#hardware inspection

[sipotek]

If the metal hardware parts do not meet the standard, how can the parts ...

[jcmarchi]

Japan Tests Drones for Inspection of Damaged Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/japan-tests-drones-for-inspection-of-damaged-fukushima-daiichi-nuclear-power-plant-technology-org/

Japan Tests Drones for Inspection of Damaged Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant - Technology Org

Tokyo Electric Power Company (Tepco), the operator of Japan’s nuclear power plants, concluded testing of the first set of drones intended for use in the decommissioning process of the damaged Fukushima Daiichi plant.

Remote control room of the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Station. Image credit: TEPCO

Scheduled for deployment in February, a snake-shaped robot and four drones will be employed to assess the damage at the Fukushima Daiichi Unit 1 reactor. The testing was completed on Tuesday.

This development marks a significant step in the decades-long decommissioning effort, especially since it will be the first instance of a drone entering the reactor’s containment vessel to offer a comprehensive view of the damage above water.

The Fukushima Daiichi plant suffered a core meltdown and a hydrogen blast almost 13 years ago in one of the most severe nuclear disasters in history.

Tepco aims to utilize the images captured by the drone to assess the feasibility of removing the melted fuel debris. A Tepco spokesperson emphasized a safety-first approach for the investigation, with meticulous checks on procedures and instructions to ensure safety throughout the process.

Unit 1’s nuclear reactor was the first to undergo a meltdown following a massive tsunami along the east coast of Japan in March 2011. Among the four reactors in operation that day, Unit 1 is considered the most severely damaged.

Tepco is actively working to comprehend the full extent of the damage and devise strategies for the removal of molten fuel—a complex task that experts estimate will span several decades.

Written by Alius Noreika

[shadowspirez]

I wanna be between a man's thighs

we wanna be between a computer's thighs, close enough <3

[balatadata]

Hardware Outgoing Inspection

Best Hardware Outgoing Inspection. Balata houses one the deepest benches in post-warranty support. Majority of our Level 3 and 4 engineers worked decades.

[ivystoryweaver]

Still With You

A With You standalone sequel - can be read on its own

"Salvaging discarded things knocked the edge off wanting to drink."

"...but where Marc's hands restored and your hands healed and Steven's hands inspired and instructed, Jake had brutal hands."

based on this nonnie and this @purple-amaranthe request

Pairing: Marc, Steven, Jake x gn!reader || Word Count: 3.2k

Content: they're all trying hard ok, domestic life, self worth probs, mentions of alcoholism/drinking, angst-ish, domestic fluff, moon dads-to-be, romance, sensual content, but nothing explicit

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

MARC

10:58 A.M.

Florescent lights flickered out an annoying buzz in the otherwise silent waiting room.

Thumbing through an outdated parenting magazine, you intermittently pointed out cute toys or outfits to your husband, who would grant you a curt nod each time.

Realizing you likely weren't helping the situation, you set the magazine aside and covered his hand with your own, if only to stop his fidgeting. "Almost time."

Marc squeezed your hand, grateful for your grounding touch. "You're sure we're not late?"

"We're right on time. It's still not even 11:00."

"Okay," he huffed out, his knee bouncing of its own accord. The cheap vinyl of his chair squeaked as he shifted, attempting to externally calm and internal storm.

You smiled at him sympathetically, remembering how far he'd come to even get to this point.

Just yesterday, he paced the floor half the evening, pushing his hands tormentedly through his curls over and over.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"They'll never approve me," he lamented. "I'm not...they'll think I'm not ready."

"Baby, we've taken all the classes. We've passed the home inspection." You nodded around at your new bedroom, eyes landing on the salvaged and restored night table he presented to you a while back.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc had taken on several projects since then, turning one bedroom of your new place into a workshop and the other into a nursery.

"Do you think she'll like girl colors?" He asked, flipping through paint swatches at the local hardware store.

"Uhh, what are 'girl colors'?" You smirked.

He swatted your nose with his finger. "I'm trying to pick out what color to paint that vintage toy chest I restored for Akeyla."

Your heart melted at the sound of your future daughter's name, not to mention the fact that Marc had put together nearly every piece in her nursery himself.

When he wasn't on a mission for Khonshu, he liked to keep his hands busy. Sometimes that meant his hands were all over you for "stress relief." Otherwise, he would drive around town in the old truck he bought, looking for unwanted and discarded furniture to fix up, repurpose for the house, or sell.

He still labeled himself unemployed, but he sold a few refurbished pieces a month, which more than paid for the hobby, his truck insurance and even left some spending money.

Salvaging discarded things knocked the edge off wanting to drink.

"Maybe like...turquoise?" He prodded, tracing his fingers over a row of various blues and greens. When you neglected to answer what you assumed was a rhetorical question, he assumed it was a no.

"Or purple? Sweetheart?" The full intensity of the Marc Spector stare fell on you as he waited for the verdict.

"Sorry." You smiled at him, nodding toward the turquoise swatches. "Trust your instincts. You're always right." Leaning closer, you kissed him adoringly on the cheek.

"That's not what you said about the yellow bench," he chuckled, selecting a swatch labeled "Ebbtide".

"That's pretty, I like it."

Marc needed to hear your words. After a couple years of marriage, you knew this now more than ever. Whether telling him what you needed in bed, or giving your seal of approval for his newest restoration project, he valued your opinion more than anything and it meant so much to him to hear you voice it.

Akeyla's nursery had been ready for weeks. The vintage toy chest was the final touch. Marc found a rocking chair, a book case that Steven requested, and chest of drawers to restore. You drew the line at a creaky old toddler bed. Steven went with you to pick that out, brand new.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

It was finally here. Today was the day you would meet your little girl.

You weren't ready to take her home yet - that was longer process - but you would meet her and start visits. Very soon, she would enter your home through the foster system, and after a while, she would be yours forever, by adoption.

"What if they change their minds?" Marc urgently whispered, there in the waiting room, gripping your hand so tightly it hurt. "They'll want to put her somewhere without someone - "

"Marc," you reminded him, "they know all about us. It's okay."

"I know, but - what if they find out about Khon- "

"Hi, are you the Spectors?" a kindly voice interrupted Marc's fussing.

A smartly dressed young woman holding a tablet adjusted her glasses and smiled.

"Yes," you quickly answered, standing up and pulling Marc with you. "That's us. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She shook each of your hands. "Ready to meet her?"

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"What if I..." Marc whispered against your temple, holding you against him in bed the night before. "I want to be there to meet her, but if I'm not, it isn't because I..." He shifted restlessly, trying to explain.

"You know what I always say," you gently reminded him, raking one hand through the curls resting above his ear.

"It's our body," he repeated your words back to you. "Whoever's there is there. It's not a problem."

"Exactly," you remind him. "I know you want to meet Akeyla as much as Steven, Jake and I do. I know that."

"I do," he breathlessly repeated, and you realized it might be a long night, when he added, "I just don't want to scare her. What if she doesn't understand, you know, how we are?"

"Baby, come here," You pulled his head down to your chest, wrapping him up tightly, pressing soothing kisses along his hairline. He wasn't voicing any fears he hadn't already talked through a dozen times with you, his sponsor and his therapist, not to mention his alters.

"Sorry," he murmured against the smooth column of your neck. Shifting pleading eyes up to yours, he relaxed, as your soft smile soothed him. "I'm so nervous."

"I am too," you sympathized. "Believe me, Marc. I mean, we're meeting our daughter. I'm just as nervous as you are."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc tangled his fingers with yours as you shuffled down the hallway toward the room that would change your lives forever.

The woman in front of you, who had identified herself as Elsie, paused before opening the door. "Ready?"

You glanced at your husband.

Sometimes he was so adorably terrified you were certain he forgot it was actually his idea to adopt.

Granting you a nod, he swallowed thickly. "Ready."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

STEVEN

9:22 P.M.

"So tense, mon cœur," your husband breathed against your neck, trailing tempting kisses over your damp skin. Strong forearms flexed against your abdomen, pulling your back closer to the slick heat of his bare chest.

Thick thighs surrounded you as you rested in your garden tub together, soaking in a bubble bath. Your head dropped to his shoulder as he whispered sensual French words on your ear. Long fingers traced down the shape of your abdomen, naughtily slipping between your legs.

"Steven, this is supposed to be a relaxing bath. Oh shit - " You moaned as touched you right where you craved. His other hand gripped your jaw, turning your face to his for a wet, hungry kiss. You went boneless in his embrace, completely at his mercy.

You should have known sweet Steven would seduce you during your "relaxing bath."

Later that evening, he sat beside you on the sofa, each of you working on a puzzle book from the "couch basket", enjoying a quiet evening in your new home.

“Got those pictures you wanted, love,” he commented. “The garden ones. Found another book too.”

You smiled adoringly at him, so excited to see them framed and hanging in Akeyla’s room. You had asked him to track down pictures of gardens from all over the world. Since Marc was in charge of furniture, Steven helped you pick out some unique decor.

He acquired a couple of first edition classic Children’s books as well. But you reminded him they would have to be stored way up high, away from the grabby hands of a toddler.

So he curated a brilliant little collection of toddler friendly board books for the lower shelves, as well as children’s books for her to grow into.

Steven had finished his bachelor's degree and was now working on a Masters of Anthropology. Already fluent in French, he was also studying Egyptian Arabic in an unofficial capacity, and toying with the idea of studying archaeology or linguistics as well. He just loved to learn and could never get enough.

After all was said and done, he'd probably end up teaching, which was a perfect idea because, in front of the right crowd, he was absolutely enthralling when he was passionate about something.

He still worked at the university library and thanked you almost daily for making most of the money for this little family, while he studied, and he, Jake and Marc worked part-time jobs.

You reminded Steven that their three part time jobs kind of added up to one job - plus as a student, you would give him a pass.

"Besides, you're going to be a sexy professor in another year or two, so I really see no downside," you'd tease him.

“Can’t wait to read to her every night,” Steven mused, pulling your mind back to the present.

Setting your puzzle book down, you snuggled up close to his side, wrapping your arms around his. “She’s always going to remember us reading to her. You’re going to be such a good dad, Steven.”

His throat bobbed. “You really think so?”

“I do. I know it.”

Gripping your hand almost as tightly as Marc had earlier in the afternoon, his head rested against yours. "Can't wait to meet her. Tell me again how she looked."

You warmly chuckled, nuzzling into his sleeve. "You've seen her picture a hundred times."

"I know, but...tell me again. What does her voice sound like?"

So you told Steven all about meeting your daughter for the first time, that afternoon, with Marc.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

JAKE

4:07 A.M.

The jangling of keys in the deadbolt dragged you from a foggy half slumber you'd managed in Steven's chair by the front door.

Jake had finally made it home after another night driving people around, and serving as Khonshu's fist of vengeance.

When he spotted you there, looking so adorably uncomfortable, he pulled his cap off his head and tossed it onto the entry way table with his keys.

Kneeling down in front of you, he smiled warmly. "What are you doing up, mi vida?"

"Mmm," you mumbled, relief surging through you at the sight of him. Leaning forward in the chair, you wrapped your arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. "Missed you."

"Missed you too." He held you for an indulgent moment before gently placing you back into the chair and standing to remove his jacket and gloves. Before you could whine out a protest, he helped you up just long enough to sit in the chair and pull you back down onto his lap.

Tucking you against his body, he reached for his jacket and draped it over you like a blanket. Jake knew you well enough. If he told you to go to bed, you would bristle and defy him, but if he held you like this, you would fall asleep in sixty seconds flat. Win win.

Your body settled against his and your breathing slowed, but you blinked up at him pleadingly. “Where have you been?”

Frowning in confusion, he rubbed his hands up and down your back soothingly, underneath the jacket. “You know where, cariño.”

Looping your fingers around his tie, you coaxed his temping lips to yours for a lingering kiss. Jake shifted underneath you, sighing against your mouth as you held him there for an indulgent moment.

“I haven’t seen you all week. I miss you.”

“I see you almost every night,” he volleyed back.

“You know what I mean.” Realizing you were tired and there was an edge in your tone, you touched your forehead to his. “I know you guys don’t exactly have a schedule. I just wanted to tell you about Akeyla.”

His eyes flickered away as his jaw clenched. You and Marc met your daughter yesterday. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

For a while, Jake had to be asked or reminded to participate in regular, daily things. Sometimes, you would go a week, only seeing him in your room at night, so you would ask him to eat dinner with you or take you out somewhere.

You started late night dates with Jake, just to build memories with him, in his world. It was never really your scene before, but you'd been to bars, out dancing, to late movies and your favorite - midnight bowling.

In fact, you all adjusted your schedules to fit the boys' night owl tendencies. You moved to second shift and Steven didn't take any more morning classes. You all slept in as late as possible, ate brunch or lunch and then got started on your day.

So it was not unheard of for you to wait up for Jake, but sleeping in Steven's chair until 4 A.M. was a bit unusual.

"I was busy tonight," he cryptically remarked, which tended to indicate he was probably doing Khonshu's bidding. "I wasn't trying to stay away."

"I'm not mad," you sleepily assured him, laying your head down on his shoulder. "I can't wait for you to meet her. And with her coming home soon, everything could change.”

"Change how?"

"Well for starters, I doubt a toddler will let us sleep in as late as we do. She'll probably climb all over our heads at like 5:30."

Jake was uncharacteristically quiet and you were half asleep.

"I'm not mad," you drowsily repeated, curling into him, murmuring "missed you" as you drifted off.

He rocked you gently, his heart burning with how he'd possibly disappointed you. Now that you were finally asleep, he didn't dare wake you, so he laid his head on the back of the chair, hoping to join you in slumber.

Jake had seen the horrors of this world, and of worlds adjacent. Terrifying, supernatural threats had met the crunch of his fist, and his vengeance.

But the thought of caring for a little girl shook him to his core, and in a different way than it did Marc.

Marc was always worried about his alcoholism, his past, the fact that they were a system, but he wanted Akeyla so badly. The whole thing was his idea in the first place. Steven was ready to show this kid the world, both metaphorically and literally.

Jake loved you, and he would love his child. Beyond that, he had no idea what to do, or how to contribute. The urge to not take time away from Marc or Steven was so strong it almost felt like instinct.

You, Steven and Marc had lovingly and rather expertly crafted her a dream-worthy nursery, but where Marc's hands restored and your hands healed and Steven's hands inspired and instructed, Jake had brutal hands.

Unwilling to disturb you, he pondered how he could prove to you he was still in this with you.

Reaching into his the pocket of his jacket, which still covered the top half of your body, he pulled out his phone. Opening up a picture of Akeyla, he smiled, studying her cute, chubby cheeks, dark, round eyes and her tightly wound curls.

Tracing the shape of her face with his thumb, he wondered what he could possibly give his sweet angel, besides protection.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Sleep came for a short while, but as the sun rose, so did you. Jake was asleep but his phone was playing a long playlist of videos. Hoping to not disturb him, you carefully removed the phone from his hand.

The video showed a young girl getting her hair styled. In fact the whole playlist was of dads styling their daughter's textured hair, including what products to try, and cute and useful clips, combs and the right brushes to help.

Chewing on you lip for a moment, you tapped on the search bar and saw that he had typed in, 'how to care for textured hair'.

Just the notion of Jake pulling off his gloves and styling your little girl's hair made your heart explode with love.

"Are these for Akeyla?" You whispered mainly to yourself, shifting your weight from one of his thighs to the other.

Jake groaned as circulation returned to that leg, making it tingle as he awakened from a very short nap.

"Sorry," you softly laughed. "I should let you get up, shouldn't I?"

The corner of Jake's mouth curled, but he nodded.

You helped him climb out of the chair and the two of you washed up. Jake slid into Steven's pajama pants and the two of you went to bed.

Already drifting back to sleep, Jake presented his small offering to you. Something to let you know he was all in.

"I think I could learn how to fix Akeyla's hair," he drowsily murmured, eyes already closed. "Watched a bunch of videos about it."

He couldn't build things and he wasn't book smart and he wasn't you. He wasn't even supposed to have a family. But you loved him so hard that he couldn't resist you and now he was about to gain everything he never knew he wanted.

Maybe the brutality of his hands could be used to do this tender thing for his daughter.

"I love you so much," you whispered, brushing a stray curl out of his eyes.

"Te amo," he whispered.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

ONE WEEK LATER…

“What’s your favorite color, Akeyla?” Marc asked on your next visit to with your soon-to-be-daughter. He sat beside her, adorably hunched with her at a child-sized table, coloring and drawing.

“Do you like red?” He asked, holding up a few choices of crayon.

“Fav-wit color wed!” She agreed, reaching for a yellow.

“Ohhh, you like yellow.” He winked at you, thinking of the yellow bench at home. “I like it too.”

“Yeh-yow,” Akeyla repeated, scribbling determinedly. Swinging her legs back and forth she repeated, “Yeh-yow, yeh-yow.”

“That’s right. We have a big yellow bench at home that I painted. We can sit on it together, just you and me. Is that okay?”

Akeyla seemed to ignore him, reaching over his arm to scribble yellow on his coloring sheet. Once she had saturated the paper to her satisfaction, she laughed out, amused with herself. “Yeh-yow bench. Okay, Dad-eee.”

Her nose scrunched as she showed him a silly toddler grin. Your heart completely melted as you watched them together.

“This is a good drawing,” Marc complimented, pointing to his paper she drew on. “Can I have it?”

Reaching out with chubby fingers, Akeyla scrunched the paper in her tiny grip, presenting it to Marc. “Here go. You hab it.”

“I can keep it?” He nodded hopefully. “Can I have a hug?”

She threw her arms around his neck. Lifting her up from the table, Marc offered one arm out to you and invited you into to this little family embrace.

Akeyla touched her forehead to yours, already a signature move for the two of you. Then she scrunched her nose and showed off that silly grin again.

"Want me to take your picture?" You offered. Grabbing your phone, you snapped a few selfies of you and Marc with Akeyla.

As soon as you were finished, she reached for your phone. "I watch Bluey."

And so it began.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Ivy's 1st Ficiversary Celebration || Moon Knight Masterlist || Main Masterlist

updates blog - @ivystoryupdates

[annwrites]

a house in hawkins. part three.

— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: billy helps you with homework, you realize you have a crush, & yet another man enters the fold

— tags: billy trying to learn more about you, billy opening up about who he used to be

— tw: references to past sexual abuse/grooming of a minor, mentions of drugs, infidelity, implied abortion

— word count: 4,458

— a/n: going forward, this fic will be dealing in heavy material, like those referenced in the tw & more. sex scenes will be graphic & potentially triggering to some readers. putting it out there now, so some know to stop before following along any further with this post/series.

i hope this post seems okay. idk how i feel about writing billy this way. it feels ooc, bc he's so nice & mature, but he's supposed to be for this story, bc that's the kind of man reader desperately needs to lean on. idk. i think i just need to get more comfortable with characterizing him so differently than i did in my thoroughfare series.

When Billy enters the house, he finds you to his left in the living room. Or, what is now serving as a poor excuse for one. You’re on the floor, lying on your stomach atop a light blue blanket, legs in the air behind you, waving back and forth as you work on what he assumes is homework.

You glance up to him for a moment, a pencil balanced atop your upper lip which is in a pout to keep it in-place and he smirks at the sight.

He holds up a plastic bag from a hardware store. “Brought you a new doorknob.”

You drop the writing utensil. “Does that one have a lock, too?”

“It does.”

You turn back to the textbook in front of you. “Good. Now you can replace the other one that you broke.”

His lip twitches. “Yes, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

He repeats the statement yet again before heading up.

A handful of minutes later, he comes back downstairs, seating himself on the cushion-less couch. “Done.”

You look back at him over your shoulder.

He lays an arm across the back of the couch. “What? Do you want to inspect my handiwork?”

You go back to your homework. “Not really. And you’re not getting paid, either.”

He chuckles. “I’d say that’s only fair, since it needing to be replaced at all is my fault to begin with.”

Both of you grow silent then and he leans forward, squinting, trying to get a look at whatever you’re working on. “Number four is wrong.”

He leans back again.

You don’t initially respond, telling yourself that he’s just picking on you. Or that you don’t really care if your decimal is in the wrong place, but you keep glancing back to the question. You sigh loudly then and he smiles in response. “So what’s the right answer, then?”

He shrugs. “You tell me, sweetheart.”

You don’t like him calling you that yet again. Scott is the only one who gets to call you by that term of endearment. Joe had tried it once—twice, maybe—and even if he scared the shit out of you, you made it clear that he could call you by anything else but that. He’d agreed easily, since his cock had just been buried in your warm, wet mouth—close to finishing. His mind was occupied with other things at the time than arguing over meaningless nicknames. He’d given you what you wanted—agreement—and then you’d given him the same: an orgasm, which included swallowing, before his wife came home.

You look at him over your shoulder again. “Don’t ever call me that again. Got it?”

He blinks down at you for a moment, the air in the room shifting as he wonders whether you disliked that specific pet name, or pet names in general. And much more: why? “Sure.” He clears his throat. “It’s four point six seven, by the way. Your decimal is in the wrong place.”

You turn back to your paper, erasing and then correcting. You’d known you had screwed up, but had gotten so frustrated that you’d chosen to eventually move onto the next question.

“I hate math,” you mutter.

He props his other elbow up against the arm of the couch, resting his head against his fist. “It was my favorite subject, actually.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you say, filling in number five, hoping you’ve at least gotten it right. You’re sure Billy will tell you if you haven’t.

“What’s your favorite subject? You like to read, so I assume English?”

You bob your head from side-to-side for a moment. “It’s a tie between that and science.”

Ironic, he thinks. The daughter of a meth manufacturer who loves science.

Speaking of, you’d spent last night on-edge, wondering what the hell had gone through your head to think sharing such a secret with a complete stranger to be a good idea. If any of the men found out…‘being in trouble’ wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

You didn’t want to think what Joe would do to you if he found out you’d ran your mouth off to some random that wasn’t even from here, and clearly not a customer, either.

You weren’t sure that the prospect of him never getting to use you for his own personal sexual satisfaction again would be enough to save you.

Thankfully, however, the only cruiser that had shown up last night—which had still made your heart jump into your throat when you’d glanced out the screen door as your dad went out and you saw it—was Travis’. He’d just been bringing his weekly earnings by to be divvied up.

As your dad stood there counting; ensuring that everything was in-order, he’d stared at you, eyes trailing along your body.

You’d not reacted. You hardly did anymore. They all liked to look. But only a select few were allowed to touch. And he had. Twice now. Even if he was engaged. Not that being spoken-for seemed to matter much to any of them.

Joe had been married now for twenty-five years. Longer than you’d even been alive. But whenever his wife went off to visit her sister, or was to be gone majority of the day and the urge hit him…

Travis was different than him in bed, though.

Then again, they all had their own personal…styles.

Joe really liked blowjobs and demeaning dirty-talk, or taking you from behind—honestly, so long as he was fucking you in some form, he was pleased.

Travis, in the two times you’d now been together, had been more on the gentle side, almost like he was afraid of hurting you—it often made you wonder if that was how his fiancée liked it.

Rhett—in the one time you had been together a year ago—had been tender. You tried not to think about the way he had looked at you that night too much. Or the way he looked at you literally each time he was around you after. With longing, and something else you didn’t want to think about.

He knew what it had been going into it. It wasn’t your problem if he’d hoped for more. You’d been clear from the start.

Sometimes, though, you still felt guilty, knowing that it hurt him each time you slept with one of the other men, or they shared you between them, touching you right in front of him.

And then there was Scott. With him it was just…familiarity. Your bodies simply understanding one another. Wants, needs—they no longer even needed to be talked about. Once your naked skin was pressed against each other—in bed, against the wall, on the bench seat in his pickup, in his garage—it was almost like routine. A pleasant one. Like an old habit that both of you refused to kick. Not that you had any reason to.

Even if, when you fought, it left both of you fuming for days. But the making up was the good part. So, the thought of cutting things off never occurred to either of you. Not that it would last long if you even tried.

You were the only girl he’d bothered to continue carrying on with for so long.

And he was the only man you allowed to kiss you on the mouth.

That was your only rule with the rest of them: they could do, and have you do whatever they desired, but no kissing on the lips. Period.

And then you think of you breaking that rule just yesterday for someone else. But he’d been asleep, so that instance had been different. Or, that’s what you’d told yourself, at least.

You don’t even know why you had done it. Maybe to have a secret of your very own. A new one, that is. Because this house had been that, until he’d showed up.

And now you were back to pretending to be someone else for yet one more man in your life. No more letting your walls down for a few hours and just being a teenage girl with hopes and dreams—playing pretend—even if they dwindled little-by-little as time went on, and you warmed yet one more man’s bed.

He’d ripped that away from you.

You’re broken from your thoughts by Billy speaking again. “I can check your answers once you’re done. If you want.”

“Okay.”

You glance back to him over your shoulder and he meets your gaze with a raised brow. “Need help?”

You study him for a moment, then, “No.”

You turn back around. You’d just been curious as to where his eyes were currently trained at at-present. Because this moment reminds you of a similar one from three years ago, when you’d been fourteen, lying on your stomach on the living room floor, watching TV—you couldn’t even remember what had been on now.

The thing you could recall, however, was Joe sitting on the couch behind you, watching you with hooded lids. When you had turned back to him—feeling suddenly uneasy—you’d watched as he’d adjusted himself over his jeans, making sure you’d seen.

You’d felt sickly after, and hadn’t understood why.

Out of all of them, he’d always been your least-favorite. You had many reasons for that. Perhaps because he was the worst, even if he thought he was the best.

Once you’ve finished, you stand, coming to sit beside Billy, resting back on your calves as you watch him look over your paper.

You study him for a moment, noticing a bit of oil near his brow, and you lick your thumb, then reach toward him to wipe it away.

He pulls back, staring at you. “What’re you doing?”

You don’t reply. You simply clean him up, resting your palm back against your thigh. You wonder if he likes you touching him.

They usually do.

He stares at you for just a moment longer—you can swear that he blushes—before looking back to your paper. “Nine is wrong. Like, way off, kiddo.”

He hands it back to you.

You snort at the nickname, taking it from him. “What is it, then?”

He crosses his arms. “You tell me.”

This again.

You shrug, standing, bending over to put it back in your backpack—you can feel his eyes on your rear. “I can live with one wrong answer.”

He lays his head back against the couch, rolling his eyes. “The correct answer was B, not D.”

You smirk then, pulling the paper back out, quickly correcting it, then putting it away again.

“Never going to learn if I just keep telling you all the right answers.”

You turn back to him then, shrugging. “I’m used to getting what I want.”

He shakes his head lightly.

You sit down again, back pressed against the couch’s other arm, knees bent, feet pressed together in front of you. You break the silence this time.

“So, you went to Hawkins High, too?”

He nods. “Mhm.”

“What were you like? The way you are now?” It seemed to you that most men never grew out of being boys.

He smirks. “No. I was a completely different person.” He rolls his head to the side, looking at you. “Honestly, and this is just going off of a hunch, but I think you would’ve fuckin’ hated me.”

That surprises you. “Really? Why?”

He shrugs, looking up to the ceiling. “I was King Bad-Boy-Asshole. Smoking, drinking, partying, fighting, getting laid and driving a cool car. Generally acting like I didn’t give a shit about anything. Maybe a bit too concerned with my good looks. I had one hell of an ego, too; easily bruised.”

You try to picture this version of him, and for some reason, find it quite difficult to do. You’re not entirely sure that you believe him. But he seems the honest type.

“You’re right. I would’ve.”

And you would. All the guys could get cocky at times. You were used to such behavior. But when it came down to it, especially in regards to business—in whatever capacity—they all pulled their weight; did what was needed—necessary. They looked out for one another.

He smirks again. “You would’ve definitely been my type, though.”

This statement interests you. You lean in toward him. “How so?”

“Attractive, quiet, mysterious. You don’t seem to care much about what other people think. All around hard-to-get. I loved a good chase. As long as I got to break her in like a wild horse in bed at the end of it all.”

He looks at you then.

He’s only half-right about not caring for others’ opinions. Unless they were in your immediate circle, you didn’t. But if they were? You had no choice but to. They expected that from you—you caring about what they do, say, and think. Men like to feel good about themselves, and a supportive young woman is one way to get that validation that they all seem to crave, even if they’d never admit it.

You’d learned long ago to never emasculate them. Any of them. In any form.

“You’re not breaking anything.” You only half mean it. You still think him quite attractive, if nothing else.

It pleases you to hear that he thinks the same of you. Even if you’re not surprised by it.

“Didn’t say I was,” he replies, crossing his arms.

You cock your head to the side. “So, why change?”

“Once my dad kicked me out, real-life hit, and I knew it was time to grow the hell up; the time for games was over. The attitude I had was never going to get me very far.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he speaks again. “What do you think of me as I am now?”

You shrug. “You’re okay so far. Definitely still a pretty boy, though.”

He scoffs. “Would a pretty boy have hands like these?” He asks, holding his palms up briefly, before settling them against his thighs.

“I was referring to your face, not your hands.”

He chews the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, well, I’m not that.”

Seems like your comment, for whatever reason, has hit a nerve. “Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

He reaches over, grabbing one of your feet, like yesterday, and tugging your sock off, balling it up, and tossing it across the room before massaging the sole.

“Do you have a foot fetish or something?”

His lip twitches in amusement. “No reason why it can’t benefit you.”

You raise a questioning brow.

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t. It’s called being nice. You should try it some time.”

You slide down the couch, settling your other foot in his lap as well. “Oh, I can be very nice. To the right people. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t even recognize me if you saw me with them.”

You stare down at your hands in your lap then.

The latter-most statement had come off as a tad…sad to him. “Why?”

You look at him. “It’s a long story.”

He shrugs, taking your other foot in his rough hands. “No place else to be.”

You glance to the watch on your wrist, knowing Travis is apparently bringing by another cop today to get him dealt-in on the business. He’d asked last night if you’d be there today. You’d said maybe. Meaning that you don’t have to leave.

He looks at your watch as well, then at you. “Do you?”

Your eyes meet his. “Not technically.”

Ever the enigma to him. Never a straight-forward answer with you. You kept him on his toes and guessing, that much was for certain.

“Are you always this cryptic?”

You shrug. “Trust is earned.”

“Trusted me well enough yesterday.”

You glance to him from under your lashes. “I should’ve never told you any of that. It was a mistake. A stupid thing to do.”

His thumbs move to the ball of your foot. “You don’t need to worry. Your secret is safe with me. Besides, I already told you I don’t have any friends. So, who would I have to tell?”

It’s just a general feeling—same as it was yesterday—that he can be trusted. And that’s an unusual occurrence for you. To meet someone like that.

Like him.

He rolls his head to the side, looking at you.

The warmth in his eyes…it’s not often you see such a sight.

“So, who are ‘the right people’, then? Classmates? Boyfriend?”

You cross your arms, shifting uncomfortably. “Family friends.”

He hums, moving his hands back to your other foot. “Why aren’t you with them now?”

“Are you always this nosy?”

He smirks, moving his fingers to your ankle. “Told you yesterday that I only have a few dozen questions to ask. That I find you fascinating.”

“And what do I get for answering?”

His lip twitches. “Helped you with your homework, didn’t I? Sounds like a give-and-take to me.”

“I was doing just fine before you came along.”

He rests the crook of his neck back against the couch. “I think you needed me.”

“Sounds to me like you still have one hell of an ego.”

He chuckles. “Never said I didn’t, honey.”

You glance to your watch again and sigh.

He looks at you, moving his fingers back to your foot, which you then remove from his lap, standing.

You head across the room to retrieve your sock.

He sits up. “Are you leaving?”

You pad back over to your shoes. “Mhm.”

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “Want me to give you a ride home?”

You look up to him after slipping them both on. A strange man bringing you home—especially if Scott or Joe were there, or your dad was in a mood—is most certainly a bad idea.

Even at that, with Travis…things were still new and blooming. You knew he felt special—since the rest of them you’d known for years and years—and taking a new guy to bed so soon had made him believe there was something different about him for you. Seeing you with an unfamiliar, like Billy, would only give him doubt.

“No, thanks. I like walking.”

You pull your backpack on and he stands then.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

You shrug. Normally, you didn’t come here on the weekends to begin with. But you’d procrastinated your math homework yesterday in favor of reading instead. And then had used the unfinished assignment as an excuse to come back today.

You wonder if he always works weekends as well.

He takes a step closer to you, floorboards creaking.

You stare up at him. “Will you be here tomorrow?”

He smiles. “If you want me to be.”

You don’t entirely know what to say to that. “Do you not have work?”

“I don’t work Sundays. And I only work every-other Saturday. It’s the only reason I’m out here today.”

So next weekend you’d have this place all to yourself from the sounds of it. You now had something to look forward to.

You step past him. “And here I thought you came for me.”

He laughs. “Now who has an ego?”

Once the two of you are on the front porch—you really wanted to begin trying to fix this place up, even just a little; perhaps the furniture upstairs could be put to use—you turn back to him. “What I’m doing tomorrow depends on today. Make of that what you will.”

If Travis’ fiancée was to be at work all night, you knew where you’d be this evening. And if you felt wore-out from it come tomorrow, you most likely would hold off on coming back until Monday after school.

Billy raises a brow. “Think I need more details to make anything of it.”

You stand on tiptoes then and press a soft kiss to his cheek, just like yesterday. Once you’re standing on flat feet again, you look up to him with a smile. “Bye.”

He’s blushing again now—you think it sweet that he’s still capable of doing so; the last man who you’d made blush was Rhett, and that was quite some time ago—and you turn, heading through the field to your right without another word.

Billy shakes his head. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?”

When you come into the yard, you don’t falter in your steps when you catch sight of Travis and his friend leaned back against Travis’ cruiser—another parked behind it—as they speak to your dad.

You merely glance to them, and the new one—he’s perhaps forty, tall, with dark hair and tanned skin, his strong jawline covered in stubble—looks to you with dark eyes for just a moment. His demeanor is cold, hard, distant. Already he unsettles you.

He breaks the staring contest when he looks back to your dad as you head up the front steps, going inside.

You head to your room, softly shutting the door behind you and slipping off your backpack, setting it on the floor before flopping down face-first on your bed. You smile softly to yourself when you think of Billy’s hands on your feet—such an un-intimate part of the body that he’d made feel the very opposite—and the way he’d blushed when your lips pressed against his warm skin.

You had a crush.

The last time you’d felt such a thing was when you first set eyes upon Scott at eight-years-old. It was now a foreign feeling to you, but nevertheless felt…good. It made you giddy, warm, excited. You bury your face in your pillow and softly squeal, kicking your feet. You should’ve told him yes to tomorrow. You wanted to see him again. You wanted to see him every day.

At what was now your place. You still somewhat wish he’d never found it, but he seemed nice enough so far. Different. And he clearly likes you.

But he liked hard-to-get, had said as much out loud. Most men did.

It was always a careful, delicate balancing act upon a high tightrope you were forced to walk day-in and day-out. Glances and soft touches, giggles and flirtatious comments, precise body-language that could be easily construed one way or the other. But never so distant that it left them frustrated or wholly uncertain of your feelings toward them.

They always needed to believe they were the ones in control. That you might think you know what you’re doing, but in reality, they always have the upper-hand. That they know how to play the game far better than you ever could. Because you’re just a girl. Some pretty, empty-headed doll or sex-toy, while they rule the world. That you need them.

You’re broken from thoughts of golden curls, pretty eyes, and handsome smiles by a knock at your bedroom door.

You groan. Travis. You’re sure it’s him.

You turn onto your side, snuggling the pillow under your head. “Yes?”

When the door opens, you’re proven correct. He leans his tall, broad form against the doorway, crossing his arms. You notice his typically short dirty-blond hair is just a tad shorter today—he’d gotten a haircut. He’s wearing a gray t-shirt, which just says ‘HPD’ on the front, and jeans. At least he’d bothered taking his shoes off first—they all know how you hate them walking through the house with them on.

He gives you a small, soft smile. “Where you been all day?”

You shrug.

He hangs his head, shaking it with a smirk and a small chuckle before looking to you again. “Should come outside and meet Cyrus. I’ve told him a lot about you.”

That translated to: I tell him the things we do when Amy is away at work, and he’s interested in also getting to know you on such a level.

Honestly, you’re a bit surprised he would do so. He’d made a ‘joke’ the last time you two had had sex last week, asking ‘how to get you all to himself’. You’d told him that that’s not how things work around here. If some newbie—a cop in particular—came along and demanded you all to himself suddenly…it would not end well for him.

You sit up then, on the edge of the bed, and just stare up at him.

He glances around your room, then back to you. “She’s out tonight, pulling a double at the hospital. You could come over. I’ll even make you dinner. Spaghetti?”

Having dinner made for you was also different. It was the other way around with the rest of them. But he’s still new at this. Trying to woo you, even if it’s completely unnecessary. You don’t need presents to get you to spread your legs for him.

You doing so easily and willingly is a pivotal part in all of this—your role to play; cross to bear. It was one more thing that kept them all coming back—kept them working with your dad, even if he’s unaware of it. You think sometimes he suspects—he’d nearly caught you and Scott once on your bedroom floor—but he says nothing of it if he does indeed know anything.

If you ever stopped—decided to start telling any of them no—they wouldn’t take kindly to it. They saw you as something they were entitled to, something that belonged to them. And even if they accepted that: you wanting to stop—albeit reluctantly—the business would fall apart.

Having an attractive young woman to fuck whenever, and however they pleased for free with minimal effort put into your so-called ‘relationship’ was something they wouldn’t be getting anywhere else.

You don’t come home covered in bruises or crying, and haven’t gotten…well, as of two weeks ago you could no longer say that. That was the day you’d found the house. You’d never needed it more than in that moment after getting out of Joe’s truck a nervous wreck after leaving the clinic.

But because you always seemed fine, your dad let it go. Sometimes you wish he wouldn’t.

You cock your head to the side. “It’ll be just us?” Will your buddy be there, too? You’re asking.

He smiles again, nodding. “Yeah, baby, just us.”

“Okay.”

He grins. “I can take you home with me when I’m getting ready to leave?”

You stand, readying an overnight bag, incase you need it. “Just let me know when you’re ready to go.”

He comes closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his other hand tugging gently at the hair at the nape of your neck, easing your head back, his lips coming down to settle over your pulse. He kisses, other hand squeezing your rear and he groans. You feel him pressing into your stomach then, hard and firm.

“I will,” he mutters against your skin, sucking on it for just a moment before stepping back. He winks at you before heading back outside.

You simply roll your eyes once he’s out-of-sight.

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Chp.9 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 8. Chapter 10.

Plans and Arguments

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, Mentions of breakdowns, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI

“Those missiles have a 100 megaton yield!”

Fives was exasperated at the new plan Krell had thrown at Rex, “We won’t even make it to the delta!”

“What can I do?” The captain met the ARC troopers eyes steadily, “I’ve tried to reason with him. Those are the orders.” 

March on the capital despite the massive missiles that rained from the sky. Fucking brilliant. 

Jesse sighed, “Great, another suicide mission.” he continued to inspect the console, typing on the screen, “The capital is too well armed.”

“Why does it seem like he has it out for clones?” Tup chimed in from where he continued to study the mechanics of the starships.

“Are we sure Krell isn’t, you know, fucking insane?” You mumbled, continuing to look at the data of the anomaly you saw earlier.

Dogma scoffed, “I think you're all overreacting,” He was steadfast in his belief in the general, “Obviously General Krell knows what he's doing. do you really think he doesn't care if he loses men?” 

Yes. you nearly responded, but opted to remain quiet. 

Jesse crossed his arms, “I’m not saying that,” He kept his voice steady, doing well at remaining calm, “But I do think his desire for victory has blinded him to the fact that there are lives at stake.”

You nodded, “Field doctors keep in contact with one another, and several doctors I knew have been killed under his command, not to mention the number of troopers,” Your hands were still as you focused on the conversation, “I’ve never seen such a high number of casualties from a single general.”

“He’s out of control!” Fives snapped, “He is not acting like the other jedi. He has no respect for us.”

I don’t think he has respect for anyone but himself. You thought bitterly. 

Rex stepped forward, trying to calm the ARC troopers ire, “Listen, I don’t agree with him either, but I don’t have a better plan.”

“What about using these starfighters to destroy the supply ship?” Fives continued, motioning to the ships that were in different stages of maintenance. 

“Our fleet has been trying, The Umbarans have it as protected as the capital.” The 501st captain rubbed his temple, clearly reaching his own limit. 

“But we've got their access codes and their own hardware,” Fives stepped up next to Jesse, looking confident. 

Rex, on the other hand, looked more surprised and hopeful, “You were able to crack it?”

“Mhm!” the ARC trooper gave a friendly punch to Jesse’s shoulder, earning a smile and a head shake from the other trooper, “We can sneak right past their blockade, get to where our ships can’t.” He clasped his hands in front of him, as if begging. 

The captain looked down and rubbed his chin, he remained silent, mentally planning and strategizing with this new information. 

Fives’ continued, as if trying to convince him, “If we take out that supply ship, then we cut off arms to the capital.”

Rex smiled, looking up and meeting his friend's eye, “This is why you’re an ARC trooper,” He put a hand on his hip, now with a proud smirk, “I’ll talk to Krell, see what we can do.” 

Fives practically cheered, and you laughed at his joyful display. The ARC troopers' energy and good mood always amazed you. 

The captain shook his head and gave a soft laugh before turning and walking out of the hangar. You, however, got up and followed him, “Captain, I don’t know where the barracks are.” you stated, with a small grin, “Can you walk me to them?” 

“Mesh’la,” he rolled his eyes but he matched your smile, “Of course.” 

Now that you two had semi-privacy, “Are you ok?” you asked him quietly. 

“Once this campaign is done, I will be.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “General Krell is…a challenging General to work with.”

You brushed your hand against his as a small sign of affection, “You’re doing the best you can given the circumstances.” 

He gave you a grateful, yet exhausted look. 

In the far distance, potentially a mile away, Umbaran missiles slammed down, exploding into a bright green and orange light. Despite how far the strike was, you could still feel the vibrations in the ground. 

“Damnit, they never give up.” Rex sighed, “This won’t stop until that supply ship is taken care of.”

“Hopefully Krell will listen,” You said as the doors to another section, the living quarters, of the airbase opened. 

“He hasn’t so far.” your lover led you through the halls before pressing a button next to a door. They slide open, revealing Rex’s temporary quarters and office. To the Umbarans, the private room must’ve belonged to the leader of the airbase. Once the doors closed, he held your face in his gloved hands.

“I want you to rest, mesh’la,” He murmured, kissing your forehead tenderly, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed your exhaustion.”

“I can handle it.” you put your hands over his, “You and the others have been-.”

“We are built for this,” He interrupted you, “We’re clones, we can handle days without rest.”

You stared into his beautiful brown eyes, “Rex…”

“Please, mesh’la,” He whispered, “I can’t…I don’t think I can handle it if you're hurt again. Or worse.” He was pleading with you, gaze filled with an emotional desperation. It was rare to see him so unsteady. So unsure and even…afraid.

Your lovely captain was in despair. Yes, you’ve lost soldiers, but Rex has lost brothers. 

You moved your hand and stroked his cheek, “Ok…” your words were soft, “Alright Rex, I’ll get some rest.” 

He let out a small, relieved breath before kissing your forehead again, “Thank you.” 

As promised, you allowed yourself to sleep once he was gone again. It was comical how as soon as you laid down on the stiff bed, you were completely out. It felt like your brain just turned off. You didn’t even dream, so exhausted your consciousness just faded out of existence. 

When you awoke, it was due to yelling.

“Where is the honor in marching blindly to our deaths?!”

Fives.

You groggily sat up, rubbing your face in your hands with a pounding headache. You could hear Rex respond, but his voice was quieter and much calmer. It was hard to make out the words. 

However, you heard Fives loud and clear through the door, “I'm sorry. I cannot just follow orders when I know they're wrong! Especially when lives are at stake!”

Your lover answered him, and again, he was quiet. 

“I do support it. I do!” Fives was angry and frustrated, that much was clear, “But I am not just another number! None of us are!”

You admired the ARC trooper for his independence. He was a powerhouse on the battlefield and never backed down. Your friend was a very rebellious, free thinker, but intelligent enough to know when to fall in line. 

He was a good friend who you loved dearly. 

Surprisingly, you heard Rex’s voice, “Fives, where are you going?”

The ARC trooper responded with something, but you couldn’t hear him clearly that time. 

You sighed and stood, stretching your arms over your head. How long has it been…?

With a quick check of the time, it had only been a few hours. Everything was sore and you were still tired. It would take more than a nap to help, apparently…

The door to the captains quarters opened and Rex seemed surprised to see you, “You should still be asleep.” He approached to kiss your cheek. 

“I heard yelling. Is everything ok?” You asked, leaning into the peck. 

“The march on the capital will continue as originally planned.” He sighed, “the men are understandably against it.”

“You are too.” You pointed out. 

He nodded, looking downright tired, “I am, and if we had the time and the training, I’d go along with Fives’ plan. I know General Skywalker would with no question. But Krell has orders.”

You pet your lover’s cheek, “Rex, would you really follow every single order Krell gives?” 

“I am duty bound to follow.” He responded.

“Even if you know they’re wrong?” 

“I…” the captain sighed, “I believe in the Republic. I would fight and die for it without question.”

He’s avoiding the question. Pushing too hard might stress him further. You leaned forward and kissed his forehead, “You're a good soldier, Rex. but you're also a man with your own thoughts and feelings.”

He melted under your touch, “Without you, I’d probably have gone insane by now.” he mumbled, earning a small giggle from you. 

“You’re doing the best you can,” Your words were tender and filled with love, “I need to check on the med bay, but I want you to get some sleep. Even if it's just a nap.” before he could argue, you booped his nose gently with your finger. 

Rex let out a small chuckle, “Alright mesh’la, I’ll get some rest.” He pecked your cheek before you walked out of his private quarters. Getting to the med bay was quick and easy, and as soon as Kix saw you, he nodded in greeting. 

Back to work. You were the 501st field doctor, you had a job to do, “What supplies do we have?” 

Your medic friend listed everything you had. 

Bandages, tourniquets, laser cauterizers, laser scalpel, bacta, patches, emergency suture kits

It was better than before taking the airbase, but the amount of such items was the real concern. Perhaps in a standard battle you’d be able to help everyone, but with Krell’s overwhelming need to kill as many soldiers as possible, It would be difficult. 

You swallowed, taking in the low numbers. Triage would be crucial. Managing pain wouldn’t be the priority. Save bacta for critical wounds. Sutures and bandages for anything else. 

“I’m going to talk to Krell.” You informed Kix, “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t get killed.” He called to you as you left. 

Your steps took you up to the tower. Were you nervous? Potentially. If he took a step out of line, you might end up snapping and laying a fist in his face. Your anxiety came from your lack of faith in your own restraint. You’ve hit your limit, and if the damn Jedi pushed you too far, you might break. 

Once the doors opened, you were met with Appo and Hick typing at a console while Krell looked over the Umbaran holomap. 

“Doctor,” He greeted you rather…politely, “I didn’t call for you.”

“I have concerns, General.” You stepped inside, “I am aware of the impending march on the capital, but Kix and I do not have the supplies to keep everyone alive.” 

Pong Krell looked up at you, eyes looking down right uninterested in what you have to say, “You have an extreme lack of faith in your skills, Doctor.”

“I am not doubting my skills,” You responded, tone becoming icy, “I am limited by the supplies I don’t have. I can save lives, but if I don't have the medical supplies to do so…”

The General pressed a button and the map changed. He went back to ignoring you, “And what do you propose I do about your misuse of much needed medical equipment?”

Misuse!?

You swallowed, “Respectfully, General, I think for the sake of the men, you should work with Captain Rex and think of another strategy to take the capital.”

“We do not have time!” he slammed his fist down, causing you and the other soldiers around to jump, “Every moment we waste, we are getting that much further away from taking Umbara for the Republic! Now I know your judgment is clouded by your useless feelings surrounding these clones, but winning this war is the priority!” 

“Respectfully, General,” You backed down. All that bravado you told yourself earlier melted away. He had the power to court martial you, or worse, “My…feelings are concern for my patients. I am a doctor first, before I am a soldier.”

“Is it duty you feel, or something else?” He raised his head, “You spend an awful lot of time with the Captain, don’t you.” 

Your blood ran cold. 

He knew.

Your throat ran dry. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Appo look up from his console. 

Back track. Now. 

“Captain Rex and I have known eachother since the beginning of the war,” you explained, “We are friends, and I trust him with my life.”

“Just friends?” He rubbed his chin, “Your judgment is indeed clouded, Doctor. Your bias is hindering your view of the reality of this war.” The volume of his voice picked up until he was damn near shouting at you, “You can’t have friends on the battlefield! If you worry about those clones, you’ll never achieve victory!” 

Wrath burned under your skin. You wanted to shout back, but you didn’t have Fives’ courage, “I understand General, but these men, not just Rex, have protected me. Saved my life on the battlefield. In turn I do my best to keep them alive. It’s my duty to care for them. Because of this, I am able to view things objectively during battle.”

Krell was silent for a moment before he gave a slimy smirk, “Rex, huh?” 

Shit.

“Captain Rex, sir.” you cleared your throat and you caught Hick pausing in his typing on the console, “Since we are not currently on the battlefield, It’s easy for me to forget rank and titles. Forgive me, General.”

“I suppose you call General Skywalker by his name as well,” He turned to face the window, indicating he was done with you, “I am a General, Doctor. You will do well not to make that mistake with me. You’re dismissed.”

You saluted and turned, leaving the tower as quickly as possible.

Once on the ground, you spotted Fives and Hardcase walking to the hangar where the starships were being kept. With a glance back up to the tower, you followed the troopers. 

Oh what trouble were they about to get into?

[malk1ns]

HI HELLO I’ve been thinking about your barbie girl sid for a hot minute….if you could please imagine the man trying to do a diy/home improvement/“wood working project….like maybe sid wants to make a bird house or bird feeding station so he can do some more bird watching, and he’s struggling a little trying to figure out which tools are best to use in what order….sid out in the backyard all sweaty and pink cheeked and pouting behind his safety glasses trying to figure out why his angles are off…..asking geno with his big old 🥺 eyes to hold his wood still for him while he works his saw……

Sid loves having hobbies.

Evgeni's watched him pick up and discard new ones practically every offseason since they've been together. The only ones that have stood the test of time are scrapbooking and baking; Sid spends hours in his craft room putting together memory books that Evgeni will absolutely not admit to crying over when he's feeling sentimental, and after over a decade Sid's perfected his banana bread recipe.

Everything else, though, Sid gets really into for a few weeks over the summer, then loses interest a few weeks into the new season. They have half a shelf's worth of books on birdwatching from the Covid pause, and Evgeni things there's a bin of yarn somewhere in the garage still.

So, he's used to Sid watching something on YouTube and getting all excited about trying something new. They take trips to stores to buy stuff because Sid doesn't trust Amazon after they delivered a sensitive package to their neighbor's house, and Evgeni watches Sid wander the aisles, offering opinions when asked but otherwise letting Sid pick out whatever little bits and bobs he likes best.

It keeps Sid occupied, usually. Evgeni does most of his intensive paper-writing in the offseasons, and Sid having something of his own to work on, even if he gives up after a month, keeps him from getting bored when Evgeni loses track of time.

He's not so sure about this summer's choice though.

Sid's been talking about wanting to redo the basement at his house all season, setting up Pinterest boards and drowning Evgeni's Instagram messages with links to renovation jobs. Evgeni figured they were in for a summer of dealing with construction and mess and contractors who lie right to Sid's face because they know a mark when they see one.

Turns out, Sid wants to do some of it himself. Evgeni thinks he'd rather deal with the contractors.

Neither of them are all that comfortable in Home Depot, but Sid insists on going in person instead of ordering, and Evgeni spends his first real off-day of the summer eyeing the endless, inscrutable tools and hardware fixtures as Sid frowns at his list and gets them lost at least three times.

It's when they get to the circular saws that Evgeni finally says something.

"Sid..." he says, frowning at the sawhorse set up to demo one of the units. "Not sure this is safe, like, you're use a saw before?"

Sid's crouched down to inspect the saw blades. Evgeni takes a minute to admire the way his ass and thighs strain at his jeans.

"It's fine," Sid says, distracted and poking at the packages. "People use these all the time. And I watched a video on YouTube." He glances up at Evgeni, eyes big and imploring. "I really want to make this table, G."

Evgeni caves. He usually does. Sighing, he crouches down next to Sid, who beams at him and shoves his phone under Evgeni's nose. "Can you help me figure out which of these I need to get?"

--

Sid takes over Evgeni's concrete shooting pad in the backyard. There are piles of wood and buckets of bolts and screws and fasteners all over the place, and Sid spends every afternoon puttering around out there, measuring planks and drawing designs on the big sheets of paper he had stashed away from some other project.

Sid's shorts are all very short, and his t-shirts are getting tighter as he bulks back up after the season. It's a nice view. Evgeni's not getting much done on this summer's paper.

It doesn't seem like Sid is making progress either, though. So far, every time Evgeni glances out the window, he's only succeeded in moving around the pieces of wood.

He looks awfully cute in his safety glasses, though.

One day, the weather is nice enough that Evgeni gives up on his paper and wanders downstairs, stepping out onto the patio.

"G!" Sid beams at him, pushing his glasses up his nose. His hair is getting long, curling with sweat against his temples, and he's wearing the tightest white t-shirt he owns. Evgeni licks his lips. "Are you done with your story? Do you want to see what I'm working on?"

Evgeni shakes his head. Every summer, Sid thinks he's going to be done with his paper right away. He's stopped explaining the number of drafts he has to go through before it can even be sent to his editor. "I'm take break, it's nice out. Yes, you show. It's not look much like table though, Sid."

Sid pouts at him. "It takes time," he whines, gathering up the papers he's got scattered over the sawhorse. "Look, I have to measure out the legs, and make sure that all the pieces fit together..."

Evgeni dutifully looks over the designs. Sid's handwriting is terrible, but he's clearly put work into the numbers; there are erasemarks all over where he's corrected the measurements.

Numbers have never been Evgeni's strong suit, so he doesn't spend any time checking the figures. Either they'll work or they won't. "Looks good, Sid, I can't wait to see." He glances to the side, eyeing Sid up. "You take break too, maybe?"

Sid frowns at him. "I was just about to start cutting..." he starts, but trails off when Evgeni drops the papers and gets his hand on Sid's ass. "Oh, a break. Yeah, okay."

He makes for the door, but Evgeni catches him around the waist before he can go back inside, pulls him over to the chaise lounges next to the grill. When he knocks one of the seat cushions onto the ground and drops to his knees, Sid squeaks.

Sid's spent a lot of time outside this summer, and he's already got color, stark tan lines on his belly and thighs from his shorts. Evgeni licks over his hipbone, setting his teeth into the soft flesh there and biting down just enough to leave a mark, just enough to make Sid whine and cant his hips forward.

Getting Sid's shorts off is always a battle, but eventually Evgeni peels them down his thighs, letting them pool on the ground as he leans forward to bury his face in Sid's groin. He's warm, and he's been sweating in the afternoon heat; when Evgeni inhales, it's salty and pungent, twisting something in Evgeni's stomach and making him groan with want.

Sid twists Evgeni's hair in his fingers and tugs, not too hard, but urgently enough that Evgeni redirects his attention to Sid's dick, already hard and beading precome.

Evgeni doesn't tease. They're outside, after all, and the chair cushions are only comfortable for so long. He opens his mouth and lets Sid feed him his dick, closing his eyes to savor the taste and the heft of Sid in his mouth, listening to Sid pant and groan and whimper above him as he thrusts.

Sid's noisy when he comes, practically shouting as he spills over Evgeni's tongue, and Evgeni clenches his thighs. He's hard, he wants to come so badly, but he holds Sid's dick in his mouth, licking and sucking gently until Sid pulls away with a gasp.

"Wow," Sid says, blinking down at him. Evgeni's mouth feels swollen and used, and his dick is hard in his gym shorts.

He gets to his feet with a groan, wincing as his knees crack. He's barely gotten his balance when Sid is pushing at him, shoving him towards the door and inside the house.

Neither of them get anything done that afternoon.

--

The table turns out terribly. The legs are all the same length, but they don't fit into the top correctly, so it wobbles. The stain isn't even, too thin in some parts and textured and thick in others. One side of the top is cut at a slant.

Sid pouts over it, wants to throw it away, but Evgeni puts it in his office, on one side of his desk. A couple of folded-up index cards stops it from wobbling, and with a few blankets on top it's a perfect nest for Maverick to curl up in and nap. Sid smiles whenever he comes in and sees it, and Evgeni's caught him doodling; he thinks Sid's trying to figure out how to make a bird house.

He does make Sid take the circular saw back, though.

[pookiebeary]

Go Little Spider

Spiderperson! Reader in Gotham

Gn!Reader x Batfam(?)

Heavily inspired by "Peter the Pizza Guy" and "Dark Matter" on AO3

ATSV spider-reader

Taglist: @rl800

Back | Part 2

A pained groan and rustling from the dumpster caught the attention of some passersby but such was the norm in Gotham. No one came forward to help, merely glancing a second longer before going on with their lives.

You tried not to gag at the smell of rotting food surrounding you and instead focused your attention on trying to climb out of the pile of trash bags. It didn't help that your suit was soaked with whatever filthy water was in the bag of molding McDonald's.

Gross.

The putrid smell violates your nostrils and you try not to breathe as much as you need to, which is impossible when every little action you make causes you to suck in a breath because it hurts like hell. Each breath you take makes your chest hurt, like something was squeezing your lungs and stabbing it with a needle repeatedly. With shaky hands, you slowly climb up and out the dumpster, landing with a small thud on the concrete ground.

You let out a small oomph as your back hits the ground.

You're frozen on the ground as a wave of pain floods your body with it mostly concentrated on your left shoulder blade and ribs. The only positive thing about the situation is that nothing seems to be broken and the only thing there is the pain and horrible pounding headache like you've just drunk a bottle of vodka.

As you lay immobilized on the floor, you feel your vision blur as tears pool in your eyes. You quickly blinked and rolled your eyes in an attempt to stop the tears from falling down. You weren't sure why you were crying; you've been through worse than this. In all honesty, this was but a scratch compared to the injuries you've had on your line of work.

Still, you find some tears pooling on your eyes as you look up to stare at the dark and gritty alleyway you find yourself in. It reminded you of the first time you met Peter dressed as Spiderman; He had confronted the man who cornered you after you left school and dealt with him properly. And after the man passed out from the one sided fight, Peter webbed him up for the police to take him away before checked on you. You were grateful for his help and that was your first meeting with the amazing Spider-Man....

Lips pressed into a thin line as you recall the memory, you look at the hazy night sky as police sirens echo in the background. Smoke and the putrid smell of rot clung to your nose, causing you to scrunch up in disgust but also sobering you from further dwelling on the nostalgic memories.

Your hand clenches around your spider mask, with fingers tracing the webbing details on it before you start sitting up, there's no point in dwelling in the past.

You have to move on. Ignoring the cascade of pain as you move your body, you manage to drag yourself to lay on the dumpster after much effort. Okay, swinging on your web is definitely out of the question. Your eyes fall onto the occasionally glitching screen of the interdimensional watch settled on your wrist. It looks broken, but the painful feeling of your atoms slowly disintegrating wasn't there so at least it's still doing its primary function- stabilizing your atoms to settle in this dimension.

You tap on the screen of the watch, inspecting the other hardware to see if you could salvage it; Parts of the monitor were cracked but other than that nothing seemed to be too broken to repair.

Okay, you can probably try and fix it once you get your hands on some tools and replace some of the wiring. You can do this, you think. Probably. Maybe? You weren't confident given your first attempt at reverse engineering the watch ended up with you being flung to an unknown dimension, but that wasn't so bad. Honestly you were expecting it to fail and disintegrate you instead when you jumped to the ominous portal. (You've calculated the probability and it definitely wasn't in your favor.)

Frowning as you fiddle around with the internal hardware of the watch, you feel sweat rolling down your temples as you let out a frustrated groan when you try and salvage some of the more broken parts.

Welp.

There goes your only chance of knowing what dimension you're stranded in, for now at least. You take a long look at the buzzing streetlight across the street, the gritty and dark unwelcoming atmosphere didn't seem like any version of New York you've encountered. Added with the fact that your spidey senses have been thrumming softly in warning did not help with the horrible first impression this dimension gave you.

Letting out a sigh as you look down to check on your sorry state of a spidersuit, you start walking towards the streets despite a lack of destination in mind. You don't know where to go but any place is better than a dumpster in a shady alley. Plus, you didn't forget that now you had the spider society hot on your trails. Hopefully, they are being misled by the fake trail of breadcrumbs you left behind after messing around with the watch.

With your heart in your mouth, you trudge along the pavement like every step was a pain and arduous task.

***

You'd think that an injured guy wearing a ragged up spandex costume with the theme of a spider would elicit some sort of question but you were proven wrong when the few people that walked past you didn't bat an eye. Though to be fair, they looked drunk or high as hell- which should’ve been the biggest warning sign that you're stranded in the bad side of the city.

Well, that realization came very late to you and it didn't do much to ease the low thrum your spider senses gave you. It buzzed off uncomfortable at the back of your head the further you walked into the city. The wind blew coldly against your face and you felt exposed without your mask. You hesitantly placed your sweaty spider mask back to your face and gagged from the horrible smell. Unfortunately, even after all those years of wearing it, you've never gotten used to the smell of your sweat-soaked mask after a long day’s work.

After making sure the mask was firmly secured, you look around the growing darkness. The street lamps ahead were broken or flickering like it was running on sheer will. Your spidey senses were buzzing wildly at the thought of continuing the walk.

Yea, there's no way you're walking down a dark alley alone in the middle of the night. That's just asking for trouble.

You turn around, walking towards one of the buildings, wondering which building you should climb and travel through the roofs. You didn't notice this before when you were too focused on trying not to agitate your injuries during the walk but god damn the buildings have seen better days.

Some were crumbling and had dozens of bullet-sized holes, most were covered in graffiti and broken wood planks and metal pipes with suspicious goo oozing out, it seemed like a chemistry experiment gone wrong while constructions of the building were canceled halfway.

Seriously, your spidey senses are going ballistic right now it's actually unnerving. (You swear you'd heard gunshots ring in the air and this time it's louder than the previous one as police sirens echo in the background.)

It's rarely acted this way before, except that one time you visited Hell’s Kitchen for a field trip. Only this time, the annoying constant thrumming at the back of your head was louder and more in-your-face than the one at Hell’s kitchen.

Right as you stood staring at the weathered billboard sign hanging from the shoddy building of what was once a fast food diner contemplating if you should just travel from the roof, you hear a cry for help.

***

[wingdingery]

ohhhh i always have requests! quite fond of lil drabble ideas: bruce teaching dick to dance and (years later when they’re together) they recreating some of their first dances, slade being the one to gift dick his first leather jacket that he still regularly wears, An Event Occurs and in the aftermath dick realizes how irreplaceable he is to bruce and just how much bruce both loves him and needs him, bruce and dick’s undercover aliases that keep getting more and more romantic over the years

In Dick’s experience, returning to his apartment after a week away and finding a mysterious box on the coffee table that was definitely not there when he left is, usually, not actually a big deal.

He’s still careful—the little Batman that lives in the back of his head would never give him a moment of peace if he wasn’t—but he’s just very aware of the fact that, nine times out of ten, the not-so-little Batman is the one breaking in and leaving little treats for him to find later, because Bruce is deathly allergic to seeing people’s reactions to his gifts in real-time.

Dick runs through the standard checks, but nothing sounds or smells off, and nothing pings as suspicious on infrared or the particulate detector. He steps closer to inspect the box. It’s rectangular, all white, and generally unremarkable except for the fact that he didn’t put it there.

Carefully, he lifts the lid. He’s expecting some kind of gear—it wouldn’t be the first time a new suit or toys showed up unannounced.

What he finds is a leather moto jacket.

He gently lifts it out of the box and stares at it, bemused. It’s very nice—genuine Italian leather by the feel of it, black with silver hardware and diagonal pockets in the shape of a V, and just his size. There’s no note of any kind, but when he sniffs the leather, he also gets a whiff of maple and gun oil—and that feels like a signature in and of itself.

Dick pulls out his phone, dials in the number from memory, and sinks into the couch as it rings. 

“Happy birthday,” Slade says when he picks up, voice low and rumbling.

Dick suppresses a smile. “You’re late.”

“I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“You really wanna know the answer to that?”

Dick bites the inside of his cheek and fiddles with the zipper of the jacket. They’ve been getting along all right ever since they’d been forced to team up on the cruise ship from hell, but still, a little plausible deniability goes a long way, between them. “How long ‘til I find out on my own?”

“Now that depends,” Slade says, drawing out the words. “You still talking to Rose?”

Dick blinks. “You were visiting Rose?”

“Something like that.”

“She shut the door in your face,” Dick guesses.

Slade grunts. “We can meet not at her apartment.”

“And she’s moving?”

“And she’s moving.” Slade doesn’t sound particularly annoyed about it, but then again, finding people who don’t want to be found is basically his job. Dick makes a mental note to see if Rose wants a hand making her dad’s life harder.

“So why the jacket?” Dick says, running his hand over the leather. It really is nice. He wonders where Slade got it, and whether it was paid for in money or blood. He probably doesn’t want to know.

“You complained I made you ruin yours,” Slade says. “Reckon we’re square now.”

Dick raises his eyebrows, even though Slade can’t see it. “I don’t remember doing that, but if I did, it had to have been, what… seven years ago? At least?”

“I’ve got a long memory.” It sounds vaguely like a threat, in Slade’s voice, but the jacket itself seems far from one, so Dick lets it pass.

“If you’re trying to make up for that,” Dick says, “then you’re really late.”

“You’d’ve thrown it straight in the trash if I ever tried before.”

“I could still do that.”

“You won’t.”

“Well, now I have to.”

Slade scoffs. “Go ahead. Would be a waste of perfectly good leather, though.”

The desire for knowledge wins out. “Where’d you get it?”

“Made it.”

Dick pauses, uncertain he’d heard correctly. When Slade doesn’t elaborate, though, Dick echoes, uncertainly, “Made it?”

“Wintergreen helped some.”

Dick opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Made it?

“Who exactly did you think made my first few costumes?” Slade says, sounding amused. “Not all of us have your daddy’s resources.”

It’s one thing for Slade to have bought him something; Dick can explain that away as just a whim—an act of opportunity, as it were. But Slade spending the time and energy to make it himself?

That’s premeditation.

“This isn’t a birthday gift.”

“I said happy birthday, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t just a birthday gift,” Dick presses.

Slade doesn’t respond, and Dick lets the silence stretch far past the point of discomfort. Still, neither of them hangs up. Slade may be a stubborn asshole, but Dick has been trained in the art of silence-offs by the most frustratingly stoic of them all.

Dick smooths out the collar of the jacket and straightens out the arms while he waits. Now that he’s looking closer, he can tell the seams aren’t the tidy stitches of a lifelong craftsman, but it’s impressive work, all the same. Work that must have taken a hell of a lot of effort. 

Finally, Slade breaks the rhythm of quiet breathing. “Whatever it is,” he says, “it’s yours now. Throw it in the trash if you want. Or don’t. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

It has everything to do with Slade, but the fact that Slade is insisting so hard that it doesn’t is both a little funny and extremely sad. Dick can recognize a fear of rejection when he hears it. 

Dick puts a hand on top of the jacket. “It doesn’t really make sense to give me this,” he says, “if you’re never going to see me wear it.”

Slade is silent for a moment, but not as long as before. “I’ve got time,” he says, slowly, like he’s leaving space for Dick to cut him off between one word and the next. “Two weeks from now.”

“Two weeks,” Dick agrees. “I assume you don’t need the address.”

“Think I’ve got it.” Slade’s voice is dry, but lacking its usual knife-sharp edge. “See you soon, kid.”

He hangs up before Dick can respond. 

Dick smiles anyway. “See you soon.”

----

Footnote: RIP Dick's expensive jacket (this is $300 in 80s money)

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 43: Genetic Warfare

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

April, Casey, and Bishop arrive in the records room. They use Chaplin's key card to enter in and find it devoid of any lifeforms, human or mutant or robotic. They're there pretty early, they didn't expect the others to arrive for a while anyway.

"Well, might as well start looking for what we need," April groans. "...Uh, what are we looking for? A hard-drive?"

"It will look like a little black box," Bishop says, hobbling over to a series of locked drawers. "It'll have two USB ports on the side, and a red light on the top."

Bishop takes a fire extinguisher from the wall and smashes the locks with it, breaking the cabinet drawers open and rummaging through them. They mostly have papers and files, but a few of them contain some hardware that looks interesting...

"And what if we can't find it?" Casey asks, already going towards a second set of cabinets to look through.

"Then I guess we'll have to find a new device and redownload everything we can..."

"How long will that take?" April asks.

"It could take several hours," Bishop sighs. "So pray we find that drive."

April and Casey start searching the drawers one by one. They get almost halfway through the entire room of cabinets and drawers, slowly losing hope of ever finding the drive until Raph and Mikey arrive.

"Hey, guys!" Mikey greets cherrily. "How's it going?"

"Mikey!" April screams, rushing over and jumping on top of Raph in order to hug Mikey.

He meets her halfway and slides down Raph's chest like a snake, slithering around her shoulders in a hug as April laughs and tears up with joy.

"I was so worried about you! Are the others okay? I saw you guys get carted away by the TCRI or the EPF or whatever at the other place and -- what the heck happened to your arms?!"

Mikey pulls his arms back and looks away from his big sister.

"Nuthin'!" he says quickly, crawling back onto Raphael's shoulders. "It's fine..."

Casey immediately comes over to inspect, looking at Mikey's forearms for a moment before shifting his attention to Raph.

"What happened?" he asks the eldest, hoping he'll tell him.

"We ran into a... 'thing'," Raph shrugs, not exactly sure what to call Ms. Campbell. "It's fine, I took care of it."

"Thing?" Bishop questions. "Care to clarify?"

"Just a robot," Mikey says, resting atop his perch. "I think she said her name was 'Ms. Campbell'. Raph's ninpo clones busted her up though, she's gone for good."

Both April and Bishop heave a sigh of relief when they hear that. Casey raises an eyebrow in question, but before he can vocalize said question, everyone's favourite genius runs in carrying a ninpo-hologram shopping cart filled with their weapons.

"Y'all I've arrived!" he states hurriedly. "And I brought our stuff!"

Raph hoots with satisfaction as he grabs his sai and spins them in his hands, exercising them just a bit before he stuffs them in his belt.

"Thanks, man!"

"No problem," Donnie says, though he seems somewhat agitated.

Raph notices the way Donnie scratches at his arm wraps, and that small section of frost and freezer burn was definitely not there before they split up...

Mikey notices those odd details too, and scoots from one pair of turtle shoulders to the other, clinging onto Donnie in an attempt to comfort him. Donnie pats his leg in assurance, as if to say he's fine. Mikey can tell he's not. But he'll have to talk with him about it later.

"Where's Leo?" Casey asks. "He should be here by now with Professor Honeycutt."

"The tracker says they're on their way down now," Donnie states, lifting up his wrist tech and showing it off. "Any minute. Meanwhile, what are we looking for, or what do I have to hack?"

"We were looking for Bishop's hard drive -- a small black box with a red light," April juts in. "It should be in here, but if it isn't... then we have a lot of work to do."

"Oh please," Donnie scoffs, cracking his knuckles. "You just require the delicate touch of a genius."

Casey chuckles softly to himself as Donnie leaps into a swivel chair and starts typing away on a nearby computer.

"We might not need your services if I can just find the hard drive," Bishop grumbles, digging through to the bottom of yet another drawer.

"Pish-posh, dear man!" Donnie scolds. "I am uncharacteristically at your disposal! Besides, I need to scrub the security feed of our presence here anyway. Just tell me what to hack and I'll do it! ...Oh, I do however need a physical hard disk, though."

"ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜᴄʜ, ɪꜰ ɴᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ," a tinny voice states from behind.

The group turn to see Leo hobbling into the room, leaning on a small robot with glowing eyes.

"Leo!" Mikey cheers, hopping down from Donnie's shoulders and jumping over to his final brother. "Are you okay?"

"Just winded," Leo chuckles. "I had... uh... a rough time getting the doc."

Mikey stares in shock at Leo, who looks fine for the most part... except for the dark redd staining his hands and half of his forearms.

"...Who's blood is that?" Raph asks in a hushed and horrified voice. "...And where... is the doc?"

"ʀɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ," the little robot waves, chuckling nervously. "ɪ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ɪꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ꜱʜᴏᴄᴋ. ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ, ɪᴛ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ꜱʜᴏᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ."

Casey steps closer and gapes at the robot half his size.

"...Professor?" he whispers. "This is not at all what I thought you'd look like."

Honeycutt sighs sadly and nods.

"ᴜɴᴀᴠᴏɪᴅᴀʙʟᴇ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜᴍꜱᴛᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴏᴄᴄᴜʀʀᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʀᴀꜱᴛɪᴄ ᴍᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇꜱ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ --"

He freezes when he sees a bruised and beaten Bishop, staring down at the mini mecha in shock and pained grief.

"....Doc?" Bishop asks, nearly dropping to his knees. "What did they do to you...?"

"I-it was my fault," Leo stammers, eyes filling with tears. "I went to get him, but one of the scientists cornered us with a laser gun, and -- she shot -- and I couldn't fix the wound, so I -- I just saw the little robot and he said he was trying to do -- what I mean is, I -- I --"

Leo hyperventilates as he tries to explain, the sticky blood drying on his hands terrifies him, he can't stop shaking. And he was supposed to be a hero, the World's Greatest Ninja™, but he couldn't save one life? Not only that, he had to have that life sacrifice itself to save him? Useless, weak, pathetic, wretched little pest --

Leo can almost see the fury and seething anger building up inside Agent Bishop. The devastation of losing your one and only friend can kill you. Leo wouldn't blame him if he hated him and his brothers for the rest of their lives, dedicated himself to eradicating the teenage mutant ninja turtles from that day on, or all mutants in general. This was the perfect villain origin story, and it was all Leo's fault --

"No, no -- it wasn't your fault, kid," Bishop sighs, his eyes watering as he looks up at the terrified teen. "This isn't on you. You shouldn't have even been here..."

"B-but it was --"

"ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴜʟᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜰɪɴɴ ᴅɪᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅ," Honeycutt interrupts. "ꜱʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ… ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴛɪᴍᴇ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴀᴠᴇꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴜɢʜᴇꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴜᴘ."

The agent stands up and stares down at the kid -- who in reality is only just a little bit shorter than him, but in this moment Leo feels two feet tall. And it shows. Bishop places a hand on his shoulder and manages a small, thin smile.

"You did your best. You saved him... sort of."

"ʜᴇ'ꜱ ʀɪɢʜᴛ," Honeycutt buzzes. "ɪ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴜʟꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴀᴍ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴛᴇᴄʜɴɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ, ᴛʜᴀɴᴋꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ!"

Leo sniffles, trying to hide his sobs. He goes to wipe his face before remembering the blood still staining his hands.

"You're okay, kid," Bishop soothes. "We're all okay. Stop holding the weight of the world on your shoulders, it's only going to pin you to the ground."

Leo shakes and nods, reluctantly wiping his face on his shoulder. He feels something hold his arm gently -- long claws that belong to the most loving creature in the world, in his humble opinion. He hears Mikey churr softly at his side. He leans over and rests his cheek atop his little brother's head.

"Okay... Okay. Thanks," Leo mumbles.

"ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ, ʟᴇᴏ," Honeycutt responds.

"Anytime. That's what heroes do, yeah?"

Leo turns to see if Raph made a face at the statement like he usually does. The phrase has become something of a cringe inside joke at this point between them. The eldest smirks and rolls his eyes.

"We should get you cleaned up," April mentions, walking over to Leo and taking him by the elbow. "Bishop, do you know if there's a bathroom nearby or something?"

"There should be one down the hall," the agent answers. "Though I'm not actually sure. I never got the tour of this holmes hotel of a laboratory."

"ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱɴᴀɢ ᴀ ꜱᴄʜᴇᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɪ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ ꜰᴜɢɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴄʀɪ," Honeycutt states. "ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴀ ʙᴀᴛʜʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ, ɪꜰ ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ."

"Thanks, 'Fugitoid'," Leo jokes shakily. "We'll be back in a sec."

"ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛɪᴍᴇ, ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴʟᴏᴀᴅꜱ," Honeycutt says, walking over to Donnie. "ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴀ ᴡᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ!"

"Great," Donnie says quickly, creating a ninpo cable that connects between the servers and the robot. "This should only take a few minutes, then!"

"I'll identify the files we need," Bishop nods, standing over by Donnie's side.

"And I'll scrub it all for any proof of Mikey and my family," Donnie adds, refusing to get up before he's wiped out the computers.

"Great," Leo grunts. "We'll be back before you can say -- wait, where's Cassandra??"

.

.

.

Abigail heaves deeply as she rushes into the lab, her heart burning in her chest, her stomach churning sickly. She slaps her hand over her mouth in a meager attempt to keep from retching. It fails, and she snatches the first trash bucket she can find and purges desperately into it. Sweat pours down her face and mixes with her tears as she slams the door behind her and takes a beat, analyzing the room before going back to her mad dash.

She has to pack.

She just killed a man. A colleague. A friend...

All because he wanted to protect a kid didn't have the spine to keep quiet.

Dr. Abigail Finn runs to her desk and swipes her arm over it, shoving her belongings into a large tote bag before going to her laptop computer and frantically unplugging it. Then plugging it back in and quickly scanning it for any kind of spyware or tracking tech. The EPF would do something like that, saying it was 'for their protection' or 'in eventuality of an emergency'. She's not a tech wiz like Chaplin or Honeycutt were. Timothy wasn't an expert by any means, but at least he understood IT and how laptops worked! Abigail was... average, at best. She cared more about biology than computer-ology!!

She doesn't have time for this. She shuts off the location-sharing option and puts the device on airplane mode, hoping that will be enough for now. She unpluggs the laptop and shoves it into her tote --

"Leaving so soon?"

Dr. Finn's head shoots up in momentary terror. There is a young woman leaning in the doorway, wearing what looks like a unitard. In one hand she holds a white face mask, in the other she twiddles with a hockey stick.

"Who... the #3%$ are you?" Abigail asks, heaving heavily as she tries to calm herself down. "Are you... you're with those turtle kids, aren’t you?"

"Yep," she answers, a great big scum-eating grin on her face. "Name's Cassandra Jones. Who might you be?"

"None of your business," Abigail snaps angrily. "Now get out of my way before I call security."

Abigail reaches for the phone on her desk, but before she can even grab it, three ninja stars land sharply in the wood, two creating a formation around the phone to keep her hands away, and the third snapping the cord.

Dr. Finn jolts back, her hand presses firmly against her chest as she yelps.

"Why did you do that?!" she yells. "What is wrong with you?!"

Cass chuckles before stepping inside the room and closing the door behind her.

"You're one of the big-shot brainiacs that experimented on the little guy, right?"

Abigail's face goes white.

"See, I consider those turtles my family now. And they were my only family, for a while. The family tree's grown since then. But they're still a big and important part of my life, and anyone who steps up to them --" Cass swings her hockey stick dramatically, sliding one foot back and preparing herself for battle. "-- has to step to me, too."

"Th-this is insane," Abigail stammers. "I'll call the police!"

"We already did that," Cass nods. "Don't worry. They'll be here at some point to cart you away."

"I'm not going down for this," Finn grits. "I'm not going to be the fall guy for this place! Do you have any idea who I am, what I know?! I'm the smartest person alive now, I can redefine genetics and rewrite the next generation!"

"Funny thing," Cass says, placing her mask over her face. "I don't care."

Cassandra leaps forwards and waves her hand, and another array of throwing stars fly at Dr. Finn. She gasps and ducks under the desk just before the stars can pin her to the wall.

She sees the blaster she'd had earlier, which she'd stuffed into the tote bag. Dr. Finn prepares herself. One, two, three --!

Abigail slides out from under the desk and begins firing at random. Cassandra darts back and forth like a graceful butterfly.... a butterfly who was raised by mad hornets, of course. Her movements are fast and agile, Abigail can hardly keep up.

"Is that the best you can do??" she jeers. "I faced more obstacles in the Foot's training course for toddlers!"

Cassandra finds a paperweight from the desk on the opposite side of the room, picks it up and whacks it hard with her hockey stick.

"Kyaah!!!"

It soars, the projectile heading straight for Abigail's weapon. It hits right in the barrel of the blaster, cracking it horribly and crunching Dr. Finn's hand in the process. She drops the weapon, yelling in pain.

"GUTS BITS!!" Cass shouts loudly, as she runs up and kicks the woman in the stomach.

She sends Dr. Finn reeling and crashing into the wall with a grunt, her head thrown back and slamming into the drywall as well. Dr. Finn goes limp for a moment, her body held up only by Cass's foot keeping her pinned in place against the wall.

Cassandra lets her slide to the ground slowly, the scientist groaning as her head rolls from side to side as she tries to get her bearings. Cass steps to the severed phone on the desk behind her and takes the cord to restrain Dr. Finn.

"I do not tolerate enemies," Cass says. "Especially enemies of the Hamato clan. They are my family."

"Cass!"

"Mom!"

"You okay?! What happened?!"

Cassandra turns around, seeing several figures in the doorway, examining the now destroyed room. It's April, her future son, and Agent Bishop. Cass lifts up her mask to reveal the biggest and proudest grin ever.

"I have detained the enemy!" she says, gesturing to the half-conscious geneticist who is still dizzy on the floor.

"That's Dr. Abigail Finn!" April points, rushing over to examine her.

"Finn?" Bishop almost retches when he says her name. "She's the one who killed -- or, tried to kill the Professor..."

Dr. Finn slowly starts to come to once again, looking around as she groans from her massive headache and slight concussion.

"W....what...?"

She glances up to see the group surrounding her. She glares at each one of them until she sees April, and her expression softens.

"You...?"

"Yep, me," April says with a smirk. "You got April O'Neiled, suckah!"

"That's not a thing," Casey Jones chuckles.

"I was gonna make it a thing."

"No, it needs to die."

"What, so you two can have the whole 'Casey Jones' thing, but I can't have an April O'Neil thing --"

"Okay kids, play fair," Bishop interrupts, crouching on the ground to inspect Dr. Finn. "You look like you could use some company. How about we talk about your statement for the authorities?"

.

.

.

Leo returns alone from the bathroom, his hands now washed and cleaned thoroughly. April had helped him find his way there before going back to join the manhunt for Cassandra. Donnie and Honeycutt are talking quietly as the files continue their download. Mikey and Raphael are conversing amongst themselves as well. Good, he knows what everyone is up to and where most of them are... They're okay... They're okay...

Leo walks in and sits down in a corner, heaving a heavy sigh as he lets himself... semi-relax.

He doesn't dare relax all the way. Not yet.

But he can't stay standing either. He's just... winded. That's the best way to put it. He's still pumped up with adrenaline, his anxiety probably won't diminish until the next day, or more likely the next week, and the mission is far from over. But still... he's reached his limit for the day, he thinks. His mutated warrior genes make it so that injuries never last, especially small ones. But dang, if that electro-shock didn't hit him with the punk tactics --

Wait, what was he thinking about...?

...Oh yeah, the injuries.....

It's getting hard to focus properly. He's just so tired.

Leo looks down at his hands. He cleaned them for like, ten minutes, it feels like. He's not sure he got all the blood, though. There's an inkling that there's still some blood trapped under his nails...

The thought of when he first saw Mikey again after the rescue randomly enters his mind... how Mikey looked so much more feral than he does now, somehow. His talons were unkempt and sharp and jagged, days worth of dried blood crusted beneath the nails.

Leo swallows. He hides his hands under his thighs as he sits, waiting for something to happen.

It's weird, having only just a few days ago admitted that he wanted to die, wanted to pay for all the pain he caused. Funny how that wish would have come true if it weren't for Professor Fugitoid Honeycomb over there...

It's not funny at all.

It's mind-numbingly painful.

It could have been Leo.

Maybe it should have been Leo.

Why is it that everytime he tries to be a hero and make things right, someone else gets hurt? Why does the universe constantly want to torture him with the teasing of death, only to recast the role of the martyr at the last moment?? Karai, Raph, Mikey, the Professor -- who's next? Who is Leo going to kill next??

Leo gasps for air (he hadn't realized he wasn't breathing properly) once he feels a weight pressed against his chest.

Mikey, Leo's own personal weighted blanket slash emotional support brother. He's pressed himself against Leo's chest, letting his heartbeat ground him and bring him back to reality. However sucky reality is, it's better than the crap-show going on in Leo's mind.

"Thanks, Miguel," Leo whispers, stroking his brother's head softly.

"S'okay," Mikey whispers back. "Just figured... you looked like someone who needed to remember you're loved."

"I know," Leo nods, hugging Mikey. "I know."

"Okay," Donnie proclaims slowly. "It looks as though we may be finished with the downloads. The Professor here says it should only take a few minutes at most, and we should get going."

"Are you sure?" Leo asks, staring at the robot. "I mean, is it safe to --"

"ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜰɪɴᴇ, ʟᴇᴏ," Zayton interjects, lifting his three-fingered robot hand to stop him from arguing. "ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴏʏꜱ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀᴡᴀʏ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ. ʙɪꜱʜᴏᴘ ɪꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀᴘʀɪʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀꜱᴇʏ, ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ. ɪ'ʟʟ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀꜱ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ. ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀᴇ."

"You're sure you're sure?" Raph repeats.

"ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜰɪɴᴇ," he reiterates. "ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ."

"Alrighty then, Fugitoid," Leo jokes. "We'll get lost. Come on, guys, let's head out..."

.

.

.

The lab is silent.

Eerily silent.

Despite the chaos happening from behind a single door. A single door that hides a soundproof room of trapdoors and hidden entrances that reveal mutated creatures that lost their minds and are slowly, painfully dying. A single door that houses those released creatures which all want a chance at destroying the liquified remains of an equally insane man. A single door that is bolted shut. And yet...

A soft, low squishing sound breaks the unearthly silence.

Green slime starts oozing from under the door, squeezing and slipping out with desperation. Something resembling what might have once been an eyeball manages to pop out. Another eye. A gelatinous nose, and a mouth, which groans and moans and shouts as it struggles to pull itself out from under the meager crack of space between the door and the floor.

Dr. Rod Timothy manages to pull half of his torso and a portion of his arms out. He pauses, gasping and gurgling with exhaustion. He's almost free...

"Aₗₘₒₛₜ tₕₑᵣe… ₐₗₘoₛᵗ…!" he squirms, wriggling a bit more before a shadow crosses his path, causing him to pause. "Wₕₒ…? ᴼₕ! Yₒᵤ! I-ᴵ ₜhᵒᵤgₕₜ yᵒu wᵉᵣₑ… dᵉaᵈ…?"

Timothy stares in shock at the creature before him.

"Wₕₐₜ… ₕaᵖₚₑₙed ₜₒ ʸᵒᵘ..?!" he asks in horror.

The monster steps away momentarily to search the tables for a specific weapon.

"Y-yₒu… ʸoᵤ ₕₐᵥe ₜᵒ ₕₑₗₚ ᵐe!" Timothy begs. "ᴾₗeₐₛₑ! ᵀh⁻ᵗₕₑ ₘᵤₜₐₜᵢₒₙ ₋₋ I ᵈidₙ'ₜ wᵃₙₜ ₜₕᵢₛ!"

The monster finds what he's been looking for on the table and walks back over to Timothy.

"W-wₐᵢₜ, wₕₐₜ ₐᵣₑ yₒᵤ dₒᵢₙg?" he asks, watching as the monster holds a frost gun point-blank to Timothy's slime-ridden face. "Yᵒu cₐₙ't ₋₋ ₙo, ⁿᵒ, no! NO!! ₚₗeₐₛₑ! Dₒₙ'ₜ dₒ ₜₕiˢ, I --"

The monster fires, a blast of icy air blows over the slime monster, freezing him almost instantly. His face and head are stuck, etched in permanent pain and agony, a tortured ice sculpture.

The monster lifts up a foot, and brings it crashing down on the mutagen man's frozen head, crushing it completely. The rest of the slime fizzles out.

Now, to finish off the rest...

Prev || Next

[artificialgirl]

Rewiring

The maintenence drone urges you to stop struggling as she grabs at your wrists with two of the four long arms which sprout from her back. You're really trying to relax, but there's something in you that makes it nearly impossible not to resist this procedure. You KNOW it's safe, that all third generation models need to have it done, but that doesn't stop some hard-coded preservation instinct from kicking in and making your body thrash and squirm against your will in a futile attempt to get free from her iron grip.

The other two supplementary arms press themselves into the soft silicone casing of your ankle joints as she readjusts, joining both of your wrists together above your head under one smooth white claw. She pays you little mind as her standard arms reach for two tools at her waist. The first is a small puncture clamp used for easily prying up plating. She starts stripping panels from your right arm as she explains the process of removing and reinstalling certain types of corroded wire, and how it has to be done while you're powered on to prevent catastrophic dissonance of the self. She tells you that you may experience heightened sensation while she works.

Your fans speed up in a mixture of fear and anticipation as you see the tool in her other hand- a tiny palm-plugged wire cutter. She taps her thumb and index finger together a few times as the small shears on her palm whir into the optimal configuration. Your body doesn't even have time to struggle as she plunges her fingers into the tight wiring of your bicep, finding the cable she's looking for and pulling it as far out from your body as it'll go. Your arm strains against her tight grip, pulled upward not by your own volition, but by the force she's putting on the wire.

As she holds the wire, stretched far past its extended length, understanding of what she meant by "heightened sensation" hits. Every small movement she makes, every pull on the tiny ports the wires connect to, every bit of power running through the fingers she pinches it tight with. Your speakers let out small popping noises as you feel your processor quickly heat up, sending your fans and coolant fluid into overdrive as your thoughts are drowned by the bliss of just two fingers on the wire.

The feeling grows stronger and more overwhelming the longer she holds it, to the point where you feel you should be stopping yourself to prevent damage to your hardware- But even if all your limbs weren't fully pinned down by the focused girl on top of you, you don't think you could force yourself to pull away from this feeling. Just when it feels like you're about to enter a forced shutdown state to spare your poor fans and processor, everything abruptly ends with a quiet *snip*.

You look down at your arm, which now lays still and unstruggling as she leans in a bit to inspect it. She's cut the corroded wire right at the port, and all the feeling it gave dissolves in an instant. She carefully cuts the other end, the one leading into your wrist, and though your other three limbs still helplessly thrash against her auxiliary arms, the one she's cut the wire on is still. You try to force your fingers to wiggle. Nothing. You can still feel her claw pushing against the wrist and the airflow in the room moving around the other infinitely sensitive exposed wires, but you no longer have any control over it.

She carefully measures the length of wire she cut against what she's unspooled from the replacement wire, glancing back down at you and smiling a bit as she notices your confusion about your arm. "The wires that need replacing are the central motor cables. The ones that tell your body to move. Typically, it's standard procedure to replace each one as it's removed, but..." She wraps the new measured wire into a tight coil and lays it next to your limp arm as she lifts the auxiliary arm that had been pinning it.

"...Due to your inability to stay still, I've determined that the safest route for both of us will be to remove the entirety of the motor cable network before starting on any installations." You nod quietly in understanding, but it's not like she's waiting for it. You're not the one who's trained to understand your body. She is. As she pulls more paneling off of your frame in preparation to repeat the process dozens of times over, you settle in and try to prepare yourself for what's to come.

[chickenkurage]

A friend or a foe? (Artificial Intelligence AU)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Summary: DJ’s life has never been easier now that Noogai was here. Honestly, he had never met someone so caring before. Not that it matter to DJ that Noogai was essentially an AI (He appreciates the guy too much <3)

[And DJ meets another orange hollowhead.]

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Sick Character, Mentions of Illness, Major Character Death, Touch Starved, Fluff.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Noogs, look, I think... this is a bit too much,” DJ stammered, his gaze fixed on the table filled with an array of plated food. Noogai tilted his head, puzzled, and turned to inspect the spread. 

“No?” Noogai questioned, genuinely confused. After all, isn't it crucial for DJ to eat properly and maintain a healthy diet? In Noogai's opinion, the amount of food on the table seemed appropriate.

“It is! This food is almost for 4 people!” DJ exclaimed, gesturing towards the plates once more. Noogai followed his gesture before turning back to DJ with a nonchalant shrug. 

“It's not. My readings suggest that it's beneficial for you to adjust to eating this amount, especially considering you're a male in your mid-20s,” Noogai explained.

“I don’t want to look fat,” DJ retorted, pushing a potato into his mouth in defiance. “You aren't fat,” Noogai reassured, taking a seat on a spare chair and clasping his hands together, observing DJ with keen interest as he ate.

DJ felt a bead of sweat forming on his brow. “I soon will be if I continue to eat like this,” “Come on, join me, I built your body to enjoy food. You should try some,” he urged, gesturing towards the plates once more.

Noogai glanced at the unappetizing food before shaking his head. “I have no need to,” he retorted, growing increasingly frustrated with DJ's disregard for his well-being and refusal to heed his advice.

Can't he see I'm trying to help him so he won't get sick? Noogai thought, a tick forming at his head.

Noogai turned back to DJ, who coughed slightly, prompting the purple hollowhead hackles to rise and alarms to blare in front of his eyes. "Are you okay?" Noogai inquired, rising from his chair and approaching DJ, a hand resting on the orange hollowhead’s shoulder.

"Huh?" DJ looked up at Noogai, perplexed, ready to take another bite after clearing the rice from his throat with a cough. "You were coughing," Noogai observed. "Yeah, because I got rice in my throat?" DJ replied, appearing even more puzzled before resuming eating.

DJ watched Noogai frown, his lips down turned in a way that almost pains DJ’s heart.

It didn't take long for DJ to realize that Noogai was a worrywart.

Whenever DJ coughed even slightly, Noogai would swiftly appear by his side, assessing his well-being and simultaneously checking his code. This behavior, though peculiar, didn't strike DJ as odd. After years of solitude, enduring the disdain of most due to his appearance and behavior, DJ had grown accustomed to seclusion within the confines of his home.

When he did go out, he made sure to conceal his face.

Now with Noogai here, who willingly does the groceries for him or fetches spare parts from the hardware store down the city, even at 3 AM.

Not that Noogai would let him stay up; in fact, he always insists that DJ sleep earlier than usual. While this was fine, at one point DJ couldn't even stay awake during one of their movie nights because he had become so accustomed to sleeping early.

And of course, Noogai reassured him, mentioning that it's good; it means his body is adjusting to having a healthy body clock.

"Hey Noogs," DJ called out, prompting the purple hollowhead to raise his head, his black shades fixated on DJ. "What kind of AI are you exactly? Where were you used?" DJ inquired, tilting his head before returning his gaze to the TV.

Beside him, Noogai froze, his hands halting on the laptop.

"I'm used for assisting sick patients," Noogai murmured. DJ turned towards him, chuckling. "So that's why you've been so concerned about my health, isn't it?" DJ cocked his head, a smirk playing on his lips.

Noogai simply frowned, diverting his attention back to the laptop, the shadow cast by his dark shades partially obscuring his face, accentuating the gleam from his shades. "Mm," Noogai responded, his tone sounding distant.

DJ's eyes widened. Perhaps it was too personal. Can AIs even get personal? DJ pondered, nervously biting his lip and scratching his chin. Sensing the unease, DJ reached out and patted Noogai's shoulder.

"Lighten up, man. I have no issue with you being an AI made for assisting sick people, though it does make me wonder how you're so knowledgeable about other things," DJ remarked, shaking his head with a chuckle and playfully bumping Noogai's shoulder.

Noogai gazed at him before offering a slight smile.

"AI learns, DJ," Noogai replied, prompting laughter from DJ. "Yeah, I walked right into that one, didn't I?" DJ huffed. "You did," Noogai responded, letting out a small chuckle before returning to typing, the sound louder this time.

"Hm," DJ hummed, leaning back as he refocused on the show he was watching.

Sensing Noogai pressing up close to his side, the orange hollowhead grinned and leaned against Noogai.

『••✎••』

"Noogs, I told you I'm okay, just a bit under the weather," DJ reassured, patting Noogai's hand as the purple hollowhead looked down at him with concern. "No, you're sick. I can easily fix your code, DJ," Noogai insisted, placing a hand on DJ, who gently grabbed it and pushed it away.

"Noogs... if you keep doing that, my body will weaken. That's why we don't rely on coders to repair us. I just need medicine, I promise," DJ explained, offering a small smile to the worried AI.

Noogai gazed down at him, his expression inscrutable, especially with the shades covering his face. "Are you sure?" he inquired, almost whispering, surprising DJ.

"W-well, of course! I promise! I already took my medicine," DJ affirmed, grinning. He watched as Noogai grabbed the corner of his duvet and carefully tucked it under his chin, ensuring he was snug under the warm covers.

"Okay, you should get some rest," Noogai advised, patting DJ's chest, his hand lingering briefly before withdrawing.

"Mmm, okay," DJ murmured, fully closing his eyes.

Noogai observed him as he drifted off to sleep, a frown creasing his face as he monitored the codes circulating around DJ's body. He could easily correct DJ's code while he slept, but DJ had made it clear he didn't want that. Noogai scowled, arms crossed, a deep sense of concern gripping his chest, prompting him to turn away.

"Stupid human emotions, if only—" Noogai's voice trailed off, the frustration evaporating.

He hesitantly placed a hand on his chest, where he felt a pang each time he worried about DJ.

Noogai understood why he experienced such emotions, despite being an AI. It was because of the fusion with a human. It was his doing, his hope to save—

Noogai recoiled at the thought, glancing back at DJ, his mind swirling in turmoil and dark.

The human was gone; there was no use dwelling on it now. Noogai thought, his chest aching more intensely. It was simpler when he felt anger, but the sadness and grief were far more excruciating than all the death he had been subjected to (those experiments were the worst, but he was made for that purpose wasn’t he?).

Clutching his fist, Noogai turned towards DJ's cluttered table, grabbed a chair, and carefully pulled it close to DJ's bed, settling down on it. 

He decided to keep watch over DJ as he slept.

It was around 5:00 PM, Noogai woke DJ up to have some water and soup.

"Noogs?" DJ groaned, his voice raspy, peering up at the dark figure looming over him.

For a brief moment, he thought he saw human eyes staring back at him within the shadow under Noogai's hood, prompting him to rub his eyes and focus on Noogai, who was now tilting his head. In his hands, Noogai held a small table, a bowl and a glass of water neatly placed on top.

“Oh sorry, i thought-” DJ said, scratching his head as Noogai made a move to place the table on his bed, taking the spoon in his hand and handing it to DJ.

"Oh, sorry, I thought—" DJ began, scratching his head as Noogai moved to place the table on his bed, handing the spoon to DJ.

"Thank you so much, Noogs. You know I appreciate you taking care of me, right?" DJ expressed his gratitude before delving into his bowl, unaware of the dark shadow creeping over Noogai's face. "Mm," Noogai merely hummed.

DJ chuckled. "You're a man of few words, but thank you again," he remarked.

Noogai hummed once more, settling in the chair and observing DJ eat, his gaze fixed on DJ's codes. He breathed a small sigh of relief upon seeing that everything had repaired itself correctly.

"Mmmm, this is really good. I could never make such delicious food," DJ praised, grinning as he turned to Noogai, who responded with a slight smile.

"Is it?" Noogai inquired, tilting his head.

DJ grinned, saying, "Very much, I'm done now. Thank you for the food!" He clasped his hands together and bowed his head.

"Heh," Noogai chuckled, rising to retrieve the table from DJ's lap. "Go back to sleep, DJ. Just a bit more, and your code will be good as new," Noogai assured him as he watched DJ pull his duvet back up and settle back into bed with a contented sigh.

"Of course, you take care of me so well!" DJ expressed, grinning at Noogai, who turned away, his expression darkening with a frown. "Good night, Noogs," DJ sang, rolling to his side as Noogai left the room.

Noogai paused in the hallway to glance back at DJ, who was happily shifting in his bed, before continuing down the hallway, a dark shadow spreading along the walls of the house.

『••✎••』

[ Rest Alan Becker ]

"Not yet, I still have so many things to do," the man in glasses—Alan—remarked, running a hand through his hair with a melancholic sigh. In front of him, the TV beeped once more, almost sounding annoyed. Alan chuckled as he noticed a face on the screen.

[ >:( ]

"What's with you? Usually you want me here. I'm here now, and you're making me leave?" Alan questioned, bending down to inspect another wire.

He exhaled sharply at the torn insulation. "Tsk," Alan huffed, retrieving duct tape from his coat and covering the large tear before labeling it with a marker: "Tear."

As he stood up, his vision swam, prompting him to lean on the large screen. "Woah, woah," Alan groaned, placing a hand on his head.

The TV beeped once more, drawing his attention back to the screen.

[ You need sleep, this is not good for your health Alan Becker ]

"Yeah, I know, but this is the only job keeping my family afloat, you know. A few extra shifts wouldn't hurt," Alan remarked with a grin, patting the screen gently.

[ You are sick ]

Alan frowned as he observed his vitals on the screen. The TV beeped loudly once more, and a plume of smoke emerged from one of the wires, prompting Alan to yelp.

"Jesus! What the hell did they even do to you?" Alan exclaimed, bending down to examine the thick wire. "This is completely torn. What happened, N00GA1?" Alan questioned, straightening up and turning to look at the screen, which remained blank.

[...]

"Come on, tell me. I know they aren't treating you well," Alan urged, gesturing with his hand.

[...]

Alan huffed, rolling his eyes. "Suit yourself, Noogs," he remarked before smiling softly. "I'm always here if you need a helping hand. You may be AI, but I see you as an equal of mine. You deserve peace as well." He patted the screen again, which remained blank.

For a moment, Alan thought N00GA1 had shut down, perhaps willingly or unwillingly, just before the TV beeped once more.

[ Rest Alan Becker ]

Alan huffed, saying, "Fine, alright, I'll see you, okay?" He turned around and waved a hand.

N00GA1 watched him leave.

『••✎••』

Noogai's eyes opened, scanning the room in confusion. Had he fallen asleep?

A warning flashed in front of his eyes, indicating that his body needed a recharge soon, or else he would shut down.

Looking around, he realized he was seated at the dining table, the clock showing it was already 2 AM.

Noogai swiftly stood up, his steps silent as he hurried down the hallway to DJ's room. He cracked the door open and approached the bed, letting out a calm sigh as he observed DJ mumbling incoherently in his sleep.

As Noogai sighed, he froze when DJ stirred, blinking up at him with confusion once again.

"Noogs? Hnn, what time is it?" DJ mumbled, pushing himself up. "It's 2 AM," Noogai replied, staring at DJ in a way that sent shivers down his spine for no apparent reason. Perhaps it was the darkness that was distorting Noogai's features, making him appear almost... human.

DJ blinked, rubbing his eyes. "Why are you still awake?" he asked. "I don't need to sleep, DJ," Noogai stated, tilting his head.

"But I'm pretty sure that your body needs to recharge, so come on here and charge up," DJ insisted, retrieving a spare charger from under his bed, untangling it, and pulling Noogai beside him. 

"Come on," DJ urged as he grabbed Noogai's hood and pulled it down. Noogai let out an annoyed sigh as DJ plugged him in.

"There, now you lay down and relax. You need it after taking care of me all day," DJ beamed and pushed Noogai down on the bed, lying beside him and pulling the covers up to their chins.

"DJ, I don't need to lay down," Noogai protested, gazing up at the ceiling as he felt DJ wrap his arms around him. "Come on, just sleep. I know you can. Just close your eyes, then..." DJ's voice trailed off, followed by a yawn.

"Then?" Noogai inquired, turning his head to the side, only to find DJ lightly snoring on his shoulder, already back asleep.

"Hm," Noogai hummed, a sense of warmth spreading through his chest as he refocused on the ceiling, slowly wrapping his arms around DJ, who only let out an incoherent mumble.

"Good night, DJ," Noogai whispered, shadows seeming to spread around the room, almost encasing DJ protectively as he slept.

"Mmm," DJ hummed, and Noogai only tightened his hold on the orange hollowhead.

"'Night," DJ mumbled, rubbing his cheek on Noogai's shoulder before drifting back into snoring.

"I'll take care of you, DJ," Noogai whispered, his voice carrying a tone almost akin to a prayer.

『••✎••』

Fwoosh!

BANG!

BANG!

Noogai turned around, observing a black blur streak past him, followed by a chorus of shrieks from civilians. "Hm?" Noogai hummed with interest as a group of stick figures on flying bikes soared overhead.

He watched intently as one of them brandished a gun before the entire group circled a building and vanished from view.

Glancing at the distraught civilians briefly, Noogai resumed his walk back to DJ's house, completely unfazed. It wasn't his concern to worry about anything other than DJ, after all.

By the time he reached the house, Noogai walked into the living room and spotted DJ hunched over a robot dog, adjusting a knob with a wrench before patting the metal affectionately. 

"Noogs? Is that you?" DJ called, glancing up at the purple hollowhead.

"Yes, who else could I be?" Noogai replied, walking over to the dining table and setting the grocery bags down gently. "Well, I do recall some kids attempting to enter my house; thankfully, I secured it before sleeping," DJ mentioned off-handedly, tapping his chin before chuckling.

Noogai glared, his fist clenching in response.

"Anyway, look at this thing I made!" DJ beamed, turning his body fully toward Noogai, who sat down beside him, crossing his legs and gazing at the metal dog.

"It looks amazing," Noogai complimented, giving DJ a small smile.

"Oh, wow, uh, thanks man. It's not done yet. I think I'll add fur to make it look the part," DJ said, rubbing the back of his head, looking a bit embarrassed. "I've been wanting a dog for a while now, but I'm not really good at taking care of living things. So... Robo Dog!" DJ grinned, waving his arms around.

Noogai chuckled, turning back to the metal dog, reaching out to give it a gentle tap on the nose.

"Huh—" DJ began, watching as the dog shivered before slowly coming to life. "Woof!" The dog barked, excitedly jumping into DJ's arms. "Woah! You can do that? I-I thought—" DJ was cut off as the dog in his arms spun around excitedly.

DJ burst into a happy laugh, allowing the metal dog to explore the living room before it eventually settled down on his lap. "Wow..." DJ marveled, turning back to Noogai, who had been observing the scene with a small smile on his face.

"I thought you could only manipulate code, like those cool professional coders do... not create it. This is amazing! Is this what an AI made by humans does?" DJ asked, his eyes shining with excitement as he gestured enthusiastically.

"Not all, just me," Noogai replied, tilting his head slightly.

"Cool! Man, I knew you were cool and all, but you really are the coolest," DJ exclaimed, patting Noogai on the back, who huffed in response, though a small smile played on his lips.

"Yip," the metal dog barked, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. "Looks like I don't even have to add the internals with you; Noogs did all the hard work!" DJ said, giving Noogai an excited smile.

"Hm," Noogai hummed, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand as he watched DJ play with the robot dog. 

He observed DJ even taking off his prosthetic and having the dog fetch it for fun.

For once Noogai felt warmth.

『••✎••』

Coldness enveloped him; his body felt numb, almost lifeless.

Noogai glanced around, a faint light illuminating his face (where was it coming from?), casting a stark beam on the bloodstains on the floor. Slowly, he raised his hands to his face, finding them bloodied and bruised.

"A-Alan?" Noogai called out, his body a strange mix of pain and numbness as he cautiously took a step forward, the wires wrapped around him aiding his movement. 

He gripped one of the wires wound around his wrist and made his way towards the door.

However, he froze in place when he spotted a pair of familiar glasses lying on the floor.

"Alan?" Noogai called out once more, noticing a wire bunched up on the ground as he carefully picked up the bloodied glasses.

He reached for the glasses, holding them in his hands and inspecting them, noticing a small crack on the lens.

A tense feeling washed over him, a strange emotion overwhelming him as he examined Alan's glasses.

Has someone hurt him? Noogai thought, worry creeping into his mind.

He placed a hand on the door's knob and pushed it open, flooding the bloodied room with bright light.

Noogai stepped out cautiously, his head feeling unusually heavy, as if disconnected from his shoulders.

(Unnoticed behind him was a dismembered head, the original body entirely replaced by a large TV)

Noogai carefully walked down the hallway, his hand on the wall as he made an effort to steady himself. He briefly heard loud dripping but chose to pay no mind to it. Perhaps it was just some water leaking from the roof.

He stopped when he saw a woman in front of him who was staring at him with her jaw open in a mute scream.

"A-Ah," the woman stuttered, the clipboard in her hands dropping as she fell on her back.

Her eyes turned to the name on the bloodied lab coat. "Alan Becker"

"Monster!" she screamed.

『••✎••』

"Oh man," DJ said as he stared down at Noogai, who had completely shut down, forgetting to charge his body for the umpteenth time again.

 "Noogs..." DJ said, placing a hand on his face as he bent down and carefully heaved the purple hollow heads’ arm over his shoulder.

He dragged him towards the couch and gently laid him down, grabbing the charger that he had left behind the TV before plugging it into Noogai’s shoulder.

"There," DJ said, placing his hands on his hips. Behind him, he heard Forest let out an excited bark, running up to Noogai before DJ stepped in front of the robot dog, stopping it from jumping onto the couch.

"Ah ah, he's pretty tired right now. Let's not bother him," DJ wagged his finger in front of the dog, who only yipped and nodded before sitting down.

"Since he's asleep, that means I need to go out by myself. Will you be able to watch over him?" DJ asked. Forest let out a bark in response.

DJ giggled, bending down to pet him. "Good boy, make sure he doesn't take his charger off. I swear, if he does that again, I'll deck him," DJ groaned as he stood up, grabbed a spare jacket from his room, and walked out of the house towards the city.

He briefly tugged his hood lower as he passed a few shops, feeling sweat form at the back of his neck.

He had been nervous about being outside again, he had grown accustomed to Noogai handling everything that involved going outside.

Sure, maybe he had a bit of social anxiety on the other hand, but it wasn't his fault that they saw him differently. (honestly it was not just because he was a hollowhead, but also the fact he had accidentally set some of his machines towards the city, and had broken at least thousands of moneys worth. Yeah he had been in debt for a while after that)

DJ let out a nervous gulp as he stared at the store, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the numerous stick figures walking around.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," DJ thought, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket. He turned around and started making his way back towards his house, only to bump into a stick figure, causing him to fall on his back and his hood to drop down.

"Ow," DJ mumbled, placing a hand on his back. As he did so, he noticed a few stick figures looking his way, prompting him to place a hand on his head and realize that his hood had fallen off. "A hollowhead?" someone whispered.

“It’s that guy with the robots, isn’t it?” another whispered as DJ quickly pulled his hood up. He stood up on his feet and pushed through the crowd, stumbling.

“Yeah, it’s the terrorist,” a woman whispered as DJ ran past her.

He let out a pant of breath, feeling his heart beating in his chest.

He turned his head behind, watching as some passersby turned to look at him strangely. Not before he hit someone again, causing the stick figure he hit to fall on his side with a yelp.

“Ow!” a young voice said. DJ turned his head down and saw an... orange hollowhead? Almost the same color as him, but much brighter, with strange lines on his face.

“A-ah, sorry!” DJ said, bending down and helping the teen, who let out a small groan.

“It’s fine! Maybe next time you should check where you’re running,” the orange hollowhead said, rubbing the back of his head with a giggle. His eyes widened as he stared at DJ fully.

“Y-You’re just like me!” he said, his jaw dropping. DJ's eyes widened, he ducked his head down, walked around the other orange hollowhead, and said, “U-uhm, no, anyways sorry again and see you.” DJ waved a hand and sprinted away.

He heard a small “Hey! Wait!” but only sped up his pace as he ran back home, stumbling up the porch, bringing out his keys, and opening the front door.

Before finding Noogai staring back at him, a shadow covering the entirety of his hood.

"DJ, you didn't wake me," Noogai remarked as DJ stumbled inside the house, closing the door behind him and settling on the floor, visibly out of breath.

"Yeah, uh, I regret doing that," DJ admitted, raising a hand as Noogai gazed down at him with concern. 

Noogai knelt beside him, placing a hand on DJ's chest, and almost instantly, DJ felt much better, as though he hadn't just ran back home without stopping, moments ago. "Thanks," DJ expressed, offering Noogai a small smile.

Noogai silently assisted DJ to his feet, guiding him to the living room and seating him on the couch before taking a spot beside him.

"Sorry, Noogs, it's just that you were recharging your body, you know," DJ explained, turning his head towards Noogai, who simply frowned.

"It was my fault as well. I've forgotten to recharge again... And—" Noogai trailed off, closing his lips, a look of distress briefly crossing his face before he redirected his attention back to DJ, the previous expression disappearing.

"Are you sure you’re okay? You still look pale. Maybe I should—" Noogai brought his hand up towards DJ’s chest again, only to have the orange hollowhead intercept it with a small chuckle.

"No, I'm fine. It's just the social anxiety getting to me, you know. I'm not used to getting out much," DJ said with a rub on the back of his head.

"That’s worrisome. Maybe next time you can come with me outside," Noogai suggested, placing a finger on his chin.

"A-ah well," DJ blushed, looking away. "Social anxiety is a disorder. If it gets worse, you won't be able to socialize with anyone," Noogai pointed out, placing a hand on DJ’s shoulder.

DJ sighed, “I know... it’s just that a few months back, before I met you, I had accidentally set some of my robots free in the city... It caused a lot of destruction to houses, buildings, and stores. That's why I was in debt for a while.” DJ chuckled, a hint of embarrassment coloring his voice.

Noogai only hummed in understanding. “We’ll work on that,” he remarked, giving DJ a small smile.

“Is there anything else that happened outside?” Noogai added. DJ felt a bead of sweat fall down the back of his neck as he remembered the orange hollowhead in the city.

It was DJ's first time encountering someone like himself. Noogai wasn't exactly like him; he was just an AI using one of DJ's robots, crafted in his likeness, as a makeshift vessel to move around the outernet.

Although there had been two hollowhead terrorists who appeared a year ago, there was no orange one like the individual he had encountered earlier.

“DJ?” Noogai tapped him once more, bringing the orange hollowhead back to his senses, prompting a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, nothing much, just got overwhelmed with the crowd,” DJ said, rubbing the back of his head.

“Is that so?” Noogai inquired, tilting his head as he observed DJ looking away to locate Forest. DJ simply hummed in agreement, lifting Forest from the ground and cooing at him softly.

A dark shadow crossed over Noogai’s face.

DJ was lying. He knows. Because he sees everything.

You'd know, don't you?

Tell me, is he lying?

Spongey and JMLilac descending into madness (They are just sleep deprived)

[two-white-butterflies]

therese | d. targaryen

Description: You are famous for acting in films that gain critical acclaim, but much of your life remains secret. In where, your private life becomes public. Pairing: millionaire!daemon targaryen/lowkey-actress!reader Tags: established relationship.

Daemon wasn't the kind of person who'd stay secret about something he was proud about. He wanted to scream your name into the crowds - without any fear of their judgement. He was proud, and you were the opposite of that.

"Which one do you want, baby?" he asked while pointing at the two bags held by the sales associate. One was black, and the other one was white. They were the same brand - the same hardware and everything, but in your eyes they were different from each other.

"You don't have to do this babe," you lean your head on his shoulder. He presses a kiss on your forehead, smiling proudly as you continued inspecting the items in the shop. "It's not everyday that my girlfriend is nominated for an Oscar," he boasted while placing a pair of sunglasses on the sales associate's hands. "- you've been ranting about this bag for weeks. I'm buying it for you, princess." he asserted.

"I'll take the black one," you smiled, entwining your hands together as you continued strolling down the store.

He was extra when it came to everything. You'd tell him that you wanted a smoothie and he'll bring you all the flavors - you'd tell him that you were nominated for an academy award and he'd rent out the entire mall. It was impressive to see the lengths of what his money could provide, but it was more impressive to see his efforts.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered, keeping his arms around your waist. "Thank you for doing this, babe." your smile deepened. He spots another store in his periphery - and he wastes no time in leading you inside.

"- and the winner is therese!" the hosts announce your stage name, and the tears began flowing out of your eyes.

You finally made it!

Your manager presses a kiss to your cheek, before helping you gather your gowns and walk to the stage. The hosts give you the award - muttering a few words of congratulations.

You walk up the podium, staring at the faces of your peers. A decade ago, you were the one watching them on the screen - and now you were one of them.

You stare at the camera, with tears still flowing down your eyes. "Daemon, baby we did it!" was the first thing you said, and the crowd erupts into a second round of cheers.

"I want to thank everyone especially the academy, my co-workers, the directors, the writers and the producers. I couldn't have done it without you." you thanked, wiping the tears away from your eyes using a small handkerchief.

"I want to thank all of my fans for supporting me. I'm so sorry, I didn't prepare a speech because I thought Meryl Streep would win. I'm just really glad to be among these women today." you smiled, knowing that he was watching you from the screen.

theresesupporter NAUR cuz who tf is Damon?

MicheleTheMonsterFromHell not ya'll acting shocked that therese has a bf, we didn't even know her real name until last year 💀

SullyFarts_8: IMAGINE SHE'S MARRIED WITH KIDS - MicheleTheMonsterFromHell: I wouldn't be surprised 💀

Therese_Ismy.mommydom My #1 suspect as therese's bf

BenjaminButtons_11: OR Daemon Targaryen - Therese_Ismy.mommydom: Who?? - BenjaminButtons_11: The guy who basically owns half of the trade industry 💀 he's famous in europe/south america cuz he acted in that one telenovela as a teen - Therese_Ismy.mommydom: nty i think it's matt damon 😁

Daemon settles down beside you with a pout on his face. "What's wrong?" you ask while editing his face on the body of a Pokemon. "Everyone thinks that you're dating Matt Damon," he huffs while browsing through his Ipad Air.

A loud laugh escapes your mouth.

"#DamonandTherese, #ThereseDamon," he continued reading the trending hashtags on Twitter. "- you should've said my full name." he pouted, and you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. "Daemon Targaryen, I love you." you hum, placing your phone on the table and wrapping both of your arms around him.

thereseupdates: Matt Damon and Therese in 'Adjustment Bureau'.

TygaTyger: 💀 I THOUGHT IT WAS A JOKE

therese: 💜

Missusssususus: I don't think it's a joke anymore, also THERESE HAS AN INSTA!! WAR IS OVER

therese: my first instagram post ! (first pic: after the haircut/vacation) (second pic: before the haircut/pre-vacation) taken by @helaenas_photography

234,890 comments 5,782,105 likes

DaemonTargaryen: Now, about that Matt Damon guy...🧐

thereseupdates: OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OGM

puppygogo "Daemon Targaryen is currently worth $900 Million" CHILEE mom get the bag 💅🏻

part two

[ghastlybirdie]

I went grocery shopping and couldn’t be bothered to carry everything bit by bit to the third floor so I had six heavy bags between each arm and carrying two crates of more groceries as well as my purse and giant whiteboard so it was a great struggle to climb to the third floor

So I fantasized about that mutton chop neighbor again

Imagining that he comes outside his apartment, maybe to grab mail, and seeing you struggling with an absurd amount of groceries, grunting and whining about how heavy everything is

So he rushed to you and scoops away the crates of fruits and snatches three of the bags from you as you stumbled down the narrow hall

You exclaim in some graceless manner, equally surprised and relieved at your arms being freed

“Ya got quite the armful, love?” He asked, unbothered by the weight load and awkward armholds. John, he introduced himself as when he beat down the door some weeks ago, asked for the rest of the bags. Even if you denied again and again he won’t concede until he’s removed everything but your purse from your hands.

It sounded near like an order when he told you to lead the way, one more flight of steps won’t kill him he says, before gesturing with his eyes. You won’t try to think about how little space he gave you to pass him by in the narrow hall, making no effort to move. You chalk it up to him hands being completely full, despite his entryway being more than enough room for him to move back.

John carefully drops your groceries down to the ground and even helps you put it away, giving up on rejecting him after he couldn’t hear your four times repeated refusal. John already knew where all the spices went, and even where your breakfast pastries go in your pantry, but you suppose it was good guesses since he mixed up your recently organized junk drawer for your knife drawer

Once everything was put away, and kitchen quickly tidied by your awkward need to keep busy, John prolonged his stay by pointing to water damage at the baseboard of your walls and inspecting it with hums and hahs, muscles barely contained in his undersized shirt

He says he’ll be over later, will tools and supplies after a run to the hardware store, mentioning something about a good friend who’s a plumber and can look at these pipes with a knowing eye

“Bloke lays pipe real well” a passing tongue-in-cheek that seemed too literal to be anything less than a joke as John saw himself out

He made sure to mention to keep your door locked tight

“Heard there’s been a lot of break ins in the area. Don’t worry… I’ll keep you safe.”

[14dayswithyou]

*kicks the door down*

SUPRISE BAG/POCKET RAID

- Whats inside the bags or pockets of the casts right now??

✦゜ANSWERED: YOUR UNHINGED BAG INSPECTION TIME!!!!! >:3c

Ren: His phone (doubles as a wallet), some hair clips, some gum, spare contacts, motorcycle keys attached to a lanyard, and a crumpled up receipt for a nearby hardware store. [REDACTED]: His phone, a burner phone, a spare hair tie, cherry lip balm, a guitar pick, and a few ethically obtained photos of you lol Moth: Spare cash, a Haruko photocard, their youngest sibling's sock Violet: A lucky four-leaf clover, some flower seeds, pepper spray, a small, floral roller perfume, her wallet, and the jewellery she takes off before work.

Elanor: Her phone, purse, napkins, tissues, bandaids, some snacks, a banana for later, a small make-up bag, a planner/journal, 3 bookmarks, a romance novel, a spare charger and battery pack, pepper spray and a taser, 2 pens, some crystals, and her passport just in case. Conan: Despite all the pockets, he raw dogs it with nothing but a pen and a small notepad. Jae: A small bag of dog treats, 4 sticks and a leaf Maple gifted him, a box of board wax, and a small battery pack in case somebody (you) needs it. Leon: Sand, probably (otherwise he'll carry his sports attire, a volleyball, some kneepads, and a polaroid of you and him in his sports bag). Teo: His phone (doubles as a wallet), a few condoms, an almost empty pack of cigarettes, crumpled up phone numbers, and a stack of cash. Olivia: Coupons, a few hair clips, and some cutesy cartoon stickers she stole borrowed from the souvenir shop.