#full contact tech support

[anthropictales]

Chapters: 21/? Fandom: Destiny (Video Games), Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Original SPARTAN Character(s) (Halo), Original Ghost (Destiny), Original AI Character(s), Banshee-44 (Destiny), The Spider (Destiny), Original Guardian Character(s) (Destiny), Original Fallen | Eliksni Character(s), Transhuman Character(s) Additional Tags: UNSC is sus, AI technical difficulties, Creepy old ruins, Gender shit complicated by transhumanism, AI reprogramming that could be considered torture, Psychological Horror, the wrong end of transhumanism Series: Part 5 of Fragments of Eternity, Part 3 of Tales of Storm and Shield Summary:

A SPARTAN, cast into the paraverse by a cosmic accident, and raised by the light. Her AI companion, and only link to her past, facing Rampancy and Ego-death.

Saving his life will hurl them on a collision course with

The Stormglaive

A rogue Lightbearer turned Ketchkiller Captain, and her ragtag crew of survivors and scrappers.

Beneath Europa's surface are the tools needed to save a dying AI, and the terrible secrets that led to the Stormglaive's first death.

Within the AI's corrupted memories, lie the events that led to the SPARTAN's own final moments.

Safe to say, nobody is getting out of this without seeing some shit.

[reiderwriter]

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???

Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.

A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭

Masterlist

You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.

If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.

Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.

You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.

You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.

You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.

You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.

None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.

And you really wanted to listen in.

The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.

Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.

A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.

With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.

The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.

Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.

He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.

Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

But he's trying his best to arrest me.”

The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”

The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.

You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.

A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.

After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.

By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.

So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

You're the ones who can do better tracking.”

You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.

That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.

You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.

Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.

“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”

“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”

“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”

They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.

“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.

“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.

“Spencer, wait-”

“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”

Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.

“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.

“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”

Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.

“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”

His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”

“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”

“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”

The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.

The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.

Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.

Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.

The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.

“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.

A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.

The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.

You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”

The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.

“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.

“When you find me there's lots for me to say,

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.

He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.

You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”

The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.

xxx

So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.

You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.

Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.

You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.

He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.

He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”

“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”

“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.

“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.

“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”

“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”

“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”

“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”

He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.

“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.

“As much as anyone does.”

“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.

“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.

“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”

“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”

For the first time in a while, you were speechless.

“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.

“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.

“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”

He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.

“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.

“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”

To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.

“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”

You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.

“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.

“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.

“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.

A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.

“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.

You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.

“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.

“No, you don't.”

“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”

“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”

“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”

“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”

He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.

“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”

He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”

“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.

“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”

Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.

“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”

“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”

“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”

“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”

You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.

He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.

It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.

“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”

“I'm driving you home.”

“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”

“What about friends?”

“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”

His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.

“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”

“What?”

“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.

“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”

“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.

“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.

He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.

The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”

“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”

You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.

“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.

“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”

The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.

He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.

“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.

“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”

“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”

He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.

“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.

“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”

“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.

It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.

When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.

“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

“And let you touch my things? No.”

You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.

“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.

“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.

“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.

“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”

You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.

He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.

You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.

“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."

"And what would that be?"

"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.

“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.

“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”

His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.

“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”

You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.

“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”

With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.

The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.

His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.

“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.

With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Spencer-”

“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”

“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.

“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.

“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.

Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.

“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”

His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.

“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”

“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.

“Say it.”

“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.

“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.

Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.

Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.

They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.

“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”

A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.

“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”

His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.

“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.

You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.

You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.

He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.

If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.

He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.

Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.

When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.

“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.

“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”

“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.

When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.

He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”

[raindropsyndrome]

Long caption warning 💀

Prev

PLEASE. Ignore my spelling errors I’m so tired.

*cracks knuckles* Alright, some people on Instagram asked for this and so now I will share. (Angst warning pssshhh)

My timeline for my F!Donnie (starting just before CJ was introduced):

- Over the years, Donnie would join in battles, mostly providing long range defense, all the while blasting his tunes on full blast

- But that changed when he got Krang’d right to his head, Mikey was able to remove the infection, but this caused Don’s eyesight to become quite poor (and for him to not trust himself in combat afterwards.)

- After that incident, Donnie became absolutely fascinated with Krang tech and biology, subconsciously wondering if he could replicate that raw “power” he’d felt when the Krang was infecting him, and if he could control it, understand it.

- He didn’t like that, but over time he felt it was necessary to beating the Krang. “Keep your friends close, and keep your enemies closer” type deal

- So Donnie becomes “the guy in the chair” (oh yeah he also rebuilt Shelldon. Finally. </3)

- Cj was born, Cassandra had fallen in battle only a few months later, leaving the turtles and April to fully take care of CJ

- While Leo, being the leader, took on most of the responsibility, Donnie got to spend more time with CJ as a result of staying at their base more

- Donnie LOVED being around CJ, he would teach CJ everything he knew, even if CJ didn’t quite understand him yet. He even let CJ hang around in his lab, (as long as he touched NOTHING.) Donnie even upgraded Cassandra’s hockey stick and mask then gave them to CJ

- only a few years later had Raph fallen as well

- Donnie felt as if it was partially his fault Raph couldn’t get out alive, and so he begrudgingly quit his role as “the guy in the chair,” dedicating all of his time to his inventions

- He became MUCH more reclusive, leaving everyone in the dark about what (and how) he was doing. To CJ, he was more of a “presence” rather than an uncle now

- He then revealed his new invention, the Raph mech (Don has the shittiest coping skills known to man)

- Another couple years pass, Don still using all of his time to conduct his “experiments”

- Around this time, Leo had lost his arm. Donnie reconfigured one of his Raph mech’s arms to fit Leo to use as a prosthetic, the Raph mech was later decommissioned

- One day, Donnie oddly insisted on tagging along on a mission with Leo and Mikey

- HOLY MOLY LONG STORY SHORT, they get caught by a Krang soldier on their mission. But instead of taking cover, Donnie charges straight for the Krang mech

- Mikey and Leo watch in astonishment as Donnie manages to swiftly climb up onto the Krang mech and mount himself on its back, using his battle shell’s limbs for support

- To their horror, Donnie rips off his gloves and reveals his robotic arms, and starts tearing into the back of the mech, digging into the inside of it

- He deploys the wires and his own Krang biomass from his robotic arms, and shoves it all into the back of the Krang mech

- For a few moments, he struggles. Then, with purple glowing markings, his expression suddenly changes and the opening where the Krang soldier was mounted closed up, crushing the Krang inside

-ok so longer story shorter- through all of the struggle, the Krang he’d trapped in his prosthetic arms had been creeping onto him and was soon to make contact with his skin. And the building they were all in starts to collapse, (and when I say “building” I mean a giant NY style skyscraper,) and in an effort to save Mikey and Leo from being crushed, Donnie holds up what rubble he can with the now possessed mech, getting himself crushed, unable to hold up all the weight forever.

(But not before an epic and heartfelt monologue and musical number.)

Good god I’m so EMBARRASSING

I wish. I could wright fanfiction.

Goodbye now 🏃💨

[talewrites]

Fragile Part 6

😈😈😈

(This chapter got too long- I had to cut it short,,,, :]]] Enjoy!)

Generation: Bayverse TMNT

Tmnt x Reader Fanfic

Pronouns: Gender Neutral (except ‘dudette’, 'miss', and ‘princess’)

Warnings: injury, blood, electrocution, graphic depictions of torture, not proof read

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Today you were spending time with Donnie while he worked in front of his monitors. You liked it there much better than in his lab. He had a map of the city up with little marks indicating spots where the Foot had been spotted. But that wasn’t what he was working on right now.

No, you and Donnie were doing much more important things at the moment.

Like playing the new update in Stardew Valley.

“Fishing mods are cheating.” 

You gawked at him in mock offense. “But you can’t pause in a multiplayer farm, there’s no time to play the fishing mini game!!”

“That’s why it’s more of a challenge!” He stuck his tongue out while he clicked his mouse rapidly to fight off a slime in the mines.

You pouted, adjusting the laptop in your lap. “I don’t need my cozy farming sim to be challenging…” 

Donnie did not miss the cute grin that graced your face after, his heart fluttering in his chest. 

These past few days you found yourself smiling more and more easily. Whether it was Mikey getting covered in flour while you baked cookies together, or Raph teaching you how to purl stitch, or Leo showing you how to wield a sword. You were enjoying spending more personal time with the turtles as you got to know them better.

Your toes curled where you were perched in the chair beside Donnie, glancing up at the map again. Your eyes always drawn to the blinking red dot marking the location of the lab you escaped only weeks before. The police had raided it and found it empty, which only increased your unease as to where Dr Stockman might be hiding. It already felt like a lifetime ago, that night when the turtles first found you. 

You owed them your life.

“Hey (y/n), you almost ready for afternoon training?” Leo came over, snapping you out of your thoughts. Leo leaned against the back on Donnie’s chair, earning a dismissive swat from his younger brother.

“We’ll stop after we finish up this day, Leo.” Donnie said not even taking his eyes off the screen. You giggled and got back to fishing on the beach.

You were two hours into your training session with Leo. 

“Okay, good. Now when you kick, focus on your balance. Stay firmly planted and your leg should have more power.” Leo coached you. 

Master Splinter was supervising while sipping his tea. It had barely been 5 days since your mutant abilities had manifested. But you were already making astounding progress in unlocking its potential. Leonardo had played a big part in the process, being the one who had helped you work through your fears of using your mutant reflexes, so the abilities came more easily to you when training. He trained with you every day, while Master Splinter provided guidance. Everyone was doing their best to support you through all the changes.

Casey suddenly jogged in through the entrance of the lair. 

“Guys! Just got word, the Foot are planning to rob a warehouse full of high tech weapons tonight. We gotta go intercept it.” He said waving around his cellphone.

“What? Where? Their communication frequency has been quiet since they moved those chemicals to the old Sacks building!” Donnie spun around in his chair to face Casey, you and Leo walking into the living room with Raph and Mikey close behind.

“Queens. Our contact in the Foot Clan leaked the info to us just half an hour ago.”

“Huh, that’s strange. That’s all the way on the other side of town. Aside from Sacks Tower, they’ve only really been active around the East Village and ChinaTown this past week. Maybe they changed their frequency again to throw us off track.” Donnie was quickly typing up info on his keyboard. 

“Well, regardless, we better go check it out.” Leo sighed. He wanted to keep training with you, but it would have to wait.

“Heck yeah! I’m bringin’ the steak-out snacks. Who wants Doritos?” Mikey grabbed his ratty old Jansport backpack and started shoving cans of Orange Crush into it. 

“(Y/n), you stay here and keep an eye on Donnie’s computer. The Foot might try to communicate about their raid tonight. Donnie’s program will intercept it. April will be here in about an hour, so just tell her if anything suspicious comes up.” Leo asked you.

“Right!” You said standing to attention and giving a military salute with a silly little grin on your face. 

It made Leo’s heart melt in his chest and his expression turned soft. 

“Just, stay safe, okay?” He patted you on the head then headed for the exit. 

As the rest of the boys filed out of the lair, they each stopped by you. Mikey getting a high five, you quickly cleaned Donnie’s glasses for him, and Raph, always last, ducked down for a quick hug when his brothers weren’t looking. Casey rushed ahead of them.

Master Splinter waved goodbye to his sons next to you. Once the boys had left, he informed you he was going to go meditate, and to come find him if you needed anything.

About 45 minutes later, you were casually watching YouTube videos on Donnie’s computer when a flashing red light appeared on the screen. It was indicating that Donnie’s program was intercepting a message from the Foot’s closed communication server. A message popped up on the screen, and you gasped.

“We have captured the turtles. Continue with the plan.” 

Then a video feed loaded up on the main screen. 

Your blood ran cold.

It looked like the feed from a security camera, depicting Leo, Mikey, and Donnie all locked in glass cages, restrained with thin tubes of red connected to their arms. They looked weak, they looked bad.

“What….? No… No, not this… please no…!”

Where was Raphael? He was nowhere to be seen. How did they get captured so fast…? They had barely been gone an hour!

Your mind was racing. You recognized those machines. Dr Stockman used them to take blood samples from Bebop and Rocksteady. If that was the case, there was no time to lose.

You made up your mind.

You snuck past the dojo and muttered a quick apology to Master Splinter. You knew Master Splinter wouldn’t let you go, so you kept quiet. Then you grabbed the handheld GPS device Donnie left on his work table. You entered the location on the map where the message was sent from. 

The old Sacks Tower. 

Time to move.

April arrived at the lair much later than expected. She and Casey had just finished speaking to the commissioner about police activities being leaked to the Foot. When they entered the living room, they were confused to only see Master Splinter waiting for them. The old rat was pacing and anxiously stroking his beard. 

“Splinter? Where’s (y/n)?” April asked, confused.

Splinter shook his head. 

“You don’t know where they are?” April became concerned, walking further into the lair. 

“It appears, that our greatest fears have been realized.” His expression deeply troubled. Before April could ask, she noticed what Splinter was looking at. 

Playing in a loop on Donatello’s monitor was old CCTV footage from when the turtles had been captured 10 years ago by Shredder and Mr Sacks. April breathed a sigh of relief, immediately recognizing the scene.

“Splinter, the turtles are safe. I spoke to Leo on the phone only 10 minutes ago. They’re staking out a warehouse in Queens. This is old footage.” 

Splinter’s eyes widened and looked back to the screen. His expression turned contemplative. 

“If that is so, then perhaps Miss (y/n) has made the same mistake.” He spoke gravely.

April had a look of shock. She quickly pulled out her phone and speed dialed Leo’s number.

Leo thankfully answered quickly. “Hey April, anything new?”

“Leo, is (y/n) with you?”

Leo paused a long moment and sent a look over to his brothers, getting their attention. “No…. Aren’t they at the lair?” All of his brother's eyes were suddenly on him. Leo turned the phone on speaker.

“No!! They’re gone. And there’s a video playing on Donnie’s computer. It’s a recording of you Mikey and Donnie locked up at Sacks’ estate from over 10 years ago… I think this is what (y/n) saw before they left.”

“They left?” Leo felt his heart drop into his stomach. “To go where, Sacks’ estate?” His brothers immediately started packing up their stakeout equipment to leave. 

“No I don’t think so, the sender’s location was tracked, it’s still on the screen. It says it was sent from Sack Tower in Times Square.”

Donnie came over and joined in the call, typing furiously at the keyboard on his wrist. “Sacks Tower. That’s where they were spotted smuggling those stolen chemicals into the other day…! From my notifications, it appears that the message was sent through an older Foot Clan communication frequency approximately 43 minutes ago.”

“Donnie, how long will it take (y/n) to get to Sacks Tower.”

“From my calculations, if (y/n) left the lair heading to the Sacks building about 40 minutes ago, going by subway, they should arrive in about uhhh, approximately 8 minutes.”

“And how long will it take us to get there.” Raph asked.

“From where we are now, if we manage to hitch a ride on the next nonstop train to Times Square…… about 1 and a half hours.”

“Shit!” 

Raph cursed loudly and turned away frustrated, and Mikey put his hands on his head. Donnie was typing away at the keypad on his arm, trying to find any kind of faster route and muttering about how stupid he was for not making you a shellcell.

“We don’t have a minute to waste. Let’s move out.”

That’s all they needed to hear. Everyone sprung into action and booked it for the closest subway station manhole cover.

“April, we are headed to Sacks Tower as fast as we can. And get ahold of the police commissioner again. Whoever gave us the information to come to this warehouse tonight was intentionally planted with misinformation. There was no sign of the Foot at the warehouse. …..It was most likely a diversion.”

“Right. I’ll get back to you soon.”

Leo hung up the phone and jumped off the apartment building and dove down towards the street’s manhole cover.

Leo grit his teeth.

“Hold on (y/n).”

The halls of the building were eerily empty. This place made your skin crawl. The laboratory felt all too similar to the one you had been trapped in before. But this one had clearly been abandoned for a long time. Broken glass, graffiti, turned over chairs, scattered paper. But strangely the power was still on. You didn’t dare try to use the elevator in fear of giving away your position. But you were confused as to why you had yet to see any guards. This is where the message was sent from, the turtles had to be here, right?

You climbed the steps to another floor, but paused as you creaked open the door exiting the stairwell. This floor felt like a world apart from the previous ones. It was clean.

And the lights were on.

You kept low, and hyper vigilant. Steadying your breathing like Leo had taught you, you crept into the sterile white hallway. There were glass windows along the hall looking into different labs. One held chemistry equipment, another held big bulky medical equipment that clicked and beeped. Finally, the last room at the end of the hall, a room with no windows. You had a sinking feeling in your gut, but still you crept towards the door. Slowly and quietly you pulled open the heavy door, and revealed a large lit room with a high ceiling, and there you saw it.

“Guys….!”

There along the back wall were 4 glass boxes with 3 of the turtles strung up and being drained of blood. You had found them! Seeing no one else in the room, you rushed in. 

“I’m going to get you out of here, just you wait!” You went to the first machine in front of Donnie and reached out to touch the screen-

Your hand passed right through.

“What…?” You tried to touch it again but there was nothing there.

The hologram distorted, and then the turtles disappeared. You gasped.

It was a trap.

You turned around to book it towards the exit, but the door was opening again. Bebop and Rocksteady squeezed through the small door one at a time, and blocked your exit. Then over an intercom you heard the familiar laugh that sent a shiver down your spine.

Stockman chuckled darkly. “Just how I planned it! Like catching a fly with honey. So predictable!”

You backed up slowly as Bebop and Rocksteady approached you. 

“Did you miss us, little kitty?” Rocksteady sneered.

The intercom buzzed as Stockman spoke again. “Bebop, Rocksteady, keep them occupied until I arrive. I will be there momentarily. And let’s not have a repeat of last time, please!” There was a clicking sound and the intercom went quiet.

Bebop chuckled. “Hell yeah! It’s been so long since we last played! Let’s make the most of it.” 

“That’s right! And we gotta pay you back for all the trouble you caused us! We missed you so much after you left. You wanna go first Beebs?”

“My man!” Bebop smiled at Rocksteady and clasped his hand, they both laughed. 

You tried your best to steady your breathing like Leo taught you. Your hands were trembling. But you needed a way out. Bebop and Rocksteady were not fast, if you timed it right, maybe you can get past them to the door.

Bebop approached you. You stayed still and waited. Then when he got close enough, you ran right towards him, surprising Bebop. He reached out to grab you but you slid right between his legs, then jumped up behind him and tried to run past Rocksteady before he could react. He was still too close to you and managed to grab you from behind, but you were ready for him. Just like in training, you reached up and grabbed him around his neck, and taking a deep breath, you threw all your strength forward and down and managed to flip Rocksteady onto his back- stunning him. You quickly jumped over him and ran for the door, slamming into it fast and wretched the handle to pull it open. 

Locked. (Warning for graphic depictions of torture ahead.)

“No…!” You felt a bruising grip close around your arm, and you were torn away from the door. “NO!!” You cried out as you were thrown hard onto the floor between the two oversized mutants. 

“See? Now that’s your problem. You gotta go makin’ our job harder than it needs to be!” Bebop complained. 

Rocksteady was picking himself back up, rubbing the back of his head tenderly. “Don’t let them get to ya Beebs, we’ll sort them out quick before Stockman gets here.” Bebop then reached into his pocket and pulled out an all too familiar black taser. 

Rocksteady took the taser and chuckled. “Little kitty needs a check-up!” 

You tried to get up and run, but Rocksteady stomped down hard on your left arm. There was a sickening snap and you screamed, writhing in pain. You were pinned. 

“Tsk, tsk. You know what happens when kitty gets naughty!” The taser was flicked on, all you could do was close your eyes before a strong surge of electricity was shot into your ribcage and throughout your body. You convulsed as the shocks seized you, your shoulder getting dislocated from the spasms, then collapsed back on the floor. 

“Just like good ol’ times!” Rocksteady passed the taser to Bebop.

Rocksteady laughed and removed his foot from your arm, then Bebop tased you in the ribs again. You yelped and rolled onto your stomach, tucking your very broken arm underneath you and tried to crawl away. 

“Hey, where ya goin? We’re just getting STARTED!” Rocksteady punctuated his sentence by kicking you in the stomach hard enough to throw you across the room. You hit the ground and your body rolled another few feet until you stopped on your side and curled in on yourself, the air knocked out of your lungs.

Bebop took his time strolling over to you, and grabbed you by the hair to lift you up. You coughed and gasped for air, grabbing at his hand and tried to pry his fingers off of his grip. 

“Think you can just up and leave whenever you want, do ya?” He growled in your ear, then dropped you down haphazardly to the floor. You were on your knees, buckled forward and holding your left shoulder, when suddenly Bebop’s foot stomped down on your right ankle and you heard a loud crunch. 

You shrieked. 

Exhausted and riddled with unbearable pain, you crippled to the floor. It took everything you had just to pull breath. 

“Alright, I’m back! How is our lovely patient doing?” Came the cheerful sing-song voice of Dr Stockman entering the room through the locked door, Karai tailing behind him. 

“Hey boss! Uhhh, we were just warming them up for ya! See? They can’t run away no more.” Bebop nudged your side with his foot, knocking you onto your side so Stockman could see the pain riddled on your face. You were barely conscious by this point. 

“Excellent! Bring them to me.” Stockman ordered.

Bebop picked you up by your good arm and carried you over to where Dr Stockman was walking to in the back of the room. Karai stepped in Bebop’s way for a moment, taking in your beaten appearance, and back-handed your face hard for good measure, leaving a shiny bruise and angry red gash across your cheek. That woke you up a bit. 

Just enough to retaliate.

You took a deep breath and tore your arm out of Bebop’s grasp and punched Karai in the stomach, hard enough to throw her into a large display screen next to where Stockman was standing. Stockman squawked in surprise. She rolled onto the floor, and pushed herself up onto her side. Spitting a bit of blood onto the ground and wiping away at her lip. 

You tried to stand on your good leg but you were too weak and collapsed back to the floor. Bebop and Rocksteady grabbed you by each of your arms and brought you in front of Stockman.

He was looking at you in awe, and reached out tentatively to swipe at the blood on your cheek. He rushed over to his desk, jumping a bit in excitement. He put a drop of your blood onto a slide, and observed it under his microscope.

“Ha…! HA HA…! YES!!” Stockman shouted in excitement and did a little dance. Bebop and Rocksteady exchanged a confused look and Karai stood up and walked over to Stockman, eyeing you angrily and rolling her shoulder.

“What does this mean?” She questioned him. 

“It means that the mutation was a SUCCESS!!! Those stupid turtles must have triggered it somehow. And now we can finally proceed with the plan!!!” He grabbed something off his desk and skipped over to the stairs leading up to the circular titanium base in the middle of the room. “Bring them here!!” He called over, waving his hand to Bebop and Rocksteady.

They dragged you over to Stockman, and were deposited on the round podium that sat under a large glass tube. Stockman started to pull down long rubber tubes from above, and attached large thick needles to the ends. You tried once again to crawl away with your good arm, as Bebop and Rocksteady retreated. 

But Stockman approached you from behind. In a quick jab, he stabbed the two needled tubes deep into your back. You grunted and groaned in pain, but could do nothing, collapsing on the podium. Beaten, bruised, and bleeding.

When Dr Stockman was finished, he descended the stairs and rushed over to his computer, giggling excitedly he typed in a command and the glass tube descended over you until it clicked into place at the sturdy titanium base. Locking you inside.

“They’ll be placed in suspended animation. Once the tank is completely filled with the preservation fluid, they’ll become nothing more than a convenient blood bag, supplying an endless supply of mutagen for our mutant army.” Stockman rubbed his hands together evilly.

“And what about the turtles?” Karai asked. 

“It is already too late for them to stop us. Even if they manage to get through your guards, they will be unable to free them from this tank. Once I start the filtration process, I will delete the programmed command to empty or release the containment cylinder. They won’t be able to free them without my help!” Stockman typed away quickly at his computer. 

One of the tubes connected to your back began to pull blood from your body, leading up through a small opening in the top of the cylinder then down into a canister at the base. Then from the second tube, a white milky substance full of liquid nutrients began to filter through and down into your body. It did nothing to numb the pain you felt as you laid there in a state of half consciousness. 

Suddenly, the loud banging of gunshots could be heard somewhere outside the door. 

“We’re not ready yet! Hold them back!” Stockman ordered Bebop and Rocksteady, who positioned themselves between Stockman and the door. 

The door suddenly blew wide open, and the four turtles rushed into the room, angry and weapons at the ready.

“Where’s (y/n).”

Part 7

@itsberrydreemurstuff @thecreat0r64 @eli-chris @kurlyfrasier @autisticnutcase @drenix004 @donniesgirlie @cherryp-op @foggyturtleknightangel @blackrockshooter780 @l-n-g-t @peachesdabunny @silverwatergalaxy @willy-the-witch @caeliasaida @veri-varily @xnorthstar3x 

If anyone else wants to be tagged for the next update, let me know in the comments! :]

[mariacallous]

An air raid alert has just started when Victoria Itskovych joins a Zoom call from Kyiv. “It’s, like, a usual situation,” she says. “But really, it’s not usual.” February 24 will mark the second anniversary of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. For nearly two years now, Kyiv has been under bombardment. Some weeks, people have to trudge to their shelters night after night, checking text alerts and Telegram channels to figure out where the missiles are falling and when it’s safe to come out—although, it’s never really safe.

That relentless stress, and the trauma of losing family, friends, and colleagues on the front, has taken its toll. A poll by the city government last year found that 80 percent of residents reported symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has exposed the whole of Ukrainian society to battle shock. “We’ve all suffered from this,” says Itskovych, who is director of the Kyiv City Council’s IT department. “Almost every person has somebody who was injured or died during the war, or lost their home or lost their health.”

In the face of such widespread injury, the Kyiv government has turned to Ukraine’s now-famous civic tech infrastructure for help. As the war enters its third year, the municipal government is starting to build a citywide system for providing mental health support to citizens. It’s a vast challenge, but also a unique opportunity—the first time that such a mass-trauma event has happened to a society that has already built the tools of digital government. Dealing with the mental health impacts of the invasion will be absolutely vital to keep society resilient, functioning, and committed enough to repel the invaders. It’s also the key to Ukraine’s postwar recovery, laying the groundwork now for a society that can rebuild itself physically and psychologically from the horrors of war. “This is the future of our society,” Itskovych says. “We are building the basis for the resilience of the community itself.”

At the heart of the plan is the Kyiv government’s digital platform, Kyiv Digital, which it launched in 2017. Before the invasion, it was largely used to manage parking and public transport, and to notify residents of disruptions to services such as road closures or power outages. When the war began, those notifications became more urgent: incoming attacks, the locations of bomb shelters, and the safest routes to reach them. Like other parts of Ukraine’s civilian technology, the city pivoted its tools to keep people safe and support the war effort, bootstrapping and rewiring the systems at pace.

“The first changes to the notifications we did in hours,” says Oleg Polovynko, adviser on digitalization to Kyiv’s mayor. Since then, the digital teams have been engaged in a constant cycle of innovation, trying to figure out what services they can bring online. The war has pushed them to act more quickly, to adapt tools they have and invent things that don’t exist.

They’ve expanded tools for civic participation, letting citizens vote on petitions, send feedback to the city government, and ask for help, such as financial support to repair bomb-damaged homes. And they’ve collected a lot of data, which is how the Kyiv government has been able to measure the scale of the city’s distress—and people’s reluctance to seek help. Of the 80 percent of residents who show signs of trauma, “40 to 45 percent are afraid to have contact with doctors who can help,” Polovynko says.

But this is only half of the problem that needs solving. For those who do want to seek treatment, there simply aren’t enough resources to help them. Clinical psychologists are supposed to limit the number of patient consultations they do in a day, so they don’t burn out. Before the full-scale invasion, Inna Davydenko saw a maximum of four patients daily. Today, Davydenko, a mental health specialist at the City Center of Neurorehabilitation in Kyiv, sees twice that number. When we speak, she’s just finished a video call with a soldier stationed near the front, whom she’s helping cope with stress and anxiety.

Even before the war massively increased the number of people dealing with trauma, depression, and anxiety, Ukraine’s medical system suffered from an underinvestment in mental health provision. “In most hospitals, you have maybe one psychologist. In good hospitals, it’s maybe two,” Davydenko says. “A lot of people need psychological help, but we can’t cover everything.” There is simply no way that the current system can grow to match the enormous jump in demand. But, Davydenko says, “almost every Ukrainian person has a smartphone.”

This is exactly what Polovynko and Itskovych want to exploit, using Kyiv Digital’s platforms and data to digitize mental health support for the city, and so close the gap between need and resources. Their project will focus first on those they’ve identified as being most vulnerable—war veterans and children—and those most able to help others: teachers and parents. The next six months of the project will be a “discovery stage,” Polovynko says. “We need to understand the real life of our veterans now, of the children, of the parents, what’s their context, how they survive, what services they use.”

The project will track people through the process of recovering from trauma, monitoring the treatments they ask for and the ones they receive, their concerns as they move through the mental health system, and their outcomes. Once the team has a detailed map of services and bottlenecks, and data on what’s working and what’s not, they can match individual needs with treatments. A full roll-out is scheduled for early 2025.

“It doesn't mean that the whole chain of the service will be absolutely digital,” Itskovych says. Some patients may be directed to group therapy or one-on-one meetings with psychologists, others will be given access to online tools. The aim, she says, is to create efficiency, to close the service gap, but also to provide comfort, meeting people where they are. “For a big part of our clients, there is more comfort with getting the service online, in different ways. Some people are not comfortable meeting a specialist one-on-one; they prefer a digital way to get the service.”

The project is being supported financially and operationally by Bloomberg Philanthropies, a charitable organization created by former New York mayor and Bloomberg founder Michael Bloomberg. James Anderson, head of government innovation at the organization, says that the project comes at a critical time for Kyiv, where people continue to suffer even though global attention has shifted away to other crises.

“There's always a tremendous amount of attention when the immediate crisis hits,” Anderson says. “But mayors continue to have to deal with the human costs of crises, long after the newspapers have turned to new subjects. That’s certainly what we sense and see in Kyiv.”

The size of the challenge in Kyiv is clearly daunting. But, Anderson says, there are reasons for optimism. Cities have got better over the past two decades at responding to common crises, such as Covid-19, which also required rapid, mass digitization of services. “Every crisis is distinct and different, and awful, in its own way,” Anderson says, “but there are lessons learned.” The Kyiv government, and Ukrainian society more widely, have demonstrated a capacity for rapid innovation to meet urgent needs, and Anderson hopes that success in this project could see it replicated internationally. “This is not the last war. This is not the last crisis,” he says. “I think Kyiv has lessons that they can share with cities around the globe.”

For Kyiv, and Ukraine, the crisis won’t end when the war does. “Psychological health is the number one problem for Ukraine,” Davydenko says, before correcting herself. “Number one is Russia, number two is our psychological health,” she says. “PTSD is our future.”

[arbiterlexultionis]

Danny and the Spooks

So first things first, my initial idea is that this prompt takes place in a no one knows AU, and Danny somehow gets his ice powers earlier than he otherwise would, though really this could work without those two if need be.

So Danny got his ice powers pretty early in his ghost fighting career, and because he doesn’t have the support from his friends or raw power he would gather up later on he relies far more on Fenton tech to get by. That reliance on weapons means that, upon realizing that his ghost ice 1) doesn’t melt and 2) is Ghost Ice, and therefore can’t really be phased through by most ghost that arn’t him, immediately begins thinking of ways to make long term weapons out of the stuff.

A little while into his experiments with that he’s fighting Skulker and gets thrown into the house of some poor civilian, and while taking cover behind the kitchen counter looks over to see the (slightly disgruntled) homeowner doing the same while holding a 12 gauge.

“You think you can land a shot with that thing?”

“You think it’ll matter if I can?”

To which Danny replies something along the lines of “it will with this” before handing over his latest creation, a 12 gauge slug that’s had some of the material removed and replaced with his ice. Danny distracts Skulker, and his new friend pops up and puts a hole through the spine of Skulkers suit, allowing Danny to capture him. Danny thanks Mr. Civilian, who is apparently a retired Navy Seal or something, and they wind up staying in contact with each other, sometimes helping each other out with stuff and Mr. Seal testing out new weapons for Danny. Then some punk kid(yes a punk kid, doesn’t matter that he’s older than Danny, Danny still refers to him as a punk kid) decided that he wants to help defend the town and starts following Danny around, trying to help him in fights, and just refuses to stop putting himself in danger. Eventually Danny “relents” and says that he’ll let the kid help out, but only after he gets proper training from Mr. Seal, with the real plan being for the training to be way to intense for the kid to make him give up.

One problem though, the kid just doesn’t give up. Like, at all. One day Mr. Seal pulls Danny aside and tells him that Punk has finished his training and Danny gets all exited that the kid finally gave up, only for his bubble to be burst. “No no, he hasn’t given up, he just finished my training. He’s ready for combat.” And well, a deals a deal. So both Punk and Mr. Seal start taking more of an active roll in ghost fighting.

And then another idiot with more selflessness than sense shows up. And another. And, whoops three more just showed up. Eventually, Danny wound up as the accidental leader of a vigilante/ghost fighting organization dubbed the spooks by the local news. Comprised mostly of volunteers, with the best and brightest getting a rank all their own and proper pay, comprised of donations from both normal people and members and “donations” from criminals they stop because it’s not like they need the money now that they’re in prison.

I’m just imagining Danny with this rag tag group of humans doing what they can to help people.

After Danny finally manages to get some time with his friends for a movie marathon, he decides to form a new branch of the group called the R.I.P.D., the Rest In Peace Department, which is basically meant to help ghost fulfill their Obsessions and stuff in a safe, peaceful manner.

Boxy gets a abandoned warehouse full of boxes that’s been covered and insulative materials to keep ghost hunters from tracking him there.

Lunch Lady gets a great big soup kitchen which promptly morphs into a whole ass shelter for anyone and everyone that needs it so long as they’re okay with having Lunch Lady seemingly appear out of nowhere worrying about how skinny they look and shoving food into their arms.

They also have an absurd number of homemade gadgets and weapons. Think like, the entirety of the slingshot channel, ZnA productions, hacksmith and all those other types of channels combined, but their arsenal is hopped up on ghostly BS, as well as stealing equipment from Vlad and the GIW.

Skulker: I WILL MOUNT YOUR PELT ON MY WALL GHOSTCHILD

Fredrick “Dakka” Stevenson, flying the ancient crop-duster they got from old man Elijah and strapped every weapon they could to: I’m gonna do what’s called a pro gamer move.

Every other spooks member on the coms: groans

Dakka: if you want me to stop making lame meme references stop using a lame meme reference as my nickname.

Pt 2

[anundyingfidelity]

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy (Part II)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.5k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: Ben being a misogynist, talks about masturbation and porn, killing threats, Ben's POV in general is a red flag, death.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII

tags: @k-slla

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part II: Silence is Peace

The next day arrived fast, and again, you found yourself walking ready to have a conversation with the supe locked in the facility. A part of you was surprised he didn't try to escape yet, but Ben, on the other hand, was just letting things flow at the moment.

The heavy, metal door opened to let you in. The supe caught by surprise seeing you coming inside full of confidence at this time in the morning. A couple of armed men in black uniforms followed behind as they settled down some furniture in the empty area of the room: two small sofas and a coffee table.

His arrogant self knew those guns wouldn't tear a single hair off of him, but hey, he understood you needed to feel safe. So meanwhile, he decided to play along. He remained still by the bathroom door as you came closer.

"I didn't request that," he said once you stood face to face.

"Oh, I know. I did, it's for your therapy," you smiled, tugging the bag on your shoulder. The armed men finished decorating the cell, and they left with a loud thud of the door being closed behind their backs. "There's been a small change of plans. I will come by every day for one hour. Anything you want you will ask me first and if I approve, then I will bring it to you."

He smirked. Like if he needed to be bossed around by a fucking woman, he thought. "You sure have the balls to stand up on me like that."

"Like I said, I want to help you," you replied, making your way and sitting down on a sofa. "Please," you requested him with a hand to do the same and he followed with curiosity. You put the bag on the coffee table, taking out a notebook, pens, a folder, and a small zip bag containing the only thing he asked from you the day before. You left his reefer on the coffee table, putting the folder in your lap as you waited for him with a smile on your face he found unsettling.

Ben still didn't buy you or your intentions, but he sat down on the opposite sofa nonetheless. You had brought him something he asked from you, something he wanted and would calm him down for a little. Hopefully it wasn't going to be that bad. He only had to put up with the game of doctor-patient. In the back of his mind, he was also grateful you dropped the stupid white coat at the same time he found your attempt to fix him ridiculous. He didn't need to get fixed.

"Your guards ain't hurting me with those guns, you know that," Ben started.

"We have to try," you shrugged. "And you're still here, that has to mean something."

He rolled his eyes. Of fucking course he had to stay. There were a lot of questions in his head. He had to settle down for a moment. Things were different in the world, he needed to learn about today's tech and get a fucking good plan to get away with his shit. Who would he get to kill first? Still thinking about it. How would he escape? Probably could use some help to keep a low profile. Could you be that help, being the only human contact he figured would have from now on? Maybe.

"So how are you feeling? Did you have some sleep?" you asked.

"I slept enough, spent the whole fucking night jerking off," he spat. "That TV of yours now does have good porn some hours in the day."

With wide eyes, you wrote down after his answer.

"Alright. But tell me, how are you feeling?" you pushed, your smile long gone and replaced with a serious face locking your gaze to his own.

"Great, never been fucking better" he smirked and you shifted on your seat.

His green eyes started checking you all over for a second. The pencil skirt hugged your legs perfectly and the blouse was tight enough to show off the size of your breasts. The clothes yelling that you were expensive and valuable for the CIA, and most important, to Mallory. Soon he sensed the discomfort emanating from you as his gaze returned to your face. God, he loved doing that, but you sure were daring to get locked inside a room with him alone.

"You can tell me the truth, you know," you said.

"I can easily break your neck and explode this shithole if I want to," he spat back.

"You won't do that. You had the chance yesterday, today even, and yet here you are."

He thought you sounded so sure about that. Ben held your gaze. Neither of you dare to break eye contact. It was like you were challenging him to something he wasn't aware of just yet. He didn't like that, but he remained there, breathing deeply with a strong look on his face. You were right though, and he realised could find you a good usage besides the obvious fucking use for pretty girls like you. He might have missed a good fuck for 40 years but the little common sense on the back of his mind told him the porn channel was enough for now.

"Listen, I know you're not a bad guy," the words fell softly from your lips. "I know you didn't mean to harm those people in Midtown... And in order to help you I could use some information on how you feel every time the blast comes-"

He stood up abruptly, strong enough to move the sofa he was sitting some feet away behind his back and yelled aggressively.

"Fuck off, bitch. What the fuck do you know about me? I don't trust your kind and you're making my threat sound like a great plan now.

You held his gaze as he made his way towards you. You were a prey in his cage, but even if you were scared, he didn't sense any sign of it. Ben's big frame towered you, standing just inches away from the couch you sat on. The space was enough for him to kill you with only one hand but you never moved or flinched a second.

"If you touch me, just a single hair on my scalp, you're fucked."

"C'mon sweetheart, you're no match for me," he mocked with a smirk on his face.

"Novichok definitely is."

He tightened his fists with his lips on a straight line, and his heartbeat increased at the mention of that fucking poison. Meanwhile, you just sat down looking at him with a blank face and innocent eyes. For a moment, he was tempted to just kill you but he forced himself to calm the fuck down. He didn't want to black out again, he certainly did not want to become a fugitive. If he was going to do something, it had to be done well.

"Soldier Boy, it's okay," you got on your feet. His eyes followed your moves. "It's fine if you don't want to talk to me. I can't force you to."

He saw a strange sparkle in your eyes. Were you pitying him? He didn't need that. And when he said nothing, then you continued.

"You accepted the deal, and that includes therapy to help you get out of your trauma. And sooner or later, you have to talk to me," you explained, he felt like a fucking child being scolded.

"You want to fucking help me and spray me with Novichok at the same time," he groaned.

"We have to take our precautions. But trust me. I’d rather not use that on you, I prefer other ways."

"This is fucking crap," he mumbled through his teeth.

He watched you making your way towards the book shelf, leaning down to grab a couple of books. He took in the curve of your ass as you knelt, and he wondered if you were doing all that little show on purpose to test him. His jaw clenched once again at the thought of being played with false promises and a cure to his memories.

"I can leave, but I will come tomorrow," you tossed two books on the coffee table: one about PTSD, the other one about new technology for him to start educating himself on that. "Start reading those and write down in the notebook anything you have to say. It can be about the books, your thoughts, your feelings... Anything you want. I don't have to know unless you want me to."

If looks could kill, you were already dead. He still didn't trust you. He didn't understand completely why a stupid psychiatrist of the CIA wanted him to go through rehab. You were a woman, for fucks sake. Psychiatrists were old, wise, rich men back in his days, not expensive sluts.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I'm trying hard not to crush your bones right now, pretty thing."

"At least you're trying, that's improvement," you smiled cockily, pointing at his chest with a finger and you took your bag and belongings together, as if he didn't threaten to kill you like three times in the same conversation. "I will leave you now. Have a good lunch, Soldier Boy."

"Time of death 9:41 a.m."

The sound of the monitor disturbed your senses as the voice announced all over the place the death of yet another supe. You watched through the windows as two lab assistants ran inside the chamber to take out the lifeless body of the woman who had given her life to volunteer and assist the program. Anything for the cure, you remember her voice saying, even after she was warned about the possible effects. The worst of them being death. The contract stipulated it clearly and you told her to think twice before agreeing to take the third version of the Anti-V, although she hesitated a lot before joining.

You breathed out. The formula needed improvement, quickly. How many corpses had they taken out of there? You lost count already. You ordered Bianca, your young assistant, to note down all the details one day after the second death of a supe you witnessed, and for her to count them as necessary and at all cost. Arms folded on your chest, your jaw clenched, losing hope and feeling despair running through your spine. The discomfort of what had to be done to find a cure sometimes was too much of a burden. But sacrifices had to be done.

And speaking about sacrifices, you knew you had to get into Soldier Boy's head as soon as possible. The few other sessions you tried to talk to him were useless. The sixth one being today before lunch. A part of you was growing tired of faking it and pretending to be a psychiatrist, it really wasn't your field but you knew how to be one after many sessions, research, and medication on your own. Grace had taken care of your training years ago and this was just another mission with a huge impact and objective in mind: destroy Vought and Homelander, and then provide the cure to supes who didn't want their powers and give them the chance to live a normal life. People like you needed the cure, but first things first.

"Doc, the analysis of Blaze is updated," Bianca said, giving you the tablet to check the information on the supe that was collected.

"Thanks."

Blaze, or Electra Richards was her real name, was a low-profile supe for some time, and you had a secret track of those like her with some help. These kinds of supes didn't really represent a threat to Vought, so it was kind of easy to contact them and give them a possible solution with a warning written all over the place. When Electra was contacted, she had to think about it but eventually said yes. She was young and brave, but she never wanted powers. She had superhuman strength and healed in minutes, seconds even, her bones were indestructible, and when your people ran the proper tests on her she was healthy as hell. Pity that her body wasn't enough to take in the injection of the new Anti-V prototype.

You read the last notes your assistant typed on the supe's profile.

Cause of death: sudden cardiac arrest caused by ventricular fibrillation; failure in electrical signaling within the heart.

You couldn't continue like this, not anymore. Nine months and nothing seemed to work out. Some supes died, some of them quit the program, and you didn't really blame them for it. The failures were growing bigger than the small steps close to creating the final antidote. The process was becoming an endless trial and error. With a tired face and a sigh, you left the tablet on a desk and walked out making your way to your office.

You took out your cell phone and dialed Grace, walking around the room worriedly. You needed to vent or talk. Anything. And gladly, she picked up by the third ring.

"Is everything okay?" she asked on the other line. She knew you too well.

"I- No, it isn't. But you already know that," you breathed. "Another supe died on trial today. I don't know how many we have-" your voice cut off abruptly and you sighed, composing yourself after a moment. "We keep losing a lot of people..."

Grace exhaled. "It's part of the job. It's your project, you know it was coming when I approved to do this."

"That makes it even worse, you're not helping me," you replied with a playful tone. "I've been thinking- I would like to try the cure."

"No. We need you to focus on this."

"And when I get him, when I get Soldier Boy's blood? He already takes powers of supes with the blast. Should be easier."

"He's your safest option for now. You'll find a way to get it, I trust you. But don't make stupid and hurried decisions, just wait for the right moment," the lady scolded. You smiled a little, like if she was watching you. "About that, how's he doing? Is he cooperating?"

"Not at all, that's my other problem," you fell back on your chair ungracefully, your back hurting at the thought of seeing him again that day. "I am trying to get him to talk, even using my cards of dressing up like I'm a fucking slut with tight skirts and all, but he's really backing up. Besides he's a fucking dick," your words made Grace chuckle for a bit.

"All supes we have dealt with are dicks, especially Vought. But Y/N, you got this," her words attempted to make you feel better. "This is one of our best options to take them down for once. I know you've been working on this way long before you talked to me, and that's the reason I know it's gonna work, doing whatever it takes."

"Thank you, Grace," you mumbled from your heart. Disappointing her was not on your list, and you hoped it won't happen anytime soon. So you switched the topic of the conversation. "And how have you been?"

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Fully Set-Up Johnlock Discord Server up for Adoption

@theshopislocal said:

Hiya :). I had a question for you, [...] Around this time last year, I got back into Sherlock fandom (series four kinda killed my interest for a long time, but I got recced a Sherlock fic that got me back into it). Since I left Sherlock fandom, I’d gotten into others (Spn, Harry Potter, etc), and joined a couple of discord servers that were super fun and very helpful.

So I started looking round for a Johnlock discord server, and found basically nothing. The ones that existed weren’t very well organized, or weren’t maintained well, etc.

So I put together a server myself. Set everything up, even coded a Mrs Hudson bot to help out around the place. A couple people I knew from other servers joined, and we had a nice time for about a week or so, before I realized that I’d expended all of my gumption on the making of the server.

Turns out that, while I’m good at the technical side of things, I’m not really mod material.

So I’ve got a kitted out server, with custom bots and emojis and a broad range of channels, and, not to pat myself on the back, but it’s a pretty nice server—and I have no idea what to do with it.

I was hoping you might know of someone who is still active enough/interested in the fandom to adopt the server from me? Someone who would actually advertise and get people to join? Someone interested in doing the mod stuff that it turns out I’m terrible at? I’d be happy to stay on as tech support, and the Mrs Hudson bot runs on a dedicated server that only costs me $2 a month, so I’m happy to maintain her as well.

You seem like someone in the know in the current fandom, so I thought I’d ask. If you can think of anyone or you want an invite link to the server, let me know. Although, fair warning, the server has very few members and is currently very quiet :/.

[...] The Snape/Harry server I’m in has all these events and fun stuff and I’m just.. not really able to do all that, but I feel like the Johnlock fandom deserves a nice community server like that, if that makes any sense?

Thanks for your time.

======

Hi Lovely!!

First off, sorry again for putting this aside for so long... I haven't been having the best couple weeks, LOL.

Secondly, as we discussed, I would LOVE to have my own discord server, but here's the thing: I am Lazy™, and I just don't have the energy to run one full time and ensure Mods and stuff are sorted out, especially since I do have a full-time job on top of very little free time and running this blog, LOL. I'm not gonna lie, I am a lazy bitch, hahaha.

AND as I mentioned, I'm happy to put the callout for anyone interested in taking over a Discord server :) From what I see so far, you put SO MUCH work into the server, and it's very very nice!! I truly hope that it gets picked up by someone, I'd be sad to see your hard work put aside.

If anyone is interested, please contact @theshopislocal and they can provide you with more details! 💜🖤

Please reblog if you can to put more eyes on this :) As I said, it's a BEAUTIFUL server, and I would love for someone to be able to take over moderation duties from Lovely!

[astral--horrorshow]

Around-The-Clock Shadows

Platonic Yandere ROTTMNT x Reader

Info: This will be a full-length fic including multiple ROTTMNT characters, the main storyline revolves around the Mad Dogs.

Fic Summary: You sure are likeable, aren't you?

Chapter 1: Preparations and Purple Dragons

Characters: Kendra, Jase, Jeremy, Donatello, Raphael, Michaelangelo, Leonardo

A/N: Kicking off the first day of my summer break with a fic! I've been working on this for a while now, so I hope you like it! Apologies for the short length and any bad writing! I was very inspired by @yanteetle , @pianocat939 , @yanyanderes , and @yandere-toons ! (edit: @oleander-nin too!!)

If you want to be added to a taglist, just say the word! If you want to draw fanart or make anything based off of this, I would be literally honored. Please don't be shy, I will love whatever you make! If you have any questions about the fic, feel free to ask!

TW: Kidnapping plans, toxic relationships, stalking, Jase gets kicked in the shin (spoiler: it's Kendra), attempted(?) peer pressure, Leo and Donnie are creepers.

I do not condone any of the behaviors found or done in this fic. This story is purely for entertainment purposes. If you or someone you know is being treated like this, please contact the authorities.

Please Reblog writer's work!

Chapter Summary: You hang out with the Purple Dragons, and the Hamato brothers prepare for your arrival.

Word Count: 1166

☆~☆~☆

Kendra had her hand on the back of your neck, leading you further into the Purple Dragon's closed-off corner of the computer lab.

"And this is the Dragon's Tooth," she said as she pointed to a large, circular table with a small, green device suspended in a glass tube.

"Oooo!" You leaned towards it in curiosity, careful to not get too close to the lasers, "What does it do?" Before Kendra could answer you, Jase rushed over and started to explain with a speedy voice, "The Dragon's Tooth is a military-grade piece of technology that- ow!"

Kendra had kicked him in the shin. Hard. From what you had known about her, she didn't like to be interuppted.

"Shut up, Jase," Kendra snapped.

Jase kneeled on the ground on one leg, rubbing the kicked one with a grimace on his angular face. You reached out to him, but Kendra casually pulled you by the collar of your shirt next to her, placing her hand on the back of the neck you craned to see if Jase was okay and pushed you along yet again.

Your watch suddenly let out a long, piercing beep, which caused your gaze to turn to the plastic screen.

"Oh, I need to get home!" You exclaimed, rushing from Kendra to grab your bag.

"Awh, c'mon, can't you stay a little longer?" Jeremy strolled towards you along with the rest of the Purple Dragons. You were, quite literally, cornered by them, but you still persisted in your quest to return home.

"But I really gotta leave! I'll see you tommorow!" You rushed out, waving to the students strung up by their knickers outside their tech cubbyhole. The Purple Dragons didn't pursue, looking at the silent, red device on the collar of shirt in a cocktails of smugness and satisfaction (mostly from Kendra) and slight guilt of invading your privacy (mostly Jase).

You rushed to the bike racks as soon as you came out of the double doors of the High School. Going to unlock your bike, you spotted a figure in purple slink down an alleyway.

You pulled up to your residence, locking your bike and unlocking the door to your home. Taking off your shoes, and setting your bag down on your bed, you flopped down onto the carpet, feeling the rough material rubbing against your cheek. Despite it grating against your face, you found a sense of comfort in the act. You turned towards your bed, focusing on the underside. Stuck to one of the nails of the supports, was a bright orange piece of cloth. You reached out your arm, grabbing the fabric between your fingers. It was a bit worn, but perfectly clean otherwise. How odd, you didn't remember having any clothes like that.

☆~☆~☆

You opened the freezer door, shivering at the blast of cold air hitting your face. You grabbed the ice cream container as fast you could, and gingerly closed the freezer as to not wake up your family. As you sucked the spoon free of the frozen treat, you gazed at the moonlight filtering through your kitchen. There were a few clouds, but otherwise it was clear. You couldn't see the stars, though. Not in New York City, where lights and air pollution thrive. Putting the ice cream back, (you couldn't eat so much to the point where it would be noticeable) you pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders and tiptoed back to your bedroom. You buried yourself under the warm covers, a welcome respite from the cold, and closed your eyes, unaware of the being outside your window.

Leonardo chuckled to himself, and propped his elbows up on the windowstill. He watched you cutely snuggle your pillow, your cheek squishing against it. The only thing he wanted was to pinch and squish them 'till they got numb, but bringing you home sooner than planned would make the rest of your new brothers irritated at him. You fell asleep almost immediately, you must've been so tired, poor baby. He pulled out his phone, and dialed a number.

"Hey, Don- what? Yeah, I know it's late. Don't shout at me right now. Yeah, add ice cream to the list."

☆~☆~☆

Mikey skipped into the room, holding a pair of slippers in his hand. He set them down near the bed just as Donatello finished spreading a thick, fluffy blanket on it.

"Ah, thank you, Michael," Donnie spoke upon seeing Mikey with the slippers.

"Anything for them!" Mikey squealed, obviously shaking with excitement.

"Hey, party people," Leo casually called out as he strolled into the room, holding his ōdachi over his shoulders like they were regular sticks instead of mystical, deadly weapons. Upon the red-earned sliders entrance, Donnie turned and glared.

"Leo, I don't see why you had to call me at exactly 2:38 AM last night. It could've waited until morning."

"What?" Leo pulled his hand to his chest in mock indignation, "And not complete the list? I swear, it's like you don't even want them to be happy here!"

"Of course I do!"

Before their squabble could turn into a full-on argument, Raph burst in the room with a number of plushies of different shapes, sizes, and colors in his arms, which he started to arrange on the bed. Donnie sauntered away from Leo to help Raph in an attempt to keep his temper under control, and Mikey arranged things around the room. Leo slumped his shoulders, made a portal with a single slash of his ōdachi, and fell backwards into it.

☆~☆~☆

Donatello typed on his keyboard, occasionally turning his gaze to the other screens, which had a plethora of security cameras, locations of trackers, and information displayed on them. "Occasionally" being every few seconds. Eventually, he gave up on his coding and leaned back to soak up all the information on you and blue light the multiple moniters could give him. He was the number one expert on you, which he had to be if you were going to be happy in the Lair. He was also going to be your older brother soon, which meant he had to make up for all the missing years. You didn't know how much you needed them all, but you would soon. Very, very soon. A ping from his phone pulled him from his obsessive thoughts. He had sent S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N to guard you throughout the day when he or his brothers couldn't do it themselves. His eyes widened to saucers when he saw the feed from his creation.

You, standing there. With the Purple Dragons. Talking to you. Touching you. The Purple Dragons. You, oblivious to their danger.

Donnie leapt up from his chair and sprinted toward the door, racing through the halls. He wouldn't let that horrible, deceiving, Kendra and her flunkies take advantage of you. Over his dead body.

"I'll be there very soon," he thought, "Wait for me just a little longer.

I'll save you."

☆~☆~☆

A/N: *chuckles* you're in danger.

[egelskop]

i am so interested in ur hlvrai au can we get a rundown

oh boy, this is going under a readmore.

fair warning, this is a LONG read because (1.) i am not a competent writer and (2.) i can't for the life of me keep things brief. sorry and or good luck.

ACT I

The Black Mesa incident: Gordon Freeman is provided an opportunity to do an informal beta test for a combat training simulation program that's in development in the Research & Development department of the Black Mesa Research Facility. (Read: He knows a guy in R&D and said guy knows Gordon likes video games and VR stuff, so he was like "hey you should come check this out when you're on break.")

The combat sim would be a revolutionary training simulation using artificial intelligence to enhance and realize the experience for the ‘player character’.

The test goes wrong, and Gordon can’t seem to disengage from the simulation and odd, unscripted things start happening; he has to ‘play the game’ to its full completion before he is able to exit the simulation safely. He has suffered a brain injury throughout the process, eye damage due to prolonged exposure to the headset and is generally traumatized by the simulation experience he at some point could no longer physically and emotionally distinguish from the real world. The project as a whole is shut down and Gordon is put into a rehabilitation program. Black Mesa covers up the incident as best it can, but whispers of it still echo around the facility.

Below is a page for a two-page comic i never finished detailing said events.

ACT II

The rumors reach the ears of a particularly tech-savvy researcher named Clark, who steals the project documentation and anything else he can get his hands on from a storage. At home, he looks into the project, reads about it, and gets curious about the simulation’s files themselves. They’re on a drive he plugs into his computer, and suddenly his system’s performance lags, windows open and close until a txt. file opens up. He comes into contact with one of the simulation’s AI that has somehow entered his operating system. He tries to keep it busy by having it poke around as he reads up on the simulation and its ultimate shutdown. When the AI reveals it can see him through the webcam, he panics and rips the drive out of the port. The invasive AI and the other project files seems like they’re gone from his system, he does a checkup but sees nothing odd running or otherwise. The next day after work he does another checkup. Finding nothing, he surmises he’s in the clear and starts up an online game. The slumbering, corrupted data of the AI sees its out, and disappears into the game.

ACT III

The transition/journey to the game is a rocky one, and the already corrupted data of the AI known as Benrey splits and gets even more fragmented. The largest fragment embeds itself into the game’s files to keep itself running. Without the foundation of the game to support it, it’d be lost to a dead void and slowly die out. Somewhat stable, it learns about the world around it; the game seems to be an exploration sandbox game. For now (and clarity), I’ve chosen to call this bigger, embedded fragment ‘Data’. (so this is the big benny with the right eye/one big eye in my art)

Data splits off a smaller fragment of itself, intending it to be an avatar or ‘player character’ but this grows into its own awareness and becomes who we’ll call ‘Beastrey’ (the smaller benny with the left eye and tail in my art).

The fragment ‘Beastrey’ wakes to a dead void, so Data uses its knowledge to create a private server for Beastrey, an empty world. Beastrey’s existence is an extension of the bigger part, with more freedom of movement to parse through the game and move freely within it, with the caveat that it can’t go ‘too far’ away from the host. Beastrey can visit other servers and relay information. Data learns and slowly starts building up the world/private server, at some point settling for an aquatic world because it reminds it of itself (something something sea of data). It's important to note that Beastrey retains little to no memories of the events of canon VRAI.

Data makes it easier for Beastrey to move around, and they grow to have more reach with time. At some point Data can alter the basic structural elements of the game, so it plays around with making things that are reminiscent of the memories it has of Black Mesa and Xen. At one point, it gains access to parse through the player base of the game, and takes note of an email address: ‘g.m.freeman@gmail.com’, attached to a player account. The name is somewhat familiar to it.

It sends an invite to join the server to the player account.

ACT IV

Gordon tries going back to work at Black Mesa after rehabilitating, but he has trouble separating his experiences with the simulation from reality, to a breaking point where an altercation with a security guard drives him to quit. He seeks professional help for his PTSD and anxiety, but still experiences dissociative episodes, migraines and somatic flashbacks localised mostly in his right forearm. Despite this, he is determined to continue living his life as normally as possible. He applies for a part-time job teaching physics at a local high school, the one where his son Joshua goes to, and remains relatively stable from there.

Joshua is 15 years old. Regular teen. After an impressive amount of pleading he got a VR-headset for his 14th birthday from Gordon (much to the disapproval of Gordon’s ex), and he’s been captivated by an exploration sandbox game since it came out a few months ago.

He gets an invite to an unnamed private server, and he accepts.

He is struck with awe as the world he enters seems completely different from the ones he’s seen so far in the game. Different flora, different fauna. Most of it uninteractible, though, or otherwise just retextured from its base game variant. Even the new enemy types, after a scare, can’t actually hurt him, it seems. He stumbles upon Beastrey, who is just as surprised to see him and wants him out until Joshua says he was invited.

Joshua commends Beastrey (who introduces himself as 'Ben-') on ‘modding’ everything in, but admits that he was disappointed to find that everything was just surface-level stuff. Beastrey inquires about what he’d like to see. Data is always watching, unseen, and decides to alter the world in the way Joshua described when Joshua leaves.

Joshua starts appearing more often, if only for a few hours at a time. He marvels at the ways the world shifts and grows with each time he plays, and takes to exploring it with Beastrey at his side, for whom strangely enough a lot of things are also new. Joshua teaches both Beastrey and Data about the outside world, thinking Beastrey is just a somewhat reclusive but likeable weirdo.

Joshua tells Gordon about the new friend he made, ‘Ben’, and the adventures he’s been having with the other. Gordon is happy to hear Joshua is having a good time, but is otherwise none the wiser. Joshua starts losing track of time in the game, but chalks it up to being invested.

During one play session, Beastrey confesses he isn’t the one who did all the ‘modding’, and invites Joshua to meet Data. Data, or at least its ‘physical’ in-game manifestation is deep within the world, past the aquatic twilight zone and strange, drowned ruins of an unknown facility. Data, for the first time, really sees Joshua, and the resemblance sparks something within it. Joshua is drawn closer to it, and just before he reaches it-

Joshua wakes up lying on the floor with Gordon hunched over him in his room, pleading with him to wake up. Joshua unknowingly got drawn into the game much like Gordon had been, and Gordon urges Joshua to never touch the headset again, taking it away. Gordon opens up about his experiences with the simulation a bit more. They both agree to not touch the game or the headset again.

ACT V

Gordon comes into contact with an old coworker from Black Mesa, and he inquires about the combat simulation project, if anything happened to it after it was canned. This is where he learns that an employee had taken the project files from storage and was consequently fired. He comes into contact with Clark, and Clark explains he had no idea he accidentally unleashed the AI unto the game. Gordon asks if anything can be done to prevent what happened to Joshua and himself from happening to other people. Clark confesses he doesn’t know, and that it’s up to the developers of the game to find anything out of place and make sure it gets fixed. Gordon decides to leave the matter where it lies, not wanting anything to do with AI and simulations anymore and to safeguard his son.

Some time passes.

Joshua starts getting repeated invites and messages, at one point he gets into a conversation with ‘Ben’ via a platform’s messaging system. Ben says he can explain everything, that he’s sorry. Joshua decides he would like one final goodbye. He finds the headset stashed away somewhere in the house, and, while Gordon’s gone, he turns on the game and enters the server.

Beastrey (Ben) is surprised to see him, urging him to log out and turn off the game, but it’s already too late and Joshua can no longer leave. Beastrey helps Joshua attempting to ‘exit’ the game by going as far away from Data’s reach, but Data stops Beastrey and traps Joshua, determined to wait to the point that he assimilates into the game completely.

Gordon eventually finds Joshua comatose with the headset on, and he panics. He considers calling the emergency services, but he’s afraid they’ll take the headset off or that removing Joshua too far from the game will hurt his son like what happened to him. He calls Clark, urging him to help in any way he can. This results in Gordon and Clark going back to Black Mesa to retrieve the project files and the other gear they can get their hands on to get Gordon into the game to free his son.

Gordon enters the private server with Clark’s player character, and thwarts any attempt from Data to impede his progress and trap him as well. Beastrey’s awareness is overridden by Data as a last ditch effort to deter Gordon and Gordon is forced to destroy Beastrey before he can reach Data. As Beastrey is taken over, Data gains Beastrey’s awareness, and finds his other, littler half never wanted to trap Joshua in the first place, and the way it hurt him to hurt both Joshua and Gordon to this extent.

At this point, Data wavers in its intention to keep Joshua trapped, even more so with Beastrey now gone, and recognises whatever it is that is driving Gordon forward in the game is outside of his control to manipulate, so he lets Gordon destroy it as well. In a way, it also feels as a fulfillment of its intended role as the ‘villain’. The server crashes, the world breaks apart. The ‘game’ is completed.

The final boss is defeated and both Gordon and Joshua wake up. Joshua luckily wasn’t exposed long enough to have suffered any lasting damage, except for what seems to be a minor headache and some light sensitivity (and a vow from Gordon to get him checked out by a doctor as soon as the clinics open).

--

The whole ordeal results in Clark, Gordon and Joshua sitting in a Denny’s at four in the morning, eating pancakes somewhat solemnly, completely exhausted but also still reeling from the virtual battle. Joshua learns that ‘Ben’ essentially died, and he can’t help but cry for his friend.

“Honestly, I don’t think he’s gone,” Gordon admits, picking at the last bites of his pancakes. "I think he- or whatever that was, has a hard time staying dead. Like a cockroach, you know? At this point I’m just wondering when he’ll turn up again.”

Clark hums in agreement. Joshua seems somewhat reassured by his words, wiping at his eyes with the scratchy napkin as he settles into the squeaking diner seat.

“But,” he starts with a sigh, pointing his syrup-covered fork upwards to the ceiling in a decree, “One thing’s for certain…”

He thinks back to a time rife with virtual gunfire, caging walls and hysterical laughter echoing through the halls of the Black Mesa research facility. Five sets of footsteps and a whisper of his name.

“…No more VR. No more headsets. Ever.”

--

TL;DR: Gordon got trapped in VR and then Joshua also got trapped in VR. Benrey is there but also not.

thank you for reading. here. ( x ‿ o ) 🫴

[just-jordie-things]

hey!! can i req part 2 of the headcanons meeting megumi for the first time during the jujutsu tech exchange event? thank you!

a/n: ik i said i would make a part 2 for this a long time ago but y'all know i lie :3

read part one here ___

the first mistake megumi made was telling yuuji and nobara about his run in with you during the first portion of the exchange event.

because during the second portion, the pair would not stop teasing him about it. every time he was stuck on the benches with one or both of them, it was nonstop snickering. something about a crush.

so when he actually had to participate in the baseball game, he was very distracted. that brings us to mistake two.

mistake two was he couldn't seem to bring his attention away from you.

if it was his turn to bat, his eyes were finding you in the outfield. if he was on one of the bases, he was sneaking glances out of his peripheral. it didn't completely ruin his ability to play the game, but it did make it more difficult. and it was obvious to his team that his head was in the clouds.

but he couldn't help it. when your eyes would meet you always gave him a little smile and a discreet wave of your hand, as though you were old friends, and not practically strangers.

and god, it got worse when the teams swapped and it was tokyo's turn to pitch.

when you were up to bat you had such a confidence about you. which was deserved, you hit a perfect home run after all. megumi was standing in the outfield completely awestruck. which didn't go unnoticed by his so-called friends, who were still laughing and teasing during the game.

at one point he completely missed an easy out because he hadn't noticed the ball falling in his direction. he was too focused on how excited you looked when you cheered for miwa to run all the bases. you got riled up when you were proud, bouncing and waving your arms as you supported your team. it was... cute.

he didn't actually get to talk to you until the game was over, and actually, you were the one to approach him.

he'd just taken off the dumb helmet that made his hair feel flat and weird. he'd been trying to fix it back to normal when he realized you were walking up to him, your bag slung over your shoulder while the rest of your classmates were already headed out.

it was strange to be alone with just you. it made his face feel hot with awkwardness. (it was awkwardness... right? after your weird encounter during the first part of the event?)

"i just wanted to say good game," you'd said sweetly, and to his surprise, you even stuck your hand out. "it was fun"

despite some hesitation, megumi shook your hand. he made tht awkward too, staring at you like you had a hidden plan of attack, and holding onto your hand a little too long.

you didn't seem bothered by his behavior, you even laughed when you eventually slipped your hand out of his hold.

"uh, yeah, i guess it was... fun" he agreed half heartedly. team sports weren't really his thing. and he could've done without the relentless teasing from his friends through most of it.

"anyways..." you shifted your stance a bit, your hands folding together behind your back. "i also wanted to tell you that i like your shikigami. it's cute. like you. and if you're okay with it, could i give you my number?"

poor guy's doing a full double take, his eyes widen, his face goes pink and his mouth is gaping like a fish. he looks kind of ridiculous, but you're endeared by it, laughing softly as you wait for his response.

"your number?" he repeats, dumbly.

"yeah," you nod. "i dunno. i like you. i wanna talk to you more"

you were so damn blunt megumi wasn't sure if this was some kind of prank or not. it had to be, right?

nonetheless, he's fumbling for his phone, unlocking it and handing it to you so you could put your number in. you're grinning, happily typing in your contact info before passing it back to him.

"no pressure!" you tell him with a smile, just to be sure he's not uncomfortable. "you don't have to reach out. but, if you do, i'll answer" you add the last part softly, accompanied with pink cheeks and shy eyes that barely meet his.

"no, i'll call" he says with certainty.

you're beaming, taken aback by his blunt interest, but eager to know your little crush was reciprocated.

"alright then," you hum. "then i guess i'll talk you later"

you bid him goodbye, having to rush after the rest of your classmates who were determined to go back to kyoto with or without you. but you make sure to give megumi a wave over your shoulder.

he's still frozen in place, not totally sure what had just happened, but he waves back, and his heart starts to beat erratically in his chest.

you don't know it, but before he calls you a day later, he paces the halls of the school trying to think of just what to say when you pick up. he's mad anxious, wanting to come across just right, to tell the right stories and ask the right questions. he's not sure what you saw in him in a matter of a day that made you develop an interest, but he's determined to make sure you remain interested.

he doesn't know it, but you're so excited when he does call that you don't mind at all when he talks about. he could've told you how he'd spent every minute of his day and you would've been delighted to listen.

___ a/n: sorry again this is four months late bcuz i suck :3

[kaijuposting]

Jaegers of Pacific Rim: What do we know about them?

There's actually a fair amount of lore about Pacific Rim's jaegers, though most of it isn't actually in the movie itself. A lot of it has been scattered in places like Pacific Rim: Man, Machines, & Monsters, Tales From Year Zero, Travis Beacham's blog, and the Pacific Rim novelization.

Note that I will not be including information from either Pacific Rim: Uprising or Pacific Rim: The Black. Uprising didn't really add anything, and The Black's take on jaegers can easily be summed up as "simplified the concept to make a cartoon for children."

So what is there to know about jaegers, besides the fact that they're piloted by two people with their brains connected via computer?

Here's a fun fact: underneath the hull (which may or may not be pure iron), jaegers have "muscle strands" and liquid data transfer technology. Tendo Choi refers to them in the film when describing Lady Danger's repairs and upgrades:

Solid iron hull, no alloys. Forty engine blocks per muscle strand. Hyper-torque driver for every limb and a new fluid synapse system.

The novelization by Alex Irvine makes frequent references to this liquid data transfer tech. For example:

The Jaeger’s joints squealed and began to freeze up from loss of lubricant through the holes Knifehead had torn in it. Its liquid-circuit neural architecture was misfiring like crazy. (Page 29.)

He had enough fiber-optic and fluid-core cabling to get the bandwidth he needed. (Page 94.)

Newt soldered together a series of leads using the copper contact pins and short fluid-core cables. (Page 96.)

Unfortunately I haven't found anything more about the "muscle strands" and what they might be made of, but I do find it interesting that jaegers apparently have some sort of artificial muscle system going on, especially considering Newt's personnel dossier in the novel mentioned him pioneering research in artificial tissue replication at MIT.

The novelization also mentions that the pilots' drivesuits have a kind of recording device for their experiences while drifting:

This armored outer layer included a Drift recorder that automatically preserved sensory impressions. (Page 16.)

It was connected through a silver half-torus that looked like a travel pillow but was in fact a four-dimensional quantum recorder that would provide a full record of the Drift. (Page 96.)

This is certainly... quite the concept. Perhaps the PPDC has legitimate reasons for looking through the memories and feelings of their pilots, but let's not pretend this doesn't enable horrific levels of privacy invasion.

I must note, though, I haven't seen mention of a recording system anywhere outside of the novel. Travis Beacham doesn't mention it on his blog, and it never comes up in either Tales From Year Zero or Tales From The Drift, both written by him. Whether there just wasn't any occasion to mention it or whether this piece of worldbuilding fell by the wayside in Beacham's mind is currently impossible to determine.

Speaking of the drivesuits, let's talk about those more. The novelization includes a few paragraphs outlining how the pilots' drivesuits work. It's a two-layer deal:

The first layer, the circuity suit, was like a wetsuit threaded with a mesh of synaptic processors. The pattern of processor relays looked like circuitry on the outside of the suit, gleaming gold against its smooth black polymer material. These artificial synapses transmitted commands to the Jaeger’s motor systems as fast as the pilot’s brain could generate them, with lag times close to zero. The synaptic processor array also transmitted pain signals to the pilots when their Jaeger was damaged.

...

The second layer was a sealed polycarbonate shell with full life support and magnetic interfaces at spine, feet, and all major limb joints. It relayed neural signals both incoming and outgoing. This armored outer layer included a Drift recorder that automatically preserved sensory impressions.

...

The outer armored layer of the drivesuit also kept pilots locked into the Conn-Pod’s Pilot Motion Rig, a command platform with geared locks for the Rangers’ boots, cabled extensors that attached to each suit gauntlet, and a full-spectrum neural transference plate, called the feedback cradle, that locked from the Motion Rig to the spine of each Ranger’s suit. At the front of the motion rig stood a command console, but most of a Ranger’s commands were issued either by voice or through interaction with the holographic heads-up display projected into the space in front of the pilots’ faces. (Page 16.)

Now let's talk about the pons system. According to the novelization:

The basics of the Pons were simple. You needed an interface on each end, so neuro signals from the two brains could reach the central bridge. You needed a processor capable of organizing and merging the two sets of signals. You needed an output so the data generated by the Drift could be recorded, monitored, and analyzed. That was it. (Page 96.)

This is pretty consistent with other depictions of the drift, recording device aside. (Again, the 4D quantum recorder never comes up anywhere outside of the novel.)

The development of the pons system as we know it is depicted in Tales From Year Zero, which goes into further detail on what happened after Trespasser's attack on San Francisco. In this comic, a jaeger can be difficult to move if improbably calibrated. Stacker Pentecost testing out a single arm describes the experience as feeling like his hand is stuck in wet concrete; Doctor Caitlin Lightcap explains that it's resistance from the datastream because the interface isn't calibrated to Pentecost's neural profile. (I'm guessing that this is the kind of calibration the film refers to when Tendo Choi calls out Lady Danger's left and right hemispheres being calibrated.)

According to Travis Beacham's blog, solo piloting a jaeger for a short time is possible, though highly risky. While it won't cause lasting damage if the pilot survives the encounter, the neural overload that accumulates the longer a pilot goes on can be deadly. In this post he says:

It won't kill you right away. May take five minutes. May take twenty. No telling. But it gets more difficult the longer you try. And at some point it catches up with you. You won't last a whole fight start-to-finish. Stacker and Raleigh managed to get it done and unplug before hitting that wall.

In this post he says:

It starts off fine, but it's a steep curve from fine to dead. Most people can last five minutes. Far fewer can last thirty. Nobody can last a whole fight.

Next, let's talk about the size and weight of jaegers. Pacific Rim: Man, Machines, & Monsters lists off the sizes and weights of various jaegers. The heights of the jaegers it lists (which, to be clear, are not all of them) range from 224 feet to 280 feet. Their weights range from 1850 tons to 7890 tons. Worth noting, the heaviest jaegers (Romeo Blue and Horizon Brave) were among the Mark-1s, and it seems that these heavy builds didn't last long given that another Mark-1, Coyote Tango, weighed 2312 tons.

And on the topic of jaeger specs, each jaeger in Pacific Rim: Man, Machines, & Monsters is listed with a (fictional) power core and operating system. For example, Crimson Typhoon is powered by the Midnight Orb 9 power core, and runs on the Tri-Sun Plasma Gate OS.

Where the novelization's combat asset dossiers covers the same jaegers, this information lines up - with the exception of Lady Danger. PR:MMM says that Lady Danger's OS is Blue Spark 4.1; the novelization's dossier says it's BLPK 4.1.

PR:MMM also seems to have an incomplete list of the jaegers' armaments; for example, it lists the I-22 Plasmacaster under Weaponry, and "jet kick" under Power Moves. Meanwhile, the novelization presents its armaments thus:

I-22 Plasmacaster Twin Fist gripping claws, left arm only Enhanced balance systems and leg-integral Thrust Kickers Enhanced combat-strike armature on all limbs

The novel's dossiers list between 2-4 features in the jaegers' armaments sections.

Now let's move on to jaeger power cores. As many of you probably already know, Mark-1-3 jaegers were outfitted with nuclear power cores. However, this posed a risk of cancer for pilots, especially during the early days. To combat this, pilots were given the (fictional) anti-radiation drug, Metharocin. (We see Stacker Pentecost take Metharocin in the film.)

The Mark-4s and beyond were fitted with alternative fuel sources, although their exact nature isn't always clear. Striker Eureka's XIG supercell chamber implies some sort of giant cell batteries, but it's a little harder to guess what Crimson Typhoon's Midnight Orb 9 might be, aside from round.

Back on the topic of nuclear cores, though, the novelization contains a little paragraph about the inventor of Lady Danger's power core, which I found entertaining:

The old nuclear vortex turbine lifted away from the reactor housing. The reactor itself was a proprietary design, brainchild of an engineer who left Westinghouse when they wouldn’t let him use his lab to explore portable nuclear miniaturization tech. He’d landed with one of the contractors the PPDC brought in at its founding, and his small reactors powered many of the first three generations of Jaegers. (Page 182.)

Like... I have literally just met this character, and I love him. I want him to meet Newt Geiszler, you know? >:3

Apparently, escape pods were a new feature to Mark-3 jaegers. Text in the novelization says, "New to the Mark III is an automated escape-pod system capable of ejecting each Ranger individually." (Page 240.)

Finally, jaegers were always meant to be more than just machines. Their designs and movements were meant to convey personality and character. Pacific Rim: Man, Machines, & Monsters says:

Del Toro insisted the Jaegers be characters in and of themselves, not simply giant versions of their pilots. Del Toro told his designers, "It should be as painful for you to see a Jaeger get injured as it is for you to see the pilot [get hurt.]" (Page 56.)

Their weathered skins are inspired by combat-worn vehicles from the Iraq War and World War II battleships and bombers. They look believable and their design echoes human anatomy, but only to a point. "At the end of the day, what you want is for them to look cool," says Francisco Ruiz Velasco. "It's a summer movie, so you want to see some eye candy." Del Toro replies, "I, however, believe in 'eye protein,' which is high-end design with a high narrative content." (Page 57.)

THE JAEGER FROM DOWN UNDER is the only Mark 5, the most modern and best all-around athlete of the Jaegers. He's also the most brutal of the Jaeger force. Del Toro calls him "sort of brawler, like a bar fighter." (Page 64.)

And that is about all the info I could scrounge up and summarize in a post. I think there's a lot of interesting stuff here - like, I feel that the liquid circuit and muscle tissue stuff gives jaegers an eerily organic quality that could be played for some pretty interesting angles. And I also find it interesting that jaegers were meant to embody their own sort of character and personality, rather than just being simple combat machines or extensions of their pilots - it's a great example of a piece of media choosing thematic correctness over technical correctness, which when you get right down to it, is sort of what Pacific Rim is really all about.

[theartisticintrovert]

Commission Me! (Regular | Furry)

based on a post i made a while back about a persona 5 swap au, but instead of akechi and akira swapping, it was akechi and futaba swapping.

the basic idea is that futaba, rather than being taken in by sojiro after her mom's death, instead cycled through relatives and various foster homes. she grew bitter and jaded from the abuse she went through, before eventually learning who actually ordered the hit on her mother: shido. consumed by a need for revenge, she starts trying to take him down through any means necessary, creating the medjed persona to hide behind as she doxxes, blackmails, and exposes his supporters, all the while gathering evidence on shido that she eventually intends to release once she's sure it won't be ignored. including his use of a teenage hitman.

as for goro, he wasn't able to stomach killing people on shido's orders after wakaba's death. he realized after killing her that his revenge wasn't worth this, and he ended up turning himself in. one plea deal later, he was able to be released into a rehab house. sojiro discovered him through his contacts in the government, and was basically assigned as his parole officer. goro completed his parole, went back to school, and slowly became a shut-in, growing a palace and losing access to his persona (in this case, loki is his original persona that he loses). he isn't full hikikkomori like futaba in canon, but he only really leaves out of a sense of guilt and obligation when sojiro asks him to.

design notes wise, i based futaba's outfit on tech/streetwear fashion, as well as her alibaba icon (mask + ears). she has several piercings that she did herself, for the same reasons as miyamura from horimiya (iykyk). shes a lot more emo/goth in this au than canon, and her hair is dyed (og color is dark brown). as for goro, he likes comfortable, baggy clothing, bc he mostly just hangs out inside all day. he's partial to the kind of lounge clothing that passes for regular clothes, since he wants to seem like he has his shit together in the event he's asked to leave the house/come to leblanc.

[possiblytracker]

courtesy of the enablers in my notes, here is my Flamingo Wisdom gained from the catch today

first of all, a flamingo separated from its flock (as it has to be when you are moving that beast around) is kind of like a horse, in that it will freak the fuck out if a leaf so much as moves in the corner of its eye, and it really really really wants to break its stupid twig legs by any means necessary. and you really cannot let them do this, because they will probably die, but they are stronger than they look and despite their insane 70+yrs captive lifespan they appear pretty fucking determined to spectacularly remove themselves from this mortal coil. if they cannot kill themselves, they will simply attempt to kill something else; if you do not personally clamp their beaks shut using your entire hand they will reach around with their long stupid tube necks and start swinging without hesitation. they bite, and will rip out hair and earrings and whatever else in reach they can get their fucked up beaks on. several of the flamingos were covered in visible blood stains of unknown origin before even picking them up, and half the day was spent wondering if one had been attacked and was doing all this bleeding, but as far as i know nobody ended up finding any which left way more questions than answers

to transport a flamingo is a two-person effort, because they are so long and so desperate to fuck up themselves or whoever is around them that you need at least two sets of hands to pull it off safely. one person holds the flamingo facing backwards tucked under one arm kind of like a set of bagpipes. with the other arm you have to hold both legs apart, because if they are allowed to lash out you get fun accidents like "vet tech pummeled in the balls with full force of both flamingo feet at once, advised to leave premises". you have to hold the legs facing downwards, otherwise the circulation gets cut off, as they are physically incapable of pumping their own blood down there without the effects of gravity. the resulting effect looks kind of like you are holding a guitar wrong, or slow-dancing in a really fucked up way. it is also objectively impossible to place your hands on the bird in a way that you will not get pissed on.

the second person has to stand just behind the first and supervises the head, holding its beak shut as shown and supporting the neck in a comfortable position. some flamingos do not Have a comfortable position and will just spend the entire time wriggling and trying to bite you, which you just kind of have to deal with. you also get direct eye contact with the beast at all times, which is. interesting and unnerving

the only people handling them solo were the vet in charge of weighing the animals, the guy sticking them into the back of a van, and my boss, who stood in the corral chasing groups of them into a smaller pen for catching. every time a pair came to collect their next bird he would open the door to the pen, head in alone, you'd briefly hear the most fucked up cartoon fistfight-esque noises from inside, and about thirty seconds later he would reappear with an entire flamingo tucked casually under one arm like a football and just hand it to you. most baffling part of the entire experience, i think

despite the turbulence however they did make it safely to their new home :)

[kaminocasey]

We Were Golden Part 3

Summary: You get less than ideal news about your future with the Batch and of course they do something about it.

Pairing: Crosshair/F Medic!Reader , (Eventual???) Hunter/Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Angst, anger, wounds

WC: 5.1K

A/N: I'm actually really excited to take you guys on this journey, because I promise you... If you think you know where this story is heading, no you don't. Or maybe you do. Idk lol. Either way, I'm excited.

Part 2

TAGLIST FORM

“How is he?” Hunter asks as he leans against the wall in the corridor. 

You smile softly at Hunter’s concern for Echo. “He’s fine. He’ll wake up soon.”

You lean against the wall, next to him, watching as Wrecker teases Tech and Crosshair about something. Hunter’s eyes are on you when you turn back to face him.

“What?” Your eyebrows raise.

“Nothing. You’re just really good at your job.” He smiles.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” You chuckle. 

“Not with them around.” He nods in the other guys’ direction.

“So true.” You nod in agreement as one of the shock troopers approaches Hunter. 

“You’re being summoned by the prime minister once you are done here.” He tells him.

Hunter glances at you with a roll of his eyes. “Sounds about right…” 

“Thank you.” You nod to the shock trooper, who nods back and walks back down the corridor from the way he came. 

“So anyway, I was thinking after our next mission, we could take a few days and-” Hunter starts but cuts himself off when he hears something behind the medbay door. “Echo’s awake.”

You push off the wall and start to walk into the medbay, reminding yourself to ask what Hunter was going to say, later. Right now, you need to tend to your batchmate. 

When you walk into the room, you hear the Azi unit rambling on about some numbers and then you make eye contact with Echo as you come over to his side to check on him.

“Ha! Told you he’s alive!” Wrecker booms, startling Echo slightly and then points at Crosshair. “You owe me two credits!”

You roll your eyes at Crosshair. “Please tell me you didn’t think that Echo wasn’t actually going to make it.

“CT-1409’s condition is stable.” The Azi droid speaks up, hovering in front of Omega. 

“See, Echo? You’ll be fine.” You squeeze his hand and he smiles up at you, slightly. 

“However, I have some distressing news for the rest of you.” Azi turns away from you and Echo. “According to your test results, you all appear to be genetically defective clones.”

“Tell me you’re not surprised.” You look over at Tech, who looks like he’s in deep thought.

“I will leave you to process the shock of this revelation.” The droid hovers away.

“We’ve got a problem.” Echo speaks up, sitting up more.

“Not really. We’re more deviant than we are defective.” Tech shrugs, but somehow you don’t think that’s what Echo was talking about. “Not that.” Echo shakes his head. “Admiral Tarkin is here. He’s the one evaluating the clones. 

“The same Tarkin from the Citadel rescue when you, uh…” Tech struggles to be delicate in choosing his words. “How shall I put this?”

You give him a soft, encouraging smile.

“Blew up?” Wrecker grins. 

You shake your head at the larger man and sit on the edge of the bed by Echo’s feet. 

“And turned into that.” Crosshair takes his toothpick out of his mouth and points it at Echo. 

You shoot the sniper a glare, knowing that you’re definitely going to give him an ear full later. There’s no reason for him to be so rude about Echo. You know that they’re completely different as people, but they’ve gotten along this far, right?

Echo doesn’t seem to mind Crosshair’s rude remark. He just sighs. “Yes, and he’s not a big supporter of clones.”

Hunter crosses his arms. “We’ll soon find out. We’ve been summoned by the Prime Minister.” 

“Guess he didn’t find that mess hall fight amusing. But I sure did.” Wrecker chuckles.

Of course he did. You’d expect nothing less from Wrecker. It’s one of the things that made you care about him, though. You wouldn’t change the man for anything.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” Hunter nods toward the door. 

Echo hops off the exam table and you start to follow him out of the medbay into the corridor. Being summoned by the Prime Minister was definitely not something you’re looking forward to. Prime Minister Lama Su gives you the creeps. In fact, most of the Kaminoans do. There’s definitely something… secretive about them. Something you couldn’t put your finger on. 

“Wait! The fight was my fault. I’m going too.” Omega zooms in front of the group before you can leave, halting you all. 

“Not happening. We’ll handle this.” Hunter tells her, walking past her. 

“But, I-” Omega starts again. 

“Listen, Kid… Our squad’s nothing but trouble.” Hunter tells her firmly. “For your sake, keep your distance. Got it?”

He has a point. A child has no place with this squad. You’re always in danger or on the move. You give her an apologetic nod and head out with Hunter, leaving the child behind in the medbay. 

As you walk down the corridor, you try to catch Crosshair’s eye, he just sideyes you like he used to do back in the early days before you got together. You quirk your own eyebrow up and he smirks, slightly… barely… 

“That was a good hit earlier.” Crosshair compliments you. 

You break into a grin immediately, appreciating the feeling of normalcy. His smirk goes straight to your heart, a reminder that this is the man that you love with your entire heart. The man you’d go to war for. The man that can’t imagine your life without. 

“Do you think that there’s a way for-” Echo starts to ask you, but you're cut off by a Corrie captain stopping your squad.

“Where do you think you’re going? The training facility is that way.” The captain tells you with a rather rude tone, making you all turn toward him.

It’s the captain from earlier. The one who told you that the war was over. 

“Training facility?” Hunter steps in front of you, clearly confused.

“For a battle simulation.” The captain approaches Hunter. “Admiral Tarkin has requested to see more of your squad in action.”

“Then, we are not being reprimanded?” Tech asks from behind the group now. 

“No, you’re being tested. Now go gear up.” The captain moves his helmet in a way to look at you. “Except you. You’re not needed.” 

“So, we’re not in trouble, and they want us to fight more?” Wrecker looks downright gleeful, playfully bumping elbows with Tech, who doesn’t look appreciative of it. “Ha! Maybe this Empire thing isn’t so bad after all.”

You follow the guys to the area that’s just below the training facility so that they can gear up and grab weapons. With Echo mentioning Tarkin, you can’t help the bad feeling in your stomach that just seems to get worse. 

“You got everything you need?” You ask Crosshair as he looks down at you. 

He nods, seemingly distant again, putting his helmet back on. You give his hand a squeeze anyway and he tilts his head at the action, staring down at your hands.

“Good luck.” You smile up at him, anyway.

“We’ve done this hundreds of times.” Crosshair tells you, voice modulated, just making him sound more distant. 

“Right. Of course.” You let go of his hand and walk over to Hunter.

“Watch out for him.” You pat him in his plastoid arm piece.

Hunter smiles with a nod and you start to walk past Wrecker who gives you a fist bump as you walk out. You have to trust that everything is going to work out. Everything is changing, you know that. You’re just going to have to change with the times, you suppose.

It’s been a while since you’ve been without the guys breathing down your neck so you decide to go do some investigating. You need to know more about this “Order 66”. Like, why it’s even a thing. Why would they have an order ready to execute all the Jedi? 

Making your way to one of the server rooms that you know will be clear of any personnel, you try to get into the brain of Tech, knowing he’d know exactly what to look for and where to look for it. 

Pulling up a seat, you try to get into the server, not finding it incredibly difficult. You type “Order 66” and “Execute Jedi” into the search at the top of the large screen. What comes up, confuses you even more.

There’s nothing there. At all. It doesn’t make any sort of sense. No information. No names of Jedi who were executed… 

You know that you’re going to need Tech for this. 

You clear out the search and start to make your way back toward your barracks, only stopping at the mess hall to grab something quick to eat since you didn’t really get to eat dinner. 

You hear your name called, fondly. When you turn, you’re met with brown eyes and orange sun rays.

“Commander.” You smile, widely. 

Before your time with the batch, you spent time with the 212th. That’s how you met the Batch. Through Commander Cody. 

“How are you?” He asks you as you start walking out of the mess hall with your light snack. 

“I’m…” You start but then remember General Kenobi. 

Did Cody… He wouldn’t… There’s no way. They were joined at the hip, a mutual respect between the two of them like you’ve never seen with the other generals. Other than Skywalker and his men. 

“I-I’m just really tired today. I’ve taken a couple of naps and still feel exhausted…” You try to ignore the nauseous feeling easing its way into your stomach again. 

Please don’t throw up… Please don’t fucking throw up…

“It was a long day for sure. But the great news is, the war is over.” Cody smiles. 

“Thank the Maker.” You nod as you get ready to turn down the corridor where your barracks are.

Even Cody seems… different. More rigid than usual. 

“Indeed.” Cody agrees with a nod. “Tell the boys I said hello.”

“I will.” You nod back and walk back down to your barracks, walking in and sitting in your bunk against the wall. 

Don’t think about Kenobi. Or Skywalker. Or Ahsoka Tano. Or or or… 

You sit your loaf on a napkin on the crate by your bed, your appetite suddenly gone. All you want to do is lay down again. Deciding to do that, you hear the door swish open. 

“Live rounds? They used live rounds! On us!” Wrecker storms in, angrily, bringing his fists down on the table. 

“We were there, Wrecker. We know.” Tech sets his kit down on his workstation. 

You sit up immediately, looking to Hunter for an explanation. “Live rounds?”

“I tried to warn you about Tarkin.” Echo says, a deep scowl on his face.

You get up and walk over to Wrecker to examine him, instantly unclicking his armor and letting it drop. Echo guides him over to a seat so that you can take a better look.

“Who’s that Imperial snake think he is?” Wrecker grumbles, hitting the table as you pull his shirt up to inspect the blaster shot to his chest. 

“Stow it, already. You got shot.” Crosshair says with a stone expression. “It happens all the time.” 

Wrecker looks like a kicked puppy and you give Crosshair a glare before turning back around to face Wrecker. 

“Echo, grab my kit.” You point over to it by your bed.

Echo goes over to your bed and grabs your kit as Tech starts to argue with Crosshair. “There’s a fundamental difference between taking fire in battle and being used for target practice.”

You nod in agreement, angrily. Tarkin has always been a sketchy sort of guy, from what you’ve heard. You have half a mind to go and give him a piece of yours. 

“Exactly! We’re not dummy droids.” Wrecker fires off at Crosshair. 

You’ve never seen Wrecker so worked up. It hurts your heart that Crosshair’s being like this, knowing that you still needed to find answers. Making a mental reminder to talk to Tech about it, you’re about to ask Wrecker to take his shirt off when you hear a voice in the doorway.

“That much we can agree on.” 

Everyone stops to look at the sinister looking figure in the doorway, standing in between to shock troopers. Tarkin gives Hunter a warning stare sending everyone into attention, backs straight, eyes ahead. Wrecker pushes you away slightly so that he can stand at attention. You refuse. You stare the gray haired governor down. How dare he use your squad as target practice… Wrecker could have been killed! And it wouldn’t have mattered at all to this man.

Hunter catches your eye and gives you a “Be respectful look.” so with a roll of your eyes so hard that they could pop out of your head, you stand at attention as well, in between Wrecker and Crosshair. 

“That was quite an impressive display.” Tarkin muses as he steps into the barracks. 

“Didn’t have much choice.” Hunter grumbles and you look over at him. 

He’s clearly incredibly unhappy with what went down in the training facility. You should’ve been there. You should’ve gone with them… You’re a part of this squad too.

“Our new Empire may have methods that seem a bit unorthodox, but so does this squadron.” Tarkin replies, looking at each man. “Both certainly have their merits.”

It sends your skin crawling, the way he’s looking at them… Like they’re objects… things.

“Nala Se speaks quite highly of her five enhanced clones.” Tarkin stops to look up at Wrecker, his eyes roving over Wrecker like he’s just a thing that can be bought or replaced. “She claims you're more capable than an army.”

The need to give this man a piece of your mind starts to become stronger, but Hunter gives you a warning look, almost as if he could read your thoughts. It’s always been like that… Hunter understands you more than you understand yourself a lot.

Tarkin doesn’t even glance your way, as if you’re invisible.

“You have a mission for us sir?” Hunter asks. 

“Indeed. We have tracked a group of insurgents to the Onderon sector. They must be dealt with.” Tarkin approaches Hunter. 

“What sort of insurgents?” Echo speaks up.

“Separatist forces intent on keeping the galaxy at war.” Tarkin tells him and you look up at Crosshair, who remains stone cold and expressionless. “If you neutralize this grave threat, you will be looked upon most favorably as I assess the needs of the Imperial Army.” 

“You, however, will no longer be needed.” Tarkin turns toward you. “You’re to meet with Mistress Nala Se when this squad leaves. I would say your goodbyes.”

At that, Tarkin nods and walks out of the barracks, leaving you and the Batch quiet. 

Saying your goodbyes? You don’t understand… You’ve only been with the Batch a year, but it feels longer… Like you’ve known them your whole life. How could you just leave them?

“Alright. Sit back down.” You guide Wrecker back down to the seat so that you can patch him up.

You can feel all the guys’ eyes on you but you need to focus on the large man in front of you, trying to remember to think before you speak. They’re all at a loss for words like you, probably. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You turn to Echo, briefly, before returning your gaze to Wrecker. “And you too.”

“We… we didn’t think we’d ever have to say goodbye…” Wrecker mumbles, sadly. 

You finish patching him up and pat his shoulder lightly, giving him a sympathetic smile and shrug. “We knew this wouldn’t be forever.” 

When you turn to look at Crosshair, he’s watching you. But you ignore him and go to pack your bunk up. 

“I’m sure I’ll see you guys around.” You shrug.

Unsure of what else to say, you turn back around to face them. Hunter approaches you first and offers his hand. You look down at it for a moment before looking back up at him and then throw your arms around him. He seems startled for a moment but wraps his arms around you as well.

“Thanks for everything, sarge. I’ve learned a lot from you.” You pull away. “From all of you really. Especially you, Tech.” 

You smile over at the goggled clone and he looks slightly flustered, giving a nod and then fixing his goggles. 

You hug Echo next. He’s more accepting of your reassignment, knowing this is how it is in the military. But Wrecker looks like he’s about to cry. Wrecker doesn’t do well with change, you all know that, so it’s going to be up to the guys to try to help him adjust.

When you look at Crosshair, he just nods. It’s final and definitely a break up. But it doesn’t mean it hurts any less. 

“That’s all?” Echo asks him. “A nod?” 

“What, do you want to throw her a going away party?” Crosshair rolls his eyes, putting a toothpick between his lips. 

“It’s fine. It was never that serious anyway, right?” You shrug, grabbing your pack and then heading over to Tech to shake his hand, knowing he’s not the hugging type. 

He squeezes your hand a little longer, though, surprising even you. 

“You will be missed.” Tech murmurs. 

You smile up at him and nod. “You too.” 

When you let go, you head to the doorway, turning to look at them one more time. They all still look at a loss for words, but when you look at Crosshair, he’s sitting on his bunk, rubbing his forehead as if he’s got a headache. 

Oh well, not your problem anymore, right?

As you walk down the brightly lit, white corridors, you remember you didn’t even get to tell Tech about what you found. You’ll have to send him a transmission later, if possible. He’d be able to find out more, with or without your help. Not that he needs it anyway.

You try not to think about how much you’re really going to miss the guys. You try not to think about Crosshair and your past together, or Your and Hunter’s late night talks, or Echo’s trust in you to have his back, or Wrecker’s laugh when the two of you would goof off, or Tech’s ability to teach you something new every single day. 

This was going to be a huge change. Something you’re not ready or prepared for. 

“Do you want to know what I think?” Echo asks Crosshair as they’re in hyperspace on the way to Onderon.

“Don’t care.” Crosshair rolls his eyes. 

“I think you love her and you’re afraid to-” Echo starts.

“Shut up and mind your business. Before I make you.” Crosshair points his toothpick at Echo, warning him.

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do?” Echo rolls his eyes. 

“Keep talking and you’ll find out.” Crosshair promises him.

“Aren’t you going to stop them?” Tech asks Hunter.

“Huh?” Hunter looks up, deep in thought. “Oh… Both of you shut up.” 

Echo and Crosshair listen to their sergeant and quit their bickering. It’s enough that they lost you… but to have in-fighting immediately after you’re gone? And then with Crosshair still acting weird, and the wariness he got from Omega trying to warn him about Kamino changing? It’s just too much for Hunter to handle right now.

“What are we going to do without her?” Wrecker grumbles from the cockpit doorway. 

“We can’t think about that right now, Wrecker. We need to focus on the mission.” Hunter sighs from the co-pilot seat. “I know it’s going to be hard, but we have to finish the mission. And then we can figure it out from there. Alright?” 

“Okay.” Wrecker mumbles and then goes back to the bunks.

The thing is… he doesn’t know. He never thought this far ahead. Not without you… He doesn’t know how he’s going to manage without your laugh or your smile every day. Or when you remind him that he needs to sleep. Or the way that you always seem to know exactly what he needs and how he knows what you need. The way that you’re both so in sync that it almost scares him…

How is he supposed to carry on like normal? What did they do before you, and why can’t he remember? 

When you make your way to Nala Se’s lab, you find the Azi droid from earlier. 

“Um, hello.” You wave. “I’m looking for Nala Se, have you seen her by chance?” 

“She went to find her medical assistant. She will be back momentarily.” The droid tells you.

“Thanks.” You nod and go to look out the window at the raging seas below. 

It’s raining and storming, of course. Nothing new for Kamino, but with all that’s going on, it just feels even more gloomy than usual. Like the sky is maybe a little too caliginous… Like what you feel on the inside without the Batch. 

You hear your name behind you and find Nala Se with Omega, who has a look of concern on her face, but when she sees you, the concern fades away and a look of relief takes its place.

“I was told to come find you, by Governor Tarkin.” You tell her.

“Yes, you will no longer be needed with Clone Force 99. I would like to give you the option to either stay here on Kamino and assist me, or you can join the new recruits coming in.” She tells you.

“New recruits?” You ask, confused.

“There will be a new army… of non clone humans. They will need medics as well.” She replies.

You look at Omega momentarily and she shakes her head. You tilt yours, confused. 

“Omega, will you go get Taun We please?” She asks the child. “Azi, please assist her and make sure she stays on task.”

“Yes, mistress.” Azi follows Omega to the door.

Omega gives you one last pleading look, which you still don’t understand. But you decide that no matter what, you’re going to figure it out. The Kaminoans have always been secretive about things, but you can’t help but think that this child has something to do with the Batch. Why else would she know who they were?

“I actually forgot some stuff in my barracks, so I’ll be back in a bit.” You lie to Nala Se. “If I run into Taun We, I’ll let her know my decision.”

The Kaminoan woman nods and you head back out and down the corridor to find Omega. And hopefully to also find some answers. 

“Pack up their gear and take it to the hangar.” You hear inside your barracks and then see a few troopers entering the room, one of them the Corrie captain from earlier. “You. You’re coming with me.”

You get to the door in time to see the captain trying to grab Omega and the Azi droid trying to stop him.

“Hey, why don’t you pick on someone your own size.” You get his attention in time to punch him in the helmet, a little stupidly, you might add, because pain shoots up your arm instantly. 

Ignoring the pain, you jump on the captain’s back trying to get him to let go of Omega, but unfortunately you don’t see the two other troopers come for you. You only feel a jolt of electricity shoot throughout your body, realizing you’ve just been stunned as you drift into unconsciousness, trying desperately to tell Omega to run. 

On the way back to Kamino, Hunter paces the Marauder, thinking about what the Empire is doing. He starts thinking about those innocent kids that Tarkin wasn’t even thinking twice about wiping out. He thinks about his argument with Crosshair. He thinks about you. About how it seemed pretty final between you and Crosshair. Would he ever stand a chance with you? It doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is getting you and Omega back, where you’ll be safe. He’ll keep you safe, no matter what it takes.

“I know why you’re really going back.” Crosshair tells Hunter when he’s back by the bunks.

Hunter doesn’t acknowledge him. He doesn’t have to. He knows what Crosshair’s going to say.

“Don’t think I don’t notice the way you look at her.” Crosshair sneers. “Or the way you pine after her like some lovesick pup.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Hunter says, turning to face his brother, leaning against the wall.

Crosshair lets out an unamused laugh. “Don’t worry. I see the way she looks at you too.” 

Hunter’s chest tightens. What does Crosshair mean by that? 

“I guess since I’m done with her, you’re going to want a turn?” Crosshair continues to try to push Hunter’s buttons.

Hunter’s stare hardens. “You better stop talking, vod.” 

Crosshair smirks and walks back up into the cockpit. He was clearly not in his right frame of mind. There’s no way he’d actually ever say that about you, right? Hunter knows that Crosshair loves you. He’s heard the way that the man’s heart picks up when you enter a room. The way that Crosshair smiles at you when he thinks no one is watching. The way that Crosshair’s touch lingers on your body when they’re out in the field. 

Crosshair isn’t fooling Hunter and Hunter intends to find out what’s really making him act this way.

“Well, the plan wasn’t a total failure.” You hear Tech’s voice before you open your eyes. 

It’s followed by your name murmured by Hunter and then you feel hands on your face. 

“Goody…” You hear Crosshair’s voice.

You slowly open your eyes, a little disoriented, and try to sit up, rubbing your head and then remembering what happened. “O-Omega!” 

You try to stand up but Hunter pulls you back down, trying to brace you so he can keep you steady. 

“She’s here. She’s alright.” Hunter says.

When you look beside you, she waves, smiling sheepishly. 

“Where-” You look around, seeing the guys out of their armor, only in their bodysuits and then take notice that you’re in some sort of jail cell. 

“I warned you to not come back…” Omega tells Hunter. 

“Had to. We were looking for you.” Hunter smiles. “For both of you, actually.” 

“Me?” She points at herself, unable to believe it. 

“What do you say, kid? You wanna come with us or did we get captured for nothing?” He asks her.

You smile at her as you lean against Hunter, still not quite sure you can stand up just yet. 

“You came back for me?” She can’t believe it. 

The wonder in her eyes pulls at your heart-strings and then you realize that she wasn’t expecting anyone to come for her and that makes your heart clench. 

“That’s right. Or you can stay on Kamino if-” Hunter starts but she cuts him off.

“No, it’s like I said before. I want to go with you.” She insists, standing up. 

Hunter helps you stand long enough to sit you down on the bench against the wall.

“How touching.” Crosshair sneers from behind the group with crossed arms. 

You all look at him. He somehow doesn’t even look like himself right now. You know that this is him… obviously. But the way that he’s glaring at Hunter… At Omega… It just doesn’t sit well with you.

Hunter glares right back at his brother, looking like he’s prepared for a fight. You rarely see Hunter scowl so deeply.

Wrecker coughs, awkwardly. “Um, Hunter. How are we getting out of here?” 

Hunter’s glare doesn’t ease up. “I’m working on it.” 

Hunter and Crosshair continue to glare at each other in a way that seems deeper than what’s going on. You look at Crosshair but he refuses to break first. 

“You know what you should work on?” Crosshair steps toward Hunter with his finger pointing at the sergeant. “Explaining when you went soft.”

“Stow it, Crosshair.” Echo gives him a gentle push, not letting him get any closer to Hunter. 

You stand up, finally, your legs finally feeling a bit stronger, and step in front of Omega, protectively.

“Don’t you see we’re locked up in here because of him? He had us disobey orders.” Crosshair fumes, anger clear on his face for the first time ever. 

It worries you to see him like this. You just want the old Crosshair back. 

“I never thought you disobeying orders was a problem.” Tech fixes his goggles.

“Yeah. We do it all the time.” Wrecker tries to level with Crosshair, clearly not understanding why his brother is being like this either. 

“Good soldiers follow orders!” Crosshair tells his brothers angrily. “Every choice you’ve made since Kaller has been wrong. First, the padawan, then Gerrera. And now…” 

He glances at Omega and then you. As if you weren’t worth coming back for. He doesn’t have to say it. You know what he means. 

He looks back at Hunter. “You’re becoming a liability.” 

“We can debate my choices later. For now, let’s focus on getting outta here.” Hunter tells him, glancing at you to make sure you’re alright. 

“There’s that look again. The one you think no one notices.” Crosshair sneers with crossed arms. “Even though it's obvious to everyone.” 

Echo, Tech, and Wrecker look between Hunter and Crosshair, prepared to step in if Hunter’s gonna throw a punch. It’s not completely undeserved.

“Stop it.” You step in front of Crosshair, gently pushing him away from the group. “Stop saying things just to be hurtful.” 

“I’m only saying things that are true, Princess.” He shrugs, leaning in, voice low. “Besides, like I told him… now that I’m done with you, he can have you.”

This is the first time in a long time that you’ve ever been made to feel so… used… like you didn’t mean anything to him… 

With wide, hurt eyes, and anger coursing through your veins, you shove him away from you and go sit on the opposite side of the cell and don’t notice the way he sits down and rubs his temple. You also don’t notice the way that Omega goes to sit next to him. What you do notice is Echo sitting down next to you, placing an arm around your shoulder. 

“If… you want me to punch him… just let me know.” Echo murmurs, trying to get you to crack a smile.

It works, obviously, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, I may take you up on that just this once.” 

“We’ll figure it out.” Hunter tells you from the wall, quietly. You nod to him, not knowing exactly what he means by that. Does he mean what’s going on with Crosshair? Or this new Empire? Or with Omega? Or with… the two of you? Not that there’s really anything to figure out. He’s your best friend. Right?

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[octuscle]

Hello support! I hope you can help me because I am not good with this kind of tech and I don't want to make a mess! You see, I have taking bad decisions all my life. I decided to ignore I was gay and lived a straight life for 40 years... I never took care of my appearance and now I am a 42 yo man with a bellly, and I don't seem to be making any progress at gym.

I think... I feel like it's too late. I feel that even if I change the way I live from now on, I have lost too much time, too many experiences... and I want to use Chronivac to turn my life 180º. I don't really have a specific type of life in mind, but I hope you have some great presets for me.

Can you help, please? Thanks!

Fuck, dude! You've been sweating out your sexual desires your whole life? And this pathetic body is all you've achieved in the gym? Okay, good that you came to me. It would be terrible if things got any worse. Lie down, get some sleep, I'll take care of it.

Since your wife threw you out on the street, you've been living in a small boarding house until you find something better. The bathroom is in the hallway and you share it with the other tenants. Most of them are plumbers and other tradesmen working on a construction site in the area. They wait in front of the toilet. It's occupied, of course. You hear the flush. The door opens. A mason of the highest caliber comes out. His dick is still sticking out of his pants, which he only closes casually. You make eye contact. A little too long. The synapses in your brain run amok. You go to the bathroom. You leave the door unlocked. You drop your pants. The door opens. Jackpot!

You did good for a virgin. You blow like the devil. And you know how to massage a cock in your tight asshole. The men waiting outside the toilet grin shamelessly as first the bricklayer and then you come out. One of them slips you a note with his phone number and tells you to call him. Shit, you forgot to piss because of all the sex. And you haven't showered either. What time is it anyway? Dude, you're a little out of it. It's only 6:30. Sure, the workers are already leaving. But you just got off work. Being a doorman is a hard job. Lie down first. Your landlady already knows. Breakfast is usually served at 16:00.

The first guests are already coming home when you wake up. Dressed only in your jockstrap, you shuffle across the hall to the bathroom. There are phone numbers on the walls. Usually with a crude drawing of a cock above it. You take your magnificent piece out of your underpants. 20 centimeters flaccid. With an impressive PA on top. Fits well in your calloused hand. As you pee, your eyes wander up your forearms. Were those tattoos there yesterday?

You're sitting in the breakfast room in your tracksuit. You're watching porn on your cell phone. One hand always on your dick. You're always horny. Hey, 42 is no age. You're at the peak of your manhood. You grab your gym bag, kiss the landlady goodbye, and head to the shabby basement boxing gym in the red-light district.

It's around 8 p.m. when you come out into the fresh air. Three hours of hard training, jumping rope, punching bag, sparring, technique training, lifting weights. And then a cold shower. No soap. No deodorant. Routine for more than ten years. And it shows. Fuckin' fit. A machine. You belong here, among hookers, pimps and drug dealers. This is your world. You go to your favorite falafel restaurant almost every night. Because the falafel is good. And because the chef's son is hot and horny. Dinner and a fuck - a good way to start the evening. And then you open your club. It was always your dream to create a gay club, bar and brothel concept. You had the right instinct. The concept has been successful for years. Partygoers love your place. Within an hour or two, the dance floor and dark rooms are full.

You're one of the toughest bouncers in town. But it's also one of the hottest clubs in the city. And you're only at the door until two or three o'clock. Then you check the situation in the club. And if there's something hot to fuck, you check the situation in the darkrooms particularly carefully.