#i hacked this out in 9 hours

[hemomusicmonster]

Uhhhh... I'm not dead? Maybe at little on the inside, but that's 'cause I stayed up all night to make this silly joke thing for my roommates and I.

I was told that I should put it out to the public because they enjoyed it so much.

So, have some OCs to a Tom Cardy song called H.S.

[abcdfghjklmpqrobin]

Superman is left in the batcave on Robin-sitting duty for the day.

The batkids, (Let's say they're all fairly young and close to age for the sake of this) start to get restless pretty quickly so Clark proposes playing a game.

Hide and seek seem harmless enough. Not too physical, they can't get out of the batcave unauthorized and Clark can just locate them with his super powers if needed.

The first problem is that Cass and Damian don't know how to play. Clark tries to answer their questions 'Is it like a tressure hunt?' 'What are we hiding?' but the other kids start trying to explain and soon everyone is just shouting. Clark raises his voice and goes "Listen! The only rule is you hide and don't let me find you, okay?"

The kids all turn to look at Superman with huge glinting eyes. He ask if there's any questions and they all shake their heads no, and so Clark finally turns around and starts counting down from 100...

The first thing the kids do is grab some Kryptonite along with lead reinforced clothes. Hacking the doors and getting out of the cave is child's play. By the time Clark gets to "Cero! Ready or not here I come!" half of them already left the manor.

Tim and Cass decide to stay close to the enemy, hiding in the air conducts and old passages of the manor. They get to watch the exact moment Clark realizes, 30 minutes in, that he can't find them.

Jason and Stephanie go the disguises route. They stay in Gotham where they're already familiar with life in the streets, blending in and disappearing.

Duke and Damian take Goliath and fly to Dinosaur Island. Mostly because Duke has never been and is exited about the dinosaurs, and Damian likes animals. Also the dinosaurs will distract Superman if he comes too close.

Dick goes... Well he doesn't know where to go. Honestly, after the first 3 hours of walking around he gets pretty bored. Clark has been flying from one side of the country to the other for ages and hasn't even come close to finding him once.

So Dick goes looking for Bruce instead. He's not doing anything, he might as well help Batman kick some.

That's how Batman turns around mid-fight expecting to find another goon only to see his 9 year old son who was supposed to be at the other side of the planet with his siblings. As an explanation Dick says "Superman is Superbad at hide and seek".

Clark never babysits again.

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Seven: another deal. another oath

tw: grief

Marco got you sick. 

Building pressure throbs between your eyes, ravaging your sinuses with tightly packed snot. It moves to your throat until you’re constantly hacking up phlegm and the pressure in your ears swells so viciously that you can hardly hear anyone over the idle chatter in the restaurant. Of course, there is no evidence to prove that it was Marco himself who got you sick. There are countless people who flood through the doors of Sapori with empty stomachs and noses running from the bitter, humid cold of London. Anyone could have gotten you sick. 

Yet, over the last week, no one has gotten as close to you as he did. Fingers digging into your arm. Legs pinning yours to the bench. Gentle hand—the hand of a killer, his hand, that brutal fucking hand—caressing the side of your face, holding you hostage. Taking, and taking, and taking—tongue shoving past your teeth—

Blurry eyes glance away from the assaulting brightness of your phone screen. Sapori is quiet; it always is this early. Early for late night dining, anyway. Half past ten, you’ve spent most of the morning cleaning every single corner of that building. It’s how you rationalize spending more hours at work even without customers—you have to keep your hands busy and cash flowing. Except, after a while, you got too dizzy to continue, so you’ve taken refuge at a lonely table. The dust and carcinogens you’ve inhaled haven’t done anything to ease your symptoms, but you can’t afford to stay idle. There are numbers to be crunched, cash to be earned, and debts to be paid. 

Which brings you back to your phone. 

Having only graduated school without any sort of higher education, your options for jobs are limited, but working one job isn’t cutting it anymore. You can either pick up more hours like you have been doing this past work, or attempt to find a job that will pay slightly more to help cover the difference in what you now owe Marco every month. You’ve been staring at hourly wages for so long you feel your eyes begin to cross, and you don’t exactly like what you’re seeing. An early morning librarian job for £10.44, coffee shop barista for £9… nothing salary. Nothing that will save you. 

“Job hunting?” 

The ache and throbbing in your ears suffocates your senses so viciously that you didn’t hear Bruce’s footsteps approach. Jumping, you stare up at him like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Nothing like looking at other job postings with your boss staring over your shoulder. The embarrassment is enough to open up a black hole in your stomach where it consumes your organs bit by bit until you’re liquified. Your phone screen goes black, and you choke out a sheepish smile through the snot leaking into the back of your throat. 

“Just for a second job. Part-time,” you explain. Your voice sounds louder than his—ears too clogged to properly receive soundwaves. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving any time soon.” 

Bruce’s mellifluous laugh is the first thing that’s warmed your soul all week. It’s contagious. He’s always been a jovial man—you’ve heard a few of the cooks call him The Italian Santa Claus because of his rosy cheeks and round stomach. The smallest of smiles flitters across your lips as he carefully takes the seat across from you with a large bowl in his hands. 

“Ah, I wouldn’t be upset if you left. Sad, yes, but everyone finds their way out of here eventually,” Bruce assures. His accent is odd. Immigrating from Italy at a young age, his vernacular is a mash of proper English, Italian, and what you’re guessing is Italian-American slang. Or, at least, that’s what you’ve been able to gather from the movies, anyway. “You’re a hard worker. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

A wave of tears build up behind your eyes at his words, and they’re held back by a flimsy, half formed dam. Your emotions have been strewn about in your brain all week—cluttered, sticking halfway out of folders and filing cabinets. It’s hard to shove them back when you can hardly shut the drawers. 

“Here,” he continues as he pushes the bowl toward you. The hard lines of his face soften as he watches you curiously peer at the contents. Tiny bits of pasta shaped like stars swirl around in some sort of thickened broth. “Pastina. Good for your health. You sound sick. Eat up and go home.” 

Your hand is hardly gripping the spoon when he says that, and it nearly slips out of your grasp to clatter back into the bowl. Mouth half open, you stare at Bruce with wide eyes. There’s not a single hint of maliciousness on his face—his eyes twinkle bright as he runs a hand over his balding head. Though he appears happy—proud of himself, even—you feel nothing of the sort. 

“I can’t go home,” you try to argue, but he quickly cuts you off with a wave of his hand. 

“You’re sick, and you’ve been working too much. You’ve worked more hours than I can legally give you this week, and though I don’t mind paying you under the table, it’s not exactly good for either of us. Rest, before you really make yourself sick,” he dismisses. 

Swallowing thickly, you attempt to fruitlessly hide the tremor in your voice. “But I… I really need the money.” 

It’s all you can think about. Money. Numbers This vicious counting game. How you’re going to cough up the extra cash for Marco and still have enough to feed yourself. To do anything. To live. Or worse—what happens to you if you can’t make enough? How many more times is he going to change your payments based on stupid mistakes that aren’t your fault?

Waving your words off again, Bruce stands to his feet, hands pressing flat against the swell of his stomach as he does so. “I’ll give you a raise, then.” 

Jarred, the side of your spoon taps against the edge of the bowl as you follow him with your eyes. “A raise?” 

“Sixteen,” he replies. “Should be enough. I’m tired of you working so many hours. You need to go out and be a kid before you get old and useless like me, yeah? Pick up a hobby. Hang out with that guy Bianca won’t stop talking about. He seems nice, hm? I just want you to be happy, kid. Now, eat up. You’ll feel better.” 

Bruce vanishes just as quickly as he appeared, leaving you alone with a bowl of pastina and your thoughts. It’s good that he did, because if you tried to thank him for such a gracious gesture, you’d certainly crumble. Perhaps he knew that, too. 

In a poor attempt to save yourself from crying in public, you quickly turn your attention to the food Bruce lovingly whipped up for you. Steam wafts and twirls upwards, hitting your face in a fine mist. Its flavor is difficult to discern with how congested you are, but the rich texture is enough to satiate the hole in your stomach. It always seems ever growing these days. A barren cavern; a void that wants to swallow you from the inside out. Not ravenous, just gutting. 

Maybe one day it will fill itself up again. 

For now, it grows. Slowly. Insidiously. Taking bits of you and shredding them into ribbons. They trail behind you, fluttering in the wind as you walk up the steps to your flat where they then roll down the stairs. It would look beautiful if it wasn’t for the fact that it was you. You, with quiescent feet trudging through the door. You, with the fatigued body that can hardly dress herself into pajamas. You, who curls into bed, a motherless child—a creature waiting to vanish. 

Too broke to afford cold medicine to aid you with your congestion, it takes time before you can finally fall asleep. When you do, it grips you like a vice, pinning you down, spoon feeding you dreams you haven’t been able to see with the hours you’ve been pulling at work. They’re heavy, holding your head under water, threatening to suffocate you; you can do nothing but watch. 

You dream of your mother. 

She’s folding your school uniform in the laundromat—the very same one you use as common ground to meet up with Marco. Washers swish water in their drums as dryer alarms chime the end of their cycle in terrible cacophony. Pristine white blouses become ruined with burgundy—her hands are soiled. Covered with blood. She folds, and you sit and watch her, hands tangled in string, fingers unable to move. Each fold is done with purpose. Crisp. Effortless. Blouses, skirts, and ties stack up taller than her on the table, threatening to scrape the ceiling above. 

“Throw them away,” you say, voice weak. 

She does not look at you. 

“They’re ruined. Throw them away,” you say. 

She does not look at you. 

“Did I ruin them?” she asks. 

You blink. The string around your fingers tightens. You feel them turn cold as ice. Lack of blood. Festering wounds. Irritated nail beds. An extension of the sins trapped inside of you. 

“It wasn’t you,” you murmur. 

Finally, she looks at you and you flinch. 

“Who was it?” 

Fibers snap, and the string falls free from your hands. Fluttering and dainty; it lays on the floor in generous spirals. There’s so much blood on her shirt. An artistic splatter of violence. You can’t look away. 

“You already know,” you choke out. 

She smiles. A toothy grin. Teeth perfect and whole, lips curling, but it’s not real. Her eyes are cloudy—her eyes are dead. Her smile is dead. Your mother is dead. Cold skin, colder gaze, coagulated blood on linoleum. Rotting. You still smell it: stale blood, cologne, and mint. It follows you everywhere. 

He follows you everywhere. 

Your phone is under your pillow, and someone is calling you. Vibrations rattle through the cotton filling, yanking you out of your dream like you’re being pulled out from under water. For a moment, you think you’re home. Really home. Yet, the room is too cold, and you are too alone. Blinking the sand from your eyes, you shove your hand between the comforter and mattress to yank your phone from underneath your head. The screen flashes. 

Incoming Call from Captain Jack Sparrow

You hit accept and bring the speaker up to your right ear. “Hello?”

“Chip!” Aelin’s voice purrs on the other end. “What are you up to?” 

“Uh…” You pause as you turn to lay on your back, eyes blankly glued to the ceiling. You forgot to turn the heat back on when you got home, and you swear you can almost see your breath. “...relaxing.” 

“That’s a first. Hey, I’m stuck at Terminus, and I’m bored. John wanted to have a quiet evening together but got caught up with some work stuff. Wanna get dinner or something?” she asks. 

You sniff, and the pressure behind your eyes and ears nearly doubles. “I… don’t think I’m feeling up to that tonight. Sorry.” 

“Oh wow,” Aelin gawks. Her voice drips with concern, and you hear shuffling on her end. “Are you sick? You sound very… congested.” 

“Yeah, I got sent home from work. Must’ve caught a bug from… somewhere.” 

Aelin says something in response, but you can’t hear it. There’s nothing but ringing as you force yourself to sit up and hack up snotty phlegm, trying not to choke on it as it comes up. Acidulous liquid coats your tongue, and you wince. Vile. Why can’t you ever have anything that tastes sweet? Something easier to stomach than an unwanted tongue or blood? 

“Chip?”

Her voice brings you back to the present—back to your cold apartment with frigid sheets and your pounding headache. There’s no reason for your tears, yet they plague you anyway. Maybe it’s from your cold. Maybe it’s because you dreamed of your mom. Or maybe it’s just because you’re sad, and you have been for a while. You’re just not able to hold it back anymore. 

“Do you wanna spend the night with John and I?’ Aelin finishes. 

Lips curling inward, you try your best to hold back a sob. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds nice.” 

“Lovely. Riley’s driving. We’ll be there soon, okay?”

An attempt is made at making yourself look somewhat presentable, but it’s hard to make art when the canvas is crumbling. Nothing can cure you of the red irritation plaguing your scleras, nor the constant sniffing from congestion. You make do with fresh clothes and a washed face before shoving a few necessities in an overnight bag. Simple. Small. Something that won’t take up much space. 

When Aelin arrives, it’s a very unceremonious occasion. There’s gentle greetings. A pitiful look. There is no mention of how cold it is, or how the place looks sparsely lived in. She’s beautiful in her peacoat with pristine curled hair and flawless makeup. Perfect for a quaint dinner with a friend. Her viridian eyes look at you with a pity that’s nearly palpable. You feel bad for being sick—she seemed so thrilled to eat with you. 

Simon waits for both of you in front of the building in a sleek, black car that you’re surprised he can fit into. It’s terribly appropriate for him; something that would look perfect hidden in Terminus’s car park. Yet now it’s being used to transport you—a pathetic, ill woman—to her friend’s house as if you’re nothing more than a child. 

It isn’t until you find your seat in the back that you realize just how long you slept for. Dusk pulls its cimmerian shadow over the sky, obscuring the streets in the pale yellow glow of streetlights as Simon pulls into traffic. You got home around noon. Nearly a whole day wasted with sleep. 

Little is said between the three of you as you struggle to stay conscious. The consistent gentle hum of the car’s engine is better than any lullaby that you can recall. A siren’s song. A loving hand on your back. Head bobbing and swaying with the turns of the road, you listen to whatever Simon has droning on the radio; some sort of rock station that plays so quietly you almost can’t hear it at all. Every now and then, you catch his eyes in the rearview mirror, glancing at you like you’ll vanish if he doesn’t keep watch over you. 

It seems he’s still taking Aelin’s request to heart. 

As the car approaches the house, Aelin digs into her purse where she quickly shuffles through a small, periwinkle wallet. She fishes out some cash before handing it to Simon as he parks. 

“Here,” she whispers, quiet enough that your poor hearing can’t catch. “Get her some medicine, please.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he mutters in reply. 

Before you know it, you’re tucked into a quiet guest room on the second floor of the house. Heat radiates from the baseboards, yet your muscles tense and ache in a shiver. To combat this, Aelin has found every spare blanket and duvet she can find and has tossed them on top of you until you are nothing more than a heaping pile of laundry. At first, she had recommended throwing them in the dryer to help warm them up further, but you rejected it. 

You hate making her go through so much unnecessary effort on your behalf. 

Still, she refuses to leave you as you curl into a ball, face pressed against her side as she sits on top of the covers next to you. Aelin always smells lovely. Fresh rosewater and lavender. You’re enveloped by her scent like it’s a warm hug as she rubs a hand along your back, but it’s muted. The considerable amount of blankets only allows you to feel the ghost of her touch. 

“How long has this been going on?” she asks tenderly. 

You shrug. “Day before yesterday, I think.” 

She pouts with a huff, hand ceasing its movement as she silently chastises you. “And you were still trying to work?”

“I have to,” you mumble against her. 

A terrible quiescence soaks the room. Everything hurts, and you want to rest, but you know that won’t come soon. Not when Aelin’s concern is eating her alive—a vicious plague ripping through her heart. You can hear the beasts feasting on her marrow even now. 

“Well, I brought an old friend to come visit,” Aelin grins. Before you can gather the strength to ask her what she’s talking about, she pulls something out from underneath the covers to set it in front of you. “Tada!” 

An old, well loved stuffed animal sits before you with lopsided eyes and a faded smile. Once vibrant, crimson fur has now faded into an off-tone auburn, but the resemblance of a fox is still unmistakable. 

“I thought I told you to get rid of that,” you mutter. 

“I can’t get rid of her! You used to love Pumpkin,” Aelin says as if offended. 

For a long moment, you stare at your old stuffed animal and relive the memories that soak it. It was a gift from your father when you were a child—something you used to hold close with you every night, even after his death. Even after you went to live with John and Aelin after graduation. You don’t know why, but one day you decided that you couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. You’re not sure if it’s because it was gifted to you by your father—the man you’ve tried so hard to continue loving despite his flaws—or because sweet Pumpkin had become so tainted with you that you figured you should take pity on the poor thing. 

When you don’t respond, Aelin sighs and sets the stuffed fox on the nightstand. “Alright, fine. She’ll sit right here for when you’re ready.” There’s a short pause that stretches between the two of you, but it doesn’t last long before Aelin decides that the silence is driving her mad. “I’ve heard you and Riley have been getting close,” she prompts like she’s about to spill the daily gossip. A change in subject. A way to ease you into what she really wants to talk about. “Visiting him at the club, then?”

The club. Andrei. Spilled pasta in an alleyway. Your unfortunate run in with Marco made you forget all about how you ended up in this mess in the first place. The blade of Andrei’s knife glints just as brightly in your mind now as it did that night, and you cover your urge to puke with a well timed cough. You wish she wouldn’t bring it up, but it’s a good sign. 

It means Simon was true to his word. 

“Just to deliver food. He kept fixing stuff at my apartment. Had to pay him back,” you explain like a broken record. 

Lips stretch over ivory teeth as Aelin shifts next to you. “Is that so? Sounds like he fancies you.” 

“Or maybe he’s just doing the job that you assigned him to do,” you reply bluntly. 

Aelin doesn’t tense at your insinuation, but she does sigh as she settles back against the headboard. “Thought he was better at keeping secrets than that.” 

“He didn’t tell me, I figured it out on my own,” you claim, stuffy voice unable to land the plosives of your consonants. 

She chuckles amicably as she looks down at you. Eyes closed, you’re nearly asleep, and you would have been if it weren’t for her conversation. 

“Well, you were always the smart one. Still, I won’t retract my statement. Riley’s had a lot of… partners, but he never lingers around anyone like he does with you,” she insists. “He’s a good man, really. I’m sure you’ve seen that for yourself.” 

“Can’t entertain that,” you say. There’s a sour stoicness to your tone; too tired to be annoyed yet yearning for silence. “I’ve got work.” 

Another stillness—a suffocating one. Aelin’s smile has long since vanished as her lips press together tartly. There you go, talking about work again. Like you can’t stand to do anything else. Like you’ll die without the money. 

“Chip… you know that if you need help, you can always ask, right?” she prods carefully. “Anything. I mean it. John and I… we’re here for you.” 

Help. you think of that word, and a sour cordolium rips through your chest. Asking for such a thing from someone is out of the question. You made that deal with yourself ages ago. 

“I don’t… I don’t need help. I just… miss my mum.” 

You feel the moment when the room freezes. It’s when Aelin looks down at you, doleness unleashed in her gaze. Bringing up your late mother was a mistake, but she’s all you can think about after that dream. You wonder if you’ll ever have a normal dream of her again—fresh, normal, and void of all blood. A dream where she smiles and it’s not dead. 

“I’m sorry,” is all she can say. 

“Me too.” 

When Simon returns, you’re fast asleep. Aelin can hear the sound of his boots on the floor from a mile away; purposefully making his existence known as he opens the door to the only room with the light on. His eyes are drawn to you, body curling into Aelin like you’ll fall through the bed without her. He approaches the bed and holds out the bag for her to take, and the very first thing she finds is every bit of cash she had given him to buy the items in the first place. 

Instead of chastising him, she rummages through the rest of the items. NyQuil, Sudafed, Vicks, various soups and electrolyte drinks. It’s a variable feast to fight off your cold. Aelin looks up to poke fun at the man—at this raging chink in his armor—but she loses all words when she sees the way his hand presses against your forehead. Careful fingers gently brush against a faint scar by your temple as he feels the heat radiating from your body. He watches you with gentle devotion as your shoulders rise and fall with your breaths, congestion causing you to quietly snore. You do not stir awake, but she witnesses the way your brows furrow when he pulls away. 

“She’s got a bad fever,” he concludes quietly. “She looks exhausted. Dehydrated.” 

“Yeah. She’s been overworking herself too much. Hasn’t been resting or healing like she should,” Aelin concurs. 

Fragile silence breaks as you breathe, airways too clogged for you to sleep peacefully. Simon and Aelin stare down at you for a moment, each of them considering the circumstance. Her lips press tightly together in thought before she carefully slides away from you, leaving your coiled form. She sets the bag of medicine and supplies on the foot of the bed before facing Simon with crossed arms. 

“Can I talk to you before you leave?” she requests. 

Simon answers her with a curt nod before they exit the room with the lights off and the door shutting tight behind them. Aelin’s heart pounds away in her chest as it fights against the tightness of her ribs. It’s an ever constricting cage. Relentless. Vile. She ensures that she’s not facing Simon as they traverse down the stairs. 

“Chip is… really scaring me,” Aelin breathes, and she feels her voice crack nearly as bad as her heart as her feet hit the landing. “I’m more than a little concerned or worried now she… she’s always been something of a workaholic, but this is different. It feels like she’s trying to run away from something and she’s just—I don’t know—keeping something buried inside of her. Pushing away any help anyone tries to offer her. I’m… scared she might hurt herself.” 

“Hurt herself?” Simon repeats in disbelief. “Has she done anythin’ like that before?” 

“No. Not that I know of. It’s just…” 

The words die as Aelin’s lips press tightly together once again, and she finally forces herself to look at Simon. He’s nothing but a stone—this immoveable being who won’t be swayed by anything physically or emotionally. She steadies her breath as she wills away the tears welling in her eyes. 

“I’m going to tell you this because I trust you,” she says, gaze attempting to harden. It’s a silent vow. A demand that he not repeat any of the words she’s about to speak. 

“Of course,” Simon nods. 

Aelin swallows the guilt in the back of her throat. 

“Chip’s parents are dead. They have been for a while. First it was her dad, and then her mum. My dad was the Chief Inspector working the cases of their deaths. It wasn’t… from natural causes. She holds a lot of guilt and she gets in a bad headspace over it, and I think that’s a bit of what’s happening and… it’s worse than I’ve ever seen it before. This time of year is always hard for her considering the anniversaries of their deaths, and I don’t know if it just seems worse because she’s sick right now but… fuck, Simon. The way she talked about her mum just earlier, I swear I nearly broke.” 

Crisp eyeliner marks the edges of her eyes, yet it smudges as Aelin banishes the tears from her vision with the tips of her fingers. Still as ever, Simon watches carefully and without judgement as she gathers herself in order to finish. 

“She needs to talk to someone about it, but I don’t think she wants it to be me. There are many things I think she would share, but there’s no way she’d give me the whole story,” she concludes. 

Confusion clouds Simon’s stern gaze, and he shifts on his feet. “What, you’re thinkin’ she’ll tell me and not you?” 

“Yes.” Her reply is speedy and sharp; a warning. No one knows you better than her. “She carries guilt for a lot of stuff. For… There’s just some things I know she won’t want to tell me. Things she can’t tell me because it’s… well, me.” 

Something is off—Simon can smell the stench of it from a mile away. He knows better than to question Aelin, and she seems very convinced that this is the true issue at hand, but there’s an uncomfortable trepidation that hangs somewhere in the balance of it all. A picture half developed. The brittle edge of a cliff. It’s the same feeling that afflicted him the night he fought Andrei in the alleyway—a deja vu that screams trouble if he even attempts to entertain it. 

“Please,” Aelin begs. “You don’t have to do anything crazy, I just don’t want her to be alone. Swear to me you won’t let her be alone through this. Simon, I’m not strong enough to cut through her walls but the thought of… the thought of her like this kills me.” 

Another deal. Another oath. Simon has always been a protector, in some way. A tool which one uses to bludgeon. He doesn’t know if he can be gentle. He knows he’s certainly not palatable. But he thinks of your sleeping form in the VIP room after the tussle with Andrei, and the heat of your fever against his hand, and he thinks he’d at least like to try. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he assures her. 

Nodding, Aelin attempts to strengthen her resolve with a deep breath. Frayed nerves still poke out of her skin, completely wired with worry. It sparks and fizzles, yet she still glances back up the stairs, as if she can feel the aura of exhaustion seeping out of the bedroom. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice hardly above a whisper as she looks back at him. “Truly, I appreciate it.” 

“Can’t do everythin’ on your own,” he says. 

She scoffs playfully. “Tell that to Chip.” 

Once the front door locks shut behind Simon and the house is still and quiet, Aelin sneaks back upstairs. You’re hardly conscious when she gently urges you awake to press cough syrup to your lips, but you don’t complain. You never complain—not when there’s bitter liquid on your tongue; never when you should. Silent. Pliable. Once you’ve swallowed every last drop, you collapse back into bed, body weak and overheated; slick with sweat. 

She knows she should leave once your snoring starts back up again, but she can’t. There’s something to relish in how peaceful you are in this moment. Not working yourself to death. Not running from the grief that’s been strangling you since you were a child. For a moment, as you lay there in bed, Aelin gets to see you as you were when you were a kid. 

As she stands at the foot of the bed, she recalls the first time she ever met you—both clad in black and unable to look at one another without timid smiles and tear filled eyes. Aelin was the one who had to break the silence. To introduce herself as the daughter of Sean Gilroy; the man who sat in that coffin so adorned with flowers and love. You’ve grown so much since then. A fine woman who should be proud of herself. She wants to shake you awake. Yank you out of your sleep and scream at you that there’s nothing to be forgiven—nothing to punish yourself over. 

She doesn’t. 

Instead, she turns around and leaves, ensuring that the electrolyte drink Simon bought is on the pillow next to your for when you wake up in the morning.

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[coco-loco-nut]

Book Club - Part 9

pairing: grid x reader

summary: you just got your wisdom teeth out, just in time for winter break fun with headcanons

a/n: thanks for the request, I missed the club❤️ ALSO! the original post just hit 1,500 notes??? like guys🥹 ilysm, you don’t even know. you are still reading my silly little writings, and i appreciate that more than you know. every like, comment, and reblog is the reason we are here 9 parts later (seriously you should see how happy i am when i see comments)

requests open masterlist series masterlist

——————

- You didn’t tell anyone else on the grid other than Lance, obviously

- They were all surprised when it was announced that you were going to be missing Abu Dahbi

- Your oral surgeon only had that Wednesday free before Christmas

- …and let’s be real, your seat was secure, you weren’t going to win the WDC, and the constructors championship was locked in

- You would raise hell if you couldn’t enjoy the food around the holidays, so missing the last race it was

- You were exhausted from the season and appreciated the early break

- Lance just let it slip to the drivers on Friday a couple of hours after he got there

- You were sitting at home with Kimi, swollen and in pain all Friday

- “What do you mean she won’t be here? We have our presents for her” Fernando pouts

- Charles one day ships you cases of his gelato with a note telling you to feel better, he’s trying to get into the club for the gossip

- Lance gets invited to the club meeting to his surprise

- He assumes that they want to check in on you, despite them blowing up your phone

- No, he was VERY wrong

- Lance got roped into showing them videos of you on drugs

- Their favorite was the one of you when you first came out from being under

- “I’m married? Oh my god, I married Nico Hülkenberg? This is the best day of my life”

- You were sobbing tears of joy

- Nico was sent the video immediately, you gave him permission via text to post it the next day

- The second favorite was your favorite to laugh at

- You went on a massive rant about how Susie Wolff is a MILF and how you hoped Toto could fight because the female driver was your woman crush and you WILL have her

- Susie loved the video (George and Lewis sent it in the Mercedes family gc), Toto… not as much but he was amused

- You got a lot of fussing drivers on Facetime during the meeting

- You were loopy af from the painkillers and general exhaustion during it, it wasn’t your fault they called you late

- Kimi forced them to shut up and hang up so you could sleep

- Carlos joked about being relieved that there wasn’t another race for you to follow his trend during an interview

- You won the first race the next year

- Your phone started blowing up with messages on social media wishing you a quick recovery

- Most of the book club showed up to your home after Abu Dahbi, wanting to make a quick stop to check in before the break

- “Hello, wife,” Nico greets you when he sees you

- You joked you were about to file for divorce from Lance, who just sighed and went to get you a carton of LEC

- You had to film you opening your secret santa gift and send it to the F1 social team

- You got a quilt blanket that had a square for each book you read with the club since it started

- You actually started sobbing (you blamed the meds, even if you were actually crying)

- Lewis got the biggest hug ever, he enlisted help from Valtteri for all the books

- You forced them to cut the parts of you crying out of the video

- You got Logan an old iPod full of popular music (you hacked into his phone to check the genres he liked) from his childhood and now

- Obviously you added headphones and a couple chargers

- Logan used it all the time, he called you immediately to thank you

- You had the honors of choosing the first book over winter break

- You chose an F1 romance novel

- Boy oh boy were those meetings fun, just tearing up the book for its inaccuracy

- Daniel vowed to write an accurate one and sell it

- Spoiler Alert: he never did

- But Fernando did

- It was an international bestseller

[adviceformefromme]

Personal health hacks that have completely changed my life in the last 9 months.

Absolute number one is removing carbs from my diet. I had THE WORST crashes and lethargy every single day after my morning oat meal, after my carb heavy lunch, and carb heavy dinner. Despite being vegan my body lacked nutrients and calories from under-eating being plant-based and carb-overloading. 

Introducing grass-fed meat and high quality eggs into my diet. Red meat gets such bad press in the media, but personally it has given me energy, strength and I feel much better eating this in moderation. 

Little exercise each day. Not killing myself with a hardcore workout and then not being able to move for rest of the week (which I was doing previously). I now do a little each day. 1.5 - 2mile run most days, and daily stretches and weights at home. Nothing crazy, but a little goes a long way and I find it much easier to be consistent doing smaller bouts on my own schedule daily. 

Hormone health, ensuring I am keeping my hormones balanced. I make watermelon juice daily with 1.5 heaped tablespoons of flaxseed. Alongside that. I take omega 3, DIM, Selenium, Iodine, Vitamin D +K2, Evening primrose oil for womens health. I eat foods that support healthy hormones, broccoli, carrots, sunflower seeds and removed the foods that cause imbalances (carbs, sugars).

Removing all stress from my life. Including moving overseas, deleting social media and keeping my circle small but wholesome. 

Quit drinking alcohol. Initially I thought I would have the occasional drink but I truly have no desire anymore. My life is significantly better for not drinking. My body never responded well to booze. 

Sleeping properly for 7-9 hrs per night. Meditating for 1 hour before bed usually puts me in a completely zen mode for relaxation. That means my phone is switched off, I use a lavender pillow spray and light candles to set the mood for a goodnight sleep. 

Zeolite detox for heavy metals (currently in the process). I have Zeolith Med powder each day with water to flush out any toxins. 

Learning about gut microbiome, and probiotics..in the process of obtaining kefir grains to make my own batch. Making sauerkraut on weekends and introducing a wider variety of foods into my diet. 

These are completely personal and I can honestly say I feel better than ever. I wish I had done the above years ago, especially the carbs! I got a continuous glucose monitor of Amazon to see how my body was responding to carbs before I completely cut them off and I recommend doing this if you want to know more about how your body is reacting to glucose. 

*this all took time and effort, but once I removed the distractions, the meaningless socialising, the boozing, the scrolling I’ve had time to invest in myself + my health

[ppyopulii]

maestro's muse 💿 meet the orgs!

PREVIEW. Join us in welcoming this year's organizers working the big event! Aren't you excited to see what we have in store? 🤭

FEATURING. lee jihoon x gn!reader, various non-idol!hybe groups & reader GENRE(S). coming of age, fluff, some angst EXPLICITS. soonyoung, once again; yeonjun, for once.

JAY’S MUSINGS. @studioeisa, this was created for you. yes, you. i saw your notif and finished this part in two hours. watch out for the next part sometime soon-ish :)

www.hybehax.tech/meet-the-orgs

@hybehax has uploaded a new post. Click to view now!

🟡 hybehax 📍Hybe University, S. Korea

hybehax Our openers for tonight are yours truly—HYBEHAX’s Marketing Team! We’ll be handling all the social medias for our upcoming event, so make sure to keep an eye out for new posts in case you get a sneak peek at our 10th anniversary’s hackathon setlist 👀📋 liked by energyboo.st, min9yu_kim, d1noz and 127 others see 11 comments... kimchi.won YUNJIN MY BELOVED kwonho5hi @/d1noz? more like DEEZ NUTS IN YO MOUTH ��� d1noz I hate you ⤷ chyeonjunie Ayo this is a uni org account 😭

🟡 hybehax 📍Hybe University, S. Korea

hybehax Behold, the reason our artists (AKA you!) are able to skyrocket into stardom with their favorite record labels—Sponsorship Team is here to bring you all the juiciest record deals with their sponsors! Make sure to come to our event to not miss out on networking events and brand deals! 💸💽 liked by y.jeonghan, eunchaye, and 142 others see 12 comments... y.jeonghan Lol who wrote the caption?? ⤷ seokminnies Do u not like it :( xminghao yoon jeonghan u are not fooling Anyone. aren't u bald

🟡 hybehax 📍Hybe University, S. Korea

hybehax Of course, what's a festival without its technical team!? These folks make sure our equipment is set up (read: the website registration is working), our artists are happy (read: no one is trying to hack our back-end), and ensures that all technological problems are fixed immediately (read: they stay up all night fixing bugs on the app)! Here's to you, Tech Team of HYBEHAX! 🤓🎙️ liked by jeonwonu_, mysakura_, junhuihui and 122 others see 8 comments... huh_yunjin my girlies <3 jeonwonu_ Vernon and Jun LOLL inthe_soob terryyyy 🔥

🟡 hybehax 📍 Hybe University, S. Korea

hybehax Here comes one of the main events: Design Team 🎨🖍️! You can thank them for our eye-catching designs this year, and can expect more like this if you follow us through the hackathon season! (psst. they even design our merch and its pretty fire if I do say so myself!) liked by luvfurikake, xminghao, and 136 others see 7 comments... kwonho5hi how come our design lead has the prettiest post ⤷ luvfurikake i'm the one who designed them you twerp 01bmgy @/chyeonjunie Why do you pose like that ⤷ chyeonjunie Idk, ask ur mom why she poses the way she does whenever I come over ⤷ penguin.kai hyung this is a public social media account...

🟡 hybehax 📍 Hybe University, S. Korea

hybehax Last but certainly not least, please give a warm welcome to our 20XX HYBEHAX E-Board! Without them, HYBEHAX wouldn't be as successful as it is these days. Now that you know all our artists, who’s ready to make some noise for our 10th annual coding concert!? 🎫🎶💻 liked by cscoups, kwonho5hi, and 139 others see 9 comments... cscoups 💯 leejihoon_ Those are not the images I submitted ⤷ energyboos.t THE IMAGES YOU SUBMITTED WERE BOOOOORRRIIIIIING

[techav]

On Celebrating Errors

Isn't it beautiful? The lovely formatted tables of register and stack contents, the trace of function addresses and parameters, the error message ... it's the most beautiful kernel panic I have ever seen.

Why on earth would I be so excited to see a computer crash? What could possibly be beautiful about a kernel panic?

This kernel panic is well-earned. I fought hard to get it.

This kernel panic came from a current NetBSD kernel, freshly compiled and running on Wrap030, my 68030 homebrew computer. It is the result of hours upon hours of work reading through existing code, scattered documentation and notes, writing and rewriting, and endless compiling.

And it's just the start.

As I've said before, a goal of this project has always been to build something capable of running some kind of Unix-like operating system. Now that I finally have all the necessary pieces of hardware, plus a good bootloader in ROM, it's time to give it a shot. I'm not that great with this type of programming, but I have been getting better. I might just be able to brute force my way through hacking together something functional.

It is hard.

There is some documentation available. The man(9) pages are useful, and NetBSD has a great guide to setting up the build environment for cross-compiling the kernel. There are some published papers on what some people went through to port NetBSD to this system or that. But there's nothing that really explains what all these source code files are, and which parts really need to be modified to run on a different system.

I had a few false starts, but ultimately found an existing 68k architecture, cesfic, which was a bare minimum configuration that could serve well as a foundation for my purposes. I copied the cesfic source directory, changed all instances of the name to wrap030, made sure it still compiled, then set about removing everything that I didn't need. It still compiled, so now it's was time to add in what I did need.

... how ... do I ... ?

This is where things get overwhelming very quickly. There is documentation on the core functions required for a new driver, there's documentation on the autoconf system that attaches drivers to devices in the tree, and there's plenty of drivers already to reference. But where to start?

I started by trying to add the com driver for the 16550 UARTs I'm using. It doesn't compile because I'm missing dependencies. The missing functions are missing because of a breaking change to bus.h at some point; the com driver expects the new format but the cesfic port still uses the old. So I needed to pull in the missing functions from another m68k arch. Which then required more missing functions and headers to be pulled in. Eventually it compiled without error again, but that doesn't mean it will actually run. I still needed to add support for my new programmable timer, customize the startup process, update hardware addresses, make sure it was targeting 68030 instead of 68040 ...

So many parts and pieces that need to be updated. Each one requiring searching for the original function or variable declaration to confirm expected types or implementation, then searching for existing usages to figure out what it needs ... which then requires searching for more functions and variable types.

But I got something that at least appeared to have all the right parts and compiled without error. It was time to throw it on a disk, load it up, and see what happened.

Nothing happened, of course. It crashed immediately.

I have no debugging workflow I can rely on here, and at this stage there isn't even a kernel console yet. All I could do was add little print macros to the locore startup code and see where it failed. Guess, test, and revise.

I spent a week debugging the MMU initialization. If the MMU isn't properly configured, everything comes to an abrupt halt. Ultimately, I replaced the cesfic machine-specific initialization code and pmap bootstrapping code with functions from yet another m68k arch. And spent another day debugging before realizing I had missed a section that had comments suggesting it wasn't for the 68030 CPU, but turned out to be critical for operation of kernel memory allocation.

Until this point, I was able to rely on the low-level exception handling built into my bootloader if my code caused a CPU exception. But with the MMU working, that code was no longer mapped.

So then came another few hours learning how to create a minimal early console driver. An early console is used by the kernel prior to the real console getting initialized. In this case, I'm using the MC6850 on my mainboard for the early console, since that's what my bootloader uses. And finally the kernel was able to speak for itself.

It printed its own panic.

The first thing the kernel does is initialize the console. Which requires that com driver and all the machine-specific code I had to write. The kernel is failing at its step #1.

But at least it can tell me that now. And given all the work necessary to get to this point, that kernel panic data printing to the terminal is absolutely beautiful.

[nahoney22]

Liar Liar (Part 10/?)

Part 10 - Seeing Double // <<< Part 9

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader

🫧Chapter Summary: When work is getting too much, you go to 79's to try blow off some steam. But, you find yourself living bitter memories and jealousy.

🫧Warnings: Angst, alcohol mention, light flirting, jealousy, arguing, awkward moments. Dancing, miscommunication, Drama drama dramaaaa (I’m convinced nobody reads these warnings)

The following week was exhausting.

Somehow—Force knows how—Thire and Hound had convinced you to stay.

It had taken hours of back-and-forth, of them wearing you down with reassurances and well-meaning arguments, but in the end, you let them win. Stone, however, remained blissfully unaware of the whole ordeal. Not for lack of trying, though. You’d bet a million credits that he had been pestering Thire and Hound at least a dozen times, demanding to know what was going on.

But, just as Fox had promised, he was too preoccupied with Coruscant’s safety to linger in the office. Not only was Rik Walder still at large, but riots and fires had been breaking out in the lower sectors of Coruscant so his work pile had doubled.

You saw very little of him, only ever catching traces of his presence in the form of an empty caf cup pile steadily accumulating on his desk. Yet somehow, even without seeing him, the weight of everything still lingered.

At least Pia had been keeping you distracted. She messaged every night, checking in, filling the empty space with something lighter. It helped. And with Fox nowhere in sight, the ache in your chest had started to dull.

Unfortunately, the ache in your head was another story.

The systems were a disaster. What you had initially assumed was a one-time mishap with reports and patrol logs had spiraled into an ongoing nightmare.

Errors crept in like clockwork, reports misfiled, schedules jumbled. No one could even work out how it was happening. Technicians were brought in, sifting through the logs for signs of hacking and slicing but nothing. Nada.

Everything was now even triple-checked before uploads, and yet, somehow, the mistakes kept slipping through. And Thorn -bless his soul- was barely holding it together.

He loomed over everyone’s desks like a vulture, giving reminders, breathing down necks. You liked Thorn as a Commander well enough, but if you heard “make sure it’s secure again” one more time, you might throw yourself out the window.

But at least now it was your lunch break. And you could get some peace and quiet. Almost.

“Plans for tonight?” You looked up from your tray in the cafeteria, spoon hovering mid-air, to see Hound and Stone standing in front of you.

“Sleep,” you muttered, eyeing the unrecognisable grey slop on your spoon. “Why?”

“We’re going to 79’s.” Stone rolled his eyes. “I need a break from all these kriffing error checks.”

Your stomach twisted. 79’s. “I don’t know…” You trailed off, letting the spoonful of slop fall back onto your tray with an unceremonious splat.

Hound shot you a knowing look, knowing full well why you didn’t want to go. But Stone, still in the dark, pressed on. “Come on,” he coaxed, grinning. “It’ll be fun. Thire’s going too, though let’s be honest, he’s only going to see your friend.” He waggled his brows.

Your ears perked up. “Pia’s working tonight?” Now that had your interest.

It had been over a week since you last saw her, and the last time you had, you were ugly crying into her arms while devouring an obscene amount of sweet treats. You needed a new memory that was less embarrassing.

You also wanted to know if the two of them ended up on a date, too.

Hound gave you a small nudge of encouragement. “What do ya say? You need a break. Just a few drinks, some bad music, and—” he smirked, “—watching Thire completely lose his cool over Pia.”

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossed. “I’ll think about it.”

“You don’t have to drink,” he added quickly. “Or stay long. But you do need to get out of this place before Thorn gives himself an aneurysm.”

Stone grinned. “You’re coming. I can see it in your face.”

You rolled your eyes, but the thought of a change of scenery and even of normalcy, even for a night was becoming harder to resist. You didn’t want to keep avoiding places just because he had been there. You weren’t about to let Fox ruin 79’s for you.

“Fine,” you muttered, “I’ll go.”

Stone clapped his hands together. “Good. Now you’re making smart choices.”

Hound shot you another look, quieter this time almost as if he was checking in, making sure you were really okay with this. You gave him a small nod. You’d be fine. One night wouldn’t hurt.

Right?

“Oh, and since you’re here—" You barely had time to react before Stone pulled a handful of data pucks from his belt, holding them out like an afterthought. "Can you drop these off with Officer Sinja? The new one?"

Before you could protest, he unceremoniously dumped them onto your tray—right on top of the unappetising slop—then bolted, Hound trailing behind him with a barely concealed grin.

Unbelievable.

Then again, running an errand was still preferable to forcing down whatever questionable meal the kitchen had concocted today. With a resigned sigh, you picked up the data pucks, abandoning your tray altogether.

At least it gave you something to do. Something that didn’t involve system errors, Thorn breathing down your neck, or—

No. You weren’t going to think about him .

Tucking the pucks securely into your belt pouch, you made your way through the corridors, weaving past troopers and officers alike. The station was as busy as ever, filled with the usual hum of voices, boots against durasteel, and the occasional curse from a frustrated officer and new prisoners being escorted to the cells in the lower levels.

It was all fine. Normal.

Until you passed that same vent.

It was shut . But you could have sworn that just for a second, you had seen it shift. Like it had just barely snapped back into place after being moved.

You swallowed, glancing around. The corridor was empty now. Too empty.

You're imagining things. You had to be. Between the stress, the lack of sleep, and the mess of emotions still tangled inside you, it was no surprise your mind was playing tricks. If anything was in the vents after all, it would have been set off in the security alerts.

With a tense inhale, you forced yourself to keep walking, quickening your pace. Maybe getting out tonight really was a good idea.

It isn’t long until you realised you had another problem on your hands that wasn’t the data pucks. The problem was that you had no idea who Officer Sinja actually was.

With a frown, you realised you’d left your datapad in the office, and the idea of trekking all the way back for it just to turn around again made you groan internally. But if your memory served you correctly, Sinja might’ve been that young officer you’d spoken to in the hangar once—back when you were looking for Whisky.

That was as good a place as any to start.

You reached the lift, hitting the button and waiting as the numbers flickered down. The doors slid open, and you stepped inside, selecting your floor. The red lights above blinked with each passing level, and you exhaled.

Then you noticed one light turn green. Someone else was about to join you.

You shuffled toward the side, hoping— praying —it wasn’t a horde of astromechs again. The last time that happened, you’d been wedged into the corner while seven droids piled in, then spent four hours trapped when the lift broke down.

With a small wince at the memory, you kept your gaze down as the doors opened, waiting for whoever was about to step in.

As the door opened, your gaze inadvertently travelled along the floor when you spoke a pair of white boots. And then as your gaze moved up, a deep red stripe along the knee plates.

Instantly, your head snapped up and your eyes lock onto the visor that was probably the last one you wanted to.

Your body stiffened, fingers curling at your sides. He froze, too, hovering at the threshold like he’d just walked into a battlefield unarmed. For a second, neither of you moved.

Then he shifted back a step. “I’ll get the next one.”

His voice was gruff, controlled. But he wasn’t looking at you. His helmet was tilted just slightly toward the floor, like if he didn’t see you, this wouldn’t be happening.

You weren’t sure why you did it. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, and suddenly, your hand shot out, stopping the door from sealing. “N-no, it’s okay,” you said, voice quieter than intended. “There’s enough room.”

Fox hesitated. You swore you felt the weight of his stare even though you couldn’t see his eyes. He glanced between your hand and your face, as if trying to decode something—why you’d stopped him, why you would let him in.

Stiffly, he nodded and stepped inside.

The air in the lift grew heavy the second the doors slid shut.

He reached forward to press his floor button, and you clasped your hands behind your back, hoping he couldn’t see the way your fingers trembled.

The silence that settled between you was thick, stretched taut like a wire about to snap.

The lift hummed. A steady, low vibration beneath your feet.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “How’s your hand?”

The question startled you. You blinked, glancing at your palm—the one you’d burned on scalding caf last week.

“Fine,” you managed, though it came out too high-pitched, too breathy. You cleared your throat. “Uh, the medic put some kind of gel—or spray—on it. I don’t know. But yeah, it’s fine.”

Fox shifted on his feet, rocking slightly on his heels. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s good.”

You nodded, unsure what else to say.

The tension wasn’t budging. It was thick, suffocating, like the walls were about to close in like a trash compactor.

You sucked in a slow breath, then blurted out, “How’s, uh… life?”

Really? That was the best you could come up with?

Fox exhaled, the sound somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. “Same old, same old.”

Except it wasn’t. You heard it in his voice—the weight of something unspoken.

Maybe small talk wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe if you could just talk to him, things would feel less… tangled. You risked a glance at him, but it only made your stomach tighten and heart sink.

“Any luck on that prisoner?”

This time, he did sigh, lifting a gloved hand to his helmet as if pinching the bridge of his nose beneath it. “No. Nothing yet.”

“Oh.” You shifted uncomfortably.

“Are you… worried?” He didn’t turn his head, but you caught the slight tilt of his helmet as he regarded you from the corner of his visor.

“Sure,” you admitted. “From his record, I don’t remember anything particularly pleasant. I just… hope you catch him.”

“Yeah,” Fox murmured. “Me too.”

Are we not there yet?

The silence stretched again.

“Haircut?”

This time you looked at him, raising a brow. “S-Sorry?”

“Your hair… looks different.”

Your hand moves to your hair as if it wasn’t you who had washed, brushed it and styled it this morning. “Uh, no.” You say almost sheepishly. “I’m just wearing it up today.”

“Oh, yeah. Obviously.” Fox swallows, looking away from you.

You inhaled slowly—then regretted it immediately.

He still smelled the same. That warm, familiar scent that clung to your memory, pulling you back to that night in the cab. To the way he’d drawn you close, arm slung over your shoulders, voice murmuring into your ear…

You swallowed hard.

“Any plans this evening?”

His voice snapped you back to the present, and you jolted. “Oh—uh. Yeah. Hound asked me to go to 79’s with him.”

Silence. A few seconds too long.

“He did?”

There was something odd in his tone. Strained.

You suddely realised how that might have sounded. “And Stone,” you clarified quickly. “They both invited me. Y-You could come too.”

Fox didn’t speak at first. Then, briskly, he nodded. “You deserve a break.” He settled.

Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I guess. Though instead of actually taking a break, I’m running errands for Stone.”

Fox tilted his head—a familiar motion, one you now hated to admit looked adorable on him. “Why?”

You explained the data pucks, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you felt the eye-roll behind his visor. “Could he not do it himself?”

“Obviously not,” you muttered, sighing.

The lift still wasn’t there yet.

“Do you even know who Officer Sinja is?”

“Kind of.” You hesitated. “I think I met him in the hangar once.”

Fox let out a breath and nodded. “You did. That’s him.”

You resisted the urge to shift again. You remembered that conversation now. Sinja had been smooth-talking, arrogant in a way that could be charming or insufferable depending on the day. And you remembered something else, too:

Fox had been watching.

The lift finally dinged.

The doors hissed open, revealing your destination and Fox stepped aside giving you room to pass.

But for a moment, you didn’t move.

And you weren’t sure why.

The air felt different now. The weight of his presence behind you pressed against your skin, a silent question hovering in the air between you both.

Then, just as the door started to close, Fox stopped it with his foot.

His voice was quiet when he asked, “Is this where you want to be?”

The question wasn’t just about the floor. It wasn’t just about the lift.

It was about him .

Was this where you wanted to be? Standing on the edge of something unresolved, pretending it didn’t hurt?

Your breath hitched. Then, softly, you nodded.

“Yes.”

And you stepped out.

You walked ahead, not looking back but you felt his stare on you and you will yourself not to look back.

Although, you find yourself really wanting to.

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

Getting ready for 79’s took longer than it should have.

You stood in front of your closet, arms crossed, debating over what to wear like it actually mattered. It didn’t, really. It was just a night out; a distraction. But something in your gut told you to put in the effort.

Your fingers skimmed over the fabric hanging before you, pausing when they brushed against something familiar. Soft material, deep red.

The dress.

You pulled it from the rack, letting it drape over your hands, the weight of it heavier than it should’ve been. It was the one you’d worn that night. The night with him . The one that never really got to happen.

A sigh escaped you as you ran a hand through your hair. You should have let Pia keep it when you left it at hers. Stars, maybe you should’ve burned it. But… you hadn’t.

And you weren’t sure what that said about you.

“Whatever,” you muttered, shoving it back and reaching for something else.

A top you hadn’t worn in a while. A skirt that felt a little daring (in your eyes, at least). Heels that deserved a night out, even if they’d make you regret it in the morning.

It wasn’t for anyone in particular. Just for you . That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

79’s was alive with its usual chaotic energy by the time you arrived.

Music thumped through the walls, a steady bassline that vibrated under your feet. The scent of cheap alcohol and something fried lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and polished plastoid. Conversations overlapped, voices rising and falling, troopers crowded around tables, shouting over drinks, some even dancing, playing hologames. or just simply blowing off steam after another long shift.

You moved through the bodies, sidestepping a trooper who nearly sloshed his drink on you, and made your way to the bar. Settling onto a stool, you scanned for a familiar face. It didn’t take long as Pia was in the thick of it, handling a rush of orders.

When your eyes met, she practically lit up, waving so energetically you thought she might knock over the bottle she was reaching for. Instead, she managed to steady it at the last second, shooting you a quick ‘one sec’ before turning back to pour a round of shots.

“A beauty, isn’t she?” You turned to see Thire settling into the stool beside you, his eyes fixed on Pia with such open admiration it was almost laughable.

You grinned. “Always has been.”

Thire exhaled, like he was trying to play it cool but failing spectacularly. “We went out last night.”

“Oh?” You leaned in, thoroughly enjoying his smug expression. “And?”

He smirked, slow and self-satisfied. “It went great .”

Before you could pry for details, Pia finally made her way over, all confidence as she purred, “Hey, hot stuff.”

Thire barely suppressed a grin, straightening. “Hey, you—”

“I was talking to her,” Pia cut in smoothly, glancing your way with a mischievous smirk.

You snorted into your drink, and Thire’s face immediately fell, mouth snapping shut.

Pia, delighted with herself, laughed before leaning over the bar and pressing a kiss to Thire’s cheek. Just like that, his mood rebounded, his smirk returning in full force.

“Hey, you,” he murmured, clearly savouring the moment.

You rolled your eyes. “You two are cute. I hate it.”

Pia winked as she reached for a glass. “You love it.

She slid a drink across the bar toward you with a flourish. “On the house.”

You frowned. “Pia—”

“Nope.” She folded her arms. “As long as I’m working here, you don’t owe me a single credit.”

You sighed, eyeing the drink, then her. “Fine. But I’m buying you food later.”

She considered this, then gave a slow nod. “I’ll allow it.”

Shaking your head, you turned your attention back to Thire. “Stone and Hound here yet?”

Thire rolled his eyes. “They’re outside. One of the new shinies from the 212th had one too many shots and thought he could go round-for-round with a Corrie.”

You snorted. “Let me guess, thought he could hold his liquor?”

Thire smirked. “Poor bastard didn’t even make it past the third shot.”

The three of you fell into easy conversation, drinks flowing. Pia and Thire were perfect for each other, bounced off each other and you had to try and suppress a jealous feeling in your stomach.

Eventually, Thire finished off his drink and stood with a stretch. “Gonna go check in on the lads.”

Before he could step away, Pia grabbed his hand, tugging him back just enough to steal a quick kiss. “Don’t start any fights.”

Thire grins down at her. “No promises.” She swatted his arm, laughing as he disappeared into the crowd.

Alone now, Pia wiped down the bar as the onslaught of clones dwindled before leaning forward against the counter. There was a look on her face, hesitant but knowing, and you could already guess where this was going.

“You can ask if you want,” you muttered, swirling the ice in your glass.

Pia sighed. “How’s the thing with you and Fox?”

You exhaled slowly, staring into your drink. “There is no ‘ thing’ to begin with. I just… feel weird whenever I’m near him.”

Pia arched a brow. “Weird how?”

You hesitated, then told her about the lift; the tension, the awkward small talk, the way Fox had hesitated before stepping inside and how you let him in in the first place. How, for a brief moment, you’d both just stood there when the doors opened, neither of you moving.

Pia, for once, was quiet. You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

She bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. “Don’t hate me because I know how much this upset you… but do you think it’s worth possibly exploring something with him? As Fox?”

You stared at Pia, almost disgusted at the thought. “He lied to me, Pia”

She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I know, I know. And I’m not saying what he did was right, because it wasn’t. But—”

“Oh, there’s a but now?” You huffed, crossing your arms.

Pia gave you a look, the kind that said don’t be difficult , but she pressed on anyway. “We know he didn’t do it to mess with you. He didn’t do it to get you fired. Or humiliate you. Or as some kind of stupid prank.” She shook her head, watching you closely. “He did it all on his own. No one put him up to it.”

You scoffed, looking away and back down at your drink. “Right. And that makes it better ?”

“I just think…” Pia hesitated, then continued carefully, “Maybe he really liked you.”

The words twisted something in your chest, but you forced a bitter laugh. “Doubt it.”

Your mind went back to that night in the refresher—the way you had cornered him, raw and desperate for the truth, asking if any of it had meant something, if anything he said was true. But he had just stood there. Silent. No answer. No confirmation. Not even a single damn word to give you peace of mind.

Pia studied you, but she must have seen the storm in your expression because she softened. “You should talk to him.”

You tensed. “No.”

“Just hear him out.”

“No.”

She groaned, throwing her hands up. “Oh, for kriff’s sake, will you just —”

“What ? ” You snapped, voice sharp enough to cut through the noise of the bar. “Let you and Thire push me into talking to him? Try and set us up again like you’re some kind of miracle workers? Just because your love life is suddenly peachy doesn’t mean I should forgive someone who deceived me and embarrassed me!”

Pia’s expression flickered with hurt and frustration. Then, with a shake of her head, she muttered, “I need to serve someone on the other side of the bar,” and walked away.

The moment she was gone, guilt sank its teeth into you.

You knew she only meant well. She always did. But she didn’t know what it felt like to build a connection with someone, to feel that pull toward them, only to find out it had all been a lie .

Nobody did.

You huffed, rubbing your temples and slouching forward on the bar. Everything inside you felt messy and tangled.

You felt sorry for yourself, sure, but you felt even worse for Pia. Her usual spark, that infectious joy that lit up every corner of a room, was gone. She moved mechanically behind the bar now, polite but muted, handing drinks over with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Your gaze drifted across the room, zeroing in on the empty stool near the far end of the bar. That stool. The one Fox had sat at the first night you met ‘Whisky’. You stared at it like it might conjure him if you focused hard enough—but it didn’t. It just sat there. Vacant. And the longer you stared at it, the more your gut twisted with confusion.

Would you ignore him if he were there now? Would you walk up and demand answers? Or would you crumble under the weight of everything you still felt, despite how badly you wanted to be over it? Over him?

Frustrated, you let your head fall into your hands with a groan.

“Can I refill your drink?”

The voice came from behind, a little too smooth to be accidental. You blinked, lifting your head and glancing over your shoulder.

A clone stood there—handsome, of course. They always were. But this one was clearly a shiny. Stark white armour, no markings, no scuffs. Practically fresh out the vat. He gave you a charming smile, the kind that probably worked on half the people in here already tonight.

You lifted your glass, giving it a tiny shake before setting it back down. “I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

He moved to your side, still keeping a respectful distance, like he’d been trained well in the art of not being pushy. “No worries. Just saw you sitting here. Looked like you needed a bit of a pick-me-up.”

You snorted softly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well,” he said with a playful shrug, “you’ve got that look.”

You arched a brow. “What look?”

He grinned. “The ‘I need someone to come over and distract me from whatever is eating me alive’ look.”

You let out a laugh “You might be onto something.”

He leaned a little closer, his tone lighter. “So… how about a dance? Just one. You look like you could use a little movement therapy.”

You hesitated, glancing down at your half-finished drink, then back toward the empty stool across the bar. The music was loud, the bass thrumming through your chest, and the lingering buzz from your drink made everything just a little warmer, a little fuzzier around the edges.

Screw it. What’s one dance?

“Okay,” you said, pointing a mock-stern finger at him. “But no funny business.”

“Cross my heart,” he said, miming the gesture with a grin.

You let him lead you to the center of the dance floor, bodies pulsing and swaying around you in time with the beat. The music was thunderous, the lights casting bright flashes across the room, and for once, you let yourself lean into it.

The liquid courage you had been served by Pia made your moves smooth, fluid even. As for the Clone, he danced like he knew exactly where the line was and kept it friendly, playful, respectful.

It was exactly what you needed. A distraction. A little freedom.

The clone spun you smoothly with a boyish grin, and as the beat picked up again, he leaned closer and asked with a playful lift of his brow, “Another?”

You hesitated for a breath, eyeing his outstretched hand. He looked so eager, so harmless in his own cheeky little way—and truthfully, the night had already gone off the rails emotionally. What was a little more harmless chaos?

“Screw it,” you muttered and took his hand.

He beamed and pulled you right back into the rhythm, both of you swaying to the beat. This time, though, he dared a little more—his hand found your waist, featherlight at first, just testing. Waiting for the pushback.

You didn’t give it.

His confidence kicked in. The grip on your hip firmed just a little, and his other hand stayed loosely linked with yours as he guided you through the crowd. His voice was warm and easygoing as he leaned in. “You dance pretty well for someone who looked like she was about to cry into her drink.”

You shot him a glare. “Wow. You always this smooth?”

“Only when it’s working.” His grin widened.

“You trying to pick me up, shiny?”

“That depends. Is it working?”

You snorted, tilting your head with faux-seriousness. “A little. But I’m still undecided.”

“Good. I like a challenge.” He winked.

The conversation was easy and natural. His flirting was cheeky enough to be fun without being suffocating. You were actually enjoying yourself—laughing even—as you both leaned in close to hear each other over the pounding bass, your bodies swaying in tandem.

And then you saw him.

Over the clone’s shoulder, you caught a glimpse of red armor moving past the crowd. Fox.

Just off to the side of the bar, leaning against it with his usual practiced stillness, arm braced as he reached for a drink offered by one of the droids. Pia was nowhere near him—and of course she wasn’t. You knew she wouldn’t serve him.

But your body froze.

The clone you were with was still talking but his words came through like static.

Because then she appeared.

A woman. Striking. Stunning.

She stepped up beside Fox with all the familiarity of someone who knew him well. You watch as her hand lands lightly on his forearm, leaning in to speak.

Your stomach twisted.

That sick, lurching ache started in your chest and crawled down your spine. It was a feeling you knew all too well—the same hollow punch you’d felt when you caught your ex sneaking around behind your back.

Except this wasn’t your ex. And he wasn’t yours.

“I’m Whisky, by the way.”

The voice snapped you back like a slap. You blinked, suddenly aware of the clone’s hand still on your waist, his face inches from yours, smiling.

“What?”

He tilted his head, confused by your expression. “My name,” he said, still smiling. “Whisky, ma’am.”

Your world spun.

You simply stare at the clone. Your voice had vanished, like your brain refused to make sense of what he’d just said.

“Is that a joke?” you manage, the words flat and shaky.

He shifts, confused. “Ma’am?”

Completely unaware of the war now erupting inside your head, he blinks at your sudden switch in emotion as you pull away from his touch.

“Did I say something wrong—?”

“I have to go,” you rasp, voice barely holding together. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t wait for his response. Couldn’t. You turned and pushed through the crowd, shoulder brushing shoulders, limbs catching on others mid-dance. The music was suddenly thunderous, pounding through your chest like your heartbeat was syncing with the bass. Lights flashed, voices shouted, laughter echoed—but it all blurred into a wash of noise that had now swallowed you whole.

You felt like the walls were closing in. Your breath came short. Too many bodies. Too many faces. Too much everything.

You finally broke through the crush at the exit and staggered into the cold night. A gust of chilled air slammed into your lungs, and you gasped like someone who had been drowning.

Your hands trembled as you leaned against the nearest post near the cab bay, chest heaving like you’d just run a marathon. But it wasn’t exertion and it wasn’t the alcohol.

It was the cruel, gut-punch realisation of how fate had twisted the knife.

What were the odds?

Falling for a man who lied and called himself Whisky —only to later dance with the real one . A clone who was bright, kind, flirtatious… and had done absolutely nothing wrong except exist.

You let out a bitter laugh that barely made it past your lips. What’s joke.

But then your mind cruelly drifted to him again. Fox.

The flash of red armour, the drink in hand. The woman beside him. Her fingers brushing his forearm.

Pia’s voice echoed in your head, maddening and far too well-timed. "Maybe he really liked you."

You let out a breathless, humourless huff. “Yeah. Joke’s on me.”

“You alright?”

You flinched, spinning so fast on your heel you nearly toppled over. Luckily you were caught by a hand on your shoulder that belonged to Hound.

He steadied you with ease, his brow furrowed in concern as he took in your sickly expression, watery eyes, and unsteady stance.

“Too much to drink, eh?”

You tried to speak. Tried to wave it off, make a joke, anything . But nothing came.

Then he saw it, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“Wait, hey,” he said, voice dropping in concern. “Are you alright?”

You broke.

The emotion hit you like a crashing wave as you stumbled forward and sobbed into your hands, chest heaving under the weight of it all. “I feel so stupid , Hound,” you choked, the tears falling now, unrelenting, hot against your cheeks. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I feel so… so…”

But the words failed you. Because how could you even begin to explain it? The betrayal, the confusion, the jealousy, the aching longing for something that might never have been real in the first place?

Hound didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to offer clumsy comfort or tell you that everything would be okay. Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you

One strong arm crossed your back, the other settling gently at your shoulder as he pulled you into his chest without hesitation. You collapsed into him, clinging to the warmth and stability he offered like it might keep you from falling apart entirely. His hand moved slowly in comforting circles across your back

You didn’t know how long you stood there like that, locked in a silent embrace under the hazy streetlight glow outside 79’s. But eventually, the storm inside you dulled just enough for you to pull away, still sniffling as you swiped your cheeks with trembling fingers.

You exhaled, shaky and uneven, and looked up into the night sky in a vain attempt to keep any more tears from spilling. “Sorry, Hound.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said simply, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t like seeing you like this. None of us do.”

You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite make it past your lips. “I don’t think Fox would care.”

But Hound just shook his head slowly, lips pursing in quiet disagreement. “He definitely would.”

You let out a bitter, disbelieving scoff—but nausea coiled in your stomach at the memory of Fox at the bar. The look on his face. The way the woman touched his arm. That stupid, stupid beautiful woman.

“I’d like to believe that,” you said hollowly, “but if he told me? I wouldn’t believe him.”

Hound didn’t push. He only nodded solemnly and raised a hand to signal a cab. “Get some rest, this thing you’re going through will pass.”

When one pulled up, you stepped toward it, but not before snapping a little too sharply: “I’m not going through anything.”

The silence that followed stung.

You closed your eyes, hating how your voice had cracked, how petty it sounded—even to you. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, quieter this time. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Hound said gently.

The cab hissed open, and just as you stepped forward, he pulled out a handful of credits and handed them to the driver before you could protest. You gave him a small, wordless nod and climbed in.

As the cab pulled away, taking you from a rather terrible evening.

As Hound turned, ready to rejoin Thire and Stone, he stills as he came face to face with Fox.

The commander was standing rigid, eyes locked on the departing cab, his jaw tense and unreadable. A heavy silence settled between them before Fox stepped forward, his tone sharp and bitter.

“That looked cosy.”

Ah. There it was.

Jealousy.

Hound’s face remained calm, but his mouth tightened ever so slightly. “Probably looked the same way you and that civvie looked. You know, the woman at the bar. Same one you were with in the same spot you first talked to her.”

Fox’s face twisted in frustration, already shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that. She was just thanking me. I pulled her out of that apartment fire in Sector Eight the other night.”

Hound raised a brow. “I believe you. She didn’t.”

Fox’s fists clenched tighter as he gave the ground a frustrated kick, scuffing his boot against the duracrete with a low growl that sounded far more dramatic than he intended. “How the kriff am I making things worse when I’m not even with her?”

Hound leaned lazily against the railing beside him, arms folded, watching traffic streak past on the levels below. “I thought you said you talked to her today?”

Fox groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I tried. I think I said something about her hair.”

There was a pause. “…Her hair ?” Hound’s lips twitched, and Fox didn’t have to look to know he was holding back laughter.

“I panicked, alright?” Fox muttered. “It looked nice and I forgot how to be a person. My brain turned into soup.”

Hound finally let out a low chuckle, patting him condescendingly on the shoulder. “Smooth. Real smooth.”

Fox glared at him but didn’t deny it.

“I just—” he exhaled hard. “Is there even a point anymore? She was dancing with some shiny tonight, probably moved on. And then there was you ,” he added with a bitter edge, side-eyeing Hound. “She had her arms all over you.”

Hound didn’t even flinch. He just slapped Fox on the back of the head.

“ Ow. ”

“She was crying,” Hound said flatly. “She is not into me, she was just upset. And like I told you, she saw you with that civvie at the bar and her whole face changed. She looked like someone punched her in the gut.”

Fox instantly panicked when he heard you was crying, worried that you had been hurt Fox blinked. “Wait… you think she was jealous ?”

“Yeah,” Hound said, nodding. “I do. And you know what that means.”

“That she wants to feed me to a rancor?” Fox guessed.

“That she still cares , idiot.”

Fox went quiet, staring down at the passing speeders below. He chewed the inside of his cheek, thoughts tripping over each other. She cares. She was jealous. She danced with someone else but still cried about me. Okay. That’s good. Terrible. Confusing. But good. Kinda.

“…She’s still pissed at me, though.”

“Oh, that’s a given,” Hound said, clapping him on the back again. “But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Means she still gives a care. And before you ask, no, I am not speaking to her on your behalf.”

Fox sighed, leaning on the railing beside him. “So what do I do?”

Hound raised a brow. “Figure out what you want to say. Then actually say it before you combust.”

Fox nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in determination. “Okay,” he muttered, “but just to be clear… I’m never mentioning her hair again.”

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[midnight1nk]

...what. in the actual. fuck.

this is the most implausible statement I have ever seen, and I'm gonna debunk what Cube said (more below cut)

"doesn't mean anything significant" — if it were an honest mistake, then they would've changed it back to "SMG4" instead of "Not SMG3. Stop looking too deep."

The wording on that too, as in a warning/giant stop sign. Also it's giving off

[and a whole month in between these my god]

And ah yes, my dear enemy Flareglow. Time to Logic Chess.

The implication is that Cube (or someone on the Team) uploaded the song and didn't notice it was labeled as SMG4 (not a hack) — let's get the basics down. Yes, you can upload your own music on said platform for your use only, not on the artist page. HOWEVER, for it to be uploaded on MULTIPLE platforms and stay for 6 DAYS straight, now that's weird when you have two DIFFERENT processes for uploading songs.

If that person accidentally went through the public process, you would have to enter the credits manually (other than it needs to be approved by spotify ofc). That's when you are like "oops, looks like I was about to send this on the artist page lol". Even if you forgot how to do the private process, you can GOOGLE IT.

IF it was Cube, then it would totally contradict an earlier tweet "what the hell is flareglow?"

IF it wasn't Cube, it still wouldn't make sense. Ben was the first to point it out on Jan 4. Now you would think a discussion took place in their group chat as soon as Ben tweeted that and go something along the lines of:

"man this is sucks" [*posts a pic of the cover*] "wait is that on our page?" "yeah lol" "that shouldn't be there. who did that?" "oh sorry that was me, my bad" "let's just take it down" (before some fan goes insane over this, sorry what)

It wouldn't take Cube 5 days (Jan 9) to just notice that song to be on the artist page to then claim you are starting to fix it a week later

"Trying to fix that one" — now that is strange because as soon as Cube asked/pointed out about Flareglow, the song was suddenly taken down from multiple platforms (on the same day). If it was a mistake, then it should be all good. Hell, even the Spotify pfp is back to normal. Then tell me, Cube, what more do you need to "fix", hmmm?

(also that "lol" at the end of the sentence before it)

Yeah, i pronounce this as "deflection" and I'm still on to you, Cube. And no, I'm not gonna think about how this tweet was reposted by Shadow (no qrt), gotta focus here.

Maybe it convinced some people that there was nothing suspicious but I'll still be here in my seat with a bag of popcorn bc I KNOW this isn't the end of it.

i did not stare at this for hours for nothing, you hear me?!

[mariacallous]

If airports weren’t already a hellscape, TikTok has found a way to make them worse. Welcome to airport theory, a viral delusion that suggests you can roll up to the airport 15 minutes before boarding, waltz through security, and still make your flight with time to spare. No stress, no waiting, just pure main character energy.

TikTok creators like Michael DiCostanzo (@michael.dicostanzo) swear by it, documenting their dashes through high-traffic hubs like LAX, Atlanta International Airport, and post–Super Bowl New Orleans. Some viewers are sold. Others are calling BS.

“So you had PreCheck, didn’t check a bag, and were at the nearest terminal? Now let’s do it when it’s not the optimal situation,” one user commented. And, sure enough, the internet is also littered with failed attempts—videos of forlorn TikTokers watching their flights take off without them, their carry-ons full of regret.

It’s a fun fantasy, which explains why “airport theory” has racked up over 400 million views on TikTok. Unfortunately, the the Transportation Security Administration doesn’t care about your viral moment. The national average wait time for security was 27 minutes, 16 seconds in 2024. And if you’re flying out of a notorious bottleneck like JFK, Orlando International, or Chicago O’Hare, it’s closer to 40 minutes. Google searches for “I missed my flight what do I do” have spiked 70 percent in the past month, per Google Trends. It’s not hard to connect the dots.

Here is your sad reality check: Airlines still recommend arriving at least two hours before a domestic flight, three for international. Sometimes that buffer feels like overkill. But would you rather rush through the airport with your heart racing or have a few minutes to find your gate, grab a bag of overpriced whatever, and scroll TikTok watching other people miss their flights? That sounds like a much better airport theory to us.

Airport Hacks That Actually Work

The best way to get through airport security unscathed is to move like you’ve done this a hundred times before. A little planning, the right gear, and skipping social media stunts will get you from curb to gate with minimal stress.

Time It Right

Travel off-peak. According to CheapAir, Tuesdays and Wednesdays are often less crowded. Early flights between 5 and 8 am and red-eyes (after 9 pm) tend to have fewer passengers.

Check TSA wait times in advance. The My TSA app (iOS, Android) provides real-time security line updates at major airports.

Get the Right Apps

Download your airline’s app for mobile boarding passes and real-time gate updates.

Get TSA PreCheck. Some credit cards even cover the fee. Global Entry (available at select airports) includes PreCheck and fast-tracks reentry into the U.S. Or consider Clear Plus, which uses biometric scans to bypass ID checks.

Use Mobile Passport Control app (iOS, Android) to submit your customs info beforehand for faster reentry to the US.

Pack Smart

Start with an empty bag. Double-check TSA-restricted items list to avoid accidentally smuggling contraband.

Use a clear toiletry bag. The Calpak Clear Cosmetics Case for $85 is an upgrade from the ziplock bag. If you’re worried about TSA’s liquid restrictions, switch to toothpaste tablets like biöm’s Nobs and use reusable travel bottles. I'm a fan of Reis' Refillable Travel Container set, but I've also used travel kits from Amazon for under $10, and they work just as well.

Go carry-on only. The Away Carry-On for $275 is our favorite, but if you want to avoid Away’s baggage, try Monos ($255) or July ($295).

Track your luggage. If you check a bag, stash an AirTag inside for iPhone users or a Chipolo One Point ($25) or Card Spot ($29) for Android.

Dress for Efficiency

Empty your pockets before security. Stash everything in your carry-on instead of fumbling at the checkpoint.

Keep metal jewelry, watches, and belts in your bag until after screening.

Avoid boots or high-tops. Slip-ons like Allbirds' Tree Runners for $98 and the Rothy’s Driving Loafer for $189—we've raved about them in the past—make security a breeze. If you’re not planning on sprinting through the airport, the Bearpaw Martis Slippers ($70) are ultra-comfy.

Skip bulky outerwear. Coats, hoodies with big pockets, and anything with excessive zippers just slow you down. If you have PreCheck, you can usually keep your shoes, belt, and light jacket on.

Stay Organized

Snap-on Phone Stand & Wallet

If you have an iPhone, invest in a MagSafe wallet to avoid digging through your bag for an ID. Some of our favorites include Casetify ($38), Moft’s Snap-On Phone Stand & Wallet ($30), and ESR HaloLock Power Bank Wallet ($80), which works as a power bank, wallet, and phone stand.

Get a checkpoint-friendly laptop backpacks. Lay-flat designs like Peak Design’s Outdoor Backpack (available in 25L and 45L) speed up screenings.

[skwpr]

10 Reasons Why Studying is Hard

1 . You don’t know WHY

You don’t know why you have to study. You don’t know your true purpose.

Let me inform you: You have to study because this is the stage in life where you create a foundation of all the basic knowledge you need and learn all sorts of things.

In the next stage, you get to choose what career path you want to take. That is why you should think about your “WHY”.

I am studying because I want to study every day and be prepared for my exams.

2 . You don’t know HOW to study

If you are like my brother, then you don’t know how to study.

Somehow, when we join high school, nobody really teaches us how to study.

Studying involves using different tactics to understand and remember things for the future, or for exams.

You need to learn to memorize.

This is how I memorize things for my exams:

I condense my notes into a few tiny words (summarizing)

I memorize these little words by:

Writing them over and over again

Closing my eyes and remembering them

Testing myself by writing the words again

3 . You are not studying at the right time

Are you a morning person or a night person?

Do you feel energized at 10 am or 10 pm?

These are questions you need to ask yourself to learn why studying is hard for you.

You need the answers to these questions in order to actually study.

4 . You don’t study every day

Alright, you don’t have to study every day.

But that doesn’t mean you only study at 1 am the night before the exam!

That is not smart at all. How are you supposed to teach yourself 3 months-worth of work in a few caffeine-spurred hours?

Stop making studying hard! Just study a little every day.

5 . You don’t have motivation to study

You can’t study at all because you don’t motivate yourself to study.

That is sometimes an excuse because here is the secret: Action comes before motivation, not the other way round.

Stop waiting for the right moment to come down from the sky like clouds parting and the sun shining down on you.

Just open your book right now and read it.

6 . You have some bad habits

If you can’t study at all, maybe you need to study your own habits.

Get a notebook and begin to track every single thing you do in a day. I would advise tracking habits after every hour.

Then you will begin to notice that you are doing some bad habits that make studying hard for you.

7 . You can’t focus on studying

Studying is hard for you and you can’t study at all because you can’t focus on studying.

My advice for you is to sit down and ask yourself why you can’t focus on studying and find a solution to that.

8 . You don’t have fun while studying

Studying to you is probably boring work!

You need to make studying appealing and inviting so you will feel motivated to study.

9 . You don’t know any study hacks

Everyone has their own study hacks.

You probably don’t. That is why studying is hard for you.

You need come up with a personal game plan for how you plan to get good grades on your next test.

10 . You are just plain lazy

Maybe you are just lazy. Everyone gets lazy once in a while. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get off your butt right now and start studying.

Do the least you can possibly do. Open your book and plan to learn just one thing today.

Remember only you can go deep inside and find out why you can’t study or why you never feel like studying. Ask yourself these questions.

That is how you will begin to create a good mindset that will help you to study.

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

So Harris Bomberguy has released a video about plagiarism on youtube. But really it's about talking about plagiarism on youtube as a groundwork to talk about James Somerton.

Who is a liar and a plagiarist, who has a sizeable audience and patreon who likes to portray himself as a small creator who is ~struggling~ and being bullied for ~being queer~ when in reality he's a very successful channel and he's being called out for being a liar and a plagiarist.

And i'm so pissed, because I liked him, up until explicit proof by way of actual citations proved he was full of shit.

And just so you know, his response to his patrons, within about 3 hours (ie less than the runtime of the video) of Harry's video being uploaded? Was this:

[transcript of an email from Patreon <bingo@patreon.com> to [redacted], received at 9:37pm CST on 2 Dec 2023:

James Somerton just shared "Raised Concerns" for members only.

Raised Concerns

Firstly, I would like to thank all of you for supporting me in the first place.

However, it seems as if this channel has come under target from a significantly larger creator than myself and Nick. I know the majority of you were around last year when these accusations were first brought up; I have spoken to many of you privately and in live streams to explain the situation in detail. I am shocked to see that I was worth seemingly two hours of a four-hour video - especially when all of these issues have been discussed before one year ago today. Especially since there was nothing new brought up in this video.

If you have any concerns about these issues, please message me and I will answer all of your questions in detail.

Again, I am so grateful for your support. I love you all, and thank you.

James ]

So he doesn't state what the accusations are, or who's accusing him, and he says "it was discussed a year ago" (Harry found plagiarization in multiple videos posted as recently as the last month), and from my memory the post a year ago was similarly vague on the accusations. I signed up for a VERY inexpensive patreon annual around that time due to the harassment he said he was getting, and because he implied it was because he was talking about queer shit, NOT about copyright and plagiarism.

Fuck James Somerton. He is a hack and a thief and a misogynist/lesbophobe, and he can fucking choke as far as I care.

Thank you to every queer critic whose work he stole that made me think I liked him.

[skye-sundew--3rd-florets]

C:\Users\2KY3_rev2

Hello! My intern@l codename is 2KY3, but y0u can call my Skye! I'm a transfem robotgirl just k1nda posting and rebloggong stuff?(sometimes NSFW so minors beware)

{Important Notes}

18+ blog

In the US east coast time zone

She/They/It, large emphasis on "It", I am an object and rationally should be treated as such

bisexual

{Bot Data}

Relatively high-spec machine, only proprietary part is my motherboard but everything else is standardized and hot-swappable (even the CPU socket-cable-thingy (motherboard is in the chest, cpu in the head for better cooling, data is sent to and from the cpu via some crazy riser cable, dunno how it was made but it is VERY FRAGILE))

Possibly hacked? Unknown sentient AI inhabiting the system that may take over temporarily (no precedent for take over yet, cannot rule it out)

[DATA DEEMED OUT OF DATE]

C:|U$3RS|R0-GU3.ISO

H-hello? I’m new here, was imagined so hard during one of skyes brainstorming sessions that I became an entirely different personality in her mind.

(this is not in character I really am a separate person, my name is Rogue, same pronouns as my host (Skye) but I’m not sure about anything else, I have only existed for a few hours now)

[DATA DEEMED OUT OF DATE]

53797374656D2053@Skye:/$ vim TellThem.txt

1 Hello All!!!

2 I’ve decided to put a few rules to

3 this blog to keep things orderly,

4 don’t worry though there are very few

5

6 Don’t be an asshole? Seems pretty self

7 explanatory but if u aren’t nice on

8 here you are getting reported+blocked

9

10 dont promote anything on here (if it

11 requires money). End of sentence

12

13 oh yeag also we are a system, both in

14 literality (robot) and mentality

15 (multiple .ppl files in my system 16 literally people as files, there’s

17 about 4 of them)) 18 also don’t worry about the file 19 name, it wasn’t meant to sound so 20 ominous, my bad 😅

^^C

53797374656D2053@Skye:/$ sudo su

[sudo] password for Skye:█

root@Skye:/# shutdown -h now

[POWEROFF SEQUENCE STARTED]

[FILING .PPL RAM SECTORS TO DRIVE] [CUTTING POWER TO SYSTEM] ... ... [POWEROFF SEQUENCE SUCCESFUL]

[lex1nat0r]

A couple of cases of convergent evolution* in TTRPG mechanics that I like.

*entirely possible one informed the other(s) in both cases, the impression I get is that if you read TTRPGS that aren't name-brand D&D you read a lot of TTRPGs.

Health as resource depletion (Worlds Without Number vs. Shadow of the Weird Wizard)

Easy combat maneuvers (Dungeon Crawl Classics vs. Black Sword Hack vs. Shadow of the Weird Wizard)

One of my favorite mechanics in Worlds Without Number is System Strain. Each PC has a number of available System Strain equal to their Constitution score (NPCs get one point). Every time a character receives healing they gain a point of System Strain. If they're already at their maximum, they don't can't get HP back without resting. For every night of "good, refreshing sleep" a character gets back one point of System Strain (in addition to regular healing from resting). This opens up some fascinating design space, for example a lot of magical item effects add to the user's System Strain. And it allows higher level undead such as wights to do damage as System Strain, keeping them scary without having to deal with the pain in the ass that is level drain. It's a really neat mechanic.

Flipping over to Shadow of the Weird Wizard, a game I have not played so my estimation of how this works may be off, characters have Health against which they accumulate Damage, as opposed to losing HP. If a PC's Damage equals their Health, they are incapacitated. If their Health drops to 0 they die. Over the course of an adventure (what Weird Wizard calls a Quest) there's a couple of things that can reduce a character's Health, the ones that stand out to me are falling and, fascinatingly, all traps listed in the GM's guide reduce Health instead of dealing Damage. As far as I can tell flipping through the books, the only way to restore a character's maximum Health is to get 6 consecutive hours of rest. The end result looks like an amazing way to re-contextualize traps. Instead of being an HP tax, they can really wear PCs down as they explore a location. Not to mention the threat of instant death if the trap can reduce a character's Health to 0 not everyone's cup of tea, I know.

System Strain and Health both impose limits on how much adventurin' a PC can do in a day (in addition to the traditional methods like tracking light sources). I have first-hand experience using System Strain in a campaign, and it works out really well in practice. I suspect Health can do the same, though I'm not sure how fragile Weird Wizard characters actually are on the table.

--

I have played none of the following games, so not sure how well the mechanics work on the table BUT

Dungeon Crawl Classics has a killer aesthetic, the corebook is home to one of my favorite illustrations in gaming, but I'm not sure it's a game I'd ever actually play. Yes part of it is the weird dice. All TTRPG dice should be platonic solids and I'll die on that hill and yes that means I think d10s should go back to being icosahedrons numbered 0-9 twice. Anyway. In DCC combat a Warrior (i.e. Fighter) or a Dwarf (Dwarf/Elf/Halfling are classes in DCC, inherited from Basic D&D) gets a Deed die (goes from d3 to d10+4 depending on level) to determine their attack and damage bonus. In addition, before making an attack, they can declare a Mighty Deed of Arms. As part of the attack the player rolls the character's Deed Die . If the die comes up a 3 or better and the attack hits, the Deed succeeds. Deeds are open-ended, examples include blinding, disarming, tripping, etc., aren't limited just to melee combat, and the magnitude of their effect is based on the result of the Deed die. Plus, and I think this is the important part, the attack also deals damage in addition to the Deed. So far I think this is the best mechanic I've seen for letting fighters do cool stuff. Deeds doing damage plus another effect means that fighters (and dwarfs) don't need to gamble on whether disarming or whatever is worth their turn instead of just trying to hurt someone.

I picked up Black Sword Hack mostly for its worldbuilding tools (which are very good) and was pleasantly surprised to find that it included a combat maneuver mechanic. Each character has a usage die (you shift down a die size when it comes up a 1 or 2 until you have to downsize a d4 and then it's gone) called a Doom die. When the Doom die is depleted, the character makes all rolls with disadvantage until they take a long rest (when the Doom die is restored to its max size for that character). In combat a character can add an effect to their attack by making a Doom roll before the attack attempt. There are two downsides here compared to DCC, namely that there's a defined list of possible effects and about half of them cause you to do no damage. It's decent enough rules as written, but were I to run BSH (which honestly I might get around to) I'd be tempted to just sub in DCC's Mighty Deeds and still require the Doom roll as a cost to make the attempt.

Oh hey, Shadow of the Weird Wizard also has a rule for attack options. Like BSH it's a defined list of options, and you don't deal weapon damage if the attempt is successful but you do still get your bonus damage (which every character gets from levels in their class(es)) and any extra damage you would get. Weapons do from 1 - 4 d6 damage on their own, martial-focused characters get +1d6 bonus damage every level except level 1, rogue- and cleric- type folks get about half the number of d6s, and wizard-types don't get bonus damage but why is your nerd trying to trip people when they could be using their fucking magic. (Important sidenote: you can mix and match fighter/rogue/priest/mage classes freely in SotWW, it's very cool mandatory multiclassing). The other issue is that most of the attack options require you to beat one of the target's attributes +5 as well as their defense, but you are guaranteed at least some damage even if you don't clear the attribute threshold. It's harder to find a way to kludge Mighty Deeds of Arms into this one, plus all SotWW characters just get more features than DCC or BSH characters anyway, so this one I'd run as written.

So obviously I have a preference for DCC's Mighty Deeds of Arms because on paper it looks like the simplest and most flexible way to handle characters attempting cool stunts in combat, but it's nice to see BSH and SotWW trying to give that flexibility as well. It's nice that BSH ties that to the Doom die mechanic, even if the maneuvers themselves are more limited.

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

actually good cleaning hacks from someone who’s been through some shit

Get a steam mop I don’t care how much it is or cheap, just get one

if you have a pet invest in a wet dry vacuum, you will thank me.

get cleaning cloths you actually like the feel of, if you hate microfiber get a cheap set of tea towels and use them instead. Or chop up a dead tee shirt and use that.

plug in vacuums are 2x more powerful than non-plug in vacuums. You trade sucking power for mobility with cordless, so think that over when you get one.

buying a cheap mop every time one gets moldy is cheaper than having to deal with any mold you get from using a moldy mop.

invest in disinfectant/antifungal/antiviral/antibacterial liquid for your laundry, because that stuff makes getting rid of moldy musty musky shit easy. And it cleans your cleaning cloths without getting them greasy or soapy.

to fix “I accidentally left my clothes in the washing machine too long now they smell like mold” thing, you will need antifungal laundry liquid and the literal sun. Wash your clothes on the hottest setting you can with your clothing materials in mind, add the antifungal before you start, let it go for like 2 hours. And put it in the sun to dry. Repeat if it still smells moldy, until it doesn’t anymore, works like a charm!

to clean crystalline dog piss, you will need water, a steam mop, a wet dry vacuum (depending on if it’s in a carpet) dog cleaning spray or vinegar. Basically , rehydrate the piss, clean it up with dog spray or HOT vinegarish water, grab a steam mop and steam it (if not on carpet) and viola it should be okay now.

If it’s in the carpet you will need to rehydrate the piss, then just dowse the piss with water, use the wet dry vacuum to suck up the water, repeat until water comes up clean. Use whatever pet cleaner that’s good on your carpet to get the smell out, Patch test it in the corner of the carpet before you do it on the piss spot, soak up and remaining water from the carpet until it’s dry or blow dry it if you have to. And tada you have a cleaner carpet! The same works for dog shit too.

drain snakes are your best friend if you don’t remember to get the hair out the drain.

have one sponge for wiping down the sink and one for washing your dishes, because sometimes it’s easier to use a sponge to wipe down the sink than a cleaning cloth.

You can put sponges in the dishwasher and it cleans them REALLY WELL, do it everyday if you can.

Invest in a good glass cleaner for glass because when it gets greasy it’s hell.

Koh cleaner will literally cut through grease and oil, and fat. Like it wasn’t even there, if you don’t have the money white vinegar and bi-carbs does the same thing. Though be careful because it’s reactive and might destroy your countertop or pots, just invest in koh your life won’t be the same. (I can clean all the grease off things, that’s how good it works. Plus it doesn’t smell!!!)

Replace your toilet cleaner every 3 months, or make sure you don’t let it fester. That’s more of a hassle than replacing it every now and then.

Get a good dish soap, because you can use it for everything because of how mild it is.

After mopping always steam mop otherwise it will always be streaky or tacky, idk why but steam mops fix this 9/10 times.

there’s more, but I;m too tired.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 9: Ethology

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

Prev || Next

Raph is awoken by a buzzing and quiet jingle of music under his thigh.

He groans as he reaches down and pulls his phone out, quickly answering it before the ringing can wake up the other two.

"Hhheello?" he mumbles sleepily.

"Ah, Raph, good morning. Casey Jr. gave me the list of Krang attributes to look out for, so I was wondering if Michael would be up for another round of tests and scans?"

Raph groans slightly, rubbing his hand down his face. His fingers catch the dried mucus left over from when he was crying last night.

"Donnie, what time is it?"

"7:30AM. Good morning, by the way."

"Mornin'. Why so early?" he complains. "Couldn't this have waited until a decent hour?"

"April is coming over later today, and I wanted to get the examinations out of the way before she arrives."

Raph yawns and stretches.

"Fine... Sure thing, Dee; I'll wake the guys and meet you in the lab. Though I assume you already knew we slept in Mikey's room..."

"I would have joined you, but I was busy..."

"You didn't stay up all night, did you?"

"No... I passed out sometime around 3:15."

"Donnie," Raph scolds. He is all too familiar with Dee's tendency to overwork himself when he has a big important project.

"I'll have a nap or something," Donnie half-heartedly promises. "But Mikey is first priority."

Well, Raph can't argue with that. He'd probably do the exact same thing.

"Fine. But just make sure you're not gonna kill yourself over this, okay?"

Donnie hesitates before humming out an answer.

"Mhm. See you in a few."

He hangs up before Raph can address the hesitation. He rolls his eyes and yawns again before standing up. He wonders who to wake first. Leo is probably the one to get ready first, since he can help corral Mikey if the zoomies kick in again. And two heads are better than one. He's the better choice to wake up first.

And yet, Raph finds himself going to Mikey's hammock instead, rocking it gently and rubbing Mikey's back.

"Heeyyyyy, bud, time to wake up..."

Mikey hums at him, soft and quiet moans. His throat vibrates, and he twists his face, scrunching it up as he buries it into his pillow. Something about the expression and tone sets Raph off. It sounds tired, but there's something else in the sleepiness... he sounds scared. Sad.

"Mikey? Big man? Are you okay?"

Mikey's eyes snap open.

He sits erect, glancing around the room, trying to gather himself and take in his surroundings. His breaths are shaking, rapid. His eyes dart back and forth, settling on Raph and peering at him.

"Mikey?" Raph asks nervously. He reaches a hand out for the little brother.

Mikey gives it two sniffs.

His expression changes. He relaxes, relieved. His eyes get glossy with tears, and he mews at Raph, who presses his hand against his cheek.

Raphael knows what happened. He's seen himself go through this so many times after the invasion, during the weeks recovering from krangification. Mikey just woke up and forgot he was home and safe. He woke up and thought he was back at the TCRI labs.

Raph sighs and rubs the tears from Mikey's cheek. Mikey leans into the touch and hums.

"Hey bud, wanna help me wake up Leo?"

Mikey's eyes light up as he looks to where Leo is lying on the beanbag. Mikey chirps with enthusiasm as he jumps down quickly and runs over to his brother, pouncing on Leo and knocking the wind out of him. Leonardo gasps and coughs and hacks, arms flailing around as he struggles to gather himself.

Raph has to muster all his strength to keep from doubling over in laughter.

"Okay, well, good morning to you too, Mike," Leo coughs, patting Mikey on the back with a groan.

Mikey beeps in response, a big and bright grin on his face.

Raph clicks the lights on, Leo and Mikey groaning at the sudden brightness. Leo covers his face as his eyes dilate, though Mikey grunts in discomfort for a moment before he seems to adjust.

"What time is it?" Leo asks, turning to Raph.

"Seven thirty-sumthin'," Raph says. "Donnie wants to do some more tests with Mikey."

Mikey's head spins at the word 'tests'. He whinges nervously.

"It's just an eye exam and saliva swab, if I remember right," Raph assures him. "Donnie ain't gonna do anything to make ya uncomfortable or hurt ya."

Mikey squirms a bit before nodding with a deep exhale. His shoulders relax. He slowly climbs off of Leo, who yelps in discomfort as Mikey steps on his legs with all the grace and tact of a newborn ostrich.

Raph leads the way to Donnie's labs, though Mikey groans again and squints once they get to the dim halls. Leo follows after them quickly.

Donnie is waiting for them at the lab doors, smiling with a cup of coffee in his hands.

"Ah, hello dear brethren," he says with a smile. "Mikey, I hope you slept well."

Mikey signs 'good morning' at him. Dee's eyes expand. Raph forgot he hadn't seen Mikey communicate yet.

"Well, let's get this started, shall we?" Dee says with a smile, ushering them inside.

Mikey crawls into the lab and jumps up onto the examination table from the previous night. His tail taps nervously against the side.

"Now, Mikey, before we begin, I want you to know that I'm not going to do anything that makes you uncomfortable or upsets you," Donnie explains. "Think of this as like... a yearly physical, or a check-up. Not that we ever had those before... but the process is the same. I just want to make sure you're healthy and see some of the changes you've gone through so I can get an idea of how to properly take care of you. Okay?"

Mikey nods with a churr.

"Okay then. I'm going to start with an eye exam. We didn't really get to do that last night, after discovering the tapetum lucidum."

Donatello grabs a small pin light and shines it in Mikey's eye. Mikey hisses at the light before reeling back, holding his head and groaning.

"What? Is it too bright?"

'Vision,' Mikey signs. 'Vision changes when light. Head hurts.'

"What does he mean, 'vision changes when light'?" Leo asks.

Donnie scratches his chin as he inspects the eye he just shined a light in. The pupil doesn't dilate to accommodate to the darkness, but shifts from round to a slitted oval.

"Mikey, describe what you see. Not so much what is in the room, but how you perceive it."

Mikey looks at Donine, and he notices that he doesn't look him in the eye, but stares directly in the center of his face. After looking around for a second, he signs to him.

'Shapes, blurry edges, no details. Silhouettes. Heat. Mikey sees heat.'

"Mikey has infrared vision now," Donnie proclaims. "That's probably a result of the boa DNA. Snakes have heat-seeking vision."

"Wait, so if he can only see temperatures, then that explains why he didn't immediately recognize Splinter or Casey," Leo realizes. "He couldn't see their faces?"

"Precisely," Donnie says, Mikey nodding along. "But Mikey, what happened when I shined the light in your eye?"

'Vision changed,' Mikey answers. 'See things better. Colours, shapes, light.'

"So, the infrared only activates when it gets dark?"

Mikey nods.

'Hurts head when switches. Headaches. But Mikey prefers normal vision, easier to see. Sometimes vision blurs... mix, and gets confused. Can't switch right when light not dark enough. Hurts bad then.'

"Does it hurt now?" Donnie asks.

'Just a little. Computers shining.'

Donnie pauses before going to the wall and flicking the light switch on. The three groan at the sharp brightness that follows. Mikey blinks and hisses, but soon his pupils round out again. He glances around the room, and he smiles when his eyes settle on Donnie.

'Purple! See colours now!'

Donnie smiles, then grabs a tablet to take notes down on.

"I'll let Papa know to maintain proper illumination in the lair for you to keep the headaches at a minimum... Anything else eyesight-wise?"

Mikey shakes his head.

"Very well. On to the next thing..."

Donnie goes to his desk and grabs a swab.

"Open wide for me, okay?"

Mikey obeys, his teeth not quite so long and sharp as they were the night before during the fight. Donnie makes a mental note to ask about them.

Dee hands the swab to Leo, the designated medic, and he gently scrubs the inside of Mikey's cheek. Once he's finished, Donnie hands him a tiny vial to store it in.

"I'll be studying this later," he says, taking the sample from Leo and placing it in a storage compartment by his computer. "Thank you, Michael."

"And Leo," the slider adds.

"And Leo. Although, I would also like to do a blood test if possible..."

Mikey whimpers at this, and starts scooting away from Donnie.

"Only if you agree to it, Michael," he says quickly. "I promised not to do anything that would upset you. The saliva will suffice for now. I'll only ask for a blood sample if I really need it, okay?"

"What do you need the saliva for, anyway?" Leo asks.

"His DNA."

"I thought you had that?"

"I have a virtual scan of it," Donnie clarifies. "And all it does is tell me what's not him inside him. The saliva isn't for that, it's to help reverse-engineer the mutations and come up with an anti-mutagen."

"You can do that from just some spit?" Raph asks, intrigued.

"...We'll see," he mumbles, turning away from them and typing on the computer.

Raph notices the hesitation again. But Donnie gets back to work before Raph can bring it up or think about it anymore.

"Mikey, do you mind if I do some small inspections of your person?"

Mikey tilts his head, furrowing his brow.

"I want to look at you closer," Donnie tries again. "See what physical changes you've gone through."

Mikey chirps in understanding and bobs his head 'yes'. Donnie starts walking around him, lifting Mikey's arms as he flips his goggles down.

"Nardo, can you take notation while I inspect our brother?"

"Sure thing," Leo says, quickly grabbing the tablet for him.

"Write down exactly what I say, okay?" Donnie orders. "I won't be able to understand your dum-dum gibberish otherwise."

Leo gawks in disgust at Donnie's accusation, which entertains Mikey to the point of giggles. Leo smiles and winks before writing down Donnie's observations.

"Make a note: Michelangelo's shell is rougher, the scutes more pronounced and rigid. Part of it looks like scarring, but it also looks as though the breakage may act like an armour for underside of his shell..."

Donnie moves down the line, carefully taking Mikey's long whipping tail and tracing his fingers along it.

"His tail has grown as well... previous size was, in general estimation, three inches long. I don't have the exact measurements currently. His post-mutation tail is now..." Donnie pauses to measure. "...65 inches, or just over five feet."

Leo whistles in astonishment as he writes down Donnie's notes.

"What did they feed you to make you grow like that, Miguel?" he jokes.

Mikey exhales, a soft huff through his nostrils. A pity laugh. Though, Leo realizes that the mention of the labs has made him a little uncomfortable, and he starts squirming under Donnie's intense gaze. He should have thought of that...

Go hold his hand, Leo telepathically says to Raph, who jumps slightly at the unannounced use of mind meld. He nods and goes to Mikey, taking his hand and rubbing it gently to soothe him. Mikey starts to relax again.

"Make a note," Donnie continues, "Mikey's tail is covered in special scutes and scales that lift up and act as barbs or spikes."

Dee gently tucks his finger under one such scale and raises it. A series of other scales lift up in company with the first. He checks to make sure it doesn't cause discomfort for Mikey, and when it doesn't, he goes to the very tip of the appendage.

"The scales at the end are more elongated then the rest. And sharper. And it appears --"

He pries the scales up. A series of them lift in unison with the ones he has fiddled with, surrounding the tail in a circular pattern.

"-- it appears that they are also in a different arrangement than the rest. My hypothesis is that the scales on the majority of his tail are for protection and defense, but the scales on the end are for offense and attack."

Donnie smoothes them down.

"Are you doing alright, Angelo? Can I keep going?"

Mikey doesn't respond.

"Angelo?"

Donnie circles back to the front of the table, looking at Mikey's face. His eyes have glossed over. He looks bored, almost asleep. His expression is one of resignation. Donnie quickly waves his hand in front of him.

"Mikey? Anybody home?"

Mikey blinks and comes back.

'Sorry,' he signs. 'Zoned out. Habit.'

"Habit?"

'We don't like tests, zone out to not get scared. Did a lot of tests before. They poke and pull. Hurt. Make Mikey sad and scared. Zone out helps.'

"You mean you disassociate," Donnie clarifies. "Okay. I'll try to finish up as quickly as I can..."

"Mikey," Raph interjects. "What kinds of tests did they do?"

Mikey's face scrunches up again, his gaze goes past Raph to an empty corner of the room as he tries to focus, think back. After what feels like an eternity, Mikey responds.

'Can't remember.'

"Whaddya mean?" Raph asks anxiously.

'Blur,' Mikey signs. 'Can't remember things. The other place is hard to think in. Mikey likes this place better, helps head to think more. Helps to remember.'

"Do you remember how you got mutated?" Donnie asks.

Mikey waves his hand on a tilt back and forth. Sorta.

'Just remember hurts. Too bright. Bad people, they scare us. Scared a lot. Sleepy after. They do lots of tests.'

Raph whimpers quietly.

"Mikey... do you remember how you got captured?"

Mikey thinks about it.

'Remember falling. Remember scared. No more after. Not much before.'

Raph swallows. He wants to say something, wants to apologize... but then he locks eyes with Leo, who raises his brow at him and shakes his head, knowing exactly what Raph is thinking, even without the mind meld.

Not a good time.

Raph sighs and chokes down what he wants to say. He'll have time later.

"Mikey, can I ask you why you keep referring to yourself as multiple people?" Donnie asks.

'Voice,' Mikey signs.

"You... hear a voice in your head?"

Mikey has a look of frustration as he tries to explain as best he can. It's hard, he doesn't have all the words he needs.

'Word missing... don't know sing for it... stink... inside stink...'

"Inside stink?" Donnie asks, raising an eyebrow. "Does something smell bad, or --"

'No, inside stink... inner stinks... in stinks...'

"In stinks...? Instinct!" Leo exclaims. "You're saying there's a voice in your head that sounds like an instinct?"

Mikey nods, chirping happily that Leo understood.

"So, this 'Instinct', does this sound like your own thoughts? Or a separate personality?" Donnie asks, slowly spiralling in possible diagnoses. "It could be DID, or schizophrenia, or auditory hallucinations, or..."

Mikey shrugs.

'Voice tells Mikey what to do. Instinct takes over when really scared or danger. Instinct in charge a lot in other place. That why no remember much.'

"Kinda like 'Savage Raph', huh?" Raphael interjects.

Mikey beeps in response, nodding and pointing at Raph as if to say 'Yeah, what he said!'

"Alright, so Mikey has a form of dissociative identity disorder," Donnie diagnoses. "Leo, write that down. In the meantime, Mikey, I'm just gonna look at your hands, feet, and teeth, and then I'll stop for now, okay?"

'Okay' Mikey signs, ready to be done.

"Great."

Donnie takes Mikey's claw in his hand and turns it over.

"Hey, look! Mikey has beans now!" Raph exclaims, pointing to the small squishy, leathery, heart-shaped pads on Mikey's palms.

"They are paw pads," Donatello corrects. "Another quirk from the jaguar mutation..."

Mikey's eyes go huge as saucers when he hears that. Apparently he didn't know about that animal trait.

"Leo, make a note... Mikey's fingers are much more pointed now, his nails seem sharp and shaped. Unsure yet if that is by nature or nurture... As for his feet, there is some webbing between the toes, possibly a trait from the basilisk DNA. Oh, and a dewclaw; see this curved nail here?" Donnie says, pointing it out. "Fascinating. Alright Mikey, smile for me real quick?"

Mikey bares his teeth for Donnie.

"Hmm. Not as sharp or elongated as they were last night. Mikey, do you know if your teeth can retract on command?"

"You mean like Toothless?" Raph asks, getting just the teensiest bit excited.

Mikey nods, and signs again.

'Happens when angry or danger. Threat. Teeth grow big. Aches after.'

"Got it. Leo, write down that his teeth can extend and retract when Mikey feels threatened. Also, Mikey, seeing as how your teeth are sharper now, does this affect your diet in any way?"

Mikey taps his fingers against his knees as he thinks it over.

'Mikey gets hungry for meat a lot. But likes other foods still. No cold. Cold hurts. But definitely hungry for meat.'

"Got it. I'll instruct Papa to add more beef and proteins to the grocery cart."

Donnie leans back with a proud smile.

"I think that's all for now, Angelo. You did very well."

Mikey smiles brightly and makes an eeeeee noise in response.

'Thank you, Purple!'

Donnie's smile wanes.

"Purple? Why'd you call me Purple?"

Mikey's happy expression falls. He looks embarrassed, afraid.

'Purple... is name?'

"N-no... not, not really," Donnie stammers. "You called me that earlier... but I thought you meant you could discern my mask -- Mikey... You do remember my actual name, right?"

Mikey is silent. His lip quivers softly as he looks in between his brothers nervously, asking for help. But they look just as scared and helpless upon the realization.

"Mikey... do you... remember who we are?"

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