan worked like a charm.

What he says, when he finally speaks, is, "Not in front of the puppy."

Bella gets locked out of the bedroom, but one of the ice cream bars gets to come in.

Another one, a fresh one. It's melting, but that's kind of the point.

"You're super weird," he tells you.

"I'm exciting," you correct him.

Clothes are lost, the tingling arousal you'd already been feeling from putting your mouth all over him rising with every inch of skin revealed. Dejun still seems flustered, but he's a cocky bastard. You can see his stupid rizz coming in strong.

You're eager to rip open the next ice cream. Clasped in the excited warmth of you hand, it's mostly melted, squishy in the package. You liked doing it more than you thought, the first time. What was mostly impulse turned into something that you can't wait to try again.

But you don't get to do that, because Dejun snatches the ice cream away.

"Hey, what - oh!"

The dude isn't the tallest, not the biggest, but he's got the motivation and the audacity. He pushes you right onto the bed and crawls on top of you. He sits on your thighs, pinning you in place pretty effectively. You could probably get him off you, if you wanted, but why would you want to?

"This is revenge," he says, dramatic, per usual.

"Do it."

Melted ice cream is fucking cold.

It's cold, but it feels...nice. You're squirming under Dejun as he rips the packet with his teeth and drips the melty vanilla ice cream down your torso. Careful, so that it doesn't run down your sides and stain the sheets.

There's something extra obscene about the color, you muse, as you take in the little shapes he's drawing on you.

"You know what," he says, peering down at your messy chest and stomach. "I get it."

The cold was interesting, but the warmth is even more thrilling.

Dejun's careful tongue, tracing the lines he drew, warm against the chill on your skin. His teeth, as he nips at the thin skin over your ribs, a slow drag over your sternum.

His eyes have fluttered shut. His hand is splayed over your torso, long pretty fingers.

"Jun," you say, serious.

"Mm?"

He's not really listening. He glances at you, and then he adjusts the angle of his head just a little bit, calculated, so that you can see the very best of his sharp jaw, his long lashes.

Fucker. He knows how pretty he is, and he's weaponizing it.

"Jun," you repeat.

"Yes?"

"Does this get to be on your Oreo dessert tier list?"

Now, that one makes him sit all the way up again, face thoughtful. He still has the ice cream wrapper clutched in one hand, and he straightens up on top of you as he rips open the package all the way and takes out a piece of the chocolate coating. He eats it.

"I dunno," he says. "I think we need more research."

You wriggle again, the tacky feeling on your skin starting to get weird. "More research?"

"Yeah. I mean. For example. Is that the tastiest thing in the room?"

His smile is so stupid. Can't even sell an innuendo without cracking up.

"Let's find out."

[chaoticstrata]

9 people you'd like to get to know better

Tagged by @frauleiiin 💜💜💜

3 ships (Oh man, one of the hard questions...just gonna do some current ones. lol)

Aketho/Theron - because of course.

Rass/Zaberial

Canach/(Any of my characters, lol)

Aymeric/Hien - you get a fourth because I want at least one non-OC involved pairing. lol

First ship

Ummmm...-tries to think back to a LONG time ago-...if I recall correctly, it was probably one from Ronin Warriors (Legendary Armor Samurai Troopers). Most likely Sage/Rowen (Seiji/Touma). If you know this anime, I give you kudos!

Last song

...does my alarm count? XD Hmm...let me see...switchblade by Qoiet, ghoolwrld, & Kobenz. Usually have it on repeat. Not a super big music fan. I more so put on something for background noise that's not lyric based for work.

Currently reading

Besides re-reading the fics I'm working on and old rps I wrote with a firend...nothing. ;-; I get too distracted or start thinking how I would doing things/insert a character when I'm reading...-sigh- And audio books...I really can't do them when I'm doing something...too distracting. I want to focus on the story.

Last film

Fuck....this is just making me realize I'm boring as fuck. ;-; Umm...I can't remember. I just...don't have time. I'm going to say Clue because I usually will have it playing in the background since I've seen it so many times I don't need to watch it.

Currently craving

Pizza. Always pizza cravings, I swear. And it has to be fresh...I can't do cold or reheated in the microwave pizza. I think it's a texture thing. I don't like coagulated cheese. >.<

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

Hmmm, who to tag...ummmm....some might be retagged here. Sorry!

@zhakyria @kemendin @eorzeashan @ruensroad @serenofroses @riachuelowii @swtorpigeons @dirthara-dalen @teacakes1799

[dougielombax]

Okay this is getting ridiculous.

(But I’m so glad this is real! This was pitched in a boardroom to execs and they said YES!)

First there’s the fact that you can play Doom on every other game console and their dog.

Which is impressive enough.

But some people take it further.

You can play it on calculators! Oscilloscopes, pregnancy tests, ATM machines, a piano, printers, microwaves, MP3 players, a fucking ULTRASOUND scanning machine, Zune, billboards, those fucking screens what they put in the seats on planes, a Porsche 911, INSIDE OTHER GAMES!!!!!!! (These all actually happened btw!)

People have taught rats to play Doom (and you thought using a mouse was ridiculous (KILL ME!))!

People have played Doom on arcade machines!

People have played Doom using fucking modified TOASTERS as controllers!

And those are only the (actual) examples I can recall!

And now there’s this SHIT!!!!!

Playing Doom on a robotic lawnmower!

(Insert some joke about the Doom Guy becoming Lawnmower Man! *violent puking noises*)

Which I think is hilariously convoluted! But amazing regardless!

but

But.

But!

But!!!

BUT!!!!!

Here’s the REAL question!

Can it run Crysis?????!!!!!!!

[dustedmagazine]

Fausto Mercier — Misinput Tycoon (Genot Centre)

Photo by Libor Galia

As Fausto Mercier, Hungarian producer Roland Nagy creates fractal splinters of sound that swirl and shift with kaleidoscopic intensity. The aural equivalent of those magic eye images that were everywhere then nowhere, Nagy’s music challenges the listener to form coherent shapes, concealing its structure beneath pixelated smears of sound. Misinput Tycoon is the product of a childhood and youth misspent in close attention to screens. Cell phones, video games, snow bound television sets, the blips and burps of microwaves and dial up internet connections, the audio-visual pollution of outdoor advertising, spluttering signs in shops and bars. It all here, fashioned into stylized simulation of the simulacrum of modern life in constant competition with the natural world.

Peter and the Wolf comes to mind as Mercier begins to insert more recognizably musical sounds into the turmoil. The fractured strings, piano chords and human whispers in “cinage”, a ruined calliope in “grassland shower”, the granular melody amidst typewriter clatter, stuttering drums and chopped up taunting vocalizations on “sleipnir/seeltouch”. These moments evoke Prokofiev’s didactic introduction to orchestral instruments and the iconoclastic dissonance of many of his compositions. Mercier’s music is at once aloof and engaging. It holds you at arm’s length but demands attention, feline in both its self-possession and desire to interact on its own terms. He may hide his melodic light beneath a bushel of effects but its there to hear and part of the fun is parsing his tracks for their internal logic. Restless jump cuts, vortices of wind tunnel noise, eruptions of glitch and erratic juxtapositions disturb the flow throughout as Mercier dismantles club music, strews the parts across the floor and reimagines new configurations. For all the bustling, hectic movement, he also allows for moments of clarity and relative calm. Although contingent on the expectation of interruption, they appear like aural oases in an information saturated landscape. 

Mercier surrounds the listener with endless refractions and reflections strewn with aural clues like threads in a mirror-balled labyrinth. Tangled, elusive in the strobing overload, the ground shifting beneath your feet, the threads may lead you to the exit or more likely deeper into the chaos. Either way, Misinput Tycoon combines witty diversion with serious intent. 

Andrew Forell

[qrtumb]

Global RF Phase Shifter Market Trends, Size, and Forecast 2021-2027

The Global RF Phase Shifter Market is expected to grow from US$ 2.8 Billion in 2021 to US$ 6.8 Billion by 2027; it is estimated to grow at a CAGR of 15.94% from 2021 to 2027.

A passive microwave network module or device known as a "RF phase shifter" is used to adjust the phase angle of microwave, millimetre, or RF wave communications without changing their amplitude. RF phase shifters are the best option for a variety of RF applications on the market because of their designs, which offer low insertion loss and dependable amplitude throughout all phase states.

Get Sample Copy of this Report@ https://qualiketresearch.com/request-sample/RF-Phase-Shifter-Market/request-sample

Drivers: The market is expanding as a result of an increase in the use of phase shifters in many applications, including phased array antennas, phase modulators, testing devices, frequency up-converters, and many more. The importance of RF phase shifters in applications like RF distortion, RF PA linearization, and amplitude and phase modulation, as well as rising demand for RF phase shifters in surface mount applications, as well as a growing global market for telecommunications, are expected to boost market growth over the course of the forecast period.

Restraints: The main restraints on the market's expansion, however, are its restricted output power and poor noise figure.

Impact of Covid-19

As governments loosen constraints on international trade and other import-export activities, manufacturers continue to retain strong supply networks. Additionally, after the peak of the coronavirus outbreak, the reopening of schools, offices, and other commercial buildings is assisting in reviving the growth of the worldwide RF phase shifter market. The global chip scarcity has put a strain on semiconductor businesses. To keep the economies going, however, businesses are tapping into revenue streams in the healthcare, defence, and telecommunications sectors.

Segmentation By Type: RF Phase Shifter Market is classified on the basis of Type into Analog Phase Shifter and Digital Phase Shifter.

Segmentation By Application: RF Phase Shifter Market is classified on the basis of Application into Satellites, Radar, Telecommunication, and Others.

Segmentation By Region: RF Phase Shifter Market is classified on the basis of Region into North America, Europe, Asia Pacific, Latin America, and Middle East & Africa. In 2027, North America is anticipated to account for a sizable portion of the market for RF phase shifters. Due to the rising demand from a variety of end-use industries, such as aerospace & defence, telecommunications, and commercial, the U.S. is a leader in the adoption of RF phase shifters. The RF phase shifters market in the region has been seeing technical breakthroughs, which are anticipated to fuel the industry's expansion throughout the course of the projected period.

Competitive Landscape: The key players of RF Phase Shifter Market are Analog Devices, Inc., Arrow Electronics, Inc., G.T. Microwave, Inc., Kratos Defense & Security Solutions, Inc, MACOM, Mercury Systems, Inc., Microwave Solutions, Inc, Pasternack Enterprises, Planar Monolithics Industries, Inc., and Qorvo.

Industrial Development

The high dynamic range ADRV9002 RF transceiver for Mission-Critical Communications Applications was introduced on July 23, 2020 by Analog Devices, Inc. Mission-critical communications applications like first responder radios, personal Long-Term Evolution (LTE) networks, and satellite communications are ideal for the high-performance ADRV9002 RF transceiver.

On November 11, 2015, Pasternack Enterprises, Inc. unveiled a new line of 8-bit programmable phase shifters that can produce discrete sets of phase states with up to 255 total steps and 1.4° increments with a high degree of accuracy and little phase shift error. These shifters are programmable over a full 360° range.

For radar and electronic warfare (EW) applications, Qorvo, Inc. and Polarity, Inc. developed integrated rack/hub-mounted solid state 300 W Spatium power amplifiers (SSPAs) on July 12, 2021. For wideband testing, communications, radar, or any other application requiring simultaneous power amplification of signals throughout a 2 - 20 GHz operational bandwidth, the Spatium 300W High Power Amplifier was created.

 Get discount on this Report @  https://qualiketresearch.com/request-sample/RF-Phase-Shifter-Market/ask-for-discount

Market Taxonomy

By Type

Analog Phase Shifter

Digital Phase Shifter

By Application

Satellites

Radar

Telecommunication

Others

By Region

North America

Europe

Asia Pacific

Latin America

Middle East & Africa

Key Questions Addressed by the Report

What are the Key Opportunities in RF Phase Shifter Market?

What will be the growth rate from 2020 to 2027?

Which segment/region will have highest growth?

What are the factors that will impact/drive the Market?

What is the competitive Landscape in the Industry?

What is the role of key players in the value chain?

Browse Full Report  https://qualiketresearch.com/reports-details/RF-Phase-Shifter-Market

[mariverses]

My impersonation of you is

"I love this character I wish they get thrown over a cliff and burnt alive. They're mmmmmmmm microwave noises. spins them in my washing machine"

Bonus for calling people "cat" or "meow"

........ YEAHM YEAH. YEAH. YEAH. i want to wrap them in lettuce and cook them in a pot. insert exaggerated clapping especially at the microwave cat and meow part. you are so accurate. 9/10

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 02x10 

Hunted

“Bullshit” “roast his ass” “who the fuck would say that shit to their therapist?”

“Did the therapist kill him?” 🎶microwaving your ass🎶

“We’re still having a heart-to-heart?” “Dad warned me that you might explode or something, Sam” “That could have been funnier or more awesome, but those lines are so inserted” “Are they trying to alter Dean’s voice? It’s getting deeper” “What’s the slim Jim commercial?” “What is this asshole breaking into? This house is falling apart and rotting down; why did you need to break in?” “Did he dream himself dead? I don’t remember” “Oh she’s got it too” “She’s got a very round face” “I feel like they did a 180 on Ellen’s character since we last saw her” “Why is Ash always looking around? There’s no one back there. I get being paranoid, but you basically live there and sleep on the pool table” “Just gonna let a strange guy see your dead son’s room?” “I’m more curious about the magazine than the meds; what does it say?” “Gotta love the fkn music” “Cool” “Doesn’t she go home and her fiancee is dead?” “I agree with this person.” “Way to guilt trip Ava, Jesus Christ.” “That’s funny” “Why do they add weird-ass sound effects over the car? Like the squeaky wheels?” “Way to toss your shoulders. Wtf” “Oh it’s this shit head again” “juicy” “Where the hell are they again? Indiana? I guess.” “Just all these rounds everywhere. Subsonic rounds already make less noise. It doesn’t quite make sense since it’s already quiet. It doesn’t make sense as a comment” “I don’t get Gordon’s character”

Talking about how he’s a parallel to the Winchester story

“I guess it’s just the way they’re painting the character that’s weird” “I feel like they tried too hard with Gordon, and he talks too much.” “If you can see him and you have a gun, why not just shoot Sam right there? I mean, fuck the trip wire; he could have shot him right then and there” “You’d never want to be that close to your own grenade. You’d also never have the handgun that close to the guy too” “You’re going to fall for the same shit twice?” “Oh, I thought Sam was going to shoot him” “Why don’t they tie up Gordon?” “They really painted Dean to be a pussy here. I mean, the knots shown weren’t that complicated” “He is SO not taken care of but whatever. Why not kill Gordon’s ass?” “It’s not illegal to have guns in your vehicle.” “That’s funny 2020 foreshadowing - not being able to control people or their beliefs” “Don’t most people run out of California because of the rent prices?” “Some random chick just gave you her address? I guess they would have figured it out either way” “his ass is dead. Nice” “I feel like the demons would get better at cleaning up after themselves” “So does Sam think she killed the fiancee?”

[mull3ts]

i wanna nom nom his phat dick pls

I too wish to go nom nom on that phat daddy dick

[blackholelynn]

It's Okay

Summary: You're in the middle of a stressful job transition, and Spencer comes home to find you in the midst of a panic attack.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of stress eating, description of anxiety/panic attack, description of overall stress

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: Hello!! Here's my first Criminal Minds fic and my first reader-insert! I'm happy with how this turned out, and it was honestly so cathartic. This is a completely self-indulgent comfort fic, as I'm in the middle of a really stressful transfer out of an awful job. But despite that, I managed to get this written, so enjoy! My requests are also open if you're inclined to drop a request!

~~~

The apartment was empty. Again.

You heaved a sigh as you trudged your way through the doorway, your heavy work satchel clutched in one hand and takeout in the other. Spencer had said that he would be back this evening, so you had made the extra stop to pick up your favorite takeout.

As soon as you set the bags down and slumped onto the couch, your phone rang. “Hey, I’m so sorry I’m not back yet.”

“Spence, it’s fine,” you lied, chucking off your boots with your toes. “Trust me, I get it when things come up at work.”

“Speaking of, have you heard back yet?”

Just the mention of your prospective job made you want to curl into a ball and cry. You’d gotten the job; that was one good thing in a sea of bad. The only downside was that it was with a company in the middle of a merger with your own, so now you had to get a straight answer from someone if you were to quit or transfer.

“Yeah, I got the job!” You tried to channel the excitement from when you’d first been told. “So it’s official. Their HR department called me and offered the position.”

“That’s great!” Murmured talking could be heard on the other end of the phone before a burst of cheers, and you could tell that he’d told the rest of the team. “When is your start date?”

Yeah, if you were going to have this conversation, you were going to need to break into the take-out. You padded over to the kitchen and began piling your plate high with food, trying not to think about how much you may regret it later.

The cheery exterior you’d put on cracked ever so slightly as you explained the situation, “Well, that’s a bit complicated…”

“Don’t tell me–” Spencer stopped himself from going on a tirade, knowing it would only make you feel worse. He took a deep breath in and out before he continued. “What happened?”

“I told you how we’re in the middle of a merger, so these things can be a bit tricky. The woman at HR told me to put in my two weeks, so I did that.”

“So problem solved.”

“Not…” You grabbed your food out of the beeping microwave and took a small bite immediately, needing the comfort of the flavors. “Not exactly. My manager did the exit interview, and I accidentally let it slip where I’d gotten hired. She insisted it was a transfer and that I shouldn’t be putting my two weeks notice in yet.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, just long enough that you could tell Spencer was starting to stew over it again. For the past few months, your workplace had been even more stressful, and it was not helped by your management denying you time off at every turn. The pressure was causing you to crack, something that Spencer was becoming keenly aware of and hated to see.

When he spoke again, there was no background noise of the police station, suggesting he must’ve gone outside. “So what are you supposed to do?”

“I’m not sure, honestly. I’ve been trying to get answers on what my next steps are, but so far no luck,” you sighed. The stress of the last few days of the unknown was starting to weigh on you again, and you could feel the tears well behind your eyes. You sniffled and took another bite of your food. “I’m sure it will work out, but I was just really looking forward to having some time off between jobs.”

“Oh, angel.” Spencer’s heartbreaking was practically audible through the phone. He wanted to comfort you so badly, but he was on the other side of the country with loose ends to tie up until tomorrow. “You’re right, it’s all going to work out. It would look terrible if your manager now ended up costing them an employee.”

“I know, it’s just that I don’t know how much longer I can do this. A transfer could take weeks, months even.” The thought made your stomach flip, and suddenly the heaping plate of food in front of you looked disgusting. Pushing it away, you curled up on one of the barstools by the island. “But it’s not that big of a deal, and you have some work to get done–”

“No, it’s alright. You can tell me whatever’s on your mind. You know that, right?”

His sweet words only seemed to twist the knife in your chest a bit harder, and biting back a sob, you hurried the call along, “I know. I’m just kind of tired so I think I’m going to go to bed. Be safe, Spence.”

“Okay, good night. I love you,” he said, seemingly hesitant but putting emphasis on his ‘I love you.’ He knew you needed to hear it.

“Love you too,” you quickly answered before hanging up.

You held your phone in your hands as you leaned on the counter, your face pressed against the cool stone counter. Hot tears ran down your cheeks as your thoughts overwhelmed you, and slowly you began to grow more and more hysterical. In the apartment, alone, there was no escape or outlet for any of the worries that had been plaguing you. By the time you managed to calm down, your entire body felt leaden, so you stayed where you were. You fell asleep halfway sitting, halfway leaning on the unforgiving counter surface.

When you woke up the next morning, your entire body ached from where you slept the night before, and every part of you felt sick. The food from the night before had been forgotten on the counter, meaning that it was likely no longer fit for consumption. Your jacket, bag, and boots were still scattered through the living room where you had left them the night before.

You felt like you were in no shape to go back into the office today, but with the pressure of the upcoming job change, you didn’t feel like you had the right to stay home. So you quickly got ready for work and scrambled out the door, hoping that this day would be better than the past few.

However, it was not any better by a long shot. You felt like you were running off of a short fuse, practically ready to explode at every caller that called into your workplace. Somehow you managed to bite your tongue and get through the day, but you fell apart as soon as you hit the privacy of your car. Once again you were crying like you had almost every day after work for a while now, and the only thing that kept you from breaking down like you had last night was the fact that you had to drive home.

The keys to your apartment jingled as you unlocked the door, and a small sliver of hope bloomed in your chest as you thought about Spencer finally being home. You were really needing some quality time with him if only to distract you a bit from feeling like a frazzled mess.

But the apartment was empty again.

And it felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back. Your bag was dropped just inside the doorway, and you didn’t even bother to take off your jacket or boots as you curled up into a ball on the couch. The sobs that wracked your body were violent and uncontrollable, and it felt like if you even moved the wrong way you’d shatter into a million pieces like a dropped Lego toy.

It felt like ages passed, and you were just about to drag yourself to bed when a voice carried in from the hallway and through the open door. “Angel?”

“Spence?”

Spencer stood in the doorway of the apartment with his go-bag still clutched in his hand, and the crease of worry between his brows was deep as he looked at you. You were sat up on the couch, your hair wild from burrowing into the cushions and tears still running down your already wet cheeks. It looked like you hadn’t slept in ages, which was not too far from the truth. The mixture of an empty bed and job stress boiled down to little sleep.

He lightly set down his bag on the table by the doorway and hurried to your side, scooping you up and pulling you into his lap. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s all okay.” When your shoulders started to tremble once more, he soothingly rubbed circles into your arm. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s just…” you hiccuped, struggling to be coherent while you were melting down. “All day it’s just stupid people calling about stupid things!”

“I know how hard it is for you, but it’s going to be alright. I have some good news, do you want to hear it?” His voice was soft as he asked, almost as soft as the gentle treatment he was handling you with. When you nodded, he continued with a small smile. “I talked to Hotch, and if your transfer falls through, he’s willing to hire you on in a secretarial position.”

You stared up at him with wide eyes, suddenly feeling like the world wasn’t caving in on you. “Really?”

“Really,” he answered, his smile growing into a grin when he saw the light come back into your eyes. “So no pressure about any of this. You’re safe no matter what happens.”

You heaved a sigh of relief and relaxed into Spencer’s embrace. That’s really what had been getting to you – the pressure. And your wonderful, amazing, too-good-for-this-world boyfriend just lifted it all off of your shoulders in one fell swoop. You reached for his hand, lazily intertwining your fingers with his.

He kissed your forehead, helping you to sit up now that you were more coherent. “On the bright side, if you do work for us, that means I won’t be caught late at the office with paperwork.”

“Oh yeah, it’ll all fall on me. I see your evil plan for what it really is, mister,” you teased, nudging his shoulder. The warmth that spread through your chest was a nice change of pace from the crippling anxiety that had been plaguing you for weeks. “Thank you, Spence. I really couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend.”

Spencer brought your joined hands to his lips, gently kissing the back of your hand. “And I couldn’t ask for a better partner.”

“Now that you’re home, do you want to have a Doctor Who marathon?”

“It’s not the weekend yet…” His question was clear even if it was obvious that he didn’t want to mention your workplace again. You had work in the morning, so an all-night sci-fi marathon was out of the question.

You shrugged, curling into his side and looking up at him with a loving gaze. “Who cares? I have so much time saved up, and I should probably use it before I leave.”

“Then yeah. I’ll make some popcorn.” He gave you a quick kiss before leaving the couch and heading over to the kitchen. You couldn’t help the lovestruck look on your face as you watched him prepare the microwave popcorn, unsure of how you managed to get someone so understanding and loving. He made you feel like you could do anything.

Because you could. You just needed to hear someone say it once in a while.

[wander-over-the-words]

What’s a Little EVE Between New Friends?

Summary: In which Delta comes across a strange new person whilst on a mission to get EVE.

Characters: Subject Delta, Calvin (OC), Augustus Sinclair; mentions of Splicers, Brigid Tenenbaum, Eleanor Lamb, Sofia Lamb.

Pairings: a little Augustus Sinclair/Subject Delta spliced in cause y’all know how I roll by now

Warnings: slight body horror (?), use of needles; mentions of bodily harm, human experimentation, smoking.

Notes: A little gift for @mail-me-a-snail , featuring her BioShock OC, Calvin!! Inspired by her art of Calvin teaming up with Sinclair and Delta; made this little scenario turn around in my brain like a microwave lmao. Insert that iCarly meme with Sinclair being all “whatcha got there, chief?” and Delta standing with Calvin and holding up the Plasmid jar like “A new Plasmid.”

Canon material belongs to International Games.

Calvin belongs to @mail-me-a-snail

…

Another surge of ADAM in his veins, thanks to that new Plasmid he’s just bought, Delta thinks it best to get some EVE to go along with that. Who can have ADAM without EVE, right? 

Delta’s got a clump of dollars in the palm of one hand and he’s pushing at them with one finger as he counts his very limited cash (bloody Splicers have made him use more ammo and drill fuel than he’d like), taking the path toward the Circus of Values that he remembers is tucked into the corner of the next room. 

If this machine is like any of the others, he’s got enough money for just one EVE hypo, which will have to do.

Delta steps through the Securis door and turns to go toward the nearest corner, when he freezes in place.

There’s a…person. Standing in front of the machine. At least, he…he thinks they’re a person? Because - call him crazy - but their…their head…is that of a slug’s. Yellow, a slight sheen on them from where the light is catching in the layer of what must be slime on their skin. Dressed up like the fishermen Delta had seen pictures of back in Ryan Amusements: red jumper and dark coveralls. Their shoulders are slumped, like they’re sad, and they’re staring down at their hands. And they’re making noises, little bubbling sounds, like they’re muttering to themself. 

Delta stares, disbelieving of his own eyes. 

Is this something to do with the ADAM he’s just taken in? Had it been - he doesn’t know - a bad batch? (Is there such a thing as a good batch of ADAM?) He’s never suffered any poor effects from ADAM intake before, besides the pain of new Plasmids.

He waits to hear a message from Augustus, for some confirmation that he isn’t the only one seeing this, but there’s no whirring of his radio, no surprised exclamation or casual explanation to be heard - and that isn’t right. Augustus is always with him, in his ear, in spirit. The fact he’s gone silent - it makes a jab of panic stab Delta right in the heart like a pin, and his immediate next goal is to go and check on him. He knows he might be overreacting - Augustus has a life outside of him, maybe he’s just distracted by preparing a cigarette or something - but Augustus is more important than his own needs. He’s got to be sure.

(Besides - perhaps if he just ignores this apparent hallucination, it’ll go away.)

He starts to turn away, his gaze still locked on the person despite his own plans, and gets through one step when the person jolts softly, their eye stalks straightening, and spins around, and Delta stops immediately, alarmed.

Delta stares.

The slug-person stares.

There’s complete silence between them…then the slug-person’s head tilts downwards slightly, their gaze directly pointed at the clump of bills in Delta’s hand. There’s the smallest upward movement in their shoulders, then they look at Delta’s face again and gesture toward the Circus of Values behind them with a hand that looks like a goopy, dripping mitten. From the stiffness of their body language, they are as unsure as Delta is in this situation, interacting with the figure in front of them.

Delta understands the question and gives an affirmative grunt in response - yes, he is planning on buying something. He remembers then that this person is not Augustus, who knows him well enough to know his sounds (and whom he still needs to check on, so he’s got to hurry this up), and then tries a different approach: he gives a thumbs up.

The person’s shoulders jerk and their eye stalks straighten up again, and they suddenly look perkier. Like Delta is the beacon of hope they’ve been waiting for.

They look down at their hands, think about it, then look over their shoulder. They step aside, then use their foot to push something, moving it from behind them to in front of them with a scrape of plastic and paper on tiles. 

Tilting himself, Delta looks down; it’s a ringed notepad, open to a page with one word written in black marker pen in very uncoordinated handwriting.

EVE?

Delta looks back at the person, and they hold up their hands to show them to him. He watches as they point down at the pad, then hold up their hands again, little bubbling noises escaping them as they attempt to explain.

Delta suddenly knows how Augustus feels, God bless the man. He looks back and forth between the person’s face, their goopy hands and the notepad.

It takes a few seconds, but he thinks he understands: they’re asking him to get EVE for them, because…because their hands aren’t supposed to be dripping like that. Because their hands are useless in their current state. Because they need EVE to fix it. (That must be why the handwriting is so messy, too.) 

Come to think of it, now that Delta is really paying attention to those hands, they almost seem to be…falling apart. Does that hurt? It looks like it must hurt. Poor maybe-hallucination. And judging by the pre-written message, he isn’t the first person they’ve asked. 

Delta looks down at the balled-up dollars he’s got, and the solution to this situation seems clear: if this is a hallucination, then he gets an EVE hypo anyway, and if it isn’t, then this person clearly needs the EVE more than him - his hands aren’t falling apart.

Like himself, the person has no proper human face to show, but he can practically feel the hopeful stare. And if there’s one thing Delta hates, it’s hurting someone who doesn’t deserve it, physically or emotionally.

And so he gives a grunt for confirmation, and the person perks up even more as he moves quickly toward the Circus of Values.

Delta takes each bill individually, pressing them between his fingers and the vending machine’s decorative clown face to straighten the paper out, to ease the slide into the machine’s slot. Once the payment’s been made, Delta presses the button for an EVE hypo. 

The clown mascot laughs, and an EVE hypo pops out.

Delta stoops and picks it up, then turns back to the stranger and offers it to them. 

They shake their head and nudge his hand, and they’ve definitely just tried to tell him something, but he’s distracted entirely by how he’s just felt them touch him, actually felt the faint pressure against the fingers he has wrapped around the hypo, and it’s surprising enough that Delta’s shoulders jolt in surprise and he lets out a gasp.

Hastily, he transfers the hypo to his other hand and turns over the one the slug had touched. Where their gooey hand had connected, there is a small patch of slime, with a glittering sheen from where it catches in the overhead lights. 

Delta lets out a small rumble of wonder.

Either this hallucination is more than just visual and auditory or…this isn’t a hallucination at all.

Jesus Christ. This isn’t a hallucination, is it? 

The person had jumped slightly when he accidentally spooked them and now they’re staring at him worriedly, and Delta wishes he could apologise. Instead, he leans forward a little, getting a better look at them, then he remembers why he’s holding this EVE hypo at all. He thinks over what they might’ve tried to say with that little nudge they’d given him -

Ah! Of course! Silly him.

Delta grunts once and turns the hypo over to show the needle to the person, and they nod eagerly and hold out their hands. 

He’s a little nervous using a needle on another person, but he pushes aside his nerves for the sake of this funny fellow and carefully moves their sleeve up. He then eases the needle into their wrist, hoping he’s doing this correctly, and pushes the plunger with his thumb, injecting them with the EVE, draining the hypo.

He pulls the needle free from their squishy flesh and watches as the dripping goo of their hands wiggles faintly, then begins to solidify, back into mitten-like hands that are no longer falling apart. No longer unusable, no longer painful-looking. 

The slug nearly jumps with joy, brandishing their hands in front of themself, turning them over excitedly. Clearly, they are exactly as they should be, because the person claps them twice, then stoops to collect their notepad from the floor. They pluck the pen from the plastic rings atop the pad, scribble something on the page, then turn it around to show to him. 

Thank you!

Delta stares at the message, then at the person’s face. 

They really aren’t a hallucination. They’re really…here, with him. He’s never seen anything like them before, never seen any mention of slug people in the history lesson back in Ryan Amusements, never heard Augustus - in his infinite knowledge - talk about this kind of individual. He feels as though he shouldn’t be surprised, a city like Rapture having a person like this as a resident.

A slug person - but more importantly…the first person since Augustus to not try to do him any harm. To treat him…well…like a person.

Delta stares some more, then his shoulders lift happily as he lets out a warbled croon of delighted awe.

…

With a sharp intake of air through his nostrils, Sinclair jolts awake, some voice in his subconscious telling him now is not the time for a nap - and that small voice is right! Good God, how had he even let himself drift off like that? Sure, he’d been feeling a little impatient when Delta felt the need to explore instead of returning to the train like he’d asked, but sleeping? At a time like this, in a place like this? Has he hit his head recently?

Sinclair rubs his aching neck and his face, giving himself a few slaps to the cheek as he mutters to himself to get it together. He’d even been drooling in his brief slumber, and he quickly grabs his handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the small trail from below his lip, embarrassed despite there being nobody around. Getting himself in a state like this, slumped over and drooling - it’d be photo-worthy, back in the day, when his reputation had been at its best. At least it doesn’t seem Delta saw.

Oh, shit -

“Kid…!” Sinclair mutters in surprise, immediately grabbing at the bench to turn himself so he can look at the screen on the wall, to check on the guy he’d accidentally left hanging.

The good news is: Delta isn’t in any trouble. He’s moving quickly through a familiar corridor, Sinclair recognises it from watching Delta leave. He’s on his way back to the station now. Good, good.

Sinclair breathes a small sigh of relief - both at the fact they’re finally going to leave, and because Delta is okay - and shuts his eyes as he slumps back against the window, revelling in the chill of the glass against his temple as his brief spike of anxiety comes down. He urges himself not to sleep again since Delta is returning (what’s more embarrassing: being caught drooling or sleeping?) - and that suddenly becomes real easy when he hears a…bubbling sound.

Confused, Sinclair frowns and opens his eyes, lifting his head from where it’d begun to droop. 

What the hell was that? What’s the kid up to, playing with some water or something? He knows his nap had been ill-timed, but playing with water is even more so! What’s Delta thinking?

His gaze immediately locks onto the screen, and he watches the point of view of Delta’s camera as Delta turns his upper body to look from the direction he’s jogging in to…to…

“What.”

Jogging alongside Delta is a…a slug. A yellow slug, jogging. A yellow slug, dressed in the uniform of the old employees of Fontaine Fisheries. A yellow slug, making the bubbling noise he’d just heard.

Sinclair’s mouth falls open. He shuts it, opens it, shuts it, opens it again.

What…What the fuck?

What the fuck happened while he’d been sleeping?!

Sinclair blinks twice, then rubs his eyes and looks again. Is he dreaming? Is this a dream? Surely, it must be, that’s not really a…a bipedal slug, accompanying Delta. Surely.

He thinks to take up the radio, to ask Delta what’s going on, but he can’t see Delta’s body language or hands from here, and any meaning of any noises Delta might make will be lost to him if he can’t see gestures or demeanour. His communication with Delta really does work better face-to-face (or face-to-porthole, as it were).

So he waits until he hears the Securis door open and the thump-thump-thump of footsteps quickly approaching, and then his curiosity gets the best of him and he flings himself off the bench and over to the doors. They sense his presence and open accordingly, revealing him to Delta and his…companion.

Delta sees him, comes to a stop so suddenly he nearly falls over, and the slug crashes into him as they stop too, putting a hand to their head as they back up after righting themself; Delta notices none of it. Instead, his gaze is locked on Sinclair; he turns at the waist to look around the station, looks back to Sinclair, then sighs softly as his shoulders lift, and the fact Delta is using his happiness tell just at the mere sight of Sinclair might’ve made him smile and blush a little, if he weren’t so distracted. 

The pair starts making their way over; the slug is watching him, Sinclair thinks. Walking so jovially beside Delta, as if they’re eager to meet him. How…nice. 

His stare is strained and he knows it. Can’t manage to hide it as Delta and his companion approach and stop in front of him.

“...Aha. Kid,” Sinclair says slowly in the silence, “I wouldn’t normally ask this of ya, but seein’ as we’re friends and I know you got a handle on that strength of yours - would you be a lamb and give my arm a quick pinch? I fear I may be somewhere off in dreamland.”

Delta gives a grunt to say no, and Sinclair can’t tell if he’s saying no to pinching him or no to the fact he thinks he might be dreaming. Instead of pinching, Delta steps up next to him, faces the slug and pats Sinclair’s shoulder thrice, then he uses that same hand to tap himself on the chest.

Out of habit more than anything, Sinclair watches that hand, cogs turning to try and figure out what Delta is saying, and concludes with He’s with me.

The slug nods twice, apparently understanding, and then waves at Sinclair with a hand that has no proper fingers. Their other hand lifts, and they show a notepad with one word written on the page, and Sinclair - again, out of habit - automatically raises his glasses to his eyes so he can read it.

Calvin

Bringing his glasses away from his eyes, Sinclair looks the slug up and down, then smiles a smile just as strained as his stare.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” he says, tone dripping with sarcasm, then he turns on the spot, places a hand on Delta’s arm, and keeps his eyes on Calvin. “Now, if you’ll excuse us kindly, the big fella an’ I need to have a little talk - in private.” He looks up at Delta. “Ain’t that right, chief?”

Sinclair cocks his head subtly toward the open train car, and Delta’s shoulders drop from their perches. 

Far be it from him to deny Augustus’s wishes (even though he, quite frankly, finds them rather rude - Calvin is standing right there, Augustus), but this isn’t going as he’d hoped it would. Honestly, he had hoped Augustus would recognise Calvin, give some explanation as to where he came from. Augustus is clever like that.

Still - he complies, but not before turning to Calvin and gently gesturing to him to stay put, please, they’ll be back with him in just a moment.

His body language betraying how nervous he is, Calvin clutches his notepad to himself and nods once.

Sinclair ushers Delta inside the train car, and the second the doors shut behind them, Sinclair whips around to face him, hands on his hips and smile very much gone. 

“Alright, son,” he says quietly, just in case Calvin can hear, “now I know that - unlike myself - you ain’t got the luxury of pickin’ an’ choosin’ your lines from a dictionary, but I sure hope you’ve still got a good way to explain to me why in the hell you brought a stranger back to our train!”

Delta looks toward Calvin, then back to Sinclair. He holds out his hand, and Sinclair finally notices he’s been carrying an empty EVE hypo this whole time. Delta taps the hypo over its label, then gestures at Calvin. When Sinclair doesn’t seem to immediately get it, Delta taps himself in the chest, taps the hypo, then points the hypo toward Calvin.

“You shared EVE with him?” Sinclair ask and Delta grunts in the affirmative. “Well, that was mighty generous of you, but it still doesn’t explain why a slug is standin’ on that platform out there - or why he’s a slug at all.”

He points toward Calvin.

Delta stares, then shrugs. He points his own finger at Sinclair.

For a moment, Sinclair thinks he’s being accused of something and frowns sharply, opening his mouth to voice his defence, but then he realises Delta’s body language is still unsure, not all serious like it should be for an accusation like that. His interpretation is proved correct when Delta gives a quizzical tilt, like he does when he’s confused, and Sinclair realises Delta’s asking him if he knows.

Sinclair sighs, then cups his chin as he thinks on it, looking away from Delta.

“Well, now…See, ADAM was purely experimental back in the old days…Tested its limits and abilities - sorta just to see if we could do all that we thought we could. Believe I…can recall some mention of, ah…of tryin’ to mix an’ match the DNA of the average man with…well.” He glances at Delta with a half-lidded look. “Believe his appearance should finish that thought. He wasn’t born that way, after all.” He looks away again and adds in a mumble, “Brings to mind the phrase ‘a face only a mother could love’...” 

Sinclair scratches at the faint stubble around his jaw, then looks at Delta again, eyes widened. He coughs awkwardly into his fist, then puts all of his fingertips together as he looks toward Calvin out of the corner of his eye.

“But, ah, I’m afraid such things in those early days were outta my circle of business, so I’ve not got any exact answers to feed your curiosity with, sport.” He looks back to Delta and recalls why they’re having this conversation in the first place; his hands go back to his hips and he raises his eyebrows, staring at Delta from under his eyelashes. “But, see, that’s where we falter, cause you’ve still yet to answer me, son: are you plannin’ on bringin’ this fella with us?”

Delta’s shoulders jerk once, as if he’s surprised by the question, then he grunts to say yes.

Sinclair sighs softly, hoping Delta doesn’t notice. He was worried that’d be the answer. This might require a delicate touch.

“Now, son. I understand that they left your heart inside your chest when they stuffed you into that get-up of yours, and I know for a fact that that heart’s made o’ solid gold (seen it for myself), but now ain’t the time to be usin’ it. Our partnership was between the two of us,” he shakes his head, “and I for one left no room in that deal for third parties. So, how ‘bout we leave this fella with that EVE and our well wishes and just,” he gestures out the window with his thumb, “head on our way, hm?”

A breathy little noise comes from under Delta’s helmet, a borderline gasp, and Delta takes a very purposeful step backwards, away from Sinclair. He folds his arms, showing firmly what he thinks of that idea.

Despite knowing he’s generally in Delta’s good graces, something about that image makes Sinclair’s heart give a little jump, and he quickly waves a hand.

“Now, now - don’t get bent outta shape over it, kid. I’m just tryin’ to think practically here. We can’t go around collectin’ every lost soul we come across - might as well let all of Rapture hitch a ride, if that’s the case you’re makin’.”

Delta holds up a finger.

“Well, call me a stickler for the rules, but that sounds like one too many to me, chief. I don’t recall a mention o’ him when Doc Tenenbaum first brought up our little arrangement to me.”

Delta’s shoulders droop, then he gestures toward Calvin, brings his finger and thumb close together, then gestures toward the expanse of the train car, turning at the waist to indicate the entire cabin.

He won’t take up much space. We have room.

“Well,” Sinclair says through a puff of a laugh, “I wasn’t worried about where he’d hafta sit.” He folds his arms. “What reason has he got for wantin’ to tag along, anyhow? I understand as much as anybody that the state of Rapture nowadays is a less-than-ideal livin’ arrangement, but he’s a stranger to us, and we to him. How do we know he’s trustworthy, huh? Are we even sure he’s, ah (how shall I say this?)...tame?”

Another breathy noise escapes Delta, then he gives a rumbling noise that shifts downwards in pitch. Disapproving.

Sinclair splutters, exasperated. “Chief, I have had experience with all manner of people, but a man fused with a mollusc ain’t one of ‘em! Though a lot could be said about some of the fellas I have had conversations with in the past…but I digress: my point still stands, kid. We don’t know a thing about this fella.”

Delta gestures toward Calvin, holds up his fist, and then draws an X by crossing his forearms. 

Sinclair’s raised eyebrow is enough to tell him his message has gone misunderstood, and so Delta gestures back toward Calvin to try again. He holds up his fist, shaking it for emphasis and leaning over Sinclair to try and appear menacing (and of course, as a Big Daddy, he doesn’t need to try), and then he very, very gently bumps his fist against Sinclair’s collarbone. Then he grunts to say no and crosses his forearms again.

It takes a moment as Sinclair thinks over each gesture, then he gets it: He won’t hurt you.

Sinclair sighs again, glancing toward the slug-man still waiting for them outside. He trusts Delta’s word, he really does - Delta would never bring anybody back to the train if he thought they could be a threat to Sinclair - but this…this is…

“Well…Believe I’ll…trust your word on that one, chief. You’re more careful than I’m givin’ you credit for, an’ that one’s on me. But,” he shakes his head and points down at the floor, “I shouldn’t hafta remind you that we’re on a time limit here.” He steps forward and reaches up to pat Delta’s chest twice, over his heart, and he keeps his hand there once the pats are finished. “We gotta get you to young Eleanor, before your conditionin’ tells ya to pack it in, and that deadline is gettin’ closer by the minute. There just ain’t room for this fella’s wishes in that schedule, I’m afraid.”

Delta stares in silence, then his empty hand comes up to gently grasp Sinclair’s.

Augustus jumps slightly, not expecting it, and he’s almost ashamed of the heat he feels rise in his face; Delta’s hand is so warm and his touch is so gentle, his fingers huge compared to Sinclair’s. The swirl of emotion it causes almost makes Sinclair want to wrench his hand away, but Delta’s moving to communicate something, so he has to hold still for now.

Delta puts the empty hypo down on the bench nearest, then gestures at Calvin with the now-free hand. He taps atop his own fingers then, and Sinclair can only scrunch up his brow in confusion; such as it is, Delta tries again, only this time he taps the point where he and Sinclair’s fingers are touching, deliberately gesturing to the both of them, and then he rests the hand he’d used to gesture at Calvin with atop the pile.

The warmth Sinclair’s hand is feeling, now covered by both of Delta’s, is rivalled only by the heat in his face, and he clears his throat and scrambles to understand what’s been said, lest Delta take too much notice of how he looks at their piled hands.

“Wha - He…only wants companionship, does he?”

A grunt to confirm.

“Well, there’re plenty of folks to choose from out there. They’re…spliced to hell an’ back, but, ah, that’ll just be somethin’ they’ve got in common. Might…make for a good ice-breaker, if anything. Uh,” he clears his throat again and pats Delta’s bicep, steadily sliding his other hand out from Delta’s grasp, and Delta’s shoulders slump a little, “lemme just…have that back now, thank you - B-Besides, kid, we’re gonna be up on the surface once we reunite you an’ Eleanor, and I can’t be the only one thinkin’ a slug-man won’t fare well around folks on land.”

Delta gestures at himself.

“Why, you’re differe -” Sinclair starts to say, but Delta grunts and waves a hand, and Sinclair closes his mouth; Delta hadn’t finished.

Delta gestures at himself, then draws the X with his crossed forearms again. He points upwards, his arm extended, and Sinclair follows the point with his eyes. Delta repeats it all a few times, and Sinclair frowns softly; he might need to play word association for this one.

Me - Won’t - Up?

Me - Won’t - Ceiling?

(Big Daddy, then?) Big Daddy - Won’t - …Surface.

Big Daddy - Won’t - On the surface.

I won’t be a Big Daddy when we’re on the surface.

“That’s right, son,” Sinclair says with a nod, wagging a finger. “First thing on the agenda once we get ourselves settled up there is gettin’ you cured.”

After a soft jolt of his shoulders, Delta lets out a crooning noise, impressed that Augustus understood, and Augustus gives a humble shrug of one shoulder and a short smile before Delta goes on with what he was saying. He gestures to Calvin, crosses his forearms, then points up. He finishes with that same quizzical tilt. 

Maybe we can cure him too?

Sinclair opens his mouth, only to falter. Truthfully, he has no idea if the man can be cured, but he’s fairly certain Delta can be; Tenenbaum had mentioned her plan to find a way to cure ADAM sickness when she’d been discussing this arrangement with him, and if the secret to curing Delta is by - mayhaps - removing his ADAM or flatout exterminating it within his body, then…he supposes the same would work for the slug. 

He furrows his brow at Delta, who has his fists together in a hopeful pose, and he watches as Delta gestures between he and Calvin with one hand, back and forth, until Sinclair understands.

Friends.

Sinclair stares some more, considering his options here, and that’s when Delta puts his fists back together in that same optimistic gesture that it makes that same uncomfortable twisting feeling in Sinclair’s heart start up again. 

If there’s any Big Daddy that could actually manage to have some puppy-dog look about them, of course it’d be bloody Delta. He knows Delta doesn’t mean for it to be so manipulative, but it makes him horrifically aware of how upset Delta will be if they leave Calvin - somebody he could help, somebody he’s befriended - behind, and the thought of Delta being miserable makes that twist in his heart intensify, until it bleeds a sick feeling into his belly. Unfamiliar and terrifying, but enough to make him reconsider his stance here.

Goddamn this man. 

(God…bless this man.)

Sinclair sighs heavily, then there’s a light twist to one side of his lips, a rueful half smile.

“Is there…really anythin’ I can even say to dissuade you at this point, chief? Seems as though you’ve already made yer mind up.”

Delta rumbles softly, then pats Sinclair’s shoulder. He uses the same hand to very, very gently tap Sinclair’s forehead, making him flinch and move back, and then he pats himself on the chest with both hands. He’s telling Sinclair his opinion matters to him.

“Well, I appreciate that.” Sinclair sighs again, then smiles and arches a brow at Delta, looking at him from under his eyelashes. “That golden heart you’ve got’s just gonna keep you pinned to this ocean floor if you ain’t careful, son…Word of advice. But - there I go again: you are the careful sort, aren’t you? Considerin’ what’s on the line here…?”

Delta shrugs.

“Hm. Well. If you’re certain he’s not got some hidden agenda and that he ain’t gonna get in the way of our plans, then…well, I suppose we can…lend ‘im a chair. Got…plenty to spare, after all. And I guess - if he’s willin’ - he could be extra muscle,” Sinclair holds up a fist, “to help ya against anythin’ else Doc Lamb tosses your way. Ah - well, I suppose he’s all muscle, really...”

Delta lets out some of his warbling laughter, standing a little straighter, and Sinclair’s eyes light up at the sound of it, despite everything. Delta then grunts in the affirmative and gestures to Sinclair before pointing down at the train floor.

Or he could keep you company here.

“Uh, well, that’s a…nother role he could play, sure. Uh.” Sinclair huffs a chuckle, grinning despite it all. “Call me batty, sport, but I could swear my gift of the gab is rubbin’ off on you - and you haven’t even a voice to gab with! Oughta find you a job in business once we fix that throat of yours, we’ll be makin’ millions by the dinner bell.” He chuckles to himself, watching as Delta’s shoulders lift happily, then adds, “What I mean is: you’ve gone and convinced me, and as my former business partners could tell ya, I was a master at hagglin’, back in the day. So…to hell with it - bring this fella on board.”

He jumps about a foot in the air when Delta suddenly lets out a short shout of a delighted warble, those fists lifting to the spot just under his porthole, the pose going from pleading and sheepish to excited and happy in an instant.

As much as Delta’s just scared the crap out of him, how joyful he looks now makes Sinclair give a fond chuckle, the twisting in his heart gone and replaced with a flood of warmth that Sinclair is aware is creeping up to his face. He can only hope the train’s dim lighting hides the reddening flush on his cheeks.

Delta goes to leave the train, only to freeze and turn back to Sinclair with a little gasp. He steps forward, then prods Sinclair in the chest, holding his finger there.

“What’s that?” Sinclair asks, body language stiffening under the touch, and watches as Delta points to the radio, to the screen, to the window, then returns his fingertip to Sinclair’s chest. 

Sinclair thinks on it, then clicks his tongue.

“Ah - Oh. Right. Not to worry there, chief, I was just fine,” he replies, gently ushering Delta’s hand off of him with a light push and a comforting pat to the back of his glove. “I, ah. Hm. Well. I’m a…mite embarrassed to admit it, but I somehow ended up shuttin’ my eyes and, ah, keepin’ ‘em closed - hence my worry that I was still stuck in dreamland when I happened upon the sight of your companion out there.” He hastily waves a hand. “Just for a few minutes, mind, and I certainly will not be makin’ a habit of it. Won’t happen again, mark my words.” He points at Delta via finger gun. “These lamps will be switched on an’ my attention shall remain with you, kid.”

Delta lets out a note of whale song that lowers in pitch and volume as it goes on, and he lifts a hand to deliver a few sympathetic pats to Sinclair’s head. 

“Ah - Now, we’ve had this talk, I’m fairly sure.” Sinclair waves Delta’s hand away, passes a hand through his hair to fix it, then points from Delta to Calvin. “Come to think of it - I understand we’ll have someone else around who’s missin’ a certain somethin’ in the way of speech, but you make sure none of that behaviour of yours rubs off on him. I don’t appreciate my personal bubble bein’ invaded by folks I don’t invite to step inside, and you’re the exception to that, kid - just barely. He can make do with that paper an’ pen of his.”

Delta looks from Calvin to Sinclair, then gives an affirmative grunt.

“Much obliged. Now,” he waves a hand dismissively, “go fetch this new recruit of yours. Made him wait long enough.”

The matter resolved, Delta turns to go again, and the doors open to reveal him to Calvin, who straightens up as Delta steps off of the train. 

There’s tension in his shoulders as he awaits the verdict, but that’s immediately dealt with when Delta, with an air of joy, gestures to the open train car and ushers Calvin aboard with a wave of his hand.

Calvin perks up immediately, hugging his notepad to himself and he holds his hands together in a pose that is undoubtedly thankful and cheery, and Delta gestures to the three of them, then points up at the ceiling, toward the surface.

Calvin nods enthusiastically, then follows Delta’s direction to board the train. As he steps on, his head is swivelling, taking in the entirety of the train car like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, then he looks suddenly to Sinclair once he realises he’s standing in front of him, caught up in his tourism. Hastily, he turns over a couple of pages in his notepad and shows it to Sinclair.

Sinclair puts on his glasses and reads, Thank you!

Sliding his glasses off, he looks up at Calvin with a thin smile, sarcasm barely concealed. “Mm-hm. You’re, uh, you’re welcome. Feel free to, ah, make yourself at home.”

Calvin shows Delta the pad and Delta warbles happily, his shoulders lifting, and he leaves them to go and start the train.

In the few seconds he’s gone, Calvin looks at Sinclair and Sinclair looks at Calvin. Sinclair lets out a short “Hm,” and clears his throat into his fist awkwardly.

As the train rumbles to life and starts to slide down the track, Delta returns to the car and pats Calvin’s shoulder, gesturing to the benches lining the car to tell him to sit anywhere he’d like, while Sinclair sits in his usual spot at the end of the bench, nearest the screen he keeps linked to Delta’s camera.

Calvin nods once, looks at his choices, then double takes when he sees the bent crater in the spot next to Sinclair, his eye stalks straightening up like a cartoon rabbit’s ears in surprise.

His observation hasn’t gone unnoticed, and Sinclair hums and reaches for his cigarette case. Suddenly feels like he needs a smoke.

“As you might be able to make out, that seat is taken.”

He gestures at Delta as the big guy wanders over and carefully lowers himself into the crater, shimmying to get comfortable; he slots in perfectly.

“Only place he’ll sit, unless we want all these chairs to be broken,” Sinclair adds, and once he spots Delta awkwardly playing with his hands in obvious embarrassment, he reaches up and pats Delta’s arm. “Aw, now, you can’t help it, son. Nobody’s blamin’ you for these chairs not quite bein’ right for ya.”

Calvin makes a bubbling noise and Delta looks at him to see him giving an encouraging thumbs-up, and Delta’s shoulders lift.

Sinclair regards Calvin’s noise awkwardly, and he watches as Calvin takes another look around the cabin to survey his choices again, then he happily plops down on the seat opposite Sinclair, placing his pad in his lap and folding his hands over it politely.

Delta’s optimistic gesture comes back and Calvin bubbles and reaches to write on his pad, and Sinclair busies himself with prepping his cigarette, glancing at Delta out of the corner of his eye and lamenting his inability to say no to the big guy.

[cursed-hermitcraft]

Every letter in xisuma is silent.

So X's name is just *insert microwave background radiation noise*

[capt-ann]

Thank you to the forever lovely @acetronaught for tagging me in people want to know you 🥰🫶🏼

tagging @iwillshipyouman @flaminglupine @agnesclementineblog @darkacademicfrom2021 and @roguemetalmaster13 do it if you want but no pressure!! I just see you guys a lot haha

favourite colour: Maroon

favourite food: Lasagna my beloved <3

song stuck in your head: Accidentally In Love by Counting Crows (yes the one from Shrek 2)

last thing you googled: “are eggs microwaveable” (yes btw, without the shell)

time currently: 5:20 am est

dream trip: honestly I have so many, I’ve always wanted to travel. I think it would be super cool to finally go to Europe and ride around with my friends <3

last book you read: Hm. I actually don’t remember bc I’ve been on AO3 so much lately.

last book you enjoyed reading: I Am the Messenger by Markus Zusak (read it !! I’ve read it like a hundred times now)

last book you hated reading: Does the AP Chemistry book count bc I haven’t opened textbooks in college that I’ve hated out of sheer appreciation for my mental health 🫶🏼

fave thing to cook/bake: Brownies!! Just because I’m quite good at it — and pasta I suppose bc I love pasta

fave craft to do in your spare time: like origami hearts/cranes/etc, or writing fics

most niche dislike: oh darling. we could certainly be here a while

opinion on circuses current and historic: far too familiar with the ins and outs. My friends are all clowns 🫶🏼

actual opinion on circuses current and historic: don’t really have one, I think it depends. I’ve been to one with tigers and it made me sad

do you have a sense of direction? what's the worst way you got lost?: okay listen. LISTEN. Bare with me. I have a pretty great sense of direction, alright. Like I always remember where we came from or where the cars parked or etc etc okay. I’ve won several bets on this matter. However ☝🏼 this story is. Contradictory to that. But in my defense (insert sobbing noises)—anyway I got lost in my aunts suburban neighbourhood once while texting and walking and my phone was on 3% when I noticed I was lost—the more I thought “oh it’s this way!” The more I got lost. When I pulled up Google maps it said the house was 20 minutes away and—

[nxrthmizu]

love in bubble wraps.

fandom | haikyuu!!

pairing | kuroo tetsurou x reader

genre | fluff

w.c | 1.9k

author's note | based on a real life experience... :)

Love, you think, comes in many forms. Sometimes love is a warm, home-cooked meal that is now cooked at least once a week because you told your mother you liked it. Other times, love is laughing and crying alongside the friends you’ve known since pre-school because everyone passed their highschool finals with flying colours. Throughout our lives, we gradually come to meet the different forms of love, because it comes in all shapes, colours, and sizes.

First, we learn that love is a roof that you can always turn to when a storm blows in. Then, we learn that love is knowing that there are people who will drop everything to help you when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. Lastly, we learn to interlock our fingers with the one we wish to walk to the end of time with.

Then again, love varies from person to person— Just like how the goddess of love, Aphrodite, looks different to every soul that sets its sights on her; Beauty truly lies in the eye of the beholder. For some, love comes in the form of a warm body to cuddle next to on a rainy day. For others, love comes in the form of a jewelled ring. For you, love comes in the form of a 6’2 man who still doesn’t know how to tame his bedhead.

Tetsurou is often too busy for his own good, always running around here and there to secure contracts, ensuring that Japan can make a name for itself during the Olympics. He books train tickets to opposite ends of Japan at least once a month, leaving before the sun rises and returning after it sets. The sun never dictates his work day, because while his coworkers work from nine to five, Tetsurou works until he finishes his tasks.

Okay, so your husband is a bit of a workaholic. And maybe not just a bit.

“L/N-san,” Your colleague asks one day out of sheer curiosity. A group of women are gathered around the snack station, sipping on cheap, machine-produced instant coffee as they gossip about their marital lives instead of working. “Now that I think about it… I’ve never met your husband, have I?”

“Ah,” You sweat-drop nervously at this. Wonderful— Your parents are already pressuring you about how Kuroo rarely visits with you— And now your coworkers, too? “He’s quite busy. He works very hard to make sure that we’ll be well-off in the future.” You respond, knowing that your reply is just a thinly-veiled way of saying ‘He’s rarely home,’.

“Oh, that’s awful,” Wherever you go, there’s always a middle-aged lady who has nothing better to do than to prey on the weak spots of your life, “It must feel lonely. You must feel so sad when you see my husband pick me up from work.” A smirk dances up her lips as she waits for you to walk into her trap, smiling as widely as a spider watching its incoming meal.

“Not really,” A practiced smile counters hers as you take a sip of your coffee. “I know Tetsurou loves me— There’s an unbreakable trust between us. He might not be home often, but I know that he’s working hard so that we can have a better tomorrow… And that’s sort of comforting, in a sense. Knowing that Tetsurou wishes for a future where we’re financially stable, where we can just spend a whole day doing nothing in each other’s presence…”

A chorus of ‘awws’ makes you blush. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the middle-aged coworker huff in failure. You mentally fist-pump the air at your victory.

“Anyway, I heard that you got engaged last weekend, Shiho-san,” Changing the topic quickly, you smile when the attention of all the ladies instantly redirects to the said woman, who blushes fiercely as they all coo at her ring. “Congratulations!”

“Oh my! He bought you such a beautiful ring… Ah, Shiho-san, you’re so lucky!”

“My husband also bought me a new bag last week,” The middle-aged woman chips in proudly, cocking her head towards her cubicle, where the leather handbag sits atop a tower of documents. “It’s very expensive.”

“That’s nice of him! It’s been forever since my husband bought me something.” Sighs another lady. Most of the group hums in agreement, sharing sympathetic looks with those that share the same fate.

“At the beginning, when we were still dating, Hayato used to buy me so many things, now…” The coworker that brings homemade cookies every New Years’ party says, looking dejected. “It’s like once we’re married, they don’t have to worry about making us happy anymore…”

“Ah, what about you, L/N-san? Does your husband buy you things often?”

You groan internally when the attention shifts to you once more. Honestly, you’re just there to listen and enjoy your coffee— Must you keep getting dragged into the conversation? “Well, personally I don’t really need my husband to buy me things to keep me happy, but… He does bring back trinkets whenever he travels.” You think about it for a while, then brighten when you remember the latest thing Tetsurou brought back for you.

“What is it?” Your change in expression isn’t missed by your coworkers, who preen with curiosity, excited to know what made you brighten up.

“Ah, it’s nothing… I promise, you’ll be disappointed if I tell you.” You chuckle.

“Come on!” “Be a good sport, L/N-san!” “We’re curious now, you can’t not tell us!”

“Oh, fine.” You sigh, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Three days ago, Saturday ]

You were on the couch, binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy with the Netflix subscription Tetsurou got for you to occupy yourself with while he was out of town. Your cat, Kazume (nicknamed after your husband’s best friend) lazed on your lap, yawning once in a while and swatting at the stray threads from your sweater.

Somewhere in between your fifteenth and seventeenth episode, the front door chirped with the sound of someone inserting a key into the lock. You perked up at the noise, Kazume yelping in protest as he almost slipped off.

“Oh, sorry Kazu.” You said quickly, a smile widening your lips as the front door opened.

“I’m ho—” Before your husband could finish his sentence, you were already at his side. Kazume meowed loudly from the couch, complaining about you abandoning him for another man. Tetsurou’s eyes softened, the edges of his hazel irises worn down by exhaustion. You took his laptop bag from him, as well as the folders he has in hand, balancing them like how you would balance your three grocery bags when Tetsurou wasn’t around to help. “I missed you too, but are you sure you can carry all of my files with one hand?”

“Yes!” You replied confidently, showcasing your balance as you wobbled through the living room with all of your husband’s stuff. Tetsurou’s laugh echoed through the apartment as he followed you, his reflexes coming into play as he dived for a falling file. “Oops.” You giggled, helping him up after he practically hurled himself at the floor.

Tetsurou shook his head, sighing fondly while he hugged you from the back, taking comfort in the familiar smell of your hair shampoo. “I missed you.” He mumbled.

“Me too.” You hummed, reaching back to stroke your hands through his still-untamed bedhead.

“Oh, before I forget,” Tetsurou leapt up suddenly, chucking his backpack onto the ground. “I brought back something for you!”

“I already have like, twenty-five keychains from Hyogo,” You reminded him, “Please tell me it’s not a…” Your voice trailed off when Tetsurou proudly whipped his gift from his backpack, hazel eyes shining for your reaction.

“... So?” Tetsurou grinned widely, like a five-year-old child holding up his drawing for his mother to critique.

“Oh my god, I love you.” You declared in your 80 sq ft kitchen, grabbing the gift from him. “I’ll clean up your stuff, go take a bath and we can have dinner while watching the…'' You pursed your lips as you try to recall the information that kept evading you like an annoying fly. “... 15th? 16th episode of Grey’s.”

“You started that without me? I said I wanted to watch that.” Tetsurou pouted petulantly like a child.

“I finished all the other stuff I wanted to watch,” You told him unapologetically. “And Kazume wanted to watch it too. Now hurry and take a bath or I’m starting without you.”

Twenty minutes later, you were cuddled up to your husband, who did not bother to comb his hair (“It’ll just be messy later anyway,” His reasoning was). Every few seconds, he would scoop some cold mash potato out of the giant bowl (The two of you were too impatient to heat it with the microwave) and feed you. All throughout the episode, there was the constant pop-pop-pop of you working your way through the giant piece of bubble wrap Tetsurou had brought home for you.

“You know, I was thinking,” You hummed as Tetsurou pressed ‘Next Episode’. “If It were any other woman, they might have slapped you for bringing just bubble wrap home after a whole week away.”

“Well, then I’m lucky that you aren’t ‘any other woman’, am I?” Your husband smiled, pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips before picking up the mash potato bowl again. “Are we just going to have mashed potatoes for dinner?”

“I bought spicy instant noodles yesterday, we can have that later if you want.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Present, Tuesday ]

“That’s actually so sweet of him!” Your colleague coos as you finish your story. “Wish I had a husband like that…'' Even the middle-aged lady begrudgingly nods in agreement. For a moment, you feel a surge of pride— It was your husband they were talking about— Your sweet, hardworking, dork of a 6’2 bedhead.

“You wouldn’t be able to survive.” Another lady snorts. “That guy is away for weeks at a time.”

You hum. “Well, at least he calls back every night, regardless of how tired he is.” In the corner of your mind, you remember that he makes sure to call his grandmother every weekend, and that he sends his parents (and grandparents) money every month, that he visits your parents the first Sunday after he’s back from his trips— Not to mention that he always brings a gift of wellness products (The most recent one was a box of abalone).

The group of women swoon once more.

“Well, I guess we should get back to work,” You dispose of your paper cup in the trash, brushing your hands off. “See you ladies later.”

The moment you’re back at your desk, you take out your phone to text your husband, who is, no doubt, going to be very, very confused.

[ y/n ] 2.37pm

— we have a problem

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.39pm

— what’s wrong???

[ y/n ] 2.38pm

— i may have accidentally caused 20 women in my office to fall in love with you

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.38pm

— what ???

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

you know it's love when your dad comes home with this giant piece of bubble wrap and your mom literally squeals and snatches it to immediately start popping it on the couch while browsing facebook on her ipad