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[midseo]

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[nvuy]

oil, but the petroleum kind, not the lavender kind — wanderer

summary. the wanderer keeps breaking down, and as frustrating as he believes you to be, you’re the only person on this god forsaken planet that knows how to fix him.

notes. obligatory first post of 2.7k words is not a navigation post, and had to be scaramouche related because i’m not obsessed at all. i actually don’t like him. not one bit.

warnings. innuendos because you’re a bit weird. also not proofread, so mind your eyes.

The puppet trudged into the rundown warehouse with a sickening twist in his stomach, like a towel wrung too tight.

In his right hand was his left hand. Popped right off at the socket, and buzzing incessantly. He would kill The Doctor when he got his hands on him; why would there need to be an unnecessary bzzt! in his ear every time something in his body went wrong. Case in point, his hand was not attached to his arm.

He didn’t need a warning alarm. He could very well see the problem.

Nonetheless, he barged through the door with a permanent snarl imprinted on his lips.

Typical. You were asleep at a bench in the back, spine bent at an awkward angle with your forehead resting on your forearms. Your arms were covered in charcoal of some sort, as well as white smears from the paint bucket you decided would make a great pillow.

It reeked of oil. He noticed a black leak from beneath one of the machines. It looked old, very much so, with lots of holes for missing compartments. It screamed Fontaine, if he’d ever seen anything like it.

Impatiently, he thwacked the back of your head. “Hey.”

You shot up from the seat. There were dark imprints around your eyes from where you’d been wearing the safety glasses over your head.

You blinked blearily at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he repeated. “I need your supposed ‘expertise.’”

“What sort of time do you call this?” you scolded.

“Five in the afternoon.” And he was right. Oops. You swore you’d fallen asleep last night, too. You swivelled around in the chair to face the clock ticking on the wall. It was a good few minutes behind the actual time, but yep. Three past five.

Then, you stood up. “I’ve been sleeping for twelve hours?!” You shoved the chair out of the way and bounded for the giant machine. “Gods!” You vaguely remember setting an alarm. You had no idea what you were doing, rubbing at your eyes and blinking the sleep from them.

You hit the machine with the side of your fist.

“You can cry later.” He tossed his hand at you and you barely caught it. “My ears need fixing as well.” For good measure, there was another vibrating buzz deep inside his head, and he jolted.

“Do you want your hair done, too?”

He almost hissed at you.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” You sighed, still staring sadly at the machine. “You know the drill. On the bench.”

So, he got on the bench. The same as what he'd done for centuries with another man. It was different now with you; he’d insisted the pain you inflicted, as unintentional as it was, didn’t hurt in the slightest because he’d experienced much worse, but you’d paused every time. With a grimace too, like you were worried about his state. It was never anything worth mentioning anyway.

He wasn’t a frequent customer, per say. Frankly, not many people that came in claimed they were sentient puppets anyway. You’d believed him, as absurd as the claim was. And you’d poked at the indentation on the nape of his neck.

But, he’d visited more often than he’d like to admit. More often than not because he was breaking down without constant maintenance—and no, it wasn’t because he was old—to the extent that it frustrated him. Limbs popping off if too much pressure was applied, especially now with his newfound Vision attached to his heart.

He hated to admit your company was tolerable, even if all you did was blabber about machines. You’d taken a rather strange interest in him, it seemed, though. Not that he minded. He liked to be doted upon.

“Are you finally gonna let me–”

“No.” There it was. The pathetic begging to crack him open and watch how he worked. Every time, without failure, like a broken record spinning the same loop on repeat.

You pouted. “But I do things for you.”

“Fix my hand,” he practically demanded. He felt you reach over his legs when he straightened them out on the bench. Then, there was the sound of a buckle, and his right ankle was ensnared on the table. “What are you doing?”

“You squirmed too much last time,” you explained, tightening the buckle around his left ankle.

“You’re not exactly gentle.” He made no effort to fight you. “And this treatment is barbaric.”

You tested the restraints. “Whatever. My warehouse, my rules.”

“You’re filthy, by the way,” he said. You smelled like oil, so strongly he was convinced you’d doused it on yourself like a fragrance. Usually, you liked to combine a mixture of lavender and coconut. When you were clean, of course. You tied his right arm down to the bench. “You should shower.”

“I would, but there’s a dog barking at me on my workbench.”

He almost turned his head to bite your arm.

Nonetheless, his hand was an easy fix. He’d probably be able to do it himself, in all honesty, but it gave him an excuse to escape Lesser Lord Kusanali’s never ending ramblings and such. Not to mention he could visit you, as pathetic as it sounded.

The limb reattached with a pop that made him tense immediately. Other than that, he wriggled his fingers experimentally, and they worked just fine.

His ears were the worst. Not only did they require constant maintenance, but aforementioned 'constant maintenance' needed patience. Patience that you, nor him, had.

And because of that, it was hurting him. He tried not to let it show, not that you couldn’t tell, but there was simply no other way to do it. His ears were tricky technology because he didn’t have standard human anatomy, or anything that was a poor imitation of it. No cochlea, no eardrum, no nothing, so permanent hearing damage wasn’t too much of an issue.

In the absolute worst case scenario, if you completely destroyed whatever it was that allowed him to hear, you were sure you could make something. You were crafty like that. It also sounded fun. (And gave you the excuse to bury your hands in his chest and see what he was made of).

His ear buzzed and he jolted.

You frowned, the scaler tool wedged deep inside his ear canal. “Stop moving.” Your fingers pressed to his temples to steady his squirming.

“I’m not trying to.” Another buzz. “Ow, you wretch! Get off me!”

You held his head still. “Yeah, yeah, you big baby. I’m almost done.”

His fingers curled into his fists and he shut his eyes as tight as he could when you readjusted his head to his side.

The pain wasn’t even the worst part of it. It was just uncomfortable. He’d rather just cut off his ears and be finished with it.

Another bzzt and he grunted. There was a pained and wobbly line coating his lips. His eyes glossed over.

You tried to ignore how he was practically trying to curl up into himself and shift away from the tools. You needed a pair of suture scissors in his ear as well, and he almost broke free of his restraints when he felt more pressure.

“I think I–”

“Finish this,” he said dully, voice embarrassingly shaky.

“I can’t.” You pulled the tools slowly from his ear. “It’s not your ear. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

The buzzing was astoundingly miserable, and there was now a sharp ache to accompany it. “Well, then what is it, genius?”

“Something’s up with whatever controls your hearing. And no, it’s not your ears. There’s literally nothing in there.” You traced his earlobe soothingly, still thoughtful. “Did you fall?”

He did. A very very large fall, might he add, but he wasn’t going to tell you that. “Never mind that. You can’t fix my ear?” For a laugh, it buzzed again.

“I can, but–”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, well, if you don’t want me to help you, then get out of my warehouse.”

The puppet bristled like a cactus. “I stated, very clearly, might I add, that my ear and my hand needed fixing. There is no reason for you to pull me apart.”

There was a scowl etched onto his face.

“Clearly it’s more than just an ear problem, old man.” You poked at his chest teasingly. “I’ll charge you less if you let me pull you open.”

“No. And you’ve never charged me regardless.”

“Negative number charge.” You tapped your cheek. “You can pay me with a kiss.”

“I will leave,” he threatened. He felt heat creep into his chest.

“Not if I keep you here.” You leaned over the workbench to retrieve your toolbox. “C’mon. I’ll be quick. And I’ll fix your ear. It’s a win-win situation.”

He jolted when his ear buzzed once more. It was like torture choosing between a constant involuntary and painful twitch and your hands below his skin.

They both sounded like terrible outcomes, though one was slightly more feasible than the other.

“Fine. Be quick.”

You gasped, eyes sparkling. “Really?!” Alarm bells rang in his head when you raised a hammer over his torso. “You got it.”

“I have buttons,” he forced out swiftly. “Put the hammer down.”

You practically threw the hammer somewhere else. It clattered on the ground with a loud clang, making his ears buzz. He writhed for a moment, and his teeth gritted at the incessant stiffening pain in his joints.

The restraints were growing difficult to bear. The cloying scent of freedom just out of reach was overwhelming.

“Where are they?”

If his wrists weren’t tied down to the table, he would’ve flailed unintentionally and caught you right in the stomach. “Hips.”

You whistled lowly. “Nice.”

He shot you the most withering glare he could muster whilst his left eyelid began to twitch.

You managed to get the waistband of his pants down just enough to see two large markings on either side of the roundest part of his hips. The waistband sat dangerously low, and he tried to control the twitching, though that didn’t seem to help.

Experimentally, your fingers grazed the deep purple markings. There was a shock that raced up your fingers; a warning not to try anything stupid.

The longer you pressed your fingers, the purple rose higher and higher towards his torso.

There, the electro-like veins and circuits formed a square that covered the expanse of his stomach to the tip of his ribs.

There was a hiss, and then the square sank into his torso.

He grunted at the vulnerability.

His skin gave way and slid below another portion of his hip, completely out of sight.

You stared down into him for a moment.

He wanted you dead. “What?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything.

His thigh twitched; whether it was him trying to remove himself from his confines, or if the surging Anemo was seeping down to his legs was a question that he couldn’t even answer.

He wanted to bark, or retaliate, or harp on about how weird you were, but he refrained. You were here to help, as strange as it was.

Instead, he murmured, “hurry up.”

“I’m serious.” You reached over and prodded a circuit running in a loop along his spine. “Whoever created you sure took their sweet time.”

“Enough.” He tried to sound as menacing as he could from his position. “Just finish this.”

So, you began, playing with an assortment of tools and wires to see what made him jolt.

Just as he’d so proudly proclaimed many times before, his mechanics and anatomy were beyond your understanding. From your own personal experience, robotic puppets would be absolutely filled with machinery and crossbeams and devices of all sorts, with barely any wriggle room for experimentation.

The puppet on the table was filled with almost nothing. There were a few core pieces, one of which you recognised as actuators stuck to the internal joints of his limbs.

As you poked and prodded, the puppet tried his very best to remain still. He’d been opened before, countless times actually, but with the intention of pain. Hurt, as a price to pay for power. Gloved fingers would yank and pull and shock until whatever was beneath his skull melted behind his eyes.

You were simply and innocently curious. Albeit a bit wobbly and unsure with your fingers.

“No clue what I’m looking at.” You nudged at a weird metallic square with purple script where a stomach would be. “This one looks important, though.” You then knocked on it, and his ear buzzed in tune with your knuckles. Found it. There were two wires from the square that crept up suspiciously close towards his ears.

As you worked, his hearing faded in and out. You’d asked him questions throughout, even having to wave a hand in his face when you noticed he was completely unaware that you’d spoken at all.

It wasn’t as jarring as he would’ve thought it’d be; although, there was an aching disappointment in his chest when your voice didn’t come through in his head properly.

His hearing eventually came to properly. He could feel the tugging and harsh pulling of the circuitry and wires controlling his ears, but the buzzing eventually subsided. Relief was light on his shoulders when he could finally sit still for longer than five seconds.

But even though his ears were fixed, and he clearly wasn’t twitching anymore, you’d barely moved from your spot with feeling hands.

He sighed. “You’re taking a long time considering how much you prattle on about your ‘inventive genius.’”

“I’m having my fun.” Experimentally, you pulled at one of the actuators, and his right index finger twitched involuntarily in response. “You’re a work of art.”

“Whatever comes out of your mouth never fails in making me want to shrivel into a ball and die. Did you know that?”

You tugged at another mysterious wire and his shoulder jolted violently. You were smiling, knocking his rib cage softly. “This is so cool.”

You whistled a tune while you tended to him. More yanks of things you didn’t understand like some sort of toddler on your end, but he figured if it made you happy and satiated that never ending curiosity, he’d let it slip through his fingers.

Just this once.

Patience was not his forte, however, because soon enough, the uncomfortable persistence of hands where there shouldn’t be was weighing heavy on his chest like an anvil.

He grunted. “Are you finished groping me?”

“I could do this forever, I think.” There was that stupid smile still printed onto your lips. “I’d love to pull you to pieces and see what happens.”

“A strange proclamation that I won’t let happen, unless you don’t want to keep your hands.” The restraints were like lead wrapped around his limbs. “Stop drooling over me and hurry up.”

You sighed, disappointed. “Yes, princess.” You closed up the hearing compartment, making sure you hadn’t ruined anything else before allowing the exterior skin to slide back over the hole in his torso. “I’m finished.”

He was disgusted by the appalling nickname.

But, you seemed pleased.

He was proud of himself for it, and secretly pocketed the pride. However, the scowl remained on his face.

“So…” You moved to unbuckle the restraints. “Where’s my ‘thank you?’”

“Shouldn’t I be receiving one for being so generous?” When you froze with the restraints, a reminder of who was at a disadvantage here, he let out an exasperated sigh, before mumbling, “thank you.”

“Mm-hm. You’re welcome.” You leaned over the table. “And where’s my kiss?”

“You’re an insufferable rodent and I should squash you beneath my heel,” he threatened through his teeth.

You remained frustratingly unperturbed. “One kiss or you can stay on the table.”

“I will spit in your face.”

“Fine.” You unbuckled the restraints. “You’re missing out.”

“I’m sure I am.”

You blew a raspberry at him before you dusted off your hands. You really needed a shower, actually, but the broken machine sitting in all its glory with a pungent oil leak was staring at you with big bug eyes.

You kicked it in retaliation.

While you moped, the puppet struggled with an inner turmoil. He was still standing by the table, testing out his hand—not that he really needed to, actually. You’d helped him many times before, all with precision. You’d never let him leave with a problem.

And that was the thing.

He felt he did have a problem, and his skin felt like it was alight.

His hand was fine, and the incessant buzzing in his ear had finally ceased.

He heard you flop back down into the swivel chair for a moment, hands in your hair as you moved around the circumference of the base, trying to eye where the leak was coming from.

He turned with a spout of quickly dying determination.

A tweak of one of the bolts in the machine had a spring of black petroleum target your face and thoroughly drenched you.

You looked like a sad, wet cat.

He was heating up, and his mind wandered elsewhere.

“Hey.”

You turned around defeatedly in the now wet swivel seat, clicking a pen you’d just found absentmindedly. “Yep.”

His lips pressed to your own.

When you tried to lean forward closer to him, tried anything, to pull him onto the chair with you, or let your fingers creep towards his hips, he shoved you back into the chair and left.

In absolutely no world would he let you witness the bright blue beneath his skin flickering to life with heat all over.

You tasted like oil. There was a black smear across his lips that he frantically fought rubbing off all the way back to the city.

[gojoswhitebabydolllashes]

Day. Night. Bathroom floor. Bathroom sink. In the kitchen. In the living room. On the desk. On the bench. On the floor. On shattered glass. Side ways, upwards. Downstairs. Downwards. To the left take it back now y'all. CRISS CROSS!!! Holy moly slip slop slap. Wap. Bucket and a mop. Clean up on aisle 4. On the windowcil. Outside. Inside. On the grass. On the carpet. On the cold concrete. In the cupboard. IN THE ARENA. Through the bars. Toe curling. Head falling, back arching. Coma inducing. Need an epipen. Teeth chattering. EARTH CRUMBLING. Skyfall. volcanoes erupting. Tsunami causing. Forced proximity. Enemies to lovers. Friends to lovers. Book ripping. Tree barking. Maid outfit. Sheet gripping. Illegal probably. Underwater. On the sand. In a tree. In the clouds. On a boat. In a storm. To chase Atlantic. To the neighbourhood. To the weeknd. Name screaming. Drilling nails. Wood shattering. Sexist. Feminist. No morals. On the balcony. On the washing machine.

[pumperpup]

Jeff's life was a well-oiled machine, timed to the rhythm of dumbbell clanks and protein shakes. As a top fitness trainer with a chiseled physique, he was the epitome of health and discipline. But life had a surprise in store, one that would turn his well-structured world upside down.

It started one morning when Jeff, famed for his washboard abs, noticed his belly was... different. Not the usual "I-ate-too-much-pizza" different, but "Why-does-it-look-like-I'm-three-months-pregnant" different. A visit to the doctor, and several bewildering tests later, the impossible was confirmed: Jeff was pregnant.

At first, Jeff thought it was a practical joke. But when morning sickness hit him like a freight train, reality sunk in. His gym buddies were in disbelief, watching their role model swap deadlifts for ginger tea and saltine crackers.

Jeff's journey was nothing short of hilarious. His cravings were unpredictable and fierce. He once halted a training session to devour a jar of pickles. His mood swings were legendary, turning from drill sergeant to weepy mess in the blink of an eye. His once immaculate gym attire was replaced by baggy sweatpants and oversized t-shirts.

Despite the challenges, Jeff's spirit never waned. He started a blog: "Dad-Bod Diaries," chronicling his journey. It was an instant hit. People couldn’t get enough of his humorous take on pregnancy woes: from his struggle to tie his shoes to attending a prenatal yoga class, where he awkwardly outstretched among expectant mothers.

As his due date approached, Jeff’s perspective on fitness and life evolved. He learned to listen to his body, trading high-intensity workouts for gentler routines. He began to appreciate fitness as a journey rather than a destination, a mantra he passionately shared with his clients.

The big day arrived with its own set of comedic misadventures. Jeff went into labor in the middle of a spin class. Panicked, he was whisked away by his gym buddies on a gym bench-turned-stretcher, creating a spectacle as they clumsily navigated through the busy city streets to the hospital.

Jeff's delivery room was a circus of laughter and tears. His gym friends, who had become his support system, were there every step of the way, providing comic relief and emotional support. When Jeff finally held his baby, the room erupted in cheers. It was a moment of pure joy and triumph.

Life post-pregnancy was a new adventure for Jeff. He was now not just a trainer but a role model for embracing life's curveballs. His classes were more popular than ever, infused with his newfound wisdom and humility. He even started a "Baby and Me" workout session, integrating his child into his fitness regime.

The "Dad-Bod Diaries" continued, now filled with anecdotes of juggling fatherhood and fitness. Jeff's story was a testament to the unpredictable nature of life, and the beauty found in rolling with the punches. He had not only transformed his body but also his heart and mind, inspiring countless others along the way.

And so, Jeff's journey continued, one laugh, one lift, and one diaper change at a time.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Razor's Edge

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 18

If you've learned one thing, it's that moments of peace never last long.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

TW: PTSD, angst, terrible coping mechanisms

There wasn’t much sleep to be found that night, and Leon was glad it was for a different reason than seeing ghosts dance in the dark. No, that night, he lay awake with only you on his mind. He found himself peering through the shadows, looking towards where your bunk was - one row up and two to the left - wondering if, maybe, you were having trouble sleeping for the same reasons. 

It made him feel a little ridiculous, that he was so excited to feel your touch, but he didn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed by it anymore. He was still young and now, for the first time in months, he actually felt it. 

He felt like a person again, instead of a cog in a machine, being crushed and reforged into something he wasn’t. 

So, however silly it was, he let his excitement keep him up long into the night, and when he finally slept, he dreamed of you. Only of you. His mind graced him with your touch, your taste, and Leon was all too happy to let the dream overtake him.

In the morning, he wondered if you knew what he was dreaming about, because as you and the rest rose from bed, your eyes found his instantly. The sweet torture began then and there. The anticipation. He wasn’t sure then how he was going to endure the countdown until evening, not when you were so close to him all day. Just out of reach. He glimpsed the skin of your back as you got ready, sliding your shirt on. Keeping your back to everyone. Hiding your scars. Then he caught you looking his way as he pulled his own shirt over his head. 

You grinned - so small that only someone who knew to look for it would catch it - and Leon wished he could grab time and push it past him. He wanted the day to blur by, to skip ahead. 

When you all formed up for morning drills, though, and Leon saw more of a storm than a person when he looked at Major Krauser, he knew that the day would, in fact, be a long one. 

It wasn’t the running with munitions cases that clued Leon in to the fact that Krauser was angry, or the way he timed each person at the firing range. Hell, even the doubled punishments for mistakes weren’t too out of the ordinary. It was the fact that Krauser was so quiet through it all. Never once did he make a scathing remark, or give one of his cruel, crooked smiles. He would just give corrections and dole out discipline with a tight-lipped frown, pointing out each and every misstep. Every moment of weakness. He wasn’t sure if he was frustrated or grateful that the struggle of it all forced him to focus on something other than you. By the time lunch rolled around, Leon was well and truly grateful for the extra hours he’d put in with you - Williams, Alenko and the rest of the cadets that had moved up with him were boneless as they slumped into their seats. He, at least, only felt like he was going to pass out a little. 

Even you looked winded, your shoulders slumped forward a bit and as you steadied your breathing. Still, you offered Leon a look - one that he’d come to know as encouragement. The day wasn’t over, after all. 

But god, he wished it was. 

He wished the two of you were alone, somewhere else where he could act on his desires. All the exhaustion in the world wouldn’t change that, he was sure. He decided then and there that even if this day sapped all his strength, he’d still drag himself to your side. So, he would endure whatever he had to, if he could escape to your touch when evening fell. He would push through the training, even if Krauser seemed to have a bone to pick with each and every one of them. 

“What did we do to piss him off?” Williams asked from down the bench, draping herself over the table only for Alenko to shove her away from his food. 

“I think us existing is justification enough for him,” he huffed. 

Leon wasn’t so sure - and if your expression was any indication, neither were you. Krauser was an asshole, sure, but never without purpose. At least, that was what Leon had seen of him since he started training with the Major. So, if he was pushing this hard . . . “He always has reasons for what he does,” you said, and both Williams and Alenko seemed surprised you were speaking to them at all. Leon couldn’t blame them - it wasn’t often that you engaged with the other members of the squad, even those that you had trained with for longer. He almost laughed at the fact that you were doing it now to defend Krauser’s brutal teaching style. But then, he saved your life once, hadn’t he? Leon could understand your loyalty, even if sometimes he disagreed. 

“I know he’s trying to prepare us but damn,” Williams said after a while, shaking her head. “Feels like my legs are gonna fall off.” 

“You’ll be fine. He picked you all to be here for a reason,” you insisted. It wasn’t a reassurance delivered with an abundance of compassion, per se, but Leon could hear the sincerity in your voice. It made him smile, and even through her surprise, Williams almost did the same. 

Then, she grimaced again. “Yeah, well, kinda wishing I got left back with the old squad, right about now.” 

“What?” Leon grinned. “And miss out on all the fun?” 

“It’s only fun for you because you’re getting one-on-one instruction with the fucking Terminator, Kennedy.” Williams glanced over to you as soon as she said the words, wincing as she realized she’d spoken them out loud. “No offense.” 

You just shrugged, taking another bite of your food. If anything, Leon swore you might have liked the nickname. “None taken.”

“Which reminds me,” Alenko butted in, looking towards you and Leon. “If you ever want a break from sparring with just each other, I wouldn’t mind getting a few pointers. Can’t let you outclass us in everything.” He gave Leon a friendly, challenging grin, and Leon wanted to return it. He did his best to, but the idea of other people joining in the evening training the two of you had been doing . . . it was selfish of him, but he didn’t like it, to say the least. 

Especially today of all days, when you had all but promised him what he’d been dreaming of for weeks. 

“You almost had me in the assessment,” you said to Alenko coolly, even if Leon thought he saw a bit of tension creep into your jaw. “You’re doing well already.” 

“Yeah, but we all could be doing better. Maybe that’ll give Krauser less to be angry about, if we’re all pushing ourselves.” 

“There’s pushing and then there’s punishing,” Williams said, then added, “again, no offense.”

“And we’ve been getting our asses kicked every day for the last week,” Alenko shook his head. 

“All the more reason for us to put in some extra hours. Less ass-kicking sounds good, don’t you think?”

He was right, but even so . . . Leon glanced between you and the other soldier, trying to think of what to say that wouldn’t give anything away-

“Alright,” you said, and Leon nearly jumped out of his skin until you went on. “Tomorrow, if you want to join, you can. Don’t think fighting today would do you or me any good,” you said, glancing at the way Alenko’s body was slumped in on itself, and Leon could kiss you then and there for the evasion. 

Alenko huffed a little laugh and nodded. “Fair point. Think the mandatory sparring will be enough for me today.” 

Leon almost agreed with him. He couldn’t help but feel that the worst of Krauser’s trials that day had yet to come. So, as the squad formed up in the training yard that afternoon, he tried to prepare himself. Everyone was paired off, and Leon found himself standing across from none other than Valeria, the soldier giving him a wicked smile. She didn’t say anything - not while Krauser was giving instructions - but Leon could almost hear her taunts anyway. He glanced over at you, seeing you rolling your shoulders back, standing across from Alejandro. It almost made him laugh; after last night, you likely had some frustrations to vent with the man, even if Alejandro didn’t know it. 

That urge to laugh died in Leon’s throat when Krauser started to speak, his words more serious than Leon had ever heard them. “Come arm yourselves. We’ll begin when I give the word and not a second before,” he said, gesturing to his side, to the table where sunlight shone bright off of steel. 

Leon followed behind the other recruits, reaching the table just as you and Alejandro reached for the knives . . . and then paused. It didn’t take Leon long to realize what had made you both hesitate. He had become intimately familiar with the practice blades over the last few weeks. All blunted with cheap grips, designed to take a beating and to imitate the real thing closely enough for practice’s sake. 

The knives on the table were not the blades you all have been using so far. Rather, they were pristine, their handles seemingly untouched and their blades brand new. 

Being brand new wasn’t the only thing that caught Leon’s eyes about those blades, and he felt his heart speed up.

They looked . . . 

 “Are these edged, sir?” Alejandro asked first, and Krauser just gave him a look. 

“They are,” the Major nodded, and Leon felt his stomach drop. “Now go, you’re holding up the line.” 

Leon hadn’t known Alejandro long, nor did he know him well, but he could see the normally intense man waver before he reached for the weapon. There was confusion in his eyes as he stepped to the side, and he carefully thumbed the edge of the knife, like he was sure that Krauser had been lying. By the knot that formed between his brows, Leon could see that the Major had been telling the truth. The weapons they were going to be using today were edged. They would cut skin and muscle, if they weren’t careful. It was enough to scare Alejandro and the rest. Even Valeria stiffened at his side, a look of disbelief crossing her face. 

Leon was scared, because he’d never felt the bite of a knife before. He’d never known what it was to have steel part his skin like that. Not in a fight. Not when it was against someone trained to go for the kill. Even so, he couldn’t think too long about his own fear. 

The only person he could think of was you, because he saw the way you froze at the table, a knife clasped in your hand and your gaze fixed down on its blade. “We don’t have all day,” Krauser said, and the words forced you to move. When you turned so Leon could see you, you didn’t look at him. Even as you walked past him to join Alejandro, you didn’t spare him a glance. You didn’t spare anyone a glance. You just moved through the crowd with that unreadable expression, knife clutched tight at your side. 

He knew you weren’t seeing the world as it was, then. You were seeing that night, just as he had seen Raccoon City when Krauser had sent your squad after his in the dark, during his assessment. He knew, as you looked over at Alejandro’s knife, that you weren’t here, but rather, you were fighting off a memory. 

And he knew that, in this moment, there wasn’t anything he could do to help you. 

But he was going to try, anyway. 

“Sir, I don’t think we should-”

He didn’t even get to finish the sentence before Krauser fixed a cold glare on him. “Take the goddamn knife, rookie,” he said, before Leon could even make his point. “I have a lesson to teach.” 

The threat implied in his tone was not lost on Leon. He knew Krauser would make his life hell if he pushed this issue. He knew that he would probably just be removed from the exercise at best. At worst . . . he wasn’t sure what the worst case scenario would be. Didn’t really want to know what Krauser’s “worst” was. Not when he’d been willing to tear gas Leon and his squad for a training exercise, and not when he was going to make them fight with edged weapons now. 

He wasn’t going to do himself any favors, and at the end of the day, however you felt about what was happening, you weren’t backing down. You never would. 

So, Leon set his face in stone and reached for a blade. 

It weighed no more than the practice knives, but somehow, it felt heavier. That was all Leon could think as he and Valeria made their way to their own space, each of them eying the weapon that the other held. 

Were he elsewhere, he might have been awestruck - his mind might have assured him that this wasn’t happening. 

He knew better, though. 

He knew the blade and the threat it represented were very, very real. 

“You’ll start and stop when I give the word, understood?” 

There was silence for just a moment too long. 

“Understood?” Krauser demanded. 

“Yes, sir.” The responses were all strained. Some of the recruits, Leon included looked between each other, trying to determine if this was all some sick joke. Others just raised their blades into their preferred guards, silently preparing. Whatever the response, everyone had one thing in common: fear.

And that fear didn’t matter to the Major. “On my mark,” Krauser’s voice was the tolling of a bell across the churchyard, looming and mighty and inescapable. Leon could only bend his knees and raise his weapon, his mind rushing and his eyes wide. He and Valeria looked at each other, eyes, hands, blades, trying to determine what was about to happen. Trying to divine who would move first. Where the blades would fall. 

This was the first time he’d seen the soldier across from him afraid, but even in that moment, there was no doubt in his mind that she would attack him. That she would not hesitate. 

Krauser began a countdown. “Three-”

Control the blade-

Use the attack-

More than just your knife-

Smaller arm movements-

Everything you and the Major had told him, every lesson, flooded him so fast he could barely pick out details. He suddenly came to doubt the steel in his hand, even after all the hours spent training with you and the others. Even if he knew he was skilled, because even skilled people made mistakes. Even you made mistakes. 

Even Valeria could make mistakes. If either of them made a misstep, if either of them missed a dodge? Or cut a little too deep? 

“Two-”

He knew what pain was. He’d survived explosions. The crushing strength of a monster twice his size. A bullet. 

He could do this. 

That was what he thought as he gripped his knife tighter, the knowledge of what he’d lived through waging a brutal war against the fear of being cut. 

He didn’t have to win. He just needed to protect himself. 

“One-”

All went still. Leon felt his mind retreat to a safe distance when he needed it most. He could only stare at the knife across from him, and the woman who held it. He knew his heart was pounding in his chest. He knew fear throbbed in time with it, but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything but a heaviness that could kill. 

Oh, god.

Oh, god.

Oh, god-

Is this what you’d felt-

“Hold!”

Leon flinched, because he’d been ready to retreat. Ready to guard. Ready to bleed. Instead, he found himself staring ahead at an equally confused Valeria, the two hesitating to breathe because they wanted to make sure they’d heard the Major right. 

“You can all drop your guards,” Krauser said, and Leon felt something flash through him. Not anger, not frustration, but white hot fury. 

What the fuck had that been for?

He’d let them think they were going to cut each other to pieces in the name of practice, and for what? 

Krauser must have known to expect such anger, and such questions, because he spoke again before a slew of curses threatened to explode from Leon’s lips. “Nothing quite like the threat of real steel, is there? Sobers you up. You can have all the training in the world, but if you don’t respect the threat those knives pose, then you will get bled, someday. Going forward, when we’re using our practice knives, I want you all to remember how this felt today. And I want you all to work past that fear, because if you freeze up out there, if you give the enemy a second to act, then you will die.” His eyes, a cold blue searched the faces of the recruits before him, and Leon swallowed when he saw him glance your way. “You have to be ready. Always.” 

There was something in his voice. A frustration. A fear. 

Leon noticed it, but he didn’t much care. Didn’t feel sympathy. Because, as the squad was dismissed, he saw your face, haunted and distant, more frightened than he’d ever seen you. Alejandro noticed too, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shrugged him off, and Leon saw you fight to get your mask back on - that expression of impassiveness you hid behind so often. 

It was a failed effort. 

⧫⧫⧫

You’d failed. 

You’d seen a knife in front of you, a real, edged knife, and you’d failed.

You thought of that moment over and over again as the evening crept in, watching Alejandro’s blade as you waited for Krauser to tell you to begin. Only, you hadn’t seen Alejandro standing in front of you. No. You’d seen a dark room, and snow outside, and-

You should have known-

“What are you-” 

The knife went into you once. Twice. Three times-

You heard more than felt the bone break under the steel-

Red lenses where eyes should have been-

The gas mask hid his face, but you could feel no pity in his gaze-

Someone screaming your name-

The pain of it seemed so recent, then, and as you’d looked at that blade, you could remember with perfect clarity the agony of it. The pain that burned you from the inside out, that drove you to be what you’d become today. 

All those months spent vowing you would never feel that pain again, and you hadn’t even been able to face it here. 

How could you ever hope to survive in the real world again, if you froze when facing down a squad mate? One who wouldn’t have even gone for the kill, if the fight had actually happened. 

How could you protect anyone if you were this weak? 

Weak. 

Weak. 

That was the word that plagued you that night. When you heard Leon say your name softly, like he was afraid you were going to break, you couldn’t help but whirl on him, your anger flaring because you weren’t breakable. He didn’t need to treat you like you were. 

Then you saw his eyes, the concern there - concern and support, but no pity to be found. 

He’d never pitied you. 

You didn’t know if you could thank him for that, but you should have, maybe. 

You saw his eyes and that anger faded. Got pushed far enough back that you could almost think clearly, even as your chest felt full of hot air and your hands were clenched tight at your sides. 

“What do you need?” Leon asked, and you wanted to hate him for being so considerate, for knowing exactly what to say to you in that moment. You wanted someone to be angry with other than yourself, but it couldn’t be Leon. This wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even Krauser’s. 

The blame was on you, for not being ready. For being too weak to escape the past. 

So, when Leon asked that question, you knew your answer, even if you were sure it would confuse him. Even if you’d promised him a night of soft touches and gentle sighs. 

“Training yard.” You grunted more than spoke the words, looking away from his eyes. 

You couldn’t look into his eyes for too long. Not now. 

There was a moment of hesitation, but you saw him nod in the end. “Okay.” 

He followed you there after dinner - a meal spent in near silence. The rest of the squad had seen your reaction to the knives. They’d seen your scars, most of them. They knew better than to ask, and they knew better than to approach you today. You were grateful for the peace, if it could be called that. Then again, with the way your thoughts assaulted you, “peace” was perhaps the wrong word. Still, you wanted to be alone with those thoughts. You wanted to try to get them under control, so that by the time you and Leon reached the training yard, you would be at an equilibrium again. 

It was no great surprise to you that your plan failed, and your mind was full of troubles when you handed Leon a practice knife. There was no music playing that night.

“You’re going unarmed?” Leon asked, and you nodded without hesitation. 

“I need you not to hold back,” you said, watching as Leon’s face shifted. “I need you to come at me like you want me dead.” 

The words made Leon’s expression shift, and he took a step forward, about to protest. You stopped him. 

“Just do it,” you said, more forcefully this time. 

You hoped he could see all that you couldn’t say in your eyes. You needed this. You needed to prove to yourself that this was something you could do. You needed to be ready, so you wouldn't ever feel a blade parting your flesh again. You needed to put the past behind you at last, and maybe, just maybe, overcoming this fear was the way to do that. 

All of that was a lot for just one silent moment of eye contact. You knew Leon couldn’t read your mind. He wouldn’t know your reasons unless you told him. 

Still, it seemed that moment of eye contact was enough - and you knew as he nodded that he didn’t need to know your reasoning. Not when he probably had similar shadows biting at his heels. Leon nodded then, swallowing as he did it and raising the blade in front of him. 

“When you’re ready,” he said. 

“Don’t give me a warning,” you shook your head. Leon grimaced but nodded. 

He went for your heart first. 

You moved out of the way, your eyes flaring and any counter you would have normally performed absent.

It’s real, you tried to convince yourself, clinging to the utter and complete terror you’d felt during Krauser’s lesson. That knife is real, and if it touches me, it will draw blood. 

Leon lunged again after a moment, clearly still hesitant. “I said not to hold back,” you growled, knowing full well that you were being selfish. That you were asking him to do something he was uncomfortable with. 

But he was obliging you.

He was obliging you because he wanted to help, because he was sweet. Kind. 

If he stayed with you, would you get him killed the way you’d gotten everyone else killed? Would you be too slow, and he just fast enough to stop you from dying while forgetting himself? Would you have to watch him turn into something because you failed? 

No.

No, because you were going to be stronger than this. The past had you in a strangle-hold, and you were going to spit blood up in its eyes, kick it between the legs and overpower it. You were going to win through spite and skills and sheer power. 

Leon’s knife found its way to your neck before you could even register it, and you realized you’d been lost in your thoughts. Too focused on what you wanted, you forgot what was in front of you. 

It made something dark and deadly claw at your stomach, and you clenched your jaw. 

“Again,” you said, more forcefully than you maybe intended. 

Leon looked at you for a moment, but again, he did as you asked. 

And again, after just a few moves, you found yourself dying to a move that you should have been able to stop. He’d come at you with a feint - one you used on him more times than you could count - and the knife stuck just below your armpit as you tried for a block too slow. Bleeding you out. It made heat rise to your face, anger with yourself coming with it. You should have been better than this. 

You were better than this. 

“Again.” 

It’s real.

This time the knife slashed across your throat when you fumbled a disarm. 

“Again.” 

The knife is real.

He caught you in the stomach-

“Again.”

It’s not Leon attacking you. 

The side-

“Again!”

Red lenses where eyes should have been-

The heart. The knife hit right above your heart, and for a moment you thought you’d pulled the edged knife from your memory and into reality, because your chest hurt. You backed away, grinding your teeth together so hard your jaw ached, your throat constricting. It was anger. Anger was bringing about this reaction in you.

It didn’t matter, though. You had to keep going.

“Again-”

Leon spoke your name, and you stopped because you had never, in all these weeks, heard him sound so forceful. His eyes, normally so soft and blue, were unyielding as he looked at you. Unyielding, but compassionate in a way that only he could manage. He put the knife in his pocket and stepped towards you, reaching a hand up towards you slowly. You stilled, letting him come closer, expecting him to rest it on your shoulder. Instead, it came up to cup your cheek, and something in you began to chip and shatter. “You’re not there,” he said simply, seeing through you and into the memory you’d conjured up around you. “You’re here, with me.” 

His touch was a reminder of that, so soft against your face - a gentleness you’d not known before, completely alien next to the life of grit and gunmetal you lived. 

“Breathe.” 

It was enough to pull you back to the present, enough to make you feel the shoes you were standing in, the cooling evening air, and the beating of your heart slow a touch. 

You did as he asked, breathing slowly. In, then out. The pain in your chest made it hard, but you did it anyway. All the while, Leon kept his gaze on you, as much as part of you wished he would look away.

You stared into the sky of his eyes, searching for something you couldn’t place. Somethings, maybe. All of them unknown and out of reach. And he let you look, holding your gaze and looking for the same things in you. It was a moment that may have lasted seconds or hours, and you wouldn’t have known. Once your breathing steadied, there were still so many emotions left simmering beneath the surface, and chief among them was shame. You shouldn’t have had to rely on Leon for this. You shouldn’t have had to be doing this at all. 

“I’m sorry-” you croaked, speaking to the living and the dead alike.

Leon just shook his head, looking at you from under that ridiculous sand-blond hair. “Don’t be.”

It didn’t stop the shame from pooling in you. It didn’t erase the fear or the memories, but it did let other things rise to the surface. Things like gratitude, for him being there, fear, for him being so selfless and caring and, most of all, affection. Affection so strong it was almost staggering. 

That affection nearly knocked you to the ground when, after a moment, Leon’s hand fell away from your face and reached for the knife in his pocket. You watched him spin it around his fingers the way you so often did, giving you a soft smile before he spoke. “Again?”

That’s a dangerous game you’re playing, you’d said to Leon. Again, your own words bit into you, and you were feeling too much else to care.

“. . . Again.” 

He moved just too fast the first time around, and you were just regaining your focus. The knife ended up pressed against your neck, and you felt those thoughts encroaching again, but you brushed them off. 

You were here. You were with Leon. 

Another win for him came after a longer fight, and you could feel yourself getting tense again. 

You were with Leon, and he would never hurt you. 

And therein lay the problem, and thinking of it had you breathing heavy as you lost once again, after you nearly managed to disarm him. 

He cared for you too much. You knew what happened to people that cared for you.

You bared your teeth, blocking attack after attack. Then you grunted as a slash found your arm, but you weren’t done yet. 

If anything happened to him-

He attacked your leg, and you realized just in time that it was a feint. You blocked and struck his stomach with your free hand. He retreated just in time to avoid you taking the knife from him. 

If he died protecting you, as so many others had-

A cry of exertion escaped you as you moved to the side, seeing the knife flashing towards your gut. Towards where your scar lay. The motion made your dog tags smack against your chest. 

You would never forgive yourself. 

Your hands moved fast, trapping Leon’s hand and the knife in it against your stomach, against the rough scar tissue hidden beneath your shirt. 

You had to be stronger.

The knife came free of his grip as you twisted it loose, yelping in pain as you strained his wrist in doing so. 

You had to be able to protect him.

You bared your teeth in a yell, moving the knife so fast it could barely be seen. It landed at his windpipe, and he inhaled sharply. Eyes wide, lips parted, he looked at you then, and you saw fear in him. Not fear of you. Fear for you. 

You wouldn’t lose him, too.

You let your knife fall to his chest when you crashed your lips against his, the world around you be damned. You wanted to forget. You wanted that happiness you’d pushed away for so long. You wanted him. 

You’d made him a promise, after all. 

After a moment, he kissed you back, his free hand coming up to your shoulder as his lips moved against yours, trying to keep up. No easy feat, because you were all fire. Maybe you weren’t going to burn for long, but while you did . . . you were going to burn bright and burn strong. As you parted from him, the two of you breathless, you saw in Leon’s eyes that he was going to burn with you. 

But he was Leon. He was considerate and kind, even when his eyes were dark with desire. “Are you sure-” 

Your jaw tightened, and you realized then the pressure in your throat. It hurt as you nodded, choking your words so they were quiet. “I’m sure. If you are.” 

He looked at you then, and you thought for a moment you were going to break because no one should look at you, wretched as you were, with such care. Such adoration. “If it’s what you want - if it’ll help - then I am.” 

And then you kissed him again, letting the knife in your hands fall to the ground so you could hold him instead.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N: Soooooo next chapter will be NSFW!

[akariamai]

Mission

Part 1, Part 3

Pairing: Steve Rogers x android!reader

Word Count: 1438

Steve, lost in his thoughts, persistently punched the boxing equipment set up within the gymnasium. You, in an attempt to aid Steve in adapting to the modern world, proposed a daily regimen. Mirror a facet of his old life while incorporating education, social interaction, technology familiarization, culture exposure, and self-reflection. You handled Steve’s circumstances with care. It was a delicate situation. While he slept, you thoroughly and extensively searched through scientific journals and articles to be able to assist him to the best of your ability.

The doors of the gymnasium swung open, capturing your attention without disrupting Steve. He remained immersed in contemplation. You observed the individual meticulously. The man wore a black eyepatch over his left eye and a black leather trench coat. Head of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division (S.H.I.E.L.D), Nick Fury, tracked Steve’s movements as sand spilled onto the floor.

Steve took a few breathers, reveling in his convoluted feelings, before carrying and hooking another bag. He soon began to punch the bag.  

“Trouble sleeping?”

“I slept for seventy years, sir. I think I’ve had my fill.” Steve did not let Fury’s intrusion interrupt his drill nor did you see it fit to interrupt their conversation. Social interaction was important, and Steve was lacking in that department anyhow.

“Then you should be out, celebrating, seeing the world.”  

Steve stops punching and walks over to the bench, unraveling the tape off his hands. He sits down, “I went under, the world was at war, I wake up, they say we won. They didn’t say what we lost.”

“We’ve made some mistakes along the way. Some very recently.”

“You here with a mission, sir?”

“I am.” Fury gives you an unfamiliar look before directing the conversation towards you, “Turn off MODEL AX400.”

“I am sorry Director Fury; I only respond to Captain Rogers.”

“Steve.” He corrected you, “And [Reader] will not be turned off. Anywhere I go, they go as well.” Steve refused to refer to you as a machine or a thing. To him, you were a person without the need to eat, sleep, and breathe. You had your own thoughts; therefore, allowing yourself to make choices for yourself. You did not think he understood how your programming worked, however, it was on one of the schedules for your technology familiarization course.

“Captain Rogers, I think it would be in the best interest of the government if...” Fury tried to find the appropriate language to direct the conversation towards national security, “unauthorized technology didn’t get their hands on highly classified documents. I’d rather these files not get into the hands of enemies if MODEL AX400 was to be captured or reprogrammed.”

Steve ignored Fury’s suggestion and proceeded to browse through the files of Hydra’s projects. “Hydra’s secret weapon.”

Fury sighed knowing he had lost, “Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you. He thought what we think, the Tesseract could be the key to unlimited sustainable energy. That’s something the world solely needs.”

“Who took it from you?”

“He’s called Loki. He’s not from around here. There’s a lot we’ll have to bring you up to speed on if you’re in. The world has gotten even stranger than you already know.”  

Steve felt he knew how strange the world as become. His caretaker looked human but was made from wires. Your skin and mannerisms felt real but were constructed to perform to perfection. How stranger could the world have become? “At this point, I doubt anything would surprise me.”

“Ten bucks says you’re wrong. There’s a debriefing package waiting for you back at your apartment. Keep it away from MODEL AX400.” As Steve readies to leave, you gather the rest of his things. You hand him his water bottle as you both begin to head out. “Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?”

“You should have left it in the ocean.”

As Steve spent the rest of the day reviewing the debriefing package at the apartment, you began to make a hearty meal for him in preparation for the mission. He needed to regain the calories he spent plunging all of his energy into the gym equipment. Usually, you would teach him a new recipe as it has become routine for the two of you to cook together. You understood that he was busy working.

While Steve did not agree with Fury’s statement about you, he still kept the files away. Not like he really tried, you understood. You could not defy him even if you wanted to. “Do you want me to prepare for a prolong leave, Captain Rogers?”

“Steve,” He corrected you once again, “And yes, it would be greatly appreciated. I’m sorry, we couldn’t continue our usual schedule.” It felt wrong of him to disrupt the routine the two of you have established. He didn’t know he would get a mission so soon after his rescue. He thought he would have more time adjusting to the modern world.

You gave him what seemed to be a tender smile, “No apologies needed. It will be moved towards another time.” You went back to stirring before moving around the apartment. You had made it warmer and more personalized. Before it was cold with the walls bare and nothing to signify a person was truly living in it.

The next day Steve and you were transferred to one of SHIELD’s quinjets. As soon it landed on top of the runway, the two of you and Agent Coulson walked down the ramp. The man was obviously starstruck the entire way, blatantly staring at Steve with heart eyes and awe, but not speaking a world towards him.

“Agent Romanoff. Captain Rogers.”

“Ma’am?”

“Hi.” Her attention mildly glanced in your direction for a moment before it turned towards Coulson, “They need you on the bridge. Face time.”

“See you there.” Coulson walked away, leaving Steve and yourself with the assassin.

“There was quite the buzz around here, finding you in the ice. I thought Coulson was gonna swoon. Did he ask you to sign his Captain America trading cards yet?”

Steve was rather confused, “Trading cards?”

“They’re vintage, he’s very proud.”

You noticed a man walking towards the three of you, fidgeting due to his nervousness, maneuvering around people as they block his way. Steve notices him as well, “Dr. Banner.” They shake hands.

“Oh, yeah. Hi. They told me you’d be coming.” Bruce noticed you in the background of Steve and Agent Romanoff “Who’s this?”

“This is [Reader], they were assigned to help me adjust.” Steve mentioned.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He gave you a timid smile, a smile you returned.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Dr. Banner. I found your research to be fascinating.” You had come across his available roster of scientific journals and research upon searching for topics to bring up in your refresher course for Steve. While you would not go in-depth, unless Steve wanted to, you thought reviewing the basics would be beneficial for him.

“Word is you can find the cube.” Steve interjected.

“Is that the only word on me?”

“Only word I care about.”

Dr. Banner takes in the sentiment, “Must be strange for you, all of this.”

“Well, this is actually kind of familiar.”

“Gentlemen, you may wanna step inside in a minute. It’s gonna get a little hard to breath.” The runway begins to shake, puzzling the two men.

“Is this a submarine?”

“Really?” Dr. Banner questioned, “They want me in a submerged pressurized metal container?” All four of you moved towards the edge of the ‘runway’ and saw four large lift fans mount on the sides as it is lifted into the air. Steve is mesmerized by the technology.

“Oh, no. This is much worse.”

Steve, Banner and you walked through the gleaming bridge of the helicarrier.

“Gentlemen.” Steve silently handed Fury 10 bucks as he was indeed surprised. Fury walked towards Dr. Banner, extending his hand, hoping the doctor would shake it. “Doctor, thank you for coming.”

“Thanks for asking nicely. So, uh...” Banner questioned, “how long am I staying?”

“Captain Rogers, why don’t you leave your machine elsewhere while we discuss this privately.” This caused Banner to silently question the man as there was no machine Steve was with.

“[Reader] why don’t you go sit down while we address the details of the mission.” Steve gently stated. He did not want to argue with Fury in front of another.

“Of course, Captain Rogers.” You nodded, “Let me know if I can help in any way.”

Masterlist

[helloescapist]

To Protect

Word Count: 1389

Setting: reader pining; Amajiki x GN!reader; SFW, short

Content Warning(s): none

Summary: As a member of the Support Course Deparment Studio, you were no stranger to the sight of gore whether it was the reminiscence of battle left on hero outfits to be mended, or the aftermath of Hatsume's failed test subject, but this time was different. As the caretaker of Suneater's hero costume, it was shattering to see the damage left behind by the Hassaikai Incident.

[not my art, credit goes to the artist!]

Torn fabric, flayed seams, seared edges, even the occasional frostbite damage, you had told yourself you had seen it all from your work bench nestled in the back of the Support Course Development Studio, but this was different. This was his.

Intentionally set up, away from Hatsume prying eyes, and undetectable unless you were being specifically sought out, you held the garment tight in your hands. The nuts and bolts that strayed from Hatsume Mei’s station, the first year prone to leaving a trail of mechanics and waste in her wake held a stark difference to that of your own supplies. The profession-grade sewing machine locked and loaded, meticulously cared ever since the fateful day Majimia-sensei set it up at your work table. The tears had threatened to spill over that day as the Excavation Hero apologized relentlessly for the lack of proper tools prior to your arrival. In his defense, it was often himself who undertook the minor mends students’ hero outfits often required. Very few students were handy with a needle, and even less willing to shoulder the task. Unlike yourself, the rare few doing so only out of obligation, having left only a practically inoperable home sewing machine in their wake. The old thing had been prone to snagging, unnecessary tangles, the occasional puncture, and more than you would like to admit, the occasional devouring of a piece, and ever since that day its replacement had remained carefully tended to. (Your soul had nearly left your body when you caught Hatsume eyeing it with her drill, swiftly swatting her away with a paper fan). Next to it, the occasional cute cactus and vine plant hung in view, trailing pass shelves lined with pencils, fabric markers, and drafting paper. Diligent sketches of costumes that often visited your desk tacked to the bulletin board, one of which you now held tightly between your fingertips. Your eyebrows drawn. Your thoughts straying over all of your creation accomplishments. You hated admit the similarities between Hatsume and yourself, but much like your younger counterpart, you had a love of costume designed, likely the reason Majimia-sensei had splurged on the latest model—not that he would ever admit it. Your gusto having led you to many fabric feats, vanquishing even the most difficult of repairs, and there had been many. Tarnishing signs of emitters inflected not only on their opponent, but occasionally, on their selves had familiarized you with elemental repair. Transformation quirks were complicated, the breathability and dependability of unique fabrics, and then there were the mutant quirks that presented their own unique obstacles and forms. Yes, over the pass few years at U.A. Academy, you had told yourself that you had seen a bit of everything—from combustion to water damage, the ever changing clientele had ensured your skills were polished, and adept even going so far as securing employment post graduation. Although, you had suspected it was likely the desire to keep trade secrets under wraps, your quirk certainly was a risk to company security and development, and yet, nothing compared to the damage you held close to your breast. Squeezed eyelashes, and tight breath as you attempted to process what was revealed before you.

                The dwindling light of the workshop created light shadows across your desk. The faintest glow from the city offered in flickers from the window, chasing shadows across fabric panels, the last of your classmates having called it a day, and bidding you goodnight after reminding you not to work so late. The late hours had become a recurring theme for the Support Course Development Studio as a whole. Evident by the light snoring of Hatsume opposite to your desk, curled in a heap of metal scraps and papers. When she had last returned to her dorm, you weren’t sure. Unlike your own, her was certainly stationary, doing your best to drown out her exhausted snuffles. Majimia-sense would be giving you both quite the earful in the morning, but for now, you were focused on the task at hand. Doing your best to swallow the guilt in your throat. The dim flicker of your desk lamp providing you minimal light as you threaded a needle carefully as you choked back the rush of emotions that ebbed your chest, burned your nose, and blurred your vision.

Only weeks before had you worn the same garment between your fingertips, thumbs pressed carefully against your ring fingers, catching fabric between them as your hands formed the o-shape your quirk had familiarized you with. Murmurs of classmates that glimpsed at the telling gashes on the fabric. Lead burns torn through cloak fabric, pierced pass the chest piece you had secured to paneling, until it had reached its mark of the black bodysuit of its victim, Suneater. Between clinched teeth, you could hear your classmates appraisals, some whispering the quality of your work must have been at fault. Others dismissing the opposition as it having been some rare weapon, and Hatsume shamelessly demanding details, practically foaming at the mouth for relative information on the mysterious ammunition. Your anxiety forcing you to activate your quirk, Chemical Analysis. Your finger tips working quickly to break down the information as you squeezed your eyes shut. Barium, antimony, lead, and traces of oxide, the information rolling through your thoughts like a printed sheet of lab results. The blossoming of a headache forming at your temple as you attempted to dive deeper, but at the time, Maijimia-sense had quickly placed a firm hand on your shoulder, the l-shape pieces at his fingers drawing your attention.. Hushing the class, and instructing them to return to their work before addressing you, “[L/N], don’t waste your time. Suneater is fine. So just focus on the repairs.”

It was your fault, you cursed yourself as you steadily dusted crystal pieces from the seams. Winced at the trails of blood that had stained the lining, the chemical break down already at your finger tips, set aside for the later in the cleaning process. Fumbled pass crystals, agonized over glass and rubble. The sinking feeling in your stomach growing. The demands of the uniform practically etched into your memory, you had after all taken care of it throughout your time at U.A. You knew its required materials by heart, your forlorn thoughts wandering to the elven hero. Amajiki Tamaki had always been soft spoken with you, and considerate. Always apologetic to the damages his outfit obtained, remorseful for the addition to your work load. Shyly enduring measurement after measurement, especially after his growth spurt second year. The blush across his features was adorable, so much so that what had been an innocent appraisal—an occupational necessity had morphed into something that felt devious—you had grown to understand the meaning of occupational hazard that day. Your heat had pounded through your eardrums, and how either of you managed to make eye contact after that day, you had chalked up to camaraderie built over your time together. The rare pudding left at your desk, and the praise for your work that reddened your cheeks. How could you have let this happen? You should have delved deeper. As though the ground had crumbled beneath your feet, the harrowing realization that everything had changed. The days of peaceful patches brought on by training, and minor mending from patrols had been replaced, and you should have realized it the day the bullet wound crossed your desk. The anxiety and tears that threatened to roll down your cheeks as your finger tips met a painful prob. An ill placed pin jabbing you deftly, drawing blood in the faintest of pricks. The flash of his soft smile the last time he had visited you, leaned against the wall shyly observing your handiwork as you rattled on about what repairs you had made. If only you had known they weren’t enough. Maybe if you had checked the paneling. Layered the protective padding closer together. Was there a way to minimizing the spacing? Even a centimeter seemed too vast, an opportunity that could be seized by an opponent. Thicker? No, no, thicker wasn’t an option with his mobility. Perhaps you could improve on the carbon fiber? There-there must be something…

                The glimmer of moonlight that dripped onto the fabric, as the tears escaped. No, no I don’t have time for this, you thought to yourself. Drawing your brow, and rubbing your eyes. I have to do better. Determination and rage pouring through your pores, captivating your will and fueling you through the night as you worked through all hours of the night.

I have to protect him.

[specialneedz]

i cNt stop thinking about despair kazuichi rn so i am throwing my headcanons into the ether

- enjoys the art of riding in a car with one of the other despairs and shooting a machine gun out the passenger window

- doesn't use any sort of protective gear when he works besides the gloves he wears and half the time he forgets they exist because he doesn't give a shit and kinda likes the danger because blah blah blah despair. has a lot of burn scars from welding and from sparks hitting him in the face. has probably also almost cut his hand off with a bench grinder and nearly gone clean through it with a power drill.

- really likes explosions. will stare at the ones he creates face first 5 feet away from them. this is another cause of possible burn scars.

- smells very strongly of burning things

- his motion sickness is still a thing but he doesn't care about it anymore so he can and will drive down a residential street at 90 mph while feeling like he's about to projectile vomit. he barely knows how to drive but no one cares because it's the fucking apocalypse

- hair is covered in enough grease from both bodily and mechanical sources that he can style it without any sort of products. ew

[blazenet]

It all began with an accident.

As I strolled down the street, engrossed in my phone, I didn't worry about bumping into anyone. Confident in my peripheral vision, I thought I had it all under control. But then, out of nowhere, a gym door swung open with such force that it caught me off guard. I had no time to react, and before I knew it, I collided with it, stumbling backward and watching in dismay as my phone plummeted to the pavement. The impact was jarring, and my heart raced as I struggled to regain my balance.

To my surprise, the person responsible for opening the door was a burly individual with a rugged appearance. He had a well-groomed beard, tattoos adorning his bulging arms, and a penetrating gaze that seemed to size me up. Clearly startled by the collision, he quickly rushed over to offer his assistance.

"Whoa, you alright, bro?" he inquired, extending a calloused hand toward me.

I reached out, accepting his hand as he helped me back onto my feet. I brushed off the dust from my clothes, and although I didn't feel any major injuries, I was still shaken by the sudden impact.

"Yeah, I think I'm okay," I replied, my voice trembling slightly. I was eager to escape the scene to save myself from further embarrassment, but before I could make a hasty retreat, he interjected, "Hold up, bro. You got a nosebleed there. Let me patch you up real quick."

He led me inside the gym and guided me to a bench, where he retrieved a first aid kit from a nearby cabinet. I observed him as he moved with surprising grace, despite his intimidating appearance. Opening the kit, he pulled out a clean cloth and a small bottle of antiseptic.

"Name's Jake, by the way," he said, breaking the silence as he approached me. "Sorry about the door, didn't mean to startle you like that." Well, it was partially my fault too. "Let me make it up to you, bro. I'll give you free reign over this gym. What do you say?"

I glanced at Jake, taken aback by his generous offer. Granting me free reign over the gym seemed like an extravagant gesture to make up for a simple accident. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

"Wow, that's really kind of you," I replied, a mix of gratitude and skepticism in my voice. "But I don't want to impose or take advantage of your generosity. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but I'm not even a member here."

Jake chuckled, his deep voice resonating through the room. "Don't sweat it, bro. Consider it a gesture of goodwill. Besides, we're always looking to welcome new faces to the gym. You can check it out and see if it's your thing."

His words and his genuine smile put me at ease. Perhaps this accident had unexpectedly led me to a new opportunity. I pondered for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. I had been meaning to find a place to exercise regularly, and this could be the chance to explore that possibility.

"Alright, Jake," I finally responded, a hint of excitement creeping into my voice. "I'll take you up on your offer. But only if it's genuinely okay with you."

Jake clapped me on the back, a friendly gesture that made me feel instantly welcome. "Deal, bro! Consider yourself a member, starting now. Let me show you around and introduce you to the others."

I was going to be late for work that day, but I didn't regret it. The experience at the gym and the warm welcome I received from Jake and the other members made me think that maybe it wasn't too bad.

Everything was going great with Jake's guidance at the gym. He helped me create a workout plan and personally trained me three days a week, which fit perfectly into my schedule after work. On my first day, I was totally lost with all the machines and equipment, but Jake was patient as hell. He broke it all down for me, explaining each contraption's purpose and showing me the right techniques. He drilled it into my head that proper form was key, and he encouraged me to start light and gradually work my way up.

As the weeks flew by, I got the hang of things and started feeling more at ease in the gym. I settled into a routine, mixing cardio, weights, and stretching. And let me tell you, after six weeks of following Jake's lead, my body started to look and feel better. I was getting toned in places I didn't even know existed.

But then, outta nowhere, Jake dropped a bombshell on me. He looked me dead in the eye and said, "Bro, what the hell are you doing for the rest of the week? You can't just sit around on your lazy ass. You gotta ditch those distractions, man. They're killing your gains." And you know what? He was kinda right. I realized I was wasting my time playing video games with my old buddies, surfing the web for fancy gadgets, and tinkering around with that half-finished indie game I knew would never see the light of day. So, I made a tough call and cut those distractions out of my life. Suddenly, I had a whopping six days a week dedicated to the gym, and I spent more time hanging out with my new bros over there.

The gym became my second home, and Jake became more than just a trainer. He became a friend who pushed me to be my best self. With each passing day, I saw progress and felt a sense of accomplishment. The camaraderie among the gym regulars was something I had never experienced before. We cheered each other on, spotted each other during tough lifts, and shared laughs between sets. It was a whole different world that I was grateful to be a part of.

Yo, it's been twelve freakin' weeks since I started this crazy journey with Jake. Let me tell you, that dude doesn't take it easy on me. He's always there, pushing me to go that extra mile, yelling, "One more rep, bro! You got this!" And you know what? Somehow, I always find that last ounce of strength to power through. My workouts have become intense, like next-level stuff. I never imagined I could get any bigger, but damn, I keep proving myself wrong. It's like my body is transforming right before my eyes. When I step into that gym, I switch to autopilot mode. Jake's the captain, and I'm just a soldier following his orders. He knows this body of mine better than I do. He knows how to make it stronger, faster, and more ripped. The guy's a freakin' wizard. "Hey, bro, don't forget to hydrate," he reminds me, handing me a bottle of water. "And take your sups, they'll fuel those gains!" Man, I owe a lot to this guy.

At work, I couldn't concentrate for shit, man. All I could think about was how Jake was gonna make me go beast mode in the gym later. That dude turned me into a freakin' animal! I caught myself flexing in the office bathroom mirror, checking out my guns and daydreaming about the massive weights I'd be smashing soon. Screw these spreadsheets and deadlines; I had gains to chase, bro! Who even needs these fancy computer words? It's all about pumpin' iron and gettin' ripped!

But hey, it took a while, and my boss eventually had enough of my distracted mind. Yeah, I gotta admit, I'm kinda glad to leave that mind-numbing job behind. Gotta find a way to pay the rent though, but guess what? My boy Jake, he's got my back. He offered me a place to crash in the extra room at the gym, and he even said he could hook me up with a job where I can put these guns to good use. Man, count me in for that!

Alright, so now I'm living the gym life 24/7, baby! I wake up, and I'm already in the temple of iron. No more boring routines and stiff office chairs. It's all about that sweet pump and the adrenaline rush of lifting those heavy-ass weights. And let me tell you, my workouts are next-level crazy now. Jake ain't holdin' back, man. He's got me doing supersets, drop sets, and all sorts of insane techniques to push my muscles to the max. The pain is real, but so are the gains, bro!

My new gig is in construction, man. I never thought I'd end up in this line of work, but life takes some wild turns, bro. School feels like a distant memory now, but who needs all that classroom crap when you're out there getting your hands dirty, building some real stuff? I can't remember half the stuff they tried to teach me, but here on the construction site, I'm learning practical skills every day. And you know what? My newfound strength and stamina from the gym are coming in handy. I'm lifting heavy beams, swinging hammers, and moving like a boss. It's hard work, no doubt, but it's satisfying as hell.

And, get this, bro. Jake, being the wizard that he is, offered to help me manage my money since the new gig didn't come with a fat paycheck. And let me tell you, he worked some kind of freakin' magic. I mean, I used to stress about bills and making ends meet, but now? Now I'm living the good life! Jake took over all that financial mumbo-jumbo, and suddenly, I had more cash for food and sups than ever before. I don't even get to see my paycheck anymore because it goes straight to Jake, but hey, I trust the guy. He's got my back, and I'm reaping the benefits. Who needs to worry about money when you're too busy chasing gains, am I right?

Alright, so after 18 freakin' months of grindin' at the gym and livin' that epic gym life, Jake goes and drops a bombshell on me. He looked me dead in the eye and said, "Bro, you were born to be a freakin' fighter!" I mean, seriously? Me, a fighter? I never saw that comin' in a million years. But here's the deal, man. Jake knows his stuff. I trust him with my gains, so if he says I got what it takes, then damn, I'm all in, baby! We switched up our training, focusin' on boxing skills, fancy footwork, and buildin' up my endurance. Let me tell you, it's been intense as hell, but the thought of steppin' into that ring gets my blood pumpin' like crazy. I'm ready to throw punches, take hits, and show the world what this ripped body can do!

And you know what? Jake's got everything planned out. He's like my personal life coach, man. He's got this crazy schedule for me to follow every damn day. From when to sleep, when to eat, when to train, it's all laid out like a freakin' blueprint. I gotta admit, I was a bit worried about quittin' my job, but Jake's a wizard when it comes to money, bro. He said I got enough savings to live comfortably for two whole years! Can you believe that? I never thought I'd see the day when I had enough dough to chill and focus on becoming a badass fighter. Life is freakin' wild, man.

Now, let me give you the lowdown on my training routine, 'cause it's off the charts. Mornin' starts with a crazy cardio session to get my heart pumpin' like a beast. Then it's time for some hardcore boxing drills. I'm talkin' speed bags, heavy bags, and sparring sessions that make me feel like I'm in a freakin' action movie. And let's not forget the strength and conditioning workouts Jake throws at me. We're talkin' push-ups, pull-ups, squats, deadlifts, you name it. My muscles are burnin' like there's no tomorrow, but I'm lovin' every second of it. The pain is just weakness leavin' my body, bro!

I gotta admit, though, it ain't all smooth sailin'. There are days when I question my sanity, wonderin' why the hell I signed up for this crazy ride. Bruises, sore muscles, and relentless training can mess with your head. But then I look at myself in the mirror, at those biceps poppin' and those abs peekin' through, and I know I'm doin' somethin' right. Jake's always there, pushin' me, yellin', "You're a freakin' warrior, bro! Keep pushin'!" And that's all I need to hear to keep goin'. The gym is my battleground, and I'm fightin' for glory!

I can feel it, man, the fire burnin' inside me. The desire to step into that ring, face my opponent, and show 'em what I'm made of. It's a rush like nothin' else, a mix of excitement, adrenaline, and a touch of fear. But fear ain't gonna hold me back, bro. I'm ready to unleash the beast within and prove myself. Who knows what the future holds? Maybe I'll become the next champ, the people's champion, a freakin' legend!

So, here I am, 24 months into this wild journey with Jake, and guess what? He finally said I'm ready to step into the freakin' ring! Man, the excitement was off the charts. But let me tell you, getting there wasn't as simple as walking into any old gym. Nah, Jake had something special planned. We hopped into his beat-up truck and drove us way out into the middle of nowhere. I'm talkin' deep into the heart of a freakin' forest, bro. We pulled up to this small, rundown building that looked like it hadn't seen life in ages. Jake, being the mysterious dude that he is, led us inside and through a maze of corridors until we found ourselves in front of a door. But this wasn't just any door, man. It was like a secret entrance or somethin'. We opened it up, and I swear it was like stepping into a freakin' elevator to the center of the Earth. We descended deeper and deeper underground, and the anticipation was killin' me. This wasn't gonna be just any fight. This was gonna be the fight of my life.

Alright, so we step outta that crazy underground elevator thing, and my jaw practically hit the floor. I was standin' in the middle of a freakin' arena, bro! Lights flashin', crowd cheerin', and a ring smack dab in the center. It was like somethin' outta a movie. Jake had pulled out all the stops, man. He said this was my chance to show the world what I was made of, to unleash the beast within. And you know what? I believed him. I looked around at the people cheerin' and felt a surge of energy run through me. It was time to do this.

I stepped into that ring, and everything else faded away. All the months of trainin', the ups and downs, the sacrifices, they all led to this moment. The bell rang, and it was go time. I moved with the precision Jake had drilled into me, dodgin', weavin', and throwin' punches like a freakin' hurricane. The crowd roared with each hit, each blow I delivered to my opponent. I could taste victory, feel it in my bones. And you know what, bro? I freakin' won! I stood there, sweat pourin' down my face, arms raised high, and basked in the glory of the moment. It was pure euphoria.

Now, I ain't sayin' it's been all sunshine and rainbows since then, man. Life's got its ups and downs, and the fight game ain't no different. But you know what? I wouldn't trade this journey for anythin'. The gym, the friends I made, and the experiences I've had, they've shaped me into someone I never thought I could be. And it's all thanks to Jake, my brother from another mother. He saw somethin' in me when no one else did. He pushed me to my limits, and then pushed me some more. He's my trainer, my mentor, and my friend.

So here I am, standin' on the edge of the ring, ready to face whatever comes my way. The road ahead may be uncertain, but one thing's for sure: I'm a freakin' warrior, and I'm ready to conquer whatever challenges life throws at me. With Jake by my side, I know I can't be stopped. So, bring it on, world! This beast is ready to roar!

[dollsonmain]

Photos over the course of the morning:

So, this is the space I have to work with. The only thing I can think of why Rolly would have installed an over-large toilet in the basement bathroom is that he liked to sit there to poop and didn’t want his dangle touching the rim.

It’s very much in the way.

I NEED counter space to work, so moved some stuff around and added a tiny shelving unit that just barely fits into the space between the sink and the wall. The sink leaks so I keep the faux drawer front off of the front of the cabinet...

Wrangled a bench under there for extra storage space. The bench is wider than the table so doesn’t exactly fit.

There’s ONE power outlet. It is a small bathroom. It’s very funny to me that Scott was just shaking his head at his father having run power strips around the bathroom and here I am stuck doing the same thing. Mine’s not zip-tied to the wall, though, and the outlet part isn’t right above the sink. It’s on the back of the too-big toilet. I don’t like having a toilet in my workspace, but no one ever uses it, so it’s just a bowl of blue water. I flush it now and then to keep it fresher and that’s it.

But then I took my small utility carts down there and had to move the table and bench again to make room. I do prefer the table not cutting off half the walkway.

Drying rack is back in the shower. I have to be very careful what I put in the shower because it can and did leak. I also can’t put anything over the back of the toilet because I need to be able to access it if it starts leaking again.

I took out the toilet paper holder and the towel rack because both were in the way. I should take down the shower rod. It’s just tension and installed crooked, but everything I take down reveals lots and lots of holes and missing paint. Rolly didn’t take them down to paint (and apparently doesn’t know how to decide where to drill a hole for a screw swiss cheese walls what the fuck), and I didn’t, either when I repainted.

BUT Pony Cart also needed to go in there, which meant the table and shelf had to come out, and that sucks because that’s all of the counter space. I NEED counter space. I’m used to having an approx 1ft by 1.5ft segment of counter space.

If I hadn’t depressed enough at this point because I’m having to cram myself into a windowless bathroom, I was then. I’m claustrophobic. This was unpleasant.

Right now this is all the workspace I have. If I were able I’d get and install a different sink vanity thing that had some counter space. I can’t do that because money. I was going to put all of my bottles of T.A. on the bottom of this shelf thing but I don’t think it can take the weight, tbh. They’ll go in the shower.

Rearranged a little, again, and that’s better. Dehumidifier will probably be on top of that gold plastic table there, with the hose pointing at the shower drain which is just below it.

I need to take the pony bins down, still, and clean up the kitchen because I’ve made a mess up there dumping things off of workstations to get to the furniture.

I also need to find a place to store the small appliances when they’re not in use. I was keeping the mini crock pot and ozone generator on the table in there, but it’s gone. I’ll need to take my electric kettle down, too. It’s ONLY used for doll and pony hair.

I’m tired. It’s all futile. I comply here, he starts poking his nose elsewhere shrinking and shrinking my space.

Obviously, all work is off until the dehumidifer gets here or else the basement will explode into mold again.

Removing the resin jugs did immediately improve the air quality. Those are out in the garage.

I still need to move the SunBox down, two large and one medium storage unit, all of my dolls, and my computer and things (I’m not sure there even are enough outlets down there to accommodate my computer, not that I really trust Rolly’s electrical work), which I guess will go where the unused sewing machine is.

Act like my stuff is unwelcome in his space, see how he likes having no me near him at all.

[queersrus]

requesting ntps related to miles tails prower from sonic the hedgehog media. please and thank you

TAILS!!! /vpos

(nick)names:

ai, alaire, archie, axa, axis, axe, aghves, alepou bolt, bradawl, bench clear, crash, concou, carter, clamp, chisel drill, drive, driver, devi, devic, device

energi/energy, energa, energe, energeti, energetica, ellis, evan fox/foxe, foxi/foxie/foxy, foxet/foxette, foxelle, foxine, foxer, foks/focks/faks, fuchs, felix gear, genesis, gidget, gadget

huli, hack, hull, hatchet jet invi, inve, inven, inventi, invente, inventa, inventer, inventio, inventia, ian

kilo, kettu, kitsu, kit, kits, kindred, knick, knack lisica, liska, lysytsya, lisa, lis, liska, lisica miles/myles, manny, marcos, meter/metre, max, maximum, maximillion, maya, mason, mallet

nail power, prower, prowler, plier, paw, plane red, renard/renarde, raposa, raev, ruboh, rav, rev, revi, rubah, rebane sunakh, socket, set, saw, scrap, scrapper, scout

tinker, tale/tail(s), tyler, tony/toni/tonie, tonic, tool, teri, tea, thaelab, tilki, toby/tobi, tape unit vos, vulpe(s), volpe

wrench, warren, wire, whisker yard, yeou zorro, zero

1st p prns: i/me/my/mine/myself

ti/te/ty/tailine/tailself tai/taile/taily/taine/tailself mi/me/my/miline/mileself mi/mile/mily/mine/mileself pri/prowe/prowy/prowine/prowerself pi/pawe/pawy/pawine/pawself fi/foxe/foxy/foxine/foxself fi/fure/furry/furine/furself ti/toole/tooly/tooline/toolself

2nd p prns: you/your/yours/yourself

to/tailer/tailers/tailerself mo/miler/milers/milerself pro/prower/prowers/prowerself po/pawer/pawers/pawersef fo/foxer/foxers/foxersef fo/fur/furs/furself to/tooler/toolers/toolerself

3rd p prns: they/them/theirs/themself

ta/tail, tail/tails, tai/ail, twin/tail, two/tail, the/fox mi/le, mile/miles, mi/mile pro/prower, pro/wer, prow/le, prow/er, prower/prowers, prowle/prowler, pa/paw, paw/paws, pa/aw, paw/pad fo/x, fo/fox, fo/ox, f/ox, fox/foxes, fox/foxy, foxy/foxys, fu/r, f/ur, fu/fur, fu/ur, fur/furs, fur/furry to/ol, to/ool, to/tool, t/ool, tool/tools, tool/box

titles:

the inventor, the fixer, the brains, the brainiac, the nerd, the tech savvy fox, the fox, the fox-like hacker, the tech expert, the mechanic

*one who enjoys tinkering, one who likes building, one who fixes machines, one who invents gadgets, one who owns many tools

*one can be replaced with any prns

[klbwriting]

The Jason Todd Anomaly

Chapter 6: Morons All of Them

Pairing: Jason Todd x female!Reader

Fandom: Red Hood, bat family

Warnings: sibling rivalry

Summary: Y/N is back at the gym again, Jason takes her to breakfast but his family seems to ruin everything

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

It had been a week since Y/N had been shot and Alfred had finally OK'd her to go to the gym.  No heavy lifting but she could get back to some cardio, mostly walking and light drills and she was ready to get back to training.  Back to seeing Jason.  Ugh.  She hated to admit it but she was into him.  She always had a thing for guys that were assholes on the surface but sweethearts underneath.  The problem was that normally the sweetheart part was a lie her mind made up to explain away the asshole.  She had a feeling, however, that Jason was the real deal.  Although it didn't really matter, he probably was not interested anyway.  She grunted some as she set her gym bag down on the bench in the locker room.  Intrusive thoughts begone!  It was time to work.  

She entered the gym, noticing Jason at the speedbag.  He spotted her and walked over with a purpose.  She waited for him to say something but he seemed to reconsider his words, making the silence awkward.  

"So...where you been?" he asked like he knew exactly where she had been.  She shrugged.

"Got mugged...again," she said like she had practiced.  He eyed her, looking like his suspicions were confirmed.

"Thought all this was so you didn't get mugged?" he asked.  She sighed.

"Its not fair when they bring guns," she said.  He nodded, not surprised.  This was getting suspicious.  How could he have known she was shot?  Why had he come over the way he had?  What had he actually wanted to say?  "Anyway, were you bored all week without me?"  She was trying to get away from the subject quickly until she could figure out why he was being weird.  

"No, the silence was wonderful," he said, trying to look serious but not able to hide the smile pulling at his lips.  She smiled a little back at him.  "Why are you back anyway?  You got shot, shouldn't you be in bed resting or something?"   "I am tired of resting and my doctor said I could do some light drills and cardio again," she said.  "Anyway, you should get back to that speedbag, your left is slower than your right."  He stared at her, the audacity of critiquing his form surprising him at first.  She smirked and headed to the treadmill to do some walking.  

Jason watched her walk on the treadmill as he started to lift.  This confirmed his suspicions.  The way she gently rubbed her side, exactly where Anomaly was shot.  Dammit.  Y/N was Anomaly and his feelings were now even more complicated.  When she was just Y/N he could keep her safe just by knowing she only went into his zone and the Safe Zone, but knowing that she was reckless, out there trying to be Red Hood, made everything worse.  How could he possibly protect her and yet not reveal who he was?  Fuck.  He let the barbell fall extra hard after his final deadlift and he saw her watching him.  

"Too heavy for you?" she called over.  He forced an arrogant smirk.

"No, just sweating from doing actual work," he taunted.  Stupid, stupid, now she was going to rise to his bait.  Which she did, by turning up the treadmill a few notches.  He scowled.  "O come on, I was kidding, don't go tearing your stitches."

"How do you know I have stitches?" she called back.  He rolled his eyes.  

"You were shot, of course you have stitches," he shot back.  She glared at him.  "Look, I'm done for the morning, are you coming to breakfast or not?"  She turned back to the treadmill, stopping the machine.  It was clear she was considering his words.  After a moment she stepped off the machine and nodded.  "Meet you in 20 minutes."  

At the diner Y/N sat quietly looking over the menu.  She was trying to figure out what was up with Jason.  She hadn't known him a super long time but in that time he was always calm, able to keep still, at least in front of her.  Now he was holding a menu in one hand, other hand tapping his fingers.  She could feel his foot tapping under the table too, like he had some kind of nervous energy and it was trying to escape anyway possible.  When the waitress came over they ordered and now that he had no menu he linked his hands, thumbs now moving, circling each other.  

"Ok Jason what the hell is going on?  You look like a human fidget spinner" she said finally.  He stopped moving entirely.  Before he could answer the door of the diner burst open and in walked the last people he wanted to see.  

"Jason!" Tim said, sauntering down to the table.  "O, are you on a date?"  Y/N blushed and laughed.  She could not imagine how embarrassed Jason was right now with his brothers just wandering in like that.  Damian just dropped in the seat next to Y/N, forcing her to move over without a word.  Dick smacked the teens arm.

"Excuse him," Dick said to Y/N, "this one was raised in a cave."  Damian glared more.

"So were you," he shot back.  Dick just chuckled and Y/N laughed too.  Jason's eyes snapped to Dick and then to Y/N.  She noticed this.  The sibling rivalry was clearly strongest between Dick and Jason.  He had talked about his older brother a few times but seeing them together she could see the differences between them.  Dick was classically handsome, blonde hair, blue puppy eyes, he looked like a quarter back stepping out of an issue of SI, all good ole' boy, while Jason had black hair, brown almond shaped eyes, leaner and meaner.  He had an edge to him that Dick would never have, Dick was the quarterback while Jason was the guy with the tattoos and motorcycle.  Jason's thumbs were circling again and Y/N was tired of the nerves.  She reached over the table and put her hand on his hands.  He froze and looked at her.  She looked back at him, not able to deny the spark she felt.  O fucking hell, this was turning into a YA novel.

"Chill out, your brother was joking, he knows we're not on a date," she said.  He cocked his head to the side as if confused for a moment before making a 'huh' sound.  She removed her hand but did notice that his thumbs had gently gripped her for a moment before letting her pull back.  Tim laughed.  

"Well since he's rude, I'm Tim Drake, that's Dick Grayson, and Damian Wayne," he said, motioning to others.  She noticed each other hands had knuckles that looked like they all had gotten in a fight the day before.  

"And since no one is introducing me I will, I'm Stephanie," said a young teen girl, coming over and pushing next to Tim in the booth.  She set down a plate of donuts that she had gotten from the waitress.  

"Its nice to meet you all," Y/N said, smiling.  

Jason could have killed all of them.  How dare they just wonder into his territory and not only that, right into the diner where he was with Y/N.  He was going to try and subtly talk her out of being Anomaly, but fuck it, that was out of the question.  He sighed.  Dick seemed to be thriving off trying to embarrass him, regaling Y/N with a story from when they were kids.  He wished he had one of his guns.  Well he did, he always did, but shooting his brother in a diner at 10AM was going to cause problems.  She laughed again so he finally just kicked Dick under the table.  Dick winced and looked at him.  The break in conversation let Stephanie jump in.

"So what do you think about that new vigilante Y/N?" she asked.  Y/N blinked at the abrupt change in subject, the rest of the boys looking to their sister surprised.  Then they looked at Jason before turning to Y/N.  Morons, all of them.  Could they be more obvious?

"I like them, stupid name but they're doing good work," she said.  "Doing what the Robins won't."  

"You mean killing people?" Dick said, incredulous.  She looked at him.

"Actually changing things instead of just putting a bandaid on it.  I can understand putting the foot soldiers in prison, they might be able to be rehabilitated, but they won't take down the actual assholes running those crime rings," she said.  Jason smiled a little.  "They should be trying to be more like Red Hood and less like Batman."  The others traded glances.  That last comment wasn't going to be taken well and he was sure later he would get an earful about it.  

"She's reckless, no better than the people she kills," Dick finally said.  Y/N looked at him, clearly ready to argue but Jason made an annoyed noise.

"Enough of this, we argue about these vigilantes enough," he said.  "Come on guys, let's go, Y/N probably has better things to do than listening to us fight about this."  He nearly shoved Tim and Stephanie out of the booth.  Dick was still scowling as he and Damian got up to leave.  

"Jason..." Y/N said just before he left the diner.  "Um, will I see you later?"

"I'll be at the gym tomorrow like usual," he said.  She nodded, a look on her face he couldn't quite read.  Fuck his family ruined everything.  

[rjsals]

"do you remember our first date?"

it's not really a question. he knows you do. there's a soft edge to his tone that indicates he's just trying to drag you down memory lane with him.

you let him.

"which one? the first one or the actual first one?"

seoho laughs, flopping onto his side so he can look at you properly, one hand propped under his cheek. you close your book, dropping it next to the bed before turning to meet his gaze.

there's a twinkle in his eye. "the first one."

"hard to forget," you muse, "i ignored the number one rule society drills into our heads as a kid—never go with strangers."

this makes seoho laugh again. "yeah, we're definitely lying to our kids about how we met."

you agree. there's no way you're telling a child that seoho, a complete stranger, slid into your booth while you're actual date was in the bathroom, stole one of your fries, proceeded to tell you you looked bored as fuck, and offered you a way out. not a chance in hell that you're telling them that he was right—that you were infinitely grateful for the opportunity to ditch, left your date with the bill, and ended up having the night of your life.

"we can tell them about the incredibly romantic half jog we did to escape unnoticed and how we somehow found a place that served the worst pizza this town has ever known, though."

"or about how you ruined my favourite jeans by not telling me i was about to sit on a bench with a "fresh paint" sign on it," you say, scooting a little closer under the covers to purposefully pinch his arm.

he reaches out, catching your hand. seoho's fingers sink into the empty space between yours with habitual ease, and he gently presses his lips to your knuckles. "i gave you something to remember me by, for free!" he quips, smiling, causing you to knock your hands into his chin in defiance.

"you couldn't have gotten me a corny keyring or something, like a normal human being?" you bite back, no malice in your words whatsoever.

"now where's the fun in that?"

you hook your ankle behind his thigh, pulling him in closer. "you're lucky i'm a very forgiving person. and a sucker for plushies."

kissing seoho is one of your favourite things to do. his lips are so soft, molding perfectly with yours, like they were made to kiss you and only you. his mouth is warm, igniting a spark in your chest that pushes fire through your veins with ease.

with one swift motion he's hovering over you, hand now resting on your thigh that's pressing into his hip. lips ghosting over yours, you can feel his smile before he speaks again, "i knew all those years losing money at the claw machines would pay off some day."

he dips down, catching another kiss.

[theobaileypp-archived]

pov. motherland. μάνα

Theo doesn’t believe in God. And yet, here he is, waiting in church for an act of faith. This particular church isn’t grand or impressive like the ones he’s seen across the world before—churches carved in pure gold, churches tall enough to make your neck hurt, but the ceiling is painted in blue, constellations in bright gold, and he can’t stop looking up, nervously rubbing his fingers together. He often wonders if he would have been different had he grown up under normal circumstances—if the orphanage he’d grown up in didn’t believe so much in penitence, if the Baileys hadn’t been so syncretic and secular. 

He’d never looked for any sort of faith, even though the poetry of it never went unnoticed for him. In the devotion of the faithful, the prayer of those in pain. He was, after all, a man of words and those said with such honesty fascinated him.

Now, he’s in the third row, on the hard wooden bench, and waits. Waits, staring at the starry ceiling, until slow, deliberate steps echoes through the church and a veiled sister, a nun, sits next to him. Theo can’t find the words in him, “You called for me.” She says, in Greek, sounding heartbreakingly unimpressed. He’s dreamed of this moment many times in the past, a moment he thought had been stolen from him, and so he didn’t know how to proceed. He nodded, not able to look in her eyes—eyes he’s dreamed of his entire life. “Do you know who I am?” She makes a sound with the back of her throat. She knows. He hadn’t been looking for her, he had never looked for her.

He’d been arranging his documentation, his resident visa, when bureaucracy drove him back to his motherland, to the island he was born in, the pastoral community so ill equipped to deal with dangerously premature babies that he’d only spent a few hours of life there before being taken to Athens. He’d never actually returned to his birthplace, even if he visited Greece fairly often. Now, the ferry took him to the island through the clear blue water, to a stunning place secret to tourists, where fishermen yell around in angry, dialect-heavy Greek. It doesn’t feel like home, and the fact that it’s on top of a rocky mountain doesn’t make it very easy on him—another reason why he likes Athens better, because accessibility there is at least an afterthought whereas here it’s not a concept at all. The climb, the endless stairs, are hard on him, and he makes the decision to spend the night, just so he’ll manage to rest. Theo didn’t know then what he knows now.

Theo didn’t know a lot of things.

He didn’t know, for example, that he never knew his mother’s name not because no one knew it, because she’d died in childbirth, but because that’s what you do when you hand a child over for adoption.

hand him over for adoption.

he also didn’t know that as an adult, he could ask for the information to be disclosed. 

Theo wants to ask her why, but the words don’t come out. Why? He knew why. Because you could fit in the palm of my hand. Because I didn’t think you would make it --- they said that if you did... He wouldn’t talk or walk or think. He knew the drill. His knuckles were white. He wanted to tell her that none of it should have mattered, because it didn’t matter to his parents, his odd, loving true parents, Richard and Jasmine Bailey. He wanted to ask her if she regretted it now that he was six feet tall and not attached to any machines, now that he spoke twelve languages and had all academia glory one could dream of. Instead, without him even asking, “I was young and alone”, she says. 

“Me too.” Theo answers.

They don’t say anything else. He can’t say anything else. Theo wishes he could stand up fast and simply leave, show her how wrong she’d been, how he could have been worth it, but it doesn’t have quite the same impact when your limitations are as visible, when it takes so long for him to even manage past her in the asile and his graphite crutches resonates against the centuries-old stone floor as his tired, cramping legs carry him out of the church. He doesn’t make it very far. He sits on the stone bench under an old, twisted olive tree and buries his face in his hands as his chest clenches even tighter and his heart races and he finds it difficult to breathe, until he hears someone coaching him through it in his mother tongue, with a calm, steady voice.

She brushes his back. “You know where to find me, son.” It feels unclear whether she means son in the biblical or biological sense, and he supposes it doesn’t matter. Before she leaves, he looks at her. Theo has been right his entire life. They do have the same eyes.

[emma-m-black]

Doctor White - Chapter Two

Tom Koracick x OC (FanFiction)

This is a super rough draft of a Tom Koracick x OC story I've had in my head. I got a ton of chapters done, but then kind of his a block at a cliff hanger and I figure, perhaps if I post it, maybe I can figure out what to do next.

Rating is probably close to PG, don't think there is any spicey bits, pretty tame.

Read: Chapter One

Chapter Two:

"So you, walked in with Doctor Koracick." One of the residents spoke from where they were sat on the bench. She was looking Elizabeth over with a scrutinizing look.

Elizabeth finished lacing up her shoes before turning to look at the others in the room. "Yeah, do you want to hear about how good he was in bed too?"

"He's like twice your age!" A man from across the room. His face scrunching up in disgust.

"Really guys? I didn't sleep with him, we met in the hall outside the mixer last night, and he wanted to create a stir, so we walked in together."

"Well, you definitely did that. Your surgical assignments are on the board, now to go scare the interns." Came the Chief Resident's voice.

"Doctor White, you're on my service today." Amelia said as she walked into the Resident's lounge.

"Nope, sorry, she's with me." Came the voice of Doctor Koracick. "You have to find someone else to be your prodigy today." Tom spoke as he reached out and grabbed Elizabeth's hand and began to drag her away. Elizabeth looked back to watch Doctor Shepherd.

"Do you even still work here?" Shouted Amelia after them.

Once Elizabeth and Tom were down the next hall, he released her hand. "You know you just put a target on my back, right? It's my first day here."

"You'll be fine."

Elizabeth nudged her shoulder into Tom's arm as they walked. "They think we are sleeping together." She spoke in a hushed whispered.

"Oh, that sounds fun." Tom smiled and looked down at Elizabeth. His eyebrows wiggled, and Elizabeth could not help the soft chuckle that left her lips.

"You are just as cocky in person as you are in your papers."

Tom stopped walking, causing Elizabeth to walk past him before realizing her companion was gone.

"You read my papers?" Asked Tom with a large smile on his face.

"I knew who you were when we met and of course, I've read your papers. You are a neuro god. I've watched your lectures, I've read your research, you are the best there is…and now, I sound like I'm a crazy stalker." Elizabeth said as she placed her fingers to the side of her head. She closed her eyes and groaned.

"A hot, crazy stalker."

Elizabeth's eyes flew open, and she suddenly felt really hot. "I don't. I didn't. I, I just really like brains."

"I like you. You're going to be fun to mess with." Tom said before beginning to walk once again.

Elizabeth moved into step beside Tom as he led her to the CT room. Once they entered into the scanning room. Tom directed Elizabeth towards a screen that was set up in the back corner. "The nurse was supposed to leave a gown for you."

Stepping behind the screen, Elizabeth began to take off her lab coat and her scrubs, before slipping on the gown, and beginning to tie it shut.

"Let me know if you need any help. I've heard I'm good with my hands."

"You know what. I take back what I said." Elizabeth stepped out from behind the curtain as she tied the last tie on her gown. "You are a menace, you probably just road on the curtails of everyone around you." The words came out serious, but her lips were pulled upward in a smile.

"Ouch." Tom said as he held a fist to his chest. "Now come on, get on up here, so I can get back to work."

Elizabeth moved to the table and sat herself down. Tom helped her lay down and set her head in the molded pillow. "You know the drill, no moving, well I check out that sexy brain."

"How do you know it's sexy, you haven't even seen it. It could be all not sexy."

"I had your scans sent over after the mixer. It's a sexy brain, trust me, pre- and post-tumour." Tom reached up and pressed the button to move the table into the machine.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and allowed the memories of her past to invade her mind. "I imagine death so much, it feels more like a memory This is where it gets me, on my feet the enemy ahead of me. If this is the end of me, at least I have a friend with me." The table suddenly stopped moving, and Elizabeth opened her eyes to see Tom staring down at her.

"Weapon in my hand, a command, and my men with me. Then I remember my Eliza's expecting me." Tom finished. "Hamilton."

"Sorry, I sing musicals when I'm nervous."

"Where have you been all my life?" Asked Tom.

"Just look at my sexy brain already, so I can put my clothes back on."

Tom just let out a chuckle and set the table in the CT. "Remember, no moving."

"Yeah, yeah. Do I hear a waltz? Oh, my dear, don't you hear a waltz? Such love Blue Danubey music, how can you be still?"

"You must hear a waltz!" Tom sang through the microphone right before the hum of the CT turned on. "Even strangers are dancing now. An old lady is waltzing in her flat, waltzing with her cat."

Eventually the sound of the machine stopped and Elizabeth knew the scan was done. "Well?"

"CT looks clean."

"See told you." Elizabeth said, and when she received no response, she attempted to lift her head to see where Tom was before suddenly the table jerked under her.

"And you can tell me in another three weeks. "

"Three weeks, my scans are every three months." Said Elizabeth as she shot up from the table once she was free of the machine.

Tom held out a hand for her to help her off the table. "And now that I'm your Doctor, it will be every three weeks. You are almost at the ten-year mark, which means you are a one and done or…"

"I'm going to start growing a new friend at any moment."

"Exactly. Now come on, put your clothes back on, we have a patient to see."

Chapter Three Coming...