#office mail robot

[relayrobotics]

Office Robot | Relay Robotics

Revolutionize your office operations with Relay Robotics' Office Robot. Designed to meet the dynamic needs of modern workplaces, our robots offer reliable and efficient support for tasks like document handling, meeting room setup, and visitor assistance. With Relay Robotics, your office can achieve new levels of productivity and innovation. Embrace the future of work with our intelligent and adaptable Office Robot solutions.

[unopenedletterspodcast]

hey you there. you. psst. yeah. come over here. i have candy.

great. now that I’ve gotten your attention, I can tell you all about my new podcast!!!

[oh yeah. no I was lying about the candy im sorry. I’ll post a picture of some if this gets at least 1k reblogs tho.]

SOOOO-

DO. YOU. LIKE.

>odd towns

>even odder post offices

>faceless narrators

>disregard for workplace rules

>they/them sillies reading unopened mail

>mail sorters from the 70s that have become office mascots

orrrr

>narrators with mysterious pasts?

WELL THEN!!!

THIS PODCAST IS. FOR. YOU!!!

With short episodes for my fellow ADHD sillies, and soon-to-be added transcripts for those like me with audio processing problems, Unopened Letters is the podcast for you!

I’m gonna tag a bunch of communities who might be interested in it, but reblog if you can to help boost this!!!

[sspacegodd]

Someday robots will get the mail.

[theminecraftbee]

Pearl stops and stares once she gets to the front of the line at the Hermitopia Permit Office. She’s here to renew her ID, since she’s required to have a valid driver’s license for her mail carrier job she’s only recently moved here. Normal stuff, really. If it weren’t for the secret of why she’d actually moved to town, she’d have probably taken the license photo, filled out the paperwork, and left.

She is not here for a mail carrier job, and she can see things no one else in line can.

“I know, I know, I have a very beautiful face,” says the demon at the counter in the flattest affect Pearl has heard in her life. “Look, lady, there’s a line and I want to be on break, so if you’re going to sexually harass me or something can you hurry up and speedrun through doing it?“

She also doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“What?” she says.

“I mean, you’re staring at me awfully closely,” the demon says. “What am I supposed to assume? Surely you know that’s rude.”

“I’m not into men,” Pearl instantly lies for absolutely no reason.

“Okay? I don’t need to know that for your driver’s license?” the demon says.

“Right. Um,” Pearl says. She’s a little reluctant to hand the plastic sandwich bag she’d put her proof of address in over to a demon. If she’d just been a mail carrier and couldn’t See, it would be one thing, but she simply hadn’t been expected to come across the consequences of Hermitopia’s rumored hellmouth so immediately.

Or so…

The demon sighs again with an impressive amount of passive-aggression.

Pearl slides the documents to him. She watches as the demon gives everything several once-overs. He’s neither seemed to have noticed that she’s a psychic or that she’s a hunter. If anything, he seems to be trying his level best to avoid doing anything other than playing with several small desk nicknacks he has. One appears to be a magic eight ball shaped like a robot. Another appears to be a miniature game of Hungry Hungry Hippos. Yet another appears to be some kind of controller for the painfully inoffensive music the permit office plays.

Frankly, they’re all almost as distracting as the eyes that cover every inch of the demon’s body that isn’t wearing the permit office uniform. The eyes glow, faint and unsettling. They move as though on a higher framerate than the universe, giving a strange, out-of-sync effect with the way the demon otherwise moves. They make Pearl’s heart pound.

Hermitopia Hellmouth. It’s real. It’s real.

The demon gives her paperwork back. “You’ll be mailed a new license at some point. Here’s the temp. Have a day or whatever.”

“Thanks, er…” She squints at his name tag. It’s in deliberately small font. “Grian?”

Grian waves her off. “If my boss gets mad I’ll tell him it’s your fault I’m not meeting KPIs. Go away.”

“Your boss must be tough,” Pearl says.

There is a long, eerie silence.

“Cub would have Stared back. I’m not paid to bother. Learn to shield better. Next.”

Pearl stands still for a beat too long before stepping out of line, clutching her temporary license in hand. The worst part is that she has to wait for the permanent one, and they’ll only mail it to the physical address she gave them. That’s the thing about government-issued IDs; they care where you physically are.

She breathes. The world’s been overwhelming since she’s learned to See, but her new organization has helped a lot. Now, she has an opportunity to help back, here in Hermitopia.

Pearl owes nothing less than her best, presuming the demons don’t come to the address they apparently have in the night, now that they know she’s here, and she knows they are. She shudders, deeply unsettled. She knows she will not sleep tonight.

(After all, for a moment—a single, horrifying, terrible moment—those hundreds of demonic eyes had seemed kind.)

[rottenpumpkin13]

Sephiroth adopts a cat. How does everyone in Shinra react?

Angeal: He's spiraling. Processing the implications. "So I joked about being your dad one (1) time, and now you adopt a cat? Technically that makes me the cat's grandfather. I'm not ready for this responsibility, Sephiroth. I don't even know how to knit!" (He learns how to knit. The cat now owns seven sweaters).

Hojo: Absolutely livid. "A pet?! You have no need for companionship, you are a weapon of war!" Rants about allergens and dander compromising Sephiroth's "biochemical sanctity." Sephiroth responds by flooding his Shinra email with daily cat updates: the cat in a tiny cape, the cat curled on his chest, the cat pawing at Hojo's shredded research notes. Hojo blocks the sender. Sephiroth starts mailing prints.

Genesis: Absolutely incensed. Not at the cat itself, he's not a monster, but at the audacity. "So when I invite you for coffee and a deep-dive literary discussion, you're 'too busy,' but this little furred interloper gets to nap on your shoulder during dinner??" He's convinced the cat is scheming. Worming its way into Sephiroth's daily schedule like it's staging a coup to replace him. He now refers to her as "That Furred Usurper" in passing.

Lazard: At first? Thrilled. Overjoyed, even. "Sephiroth forming a bond with a pet, remarkable! Proof of emotional development!" He tells the press offhandedly that Sephiroth's new feline companion is a symbol of Shinra's evolving image. But the honeymoon ends the day Sephiroth brings the cat to a meeting. Doesn't say a word about it, just sets her on the conference table. Midway through a quarterly budget report, the cat meows. Loudly. Right as Lazard's discussing defense spending. Everyone goes quiet. Sephiroth casually says "She disagrees with your projections." Lazard tries to recover. Then Sephiroth starts translating every meow like a running commentary. "She says your graphs are unclear." "She questions the validity of your sources." Lazard considers resignation.

Zack: Takes it dead seriously. This is Sephiroth's cat. This is a military-adjacent feline with implied rank. One time he walked into Sephiroth's office to get a permission slip, but Sephiroth was out, and only the cat was there. Zack stared at her. She stared back. He saluted, said "Ma'am!" and left. He's now convinced she outranks him. Will catch himself standing flat against the wall so she could pass first through a door.

Reeve: Surprisingly invested. "Make sure she has vertical space because cats love to climb. What's her litter made of? You might want to try tofu based!" He builds the cat a miniature version of Sector 8 for enrichment as a gift. Tries to set up playdates between her and "this totally normal robot cat toy I have, trust me she'll like it." Cait Sith and the cat end up becoming besties.

[sunschay]

An Unwanted Guest || Natasha Romanoff x Male Reader

You return home after two years serving in the American army, having been forced by your father to enlist. But you didn't expect to have another stepmother in such a short space of time.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: Inappropriate language, swearing, sexual tension, age gap (Reader is 21, Nat is 42, she's a milf ugh), Bruce is a terrible and disrespectful husband. *

Also, this is not fully proofread yet, so it may contain some minor spelling errors.*

Word count: 10k

You wake up to the sound of banging pots and pans and a loud bell ringing in the back of the dormitory. It must be about five in the morning, but that's the time everyone here is obliged to wake up anyway, as early as possible. Sleep isn't important, but your work and your duties? Without a shadow of a doubt. You hear the recruits getting up from their bunks and putting on their uniforms, berets, boots and belts before retiring to the mess hall. You get dressed as well, brush your teeth and splash cold water on your face and almost jump with fright when you turn around and see a man standing in front of you.

“Private Banner. There's new mail for you at the post office outside the base.” Sam Wilson says, almost like a robot, the dark circles around his eyes giving away his bad sleep during the night.

“Thanks, Wilson.” You press your lips together and nod, retreating to the cafeteria.

It's an ordinary cafeteria, at least 30 to 40 square meters, with 25 tables and chairs scattered around. The canteen is a rather small kitchen that houses large pots and pans, two built-in stoves with four burners each and a huge fridge taking up almost half the space. The soldiers form a queue with trays everywhere to eat.

“Combatant Banner, how's your day going? There are three letters and correspondence from Mr. Banner waiting for you.” Your most familiar and talkative friend, Steven Rogers, greets you with the same smile as every day.

“Hey mate! Thanks for that, really. How's your day going?” You reply and give him a brief hug. “Good so far, no women around unfortunately.”

Steve is a good man, he's also an excellent and extremely competent soldier, unfortunately life (in this case, the top lieutenants) has placed him as a letter carrier indefinitely supposedly because Rogers doesn't reach the level of skill and strength as other recruits. But he's still a nice guy with his straight-edged blond hair, his friendly smile, his blue eyes and his pumped-up muscles.

“Thanks for this, Steve. I bet my old man is just asking me how things are going. He should know by now that I'm coming home tomorrow.” You snort and pick up the thick envelopes, seeing that the other letters are from your 13-year-old brother, Derek.

It was probably one of his drawings that he's always sent you since you joined the army.

“I hear you've got a new hot stepmother- I say, I hear you've got a new stepmother, comrade. You know, Derek tells me everything. I love that kid.” He gives you a nervous wink and you choke on air.

“Stepmother!? Wait, bloody hell! That's the fourth woman my old man's taken in two whole years.” You shake your head in disbelief.

“Come on, Y/n. He's single and still a bit young, a man should celebrate his freedom as he sees fit. But sometimes, with a new woman comes new problems.” Steve laughs lightly, finding your nervous expression amusing.

“The thing is, he's been having fun with several women for a long time, Steve, and he always gets into trouble with all of them because he doesn't know how to deal with break-ups. I bet she's a bitter old woman with a bunch of kids. Thanks, man, I'll have to accept another little woman wanting to boss me around anyway. See you in the cafeteria.” You roll your eyes and say goodbye to Steve with a high five.

After picking up the tray, you sit down and start opening the cards, barely touching the food in front of you. As soon as you finish opening the first letter, a long sigh leaves your lips before you start reading.

"Hey, my firstborn, how are things going over there? If I remember correctly, you're just finishing your service and will be going home soon. Derek misses you, I helped him send you his many drawings of dinosaurs and of you painted next to him in a soldier's uniform. He can't stop talking about you. I've also heard that you're as strong as a big Nutcracker doll. That's my boy. On the other hand, I imagine that Rogers has already told you everything. Son, yes, I'm in a relationship with another woman. Natasha is the most incredible and fascinating woman I've ever seen, and it's the best thing that could have happened in my life, I think you'll like her. We can't wait to see you, firstborn, come home soon."

Running your hands through your hair, you let out a heavy, tired sigh, taking a few bites of the not-so-juicy apple on the tray and looking at the mashed potatoes mixed into a soup with a strange texture. The food isn't always the best, but there's nothing to complain about, at least you have something to eat.

“I told you, new stepmother, new problems.” Rogers giggles as he enters the cafeteria and then laughs when he sees your frown.

“At least I hope this one doesn't try to burn our house down.” You say with a frustrated half-smile, eating with some effort.

“Relax, she must be a good woman.” Steve places the tray on the table, looking away for a moment.

You continue eating and frown when you see that he's practically drooling, staring in the opposite direction. Your head turns slowly and you see Second Lieutenant Stark and Agent Carter enter the cafeteria, walking together as they talk. She's pretty, with short brown hair, light eyes, a light button on her lips and a military uniform, wearing high boots. Agent Carter is actually the first General of the United States Women's Army, so basically, she's a well-known woman around here and sometimes makes a visit to the men's military base to do "research", evaluations and things like that.

“I'm going to have to get a bigger bucket if you keep drooling over her like this.” You smile, feeling Steve throw a stuffed potato at you.

“Ew, I wasn't even looking like that. Mind your own business.” He scolds you, fiddling awkwardly with his food.

“Oh, the one who spoke is no longer here.” You laugh and finish eating, getting up when the lieutenant calls you to run around the courtyard.

This time, you wake up before the bell rings and the noisy pots start banging to wake up the rest of the soldiers. Today is "vacation" day, if you can call it that. You're coming home after two years away. Finally. You'll be able to sleep when you want, when you want, drink, do all the rebellious shit you share with Steve. As you enter the bathroom, you pick up a razor and fit a new blade into the razor, washing your face with warm water and spreading shaving foam over your face as you shave. After removing the loose hairs from your face, you wash it thoroughly and face the new pencil moustache covering your skin, all the rest of your skin shaved and clean.

“It's not so bad.” You whisper, running your fingers over the moustache.

As soon as you've finished the rest of your hygiene, you pick up your farewell uniform, putting on your camouflage collarless shirt, pants and boots. You run your fingers through your black hair and comb it gently until it's neatly aligned, then you put your beret on your head. When you return, the dormitories are already empty and the commanders take the rest of the conscript soldiers outside to catch the bus home. You wouldn't take a bus home if Bruce came to pick you up, but with a brainless father like him, it wasn't good to risk being late. You stand in the queue and immediately feel someone tugging your ears back slightly, turning to see Steve right behind you.

“Hey, buddy, you look like you've just stepped off a modeling cover. If I were a woman, I'd be wet just looking at that moustache.” Rogers jokes and you roll your eyes, joining in.

“Yeah, and you look like a nomad with that much beard, the girls will love that.” You put your hands behind your back and he sighs. “I wish.”

“Private Y/n Chase Banner, 21 years old, British, sergeant correspondent. You may board.” The man hands back your papers.

“Sometimes I forget you're British. It's a bit ironic, you don't even like a cup of tea.” Steve says, straining his accent and making you laugh. “Why tea when we have whisky and beer in America?”

Steve laughs and takes the documents out of his pocket, handing them to the driver. Quickly all the soldiers board and you press your head against the hard seat, looking out of the window as the base slowly moves away and the bus accelerates. You hear Steve chattering non-stop next to you about Agent Carter, saying how divine and beautiful she was, and saying how much he wished he had a chance with her. The trip from Kentucky to Washington DC would take at least 8 hours and something more, it was still early in the morning and you'd be arriving in the afternoon or even evening, so you just answered Steve with nods and brief 'um, yeahs' as you drifted off to sleep.

“Hey, buddy, this isn't bedtime! Wake up!” Steve shook you, making you jump in your seat slightly.

Your fingers rubbed your eyes and you shook your head, gradually adjusting your vision. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, delivering a warm and muggy evening, the clouds gradually disappearing as the larger group of soldiers began to get off the bus at the Washington terminal. Steve laughed as he commented on your sleepy face and you grabbed your backpack, following him off the bus. It was clear that Bruce hadn't made any effort to come and see you in Kentucky, so it annoyed and irritated you at the same time, but there was no point in wasting time with your grumpy old dad.

“You're coming to dinner with me. That's not a request.” She joked with him as they started walking together.

Your house wasn't three blocks away, it wasn't that far, so it would be nice to walk.

“If it's to meet your hot stepmother, I'm always up for it.” He said and you punched him in the bicep.

“How do you know she's hot and not some old lady with a herniated disc who's obsessed with plants?” You opened a packet of mints, handing him another.

“Derek told me she's not old. And I know Mr. Banner doesn't date old ladies. Come on, Y/n, it's only been three times.” He replies, making you let out a laugh.

“Three times describes my father's character very well, Steve. Well, let's face it, there are a lot of hot old ladies out there.” You blink, feeling his critical gaze on your back.

“You're a fucking pervert. I didn't know you liked old ladies, man.” He laughs, pushing you slightly.

“I didn't say I liked old women! I'm just saying that there are some older women, in their forties and fifties, who are hot, depending on the individual. There was a friend of my father's, I think her name was Wanda, something like that, and she was in her late thirties or early forties. She looked like she was in her twenties, I swear to you, she was crazy as hell! Of course, not all women get to that age looking good, it's a question of grooming and vanity, you know.” You explained, kicking a few stones along the way.

“To me, that's like saying: 'I'm definitely into fucking an older woman's brains out', there's no limit to that, bro, you're an adult and single.” He winks and you laugh out loud. “Wait, why do I feel like something happened between you and this Wanda?”

“She gave me head in the bathroom at her nephew's birthday party. If that answers your question.” You smile mischievously and Steve shakes you like he's made a great discovery. “I knew it, you tricksome pervert! If she really is that hot, then I understand you.”

“You say that as if Carter wasn't a little older than you." Your eyes narrow and he shrugs.

“That's another matter, Banner.” He smiles smugly.

As soon as the two of you arrive, you stop to look around the house. It looks the same, but at the same time it looks like a different house. As if you didn't belong here. The house is still surrounded by orchids and tulips that you planted years ago in memory of your mother, something you did every year to remember well what she liked to do when she was alive. The house had worn-out paintwork, ajar windows and a tall lawn, which made you wonder if Bruce was so useless as not to mow a simple garden lawn. You walked up to the front door and knocked lightly against it, hearing some loud voices talking from inside.

“Just a minute!” A female voice shouted from inside and you slowly turned to face Steve, who had a small smile on his lips. “Time to meet Mom, Banner.”

You rolled your eyes deeply and tried to ignore him, scratching your moustache nervously as footsteps approached the door.

When the door opened, the first thing that came into your mind was that Steve was probably right. She wasn't old at all. Or she was Bruce's own age and she was fucking well preserved, which you thought, fuck, that's got to be it. The vision lit up before you, with a redhead opening the door of your own house with sweet wavy red hair down to her shoulders, big curious green eyes analyzing you as if she already knew who you were before you even said a word, her face as delicate as pieces of porcelain, her nose turned up and the most beautiful lips you could find. She was much shorter than you and than Steve, which meant that you had to look up to meet your eyes and that you had to move your head down to see her.

A black dress falls over her body with delicacy and a deafening elegance. There are a few buttons from the opening, which shows a little of her pale neck, to the middle of her waist, which has a belt around it. It's a simple garment. But it doesn't exude any kind of vulgarity, although this woman... she exudes lust through her eyes. She has slight expression marks under her eyes, almost imperceptible, but which give away the fact that she is much older than you. And she hasn't even said a word to you. A pearly necklace is around that elegant slender neck and you hold your breath, locking your jaw before you speak.

“May I ask who you are?” Your whisper is precise and firm, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that her cheeks are flushing.

“Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. You must be Y/n. I'm your father's wife.” She answers you just as firmly, although her nervousness shows through a little and Steve's eyes widen behind you.

You would never have thought that your father would get married so quickly, even if it was his way of getting into bed with any woman for one night and then telling you that he was in a relationship with her. But he had married her! That was too much.

“It's me, yes.” That's the only answer that came out of his mouth and Natasha seemed to swallow with some bewilderment.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Romanoff. I'm Y/n's friend, Steve Rogers. I hope you don't mind my presence, it may have been a little unexpected.” Steve greets her with a light handshake.

“It would never be a bother to receive you, please, the house is more yours than mine.” She smiles and turns to you.

Without a word, you lean in as Steve pulls away from her hand. Her nails are painted a bright red, which contrasts with her red hair. Your hand brushes against hers, which makes Natasha almost gasp and electricity runs through her body when your hand gently squeezes hers. Without further words or affirmations, this is much more than Natasha would have expected to feel. You raise your head and she quickly moves to the side, making room for you and Steve to enter.

You won't admit it, but you're fascinated by Natasha's beauty. You also know now that you were wrong to think that she was older than Bruce, he only went out a few times with some noble ladies full of money with arrogance stamped on their faces.

“Y/n!” A weak, childish voice shouts at you, and you laugh as you feel little arms go around your legs. “Hey, big boy.”

You greet Derek, feeling him cling to your neck and hug you tightly, as if he hasn't seen you for decades. Well, he hadn't seen you in almost three years, so it made perfect sense.

“Doesn't anyone miss me?” Steve mocked. “Stevie!”

You laugh and let them talk, quickly answering a few of Derek's questions before seeing Bruce off down the stairs. He's got his black hair tangled and all out of order, his glasses are crooked on his face and he's wearing a white coat, with a scruffy beard. He looks a mess, with dark circles under his eyes and a breath of something like campari. You look him up and down with judgment and press your hand on the strap of your backpack.

“Hey, big boy.” He approaches you and gives you a firm hug.

“Hey, old man. I thought you'd see me at the Fort.” You say, frowning with annoyance masked as irritation.

“Well, you're already a big man, Y/n. Not to mention I was looking after your brother, he needs to brush his teeth and do his homework.” He says, turning away and fixing his glasses.

“Of course, you're always worried about my brother stinking of pure alcohol.” You say firmly, your jaw locking with some force.

“Is that any way to talk to me, kid?” He looks at you, slowly approaching as Natasha comes back into the room.

“Oh, I believe you're both hungry. I'm making an apple pie before dinner, love, can you help me?” She grasps Bruce's shoulders, who turns away from you. “Of course, darling.”

Your eyes roll back and Natasha gives you a look as if she's analyzing you. It's a fact that, although much older, Bruce is shorter than you, and his bone structure is even smaller, as if you were the older one here. You cross your arms earnestly, feeling the tension start in your broad shoulders and work its way down your burly biceps. Yes, you really have become an even bigger man than your father and Natasha seems to be looking at this before turning her face away and entering the kitchen.

“Hey, man. Relax, let's just enjoy the night.” Steve grabs your arm, visibly tense, and pulls you over to the sofa.

You sit down with him, try to relax but it's almost unavoidable. Bruce Banner has always been the kind of guy who is a compulsive alcoholic. He goes to support groups every weekend to try to get some support from other people who suffer from the same problem, but he keeps drinking as if he depended on it. He wasn't exactly a friendly father to you, it's as if he was always there but absent. He didn't teach you how to shave, so you learned on your own – with support from Steve who has a great dad – he didn't teach you how to pick up girls or how to flirt or how to drive, let alone how to listen when you had any doubts. He's like a ghost who breathes, eats and sleeps. But he's never really there for his children.

That's probably why your mother divorced him in your teens before that accident. Bruce is a difficult person to deal with, something you clearly took from him, but you're completely different. You're a good man, you're there for Derek, you're good with children, you're civilized, patient – when you want to be – and you're everything your father would like you to be.

“Look, I drew a picture of my school friends, Uncle Stevie and Y/n/n!” He says, handing you a drawing.

In it, Derek is drawn wearing the same blue sweatpants and plaid shirt at the actual moment. His hair is messy and slightly disheveled, his round glasses are crooked and you straighten them on his pale face, seeing that there is a blond boy next to him and a girl in a pink dress with long red hair.

“Who's that, little guy?” You ask as you stroke his hair.

“That's my friend, Emily!” He says between jumps and Steve looks at you with a smile. “Friend, huh?”

“Do you fancy her, mate? It's okay to talk to us, it's boy talk here, we won't judge you.” You ask and then smile, listening to Steve chatter something. “Fancy? Is that any way to say you're into a girl? You Brits are funny.”

“Give it a rest, Steve, it's noble English. You can talk to me, mate." You stroke Derek's hair and he laughs nervously.

“I think so... Dad says that when you like a girl a lot, you start admiring her, praising all her tastes, her hair, her expressions and everything about her, I see Emily like that. But I'm afraid she likes another boy.” He closes his expression into a sad little beak and you lift him onto your lap.

“Listen, you're a young boy. You're handsome, you've got nice hair like the bloke here.” You look at Steve who starts bragging and you interrupt him. “Maybe Emily is your first love, but you're still very young, you've got a lot to live up to. You've got to finish school, get a good job, make new friends, find a hobby, something you enjoy doing. Life isn't just about girls or love, it's about you and how you want to live it. And if Emily ever lets you down with another bloke, send her home to the grumpy toad.”

“What's the Grumpy Toad's house?” Steve blinks in confusion and you lean in to whisper. “A polite way of telling someone to fuck off. He can't swear because he's still a polite little boy.”

“You're unpredictable.” Steve laughs, disbelieving what he's heard.

The conversation between the two of you continues between laughter and irresponsible advice from Steve, who makes you laugh every second at the absurdities he tells you about past relationships, and from Derek, who starts showing you a folder full of his drawings. Lovely doodles. Natasha enters the room after a while, pressed between the doorway and shyly clears her throat.

“Hi guys, I don't mean to interrupt, but dinner's ready.” She says and you stand up, ruffling Derek's hair. “Go brush your teeth, kid. Girls don't like guys with breath.”

Derek mumbles something but climbs the stairs to the bathroom, determined to follow any of your advice, because you're the oldest and he sees tremendous wisdom in you. When you enter the kitchen, you sit down and Steve sits right next to you at the square table, and Bruce is there, scribbling something down. Always working, never with time for his children. Or too drunk to care.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He says, and barely blinks as Natasha places a plate of food in front of him.

“No problem, my love.” She says and her gaze settles on Natasha, who moves gracefully.

Is it wrong to be completely attracted to an older, more experienced woman who is unfortunately your new stepmother? Most likely, but you can't help it. Everything about Natasha is too sexy. Her light-lipped smile, her curves, which even covered by that very covered dress, manage to be somewhat naked. Her legs, the way her knees bend to grab something from the tallest cupboards in the kitchen. You can imagine the way her knees can bend in front of you... and fuck. Stop it, you tell yourself.

“How was your time serving, Y/n?” She asks you, and seems to be talking, or trying to.

“Same as always.” Your answer comes, it's short, but not rude, just disinterested.

The best thing is to look like you're disinterested in her. Not out of rudeness or rebelliousness. But because you feel the adrenaline in your veins that tells you it's dangerous to be so enamored of your stepmother, knowing that this is also something immoral and incorrect. You don't want to lose control.

“Men giving orders. Proud men doing what they want to do. Discipline masquerading as arrogance.” You prolong your answer, and you don't expect Natasha to understand, after all she is a woman and has never been in need of serving her country.

Natasha, on the other hand, is struggling to stay focused on getting more plates and cutlery to distribute to you and Steve during dinner. She's fascinated. Shocked. Silently drawn to you. The difference between you and Bruce is glaring. While he seems sloppy and uncivilized, you speak so calmly and politely that you don't even sound like his son. You're both very similar in appearance, hair, face, expressions, eyes a little, but the difference in size from your father to you is absurd. You're like a wall of muscle compared to him, who clearly makes sense as a fatally alcoholic and careless man.

She rubs her thighs discreetly as she places a plate in front of you and fork and knife on either side of the embroidered plate, hoping you haven't noticed her indecent act, but you're even watching the way her throat moves when she breathes. She feels impure, filthy. She shouldn't look at her husband's son as prey, as if she had never seen such a beautiful and majestic man, a man who, as soon as he entered the house for the first time, left her breathless.

No, you were younger. Perhaps more naive, too young. And you were her husband's son. Her stepson.

“If I may ask, does that make you uncomfortable? Taking orders?” She asks, placing her plate and cutlery in front of Steve.

You lick your lips slowly. Natasha stares at you. She likes that. An act so simple and ordinary that it made her almost drool all over that table. She was a depraved and incorrect woman at that moment. Natasha loses herself in you at that moment. The intense green gaze flees from your calm lips to your drawn jaw, sculpted beyond her comprehension. Your eyes are wild yet calm, they exude...a hard life. A life full of challenges. They're dominant and Natasha doesn't like the way they intimidate her without you even realizing it. But that's you, a mystery to her, silent and solid. A black ocean with no comprehensible answers.

“I only do what I'm asked. It's my job.” Her whisper comes, quiet, yet icy.

“A man who works without complaining becomes a good worker. I think that's what I taught you.” Bruce speaks for the first time, taking a bite of his food.

In front of you, the smell of food fills your stomach and you barely notice Natasha serving you as you are busy facing even the worst fears of her soul. Your hands move nimbly and you cut off a piece of meat, putting it in your mouth and chewing slowly. It takes her a few seconds to realize it's a stew and the salty broth with potatoes, carrots and peas melts in her mouth perfectly.

“First of all, you cook perfectly well, that's great, Natasha.” You say as she sits down to eat and you see her pale cheeks develop a slight blush. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

No one had talked about her food in a long time, not even your father.

“Secondly,” You take a few more mouthfuls, managing to eat half the stew in minutes, and then look at Banner with a certain disgust. “Is that why you sent me to the army? To teach me your own kind of passivity?”

“You seem to like offending me sometimes, kid.” He laughs dryly, helping Derek to sit down and assemble his plate. “What's wrong with being passive?”

“Nothing, nothing wrong with it. Except that whenever someone confronts you, all you know how to do is roll over and show your belly like a puppy.” You cluck your tongue, listening to Bruce grumble.

“I think we'd better calm down a bit here-” Steve begins, still starting to eat when you cut him off. “No, I won't calm down.”

“I sent you to the army to control your rebelliousness and lack of control!” Bruce replies, starting to get upset.

“My rebelliousness? Don't fuck with me, Bruce.” You spat, completely disbelieving that you had heard such a thing.

“You've always acted in a problematic way, breaking laws, coming home late without giving explanations, disrespecting your own father! What did you want me to do? Shake your hair and tell you how to act, as if you were actually going to listen to me?” He shouted back, pointing a finger at you.

“You never cared about me yourself. You send me to the army to control me by saying I'm a rebel and all that shit and now you treat me like some fucking bum you don't even know. You sit on your ass here all the time, you only go out to work or to drink like you always have, you think you're an example of something?” Your hand hits the table and Steve gets up next to you, trying to stop anything worse from happening.

“You shut up when I talk to you, kid!” He growls and Natasha grabs him by the shoulders. “Bruce, please, let's put this aside. Derek's here, sweetheart.”

“Enough, please, let's calm down, man.” Steve puts his hand on your arm, suddenly getting serious.

Your chest is rising and falling through the camouflage uniform, hitting your ribcage with some violence. Natasha is frightened, even though she tries not to show it, it's quite transparent. She's heard Bruce's stories about you, that you had the same explosive temper as him even though you were different, that as a teenager you got into fights frantically and that you were suspended from school for 'vandalizing' the bathroom walls and things like that. Most of that was true, but the only friend you had was Steve, you were both often chased by the good-looking guys and bullies for being "skinny and weird" and ended up being extremely excluded and beaten up at the time. As if the confusion came to you both on purpose.

In any case, Natasha didn't know you and became involved with Bruce shortly after you officially joined the army, where you were promoted to the rank of Private E-2 a year later. Although Bruce was her husband, he generally behaved unpleasantly some of the time, especially when he got drunk in front of Natasha, which also discouraged Derek and made him sad, wishing he had more time with his father. She wanted to get to know you better, she felt that you had a good heart and she didn't really want to believe all the absurd stories that Bruce told her as if he wanted to make you a bad son for his wife.

“I wish I didn't have to look at your face.” Your answer came, harsh, indifferent.

Bruce didn't move, however, as if it hadn't hit him. He really didn't care about you at all. You felt an extreme pang of guilt when you saw Derek at the end of the table, hunched over with his hands on his head. He hated arguing and shouting, and it often happened between you and Bruce, but you avoided fighting in front of the boy as much as possible to prevent that kind of thing from happening to him there.

“All right, darling, come here.” She called to him, hugging him and trying to calm him down.

The rest of dinner was a terrible, deathly silence that pressed down on her throat, absolutely wanting to break Bruce in half. But you wouldn't, you already felt bad enough for scaring your little brother. When you'd finished eating, feeling Steve stare at you in fear of another fight breaking out, you got up and put your cutlery and plate in the sink, emptying a glass full of orange juice that you'd barely touched minutes before.

“Oh, Y/n, you don't have to do that, I could really do it-” Natasha intervenes, but you respond subtly. “It's okay, I don't mind.”

She stops in place, her lips parted in shock. It was rare for a real man to be there to do something as simple and minimal as washing dishes without her having to ask. Because for that very reason, Bruce wouldn't do it on the grounds that 'he worked too much' and Natasha had to take care of the cleaning and everything else in the house on her own. But it weighed on her, she felt alone there, even if it seemed silly. Bruce Banner described himself as an old-fashioned man, but something about him pointed more towards a misogyny hidden under the carpet. You really were different from the man she married.

“Oh, all right.” She sighs, the corner of her lips curving slowly.

Putting a little detergent on the yellow sponge, you subtly scrub the plate and then the cutlery and glass. You turn on the tap and wash everything silently, watching a few bubbles of foam disappear down the drain and everything become clean, then you take a dry cloth and dry everything, placing it inside the cupboard in the proper places for each object. You knew how to do everything apart from washing dishes. Washing your father's rusty car, cleaning the whole house, absolutely everything that would be considered 'women's chores' that your mother taught you before she died. And he silently despised you for it, but it didn't matter, because there had been a helpful and very useless man in this house and now that man was back.

“Are you staying for dessert?” Natasha asks as she watches you dry your hands and Steve also wash his dirty plates and cutlery quickly.

“No, Steve and I are going to stay in my room for a while. We can eat later if there's anything left, thank you very much.” You shove your hands in your pockets, watching her nod a little tensely and pick up all the remaining dirty dishes when Steve gives her a nod.

The two of you climb the stairs and soon reach your room. It's not a small room, but it's spacious enough to hold everything you like. Philosophy books, art books, porn magazines that you used to swap with Steve when you were teenagers, – yes, this is kept secret – some toolboxes in case you needed them when something broke in the house, a collection of old CDs by the Beatles, Led Zeppelin and a thousand other bands and singers from the 70s and 80s. The room is still tidy, with a single bed lined with thin blue sheets and a gray pillow. There's also a desk and a medium-sized cupboard in the corner next to an old window.

The smell of your room and nostalgia is cozy, almost intoxicating.

“Hey, man, do you really keep them all? No kidding!” Steve laughs, picking up the magazines with the half-naked women on the covers.

Although you didn't have an addiction to this kind of thing, you and Steve were once two curious teenagers with hormones running wild in the middle of puberty. You'd get excited and buy these magazines on the sly, but even so, you weren't the type who needed to see a naked woman's body to get completely turned on. No, you were better than that, and you knew that real bodies worked better, were beautiful and much more objective.

“Of course, I left the army and ended up forgetting all this garbage.” You laugh, opening the drawers and leafing through some superhero comics, watching Steve laugh as he sees a cover with a blonde woman on one of the covers wearing pink lingerie. “No, no! Fuck, man that was the worst, I remember you gave it to me with the pages sticking together, you fucking pervert!”

“Sorry, man, I couldn't help myself! I still remember the look on your face when you got it full of life.” He says and you rolls your eyes.

“Jesus, that was disgusting. I'm going to throw it all away anyway, unless you want to keep it as a souvenir.” You laugh quietly and he makes a vomiting noise.

“No, thanks.” Steve shakes his head, walks over and picks up some comics to read too.

You put on a band CD while you lose yourself in conversation with Steve, remembering everything. You both laugh out loud when you remember the time Steve put a live frog on the head of a girl who was terrified of frogs, because she just thought it was funny to make fun of your worn-out shoes and said you couldn't afford new ones. He's never been so furious, no one could mess with you, only each other and all in jest, of course.

It was a great pastime for you to play pranks on bad students and grumpy teachers, or to skip important classes to drink cheap beer while listening to a small radio given to you by Steve's father. Those were incredible times, which only got old in the best way when Steve and you decided to enlist for the first time at the age of 18, getting kicked out because of arguments you had with some of the lieutenants. Anyway, you both found a way to get into the American army through the Kentucky fort, and obviously, together.

So Steve and you knew each other practically from your mother's womb. Joseph and Bruce met during high school before they got involved with their respective wives. They both served in the army, but only Mr. Rogers decided to make it a career, although he didn't succeed and decided to go into medicine. They were extremely close throughout your and Steve's adolescence, until one day they drifted apart over a mysterious fight in which you never really found out the motivation.

Even so, you and Steve could fight for centuries and still remain good friends.

“Hey, there's someone at the door.” Steve yawned, signaling the light knocks on your bedroom door.

With a light sigh, you put your comic aside, turning down the volume of a small, still-functional radio that was playing Black Sabbath in the background. When you opened the door, you saw her again.

Natasha. Your 'lovely' stepmother. She was standing right in front of the door, with two pieces of pie on a large plate and a tense, apparently shy look on her face. You still didn't understand why she looked at you as if she was going to dismount at any moment. She was wearing a beige apron over her dress and her hair was now slightly wavy at the ends, her face flushed.

“I know you may not be that hungry anymore, but I can't help trying. The pie is still warm, it's apple with caramel on top and blackberries and you know, I'm sorry about Bruce. Your father didn't have a good day, Y/n.” She sighs, looking away for a moment.

“Did I hear the word pie!?” Steve jumps out of bed already excited.

“I appreciate that. I'm sorry about the argument. I think he always tries to take it out on me, but that's okay. How's Derek?” You blink slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of Natasha staring you down to the core.

“Fine, I guess. I fed him dinner and some pie, got him to brush his teeth and now he's sleeping like a newborn after reading your stories about bigfoot.” She laughs softly, making you smile.

“He'll end up having nightmares about it. Thank you, Mrs. Romanoff.” You say, your voice already husky and slightly sleepy.

“Natasha, call me Natasha. There's no need for formalities here.” She replies, licking her lips slowly.

“Natasha.” You whisper back, hearing Natasha's breathing increase as you spell her name perfectly on the tip of her tongue.

“Have a good night. If you need anything you can call me and I'll be in the next room.” She says, almost stuttering, and nods as she walks away. “Good night, Natasha.”

“God, I thought you were going to eat each other and leave the pie behind!” Steve grumbles, picking up a piece with one of the forks and takes a bite, closing his eyes. “Wonderful!”

“Bloody hell, Steve, she's my father's wife!” you laugh incredulously, taking a piece of the sweet pie. “It's really good, it's fucking delicious.”

“But I know that. She's still got the hots for you, don't you see?” He shrugged, starting to devour the pie in seconds. “And even if she wasn't your father's, it must be worth losing yourself...you know, in that woman.”

“You're absolutely shameless. And I would never do that, no matter how much my father deserves it.” You roll your eyes, taking another piece of pie and Steve smiles. “I'm paying to see how badly this goes.”

Your wristwatch reads at least 6:10 in the morning. You don't know why you woke up so early on a Monday when you were on vacation from work, so to speak. Perhaps waking up at 5 a.m. every day at the Fort to paint walls and curbs, patrol, and other exhausting military services has made you accustomed to waking up at those times as if you were an uncontrolled robot. So you took a shower, brushed your teeth and ate an apple before going to Steve's house to pick up some cans of paint.

Your house was in a deplorable state, with the paint on all the walls outside peeling off, the garden with its extremely high lawn dirty with leaves thrown over it since last fall, dead plants and flowers everywhere and the appearance of the house itself sad and gray. You had to do something about it, since Bruce hasn't done it in two whole years.

Wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, the clock now reads 7:19 in the morning. You finish running the roller full of paint up to the top of the back wall of the house, not even needing a ladder because you're so fit. In an hour you've managed to paint the whole house and now you're going to rip down the wooden fences and put up new, clean ones.

“Y/n! What are you doing? It's so early and it's roasting hot out there!” You hear a familiar feline voice and drop the paint roller on top of the empty can.

You step away from the can and container and wipe the excessive sweat from your chest, your skin was probably all sunburnt, exposed to the bare torso and shapely legs on display. Natasha is at the door, dressed in a red sweater. Holy shit. You turn your face away, feeling deeply warmed, and run your paint-smeared hands over your face, clad only in baggy shorts and barefoot.

“I'm painting the house, Natasha.” You answer simply and matter-of-factly, watching out of the corner of your eye as she puts a thin blouse over it, certainly embarrassed.

“At 7 in the morning! You must be dying of heat! Have you applied sunscreen?” She asks, approaching quickly.

You missed the maternal concern and affection, but considering the current situation, it was totally inappropriate.

“We didn't use sun cream during our time in the army. Especially during patrols on the patio with direct contact with the sun, or anywhere else where it was necessary. They simply didn't hand out sunscreen to us.” You say and shrug, discarding the empty tin and the rest of the used items.

“That's horrible, you could get serious burns!” She replies and puts her hand to her head, making you laugh. "I'll be back in a minute."

Natasha leaves and you wash your hands in a sink at the back of the house, removing as much of the gooey paint as you can and wetting your head and chest to try and cool off. As soon as you've finished, you go down to the basement and get a box full of new fences that haven't even been used before. First you get the rest of the tools and put everything in the garden, then you get a lawnmower, which luckily isn't rusty.

You push the lawnmower as soon as the blades shoot out, starting to cut the grass quickly. Your hands are steady and nimbly, you're finishing off the first row of grass. Pressing the button on the side of the mower, you snort and sigh deeply, resting your hands on your waist.

“I'm going to melt like this, my Lord.” You say to yourself with a laugh.

Going round to the back, you find a sack and a shovel and start gathering up all that grass and throwing it into the sack. It could be useful or reusable at some point.

“Hey you! All right, take a break from that and come and eat properly.” Natasha appears as soon as you've collected all the grass in the sack and walks over to you gently.

She's now wearing a black tank top, which emphasises her perfectly marked collarbone and her pale neck, which is as delicate as any detail can be. On her legs are a pair of denim shorts, neither short nor baggy, but you can still see how her shapely thighs look so perfectly...thick in them. And she looks so natural, nothing forced, just there, for you, carrying a plate with a cut sandwich, a glass of juice and a bottle of water. I mean, your father was lucky but he was an idiot, why on earth would he deserve someone like that?

“Natasha, really, you didn't have to do that. I don't want you to bother with me.” You say, feeling your face very red, from the sun - and from a certain effect it has on you - and sweaty.

“I'm not bothered at all. I'm not going to let you die of dehydration in this heat, it must be 30 degrees or more!” She exclaims and you carefully pick up the plate, cautiously dropping the other equipment. “Wait, open your arms a little, don't let go of the plate please.”

You frown and open your arms, pushing the plate as far away from your torso and body as you can. Natasha approaches you, taking a plastic bottle from the pocket of her shorts and opens the lid, pouring some kind of cream onto her fingers. You stare at the words written in blue and white, trying to decipher the smudges, and your jaw drops in disbelief. It was sun cream.

“Natasha, look, it's okay, I've got used to the sun-” you say, but it's too late.

The woman is smearing sunscreen on your face, and you're so red that even under the sunscreen, you can see how flushed and hot you look. Oh, shit.

“The sun doesn't get used to any of us, though. Once when I was half your age, I went to a beach in Miami, Florida, with my parents and some friends. I slathered sunscreen all over my body except my buttocks and um... I definitely couldn't sit up straight for a week after that, the burns weren't kind to me and it wasn't the sun's fault.” She laughs lightly, gently rubbing the sun cream into her cheeks and forehead.

The heat in your cheeks spreads even more violently and you gently bite your lower lip, something that Natasha notices and strangely makes her legs wobble. I wonder what else makes her unable to sit down for a whole week. Fucking stop it, you cut off your thoughts before they spread, but they're dirty all the same.

“That must have been hard.” You answer, and your voice slowly begins to die.

What is she doing now, my Lord?

Natasha finishes spreading the sunscreen on your face and neck, her fingers still smeared with protector trailing down the start of your chest. Your skin is burning, but that's not what fascinates her, it's the hard, burly, extremely rock-hard flesh of your pectorals, covered in a very thin, sparse line of hair. She gasps as discreetly as she can, trying her best not to grab his every muscle and touch and squeeze. In fact, she knows now that you look like more than a wall, it's as if you were made completely of muscle and only a little 'skin' covering everything.

Romanoff's hand slides to the end of your chest on the right side, and she doesn't even know what she's doing, for her, she's just spreading the rest of the sunscreen on her fingers. But you feel it, you feel her grip, her electrifying, mundane, specific touch, as if she wanted to scratch every part of your skin as well as touch it, as if she wanted to do everything you could imagine there.

“I'm sorry.” She says, swallowing dry and trying to swallow her own shame as well.

But she still feels your warmth. She feels your minty fresh breath, pleasant and peaceful, she feels how affected you were by a single touch of her delicate, soft hand. You want more and maybe she knows it, but that's wrong, it's inappropriate.

“You can leave the sunscreen somewhere, I'll put more on after I've cut everything here.” You say and she nods quickly, hugging her own body.

“This is going to be a lot of work.” She says and you nod, taking a bite and moaning slightly.

The sandwich is a spicy mix of tomato, toasted wholemeal bread, smoked turkey breast, mayonnaise, a little mustard, bean sprouts, cheese and a spicy dressing. As well as being kind, intelligent, seductive, completely attractive, the woman cooks like hell, what more could Bruce want? Absolutely nothing.

“Fuck, this is fucking divine, the work will be worth it. Thank you so much.” You thank her without knowing what else to say, the scouse accent making Natasha wince.

She had time to notice your accent and your voice as soon as she arrived with Steve at the residence yesterday. She, however, had no idea that you were British or anything. Not least because all Bruce ever really said about you were the most unpleasant compliments in the form of criticisms. He proved to be a good father to other people, but it was different with you. You could see why.

“No need to thank me, really. I hope you didn't forget your sunscreen.” She says, raising an eyebrow as she tries to look serious and you laugh. “Sure, no problem.”

Your bites are precise and hungry, and you can tell that a single apple an hour ago would never have satisfied you. You finish eating, drink all the pineapple juice and hand it all to Natasha, taking the sunscreen again and spreading it on your fingers, your hands flying across your sweaty pecs, ribs and abs. Natasha walks away towards the house, her gaze lingering on you several times.

She's a married woman. Married to your father. That's not right, it's far from it.

But just taking a look is okay, right?

You hurry, organize everything and start up the machine again, cutting another row of grass. Then another, another, until you've finished with all that tall grass that could end up with some animal hiding there. You put all the grass in two sacks and put them in the corner of the garden, then you start to remove and tear down the old, dirty and soft wooden fences, which are practically falling apart.

After marking out the right height for the fences with lines and stakes, you make a quick calculation and grab a spade, digging the holes where the picket panels will be. It takes about some hours, between quick breaks, your feet are dirty with dirt and now your body is really bathed in sweat, but after lining up the pickets, checking that they're all in the same vertical position, digging non-stop and cleaning dirt off your grass, everything looks perfect. You even do a quick and precise finish, and smile when you see that your work has turned out perfectly.

“Great. I just need to replant the plants soon.” You whisper, feeling tired.

After putting away all the equipment, cleaning up all the grass and briefly painting the fences, you walk away and enter the house, dripping with sweat from head to toe. You wipe your feet on the carpet, imagining that Natasha is the kind of woman who will freak out if you get dirt all over the house and yell at you for hours. Now, however, she's sitting in the living room, with Derek by her side as she appears to help him with his homework.

“Looks like I'm late.” You smile, adjusting the black cap on your head and her gaze quickly falls on you.

She has to control herself, she has to. She's in front of a child.

But it's inevitable.

Bruce would probably show off if he looked like that too, but he's got the typical 40-something dad-beer-belly physique. You, on the other hand... you're majestic, even though you're completely sweaty and give off the classic manly odor of a man who does everything for his family, your muscles being highlighted by sticky sweat, probably swollen from working outside the house. She is silently awestruck, the heat rushes through the blood in her cheeks and her thighs rub together painfully.

“Y/n! Nat said you were painting the whole house.” Derek jumps up, running to hug your legs and you wave.

“I just went to give this house a new look, it was looking sloppy and abandoned. I painted it, put up new fences and now it looks decent, all that's missing is a few details on the inside. And you, big boy, go back to Aunt Nat and do your homework.” You kiss his forehead and the boy runs back to the woman.

“Aren't you hungry? It's practically lunchtime.” Natasha starts talking, looking tense.

“Maybe I'm a bit too hungry, but I need to take a shower and get rid of that skunk smell. Where's Bruce?” You cross your arms, looking around the house for your old father.

“He's gone out to sort out 'work matters', he said he'll be back in the afternoon. You can take your shower, when I've finished here I'll make you something to eat.” She says, smiling gently and you sigh.

You're definitely not used to this motherly treatment. You've always looked after yourself, but Derek first, and Bruce second. You always prioritized family, but that didn't mean you were at ease with Natasha doing it all for you. After all, you've never had anyone really care like that. Natasha seemed to want to take care of you like a newborn baby and that seemed strange, but you didn't want to give her so much trouble. You could look after yourself, so why worry so much?

You didn't want to be so close to her either. You were afraid of what might happen when you were alone, because that sexual tension was evident, it was dry and eager. She looked at you the way you looked at her, with silent desires that even without emitting sound, understanding, could be understood just by looking at you, by searching for you.

The warm water falls over your body, relaxing every tense muscle from your back to your exhausted chest. You lean your forehead against the wall and relax for a moment, allowing yourself to enjoy the feeling of relaxation and calm.

“Fuck.” You whisper softly, feeling a wave of warmth hit your body.

No. No dirty thoughts about an older woman. The problem wasn't that she was older, it was that she was your stepmother.

The foam-filled sponge glides over your stiff, tense body, your eyes closing as you imagine... Natasha on her knees, or lowered to the floor, or bent over with her face buried in the pillow as she smiles at you. A grunt leaves your lips and the blood rushes violently to your semi-hard member.

“Jesus, no.” You say, washing yourself and running some shampoo through your slightly overgrown hair, wiping away all that sweat.

After taking a few more minutes in the shower to get rid of a possible erection, you wash your face and leave the bathroom, drying yourself with the first towel you find there. You're still hot, but you have to control yourself. You want to take her right now, admit it. Your head shakes and you climb the stairs to your room with the towel around your waist, hoping you've been unnoticed, and enter the room, drying yourself quickly.

Passing through the open door, you put on sports shorts and boxer shorts underneath, quickly finishing drying your hair while putting on a tight compression T-shirt. Just wearing it makes you realize how much you've really grown physically.

“Hey, it's time to take Derek to school.” Natasha says as you walk down the stairs with running shoes in your hands.

“Sure, I can do that without any problems, my dad didn't use the car to go out today. Are you coming?” You ask, trying to understand the blush on her cheeks.

“I'd love to. I'm just going to finish tidying him up.” She smiles tensely, and you see your brother waving frantically as Natasha changes his clothes.

Derek then turns around, his hair combed back like his mother used to do with hers, the backpack a little bigger than him slung over his back and wearing a simple blue shirt and shorts, the sneakers identical to yours. Well, Natasha really was a good stepmother. You just couldn't see her the way you were seeing her, because that was incorrect and dirty, but it was almost inevitable.

“Ready?” You lick your lips and the two of you nod quickly. “Good, let's go.”

The road is quiet, peaceful. Natasha tells you where Derek goes to school because he was transferred not long ago and you drive along calmly, listening to them chatting about random, common things. Your hands turn the steering wheel skillfully, and through the rearview mirror you feel Natasha's gaze on you, although you can't say why.

The car stops and you park it in a wide parking lot, turning off the engine and taking off your seat belt. Stepping around the car, you help Derek out of his seatbelt and open the door for Natasha, who looks ecstatic about something but climbs down next to your brother, stroking his hair.

“Professor Carter!” Derek says, and runs out to a female figure standing a few meters away near a silver golf.

Natasha closes the door, giving you a grateful look, and the two of you approach the scene gingerly. Derek is hugging an older woman, she wears a long dress just below her knees in a wine color and her hair is straight blonde and well aligned, her brown eyes surprisingly calm, welcoming the boy and leaning down to hug him back. She... She's familiar to you.

“Hey, pretty boy, how are you? Natasha, good morning. Oh.” She greets the redhead and then looks at you, a surprised look filling her face.

More than a few years ago, you and Sharon Carter had a little fling together. You grew up together and had a lot in common. Steve introduced you to her at a party when you were 16 and she was 19. She's not that much older than you, and that didn't seem to be a problem, until Sharon said she'd fallen in love with you. And indeed, Sharon has fallen in love with you.

But you were the classic bad boy who liked to drive without a license, who spent the early hours of the morning away from home because your father constantly found any reason to fight with you, to complain about you as if it hadn't been his choice to have a son. You weren't the typical nice guy Sharon needed, like Steve for example, and you didn't know if you were in love with her, but you two had sex often, and that made her even more attached to you.

When you disappeared with the simple warning that you were going to serve in the army and didn't know if you'd be back any time soon, Sharon was disappointed. She wanted to spend time with you more than anything, but you had gone to serve your country and she had a career ahead of her, which she chose to become a teacher even though she wanted to be a psychologist. She liked you, she really did, but sometimes you acted like a bomb about to explode, just like Bruce did.

“Surprised to see me? Yeah, I knew you were going to become a teacher, Sharon. You always knew how to get along with children.” You say and squeeze Sharon's hand with a gentle but firm touch, which she blushes at before replying.

“I thought you were going to spend even more time in the army, Y/n. It seems to have done you a lot of good.” She says, biting her lip discreetly and smiling.

Natasha crosses her arms, an impassive expression on her face. She can already completely tell that the two of you know each other, that's for sure, but for some reason, the way Sharon looks at you and acts towards you makes Romanoff feel a big pang of discomfort in his stomach.

“Teacher, I have to show you my new drawings!” Derek says excitedly, hugging the woman tighter by the legs.

“Of course, darling, I'll look at them all, okay?” She says, running her hand over his bangs. “I thought Bruce was coming today.”

“You know how he is, always 'sorting out work stuff. Thanks for taking such good care of him, Sharon.” A minimalist smile curves your lips without showing your teeth and Sharon nods.

“No need to thank me, apart from being my job, it's a pleasure to look after this little one. We should have a coffee together one day, perhaps.” She says and makes you sigh, grabbing the car keys and giving Derek a kiss on the forehead.

“Yeah, maybe one day. Good morning, have fun, we'll be going for now, see you soon.” You nod and she agrees, expecting more from you, but turns and walks into the school with the boy.

As soon as you get into the car, put the key in the ignition and adjust the windows, Natasha gets in. Her face is slightly twisted with frustration, perhaps? That, and a hint of discontent. It looks like someone has stepped on her toes, but why?

“So, you and the teacher...” She says calmly, although her eyes seem distant and indifferent to you.

“What?” You turn the wheel, steering the car out of the parking lot and back onto the road.

“There seems to be something between you.” She replies and you laugh awkwardly, shaking your head.

“There's nothing between us.” You say and look at her out of the corner of your eye, Natasha's face turned completely towards you.

“She made it sound like there was, you know.” She shrugged, seeming not to want to bother you with the subject.

“Steve and I have known her since we were teenagers. Teenage parties, drinking, drugs, you know. Sharon was a fling of mine. If I can call it that.” Your voice answers quietly and you look at Natasha discreetly.

"Well, she doesn't seem to have forgotten you. You know how it is, when a woman loves, she's willing to do anything to make up for lost time, but it doesn't just depend on her." She says relaxed, still trying not to let her jealous face overflow.

“Sharon isn't in love with me. At least I don't think so. Even if she was, I'm not what she's looking for.” You say and on the one hand, Natasha reassures herself.

“And what is she looking for?” Romanoff looks at you from the passenger seat.

Her lips are pressed together, her breathing seems slightly unregulated. She's frustrated, yes. She's jealous, yes. She hated the way Sharon looked at you as if you were a toy she could ride on top of. Absolutely. Yes. But why should your stepmother be jealous of you? That was wrong, immoral, maybe a bit problematic, she'd only just met you anyway. It made your skin hot, but the hairs on the back of your neck were rising and your fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road before your eyes.

“What most women are looking for, I believe. A protective, self-assured, confident man. She wants a man who is one hundred percent there for her at all times. I didn't learn to be like that.” You brake at a red light and buckle up, your head resting against the seat.

“Don't you think she's the right woman?” Romanoff swallows, trying her best not to sound intrusive.

If anyone else were asking you these questions, it would be a different story. But her, she brought you comfort. She was...good. She was a good woman, as Steve assumed.

“I'm not in love with her, Natasha, even if she was right, what good would it do?” You look at her, and she nods quietly.

You've never found someone who makes your heart soar as if you were in one of those cheesy movie clichés, who makes time stand still around you, who makes you feel like the luckiest man in the world. No, you've never experienced any of that. You've only had nighttime adventures with older girls or even girls your own age, adventures with kissing, sex without commitment and conversations thrown away to be remembered. You never knew what love was.

And the only person who could teach you that was right there beside you, annoyed for some reason at the possibility of you falling in love with someone other than her.

“All right.” That was the only answer Natasha gave you, watching the car pull into the driveway of your house.

When you got in – and there was still a certain murderous silence in the air – you just took off your shoes, sat down on the sofa and picked up the remote control, looking for a live American soccer program, trying to distract yourself. Natasha went into the kitchen to do something, and the door creaked open a few minutes after you arrived, revealing Bruce's early arrival. He looked at you, but overcome by pride, said nothing and passed through to the kitchen.

“Hi, darling. How was work?” Natasha's distant voice said to him, who caught her kissing him, answering disconnectedly. “It was business as usual. I've never waited so long to get home and have my wife all to myself.”

You rolled your eyes, lay back on the sofa and turned up the volume slightly, watching two American league teams fight for a title. For some unusual reason, the sound of wet kissing bothered you deeply. You shook your head and tried to focus on the match, then you heard footsteps approaching the room and Natasha's warm hand touched your shoulder, making you turn almost instantly.

“Hey, do you want something to eat?” She asked, her lips slightly swollen and her face flushed.

You'd love to see her like that, but you'd love it even more to have that effect on her.

“No, thanks, Natasha. I'm going to take a nap, you can relax.” You replied and she nodded, smiling slowly before heading up the stairs, Bruce right behind her.

Your head pressed into the pillow and you let out a short curse, feeling uncomfortable and disgusted by the situation. It was your father's house too, but you were still there. Anyway, you forced yourself to sleep and it worked, your eyes became heavy and you completely relaxed your muscles against the not-so-spacious sofa, knowing that you would wake up with a sore neck as soon as you woke up.

“Fuck.” You cursed, rubbing your tired eyes.

The house was the same, but the afternoon was beginning to fade, making it clear that it would soon be dark. You grabbed the black clock on the table, seeing that it read 5:48 in the afternoon. There was still an hour or so before Derek would be released from school, so you were relieved to see that you weren't late to pick him up.

“What?” You sat groggily on the sofa, listening to a lot of noise coming from upstairs.

There were sounds coming from upstairs, and at first you thought there was something wrong there, since you were still groggy from sleep and tired. But gradually you noticed. The creaking of Bruce's bed, the loud sounds of skin hitting skin, of the headboard hitting the wall. They were having sex.

“Fuck, holy shit.” You say, completely lost in disgust and cover your head with your hands. “This can't be serious.”

But you could still hear it. It completely disturbed you. But it was also wrong, being jealous of your stepmother when she's married to your father. It's not as if Natasha hadn't been upset with Sharon about you too.

But she was married, you weren't. Still, that seemed contrary to morality.

“Fuck.” You cursed to yourself, getting out of there and going to the kitchen.

There was a case of beer in the fridge. You hated looking like your father, because whenever something bothered you or upset you, you always drank too, but not like him, he was worse. You grabbed two bottles and opened the caps with your teeth, spitting them into the trash can. Five minutes passed, and you emptied half the bottle of beer, lying on the sofa when Natasha came downstairs.

Your head turns subtly in the direction of the stairs and there she is, walking down the steps like an art exhibition that could never be bought. A misunderstood muse. Yet not something that could be conquered, but touched, felt. A woman, with a deceptive young girl's face, with an older woman's mature soul with gifts you could never guess. Married to your arsehole of a father. He didn't deserve her, that much was clear, but what could you do, if not mourn in the corners of the house, silently wishing this woman was yours?

Her skin was pale, although tanned by her own sweat. Her impeccable red hair was now dishevelled and out of order, falling in light waves to her shoulders. Her body, which could reveal to you many dangerous curves and paths to the most silent sin, was covered in a long black dressing gown, and you could see that she was wearing a baggy T-shirt that wasn't hers on her body. Her lips were swollen, dry. You could see a glimpse of her shapely legs, and wow, what legs. Although you knew exactly what she and your father were doing up there, she didn't look pleased. Her eyes looked confused, troubled, even sweaty, she was unhappy. And how could she not be unhappy with Bruce Banner?

But you couldn't look away. She was so well preserved, my goodness.

“I'm sorry, Y/n, I thought you were still asleep. I didn't want to appear like this, I must look like an unnatural stepmother.” She laughs, and it's so natural that you want to hear that sound more often.

“Yeah, well, I just had a nap anyway. It seems my father didn't take care of his work properly. I heard it, without meaning to, but I heard it.” You say, and as soon as you realise what you've said, you swallow bitterly.

Natasha looks at you deeply, she doesn't feel offended. But embarrassed? To the extreme. Bruce doesn't even look after the house, imagine if he could handle wife when they're in bed? He was an arrogant arsehole – and sometimes you were a bit arrogant yourself – but he was terrible at a lot of things. That made him a complete failure.

“Y/n. I wish you wouldn't comment on my sex life with your father.” She says, and she's not blunt, but firm and offhand, even.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to.” You reply calmly but you want to say much more to her.

Yeah, if I had you, you'd really moan, Natasha. In fact, you wouldn't even be walking unless your legs were completely weak and you wouldn't even be thinking. That would be having a real man.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you grab it, seeing messages from Steve inviting you out for a drink at a newly opened bar. It didn't sound too bad. And you weren't going to stand there listening to your incredibly hot stepmother having sex with your slacker father who didn't even know how to treat a woman. You answer Steve quickly and grab a camouflage jacket, put it on over your shirt and change your shorts for trousers and shoes before heading back down to the living room.

“I'm going for a walk with Steve, we're going to a pub with an old high school crowd. When I get back, I'll probably bring Derek from school. So don't worry, I'll take care of everything.” You say and walk across the room, but Natasha holds your arm.

“Hey, don't drink too much. You're driving and you're bringing your brother, Y/n.” She says, her green eyes clouded with worry.

“I won't. You can relax.” You whisper firmly, and the smell of her sweat hits you.

It's something like vanilla, but at the same time mixed with a specific sweet, fruity flavour. Delicious. She's delicious. Even when sweaty, her scent remains impeccable, and you've noticed it ever since you first saw her. You see a slight bite mark on her neck and you want to touch it, but something bothers your stomach, because you know it's not you who's caused it. And you can't. Natasha sighs, she knows you're so close that just by looking at you she could stop breathing, because you're like a masterpiece hidden deep inside her genius mind.

“I get it. You take care.” You say, forcing yourself to get away from her before you do something thoughtless.

Natasha regrets your departure. She wants you to stay, but it's your choice and you want to be with your old friends, it's your right, so she just watches you walk out the door. Your words are still jumbled and struggling in her mind. Bruce really wouldn't know how to satisfy her. But what about you? How deep could you go for her?

The place is cosy like being in an old cottage in the middle of a field away from everything, but it's a pub nonetheless. A pub, with the appearance of a pub, of course. With lots of chairs and tables spread out in an orderly fashion, with decorative signs with drink brands, with people laughing and exchanging small talk with each other, with a woman carrying more mugs of frothy beer than you can count. The smell is pleasant, a mixture of burning wood and live alcohol seeping through the walls, as well as jazz and blues playing in the background. Now that should be a lifestyle. You stick your hands in your pockets and catch up with Steve, who is chatting distractedly to Private Wilson, none other than Maria Hill and James Barnes, a school friend who has disappeared from your sight to go live with his parents in Germany.

Maria was a great friend of yours and Steve's, and he even told you that she liked you a lot, but you only saw her as a sister, something that annoyed her, but she would never push it.

“Hey, look who's here! When Steve said you looked like a wall, I couldn't believe it, I had to come and see for myself.” Barnes laughs and hugs you, patting you on the back. “And you look great, mate, if you were blonde you'd be considered a German citizen straight away.”

“You're impossible.” Maria laughs and hugs you too, as tightly as if she hadn't seen you for years, which was true.

The five of you get lost in conversations between the past and the present. Maria, who was a classmate at the school where you and Rogers studied, had completed her studies and was studying law for some time, something she was very proud of. Barnes, who was now living in Germany but took time out to see old friends, had opened a workshop in Stuttgart, one of the country's most influential industrial cities. Wilson was certainly in the army, as you already knew, but according to him, he planned to finish another year of service and open a carpentry shop to honour his late father's memory. Even Steve was planning to leave the army, he said he'd like to become a 'police chief', which didn't sound too bad. You, on the other hand, weren't even sure what to do.

All you knew was that you wanted your own car, to move out of your grumpy father's house and find a place of your own, even if it wasn't in the city centre.

But you would still happily visit Derek as often as you could.

“Hey, baby! Why don't you come round and give us a bit of attention? Let's have some fun!” A bald guy with yellow teeth exclaimed from the table a few metres away from yours on the left.

This guy was with two other men at his table, one of them had spiky hair and wore dark glasses, the other had gel-slicked hair and blue glasses. They were all wearing jackets and dark clothes, with helmets on the floor under the table where they were standing. They all looked fucking weird, though, and were already staring at Maria in a completely uncomfortable and sexual way that was putting you off. She paid no attention for the first few minutes, of course, trying not to care, but they were becoming increasingly unbearable to put up with.

“Hey, mate, stay cool. She's with us.” Steve said, noticing your shoulders tense with nervousness.

He didn't want to risk it, he knew you had a certain problem with anger but Steve was a man of order and hated arguments unless he felt it was 'necessary'. You, on the other side, had already downed three shots of straight whisky and were ready to blow the ugly faces off those ogre bikers.

“And who said I asked you anything, hero hair?” The frizzy-haired guy asked and stood up, passing behind Sam and subtly squeezing Maria's shoulders, who was startled. “Could you please take your hands off me?”

"You don't like it, do you?" He laughed and approached her.

You practically jumped out of your chair, using both hands to push the man's chest, who staggered backwards with your violent force and almost fell to the floor. He growled a dry laugh and approached you again, punching you in the air as you nimbly sidestepped him. Your group laughed and whistled in your direction, making him even angrier, and you drove your fist straight into his nose, hearing something break and fresh blood splatter on your skin.

“She said to let go of her.” You grunted, hardly caring about the pain.

“What the fuck, man!” One of them shouted and you felt the thud of something glass against your face. “Y/n!”

You punched the same man and kicked him in the stomach, hearing a loud grunt of pain, blood staining the refinished wooden floor. The second man approached and you head-butted him hard, feeling his blood splatter on your forehead and nose. The bald man pushed you, making you stumble with a bleeding part of your face, noticing that he had smashed a fucking glass bottle over your head. Fortunately, there was a single deep cut on your eyebrow going halfway down your pale cheek. He nearly blinded you. Steve pushed him hard and kicked him in the stomach, and you elbowed the third man who approached you in the face.

“That's enough! Out of my pub, NOW!” A middle-aged man with a full moustache said and Steve and the others pulled you out.

“Bloody hell, mate, you nearly fucked your face up for that! That was insanely crazy!” Barnes shouted, trying to analyse your bruise.

“It's okay, it's just a bit of blood.” You sighed heavily.

“What were you thinking! Jesus, Banner, you could have hurt yourself badly or something worse!” Maria grabbed your shoulders, visibly worried.

“Exactly! We need to take care of this.” Steve pointed to your bruised face.

“I wasn't going to let that disgusting worm harass you, Hill.” You whispered furiously, your fists shaking.

“And I didn't want you to get hurt because of me, Banner! God, you're so impulsive.” She shook her head.

“All right, Hill, I'll take care of it from here. Don't worry.” Rogers touched her shoulder and Maria nodded nimbly.

“Wilson, Barnes and I were thinking of going to a party a few blocks from here, are you coming? It's a friend's birthday.” She asked, brushing a lock of her fringe out of her face.

“I can't right now, I have to pick Derek up from school. I hope you have a good time, though.” You say and pull her into a tight hug, which she returns.

“And I'll be keeping an eye on this tough guy. Good night, take care, gentlemen and...lady.” Steve says goodbye to them and you look at him out of the corner of your eye. “Don't give me that look, you know I won't let you drive alone in this state.”

And Steve does. He drives to school as soon as you've said goodbye to the rest of the group, looking at you every five minutes as if you might jump out of the car if you had a mental breakdown. You were still bleeding, no matter how hard you tried to stop the bleeding, the cut had left a wide scar on your eyebrow sliding in a crooked loop to the beginning of your right cheek. It stung like hell, even, and there might have been a few shards stuck in there, but you'd convinced yourself to put up with as much pain as possible and Steve not to drag you to the nearest hospital.

“Stevie! Y/n!” Derek ran towards you both, hugging you and jumping into your arms.

“Hey, little brother.” You ruffled his hair, hearing voices all over the car park, parents gathering with their children and kids everywhere.

“What happened to your face?” The boy held your chin, his black eyes wide.

“Well, what can we say, mate? Your big brother took on a bad guy to protect a friend of ours and ended up with a war wound.” Steve smiled, crossing his arms as he looked directly at you.

“Hey, that's an honourable act. Let's just say it's what separates the men from the boys.” You shrugged, opening the passenger door for your brother and sitting him down, helping him buckle his seatbelt.

“In other words, he's a tough guy.” Steve laughed briefly, getting into the car and you patted Derek on the shoulder. “And we say...”

“We should always protect and look after women, sir.” The boy said before you could even think and you nodded positively, sitting down next to him and pulling on your seatbelt as Steve started to drive. “That's my boy.”

The journey home is a bit hectic. Derek tells you and Steve that the girl he's supposedly tremendously in love with, Emilly, has taken a liking to a guy who certainly loves to pick on him. She also seems to be ignoring him. You and Steve try your best to comfort the boy, who is quiet for a few minutes only until you mention that Natasha must be preparing something for him to eat when he arrives. The boy jumps out of the car as soon as you park it and helps him with his seatbelt, and you joke about it with Steve as you approach the house after locking the car.

“You're here, baby! How was class?” You hear Natasha's voice from inside and sigh.

The first thing that unfortunately crosses your mind is that she literally fucked your father while you were awake listening to everything.

But it's okay, because apparently Bruce didn't get the job done, but he should be calmer now.

“It was great, Nat! Emily kicked my arse, but it's okay because Stevie told me I'm a big guy who deserves better things and now I'm starving. Look at that, Y/n's got a new war scar!” He exclaims, pointing at you as you enter the room.

Natasha is now wearing neutral-coloured baggy trousers, a striped T-shirt and slippers that you've never seen before, but which make her even more adorable considering the situation. Her red hair is tied up in a messy bun and a few strands fall across her face, making her look completely and fucking ten times hotter than before. But no, you shouldn't see your stepmother like that, mate.

“What? My God, Y/n! What's happened?” Natasha moves away from the cooker where she was standing and switches off the fire, running over to you.

“Natasha, it's no big deal, just-” You try to explain yourself, but Romanoff is quicker.

“Oh, God. What's wrong? I told you not to drink, especially as you had to bring Derek back home! Say something, how did this happen?” She exclaims, practically on the verge of collapse.

You almost laugh at the situation, because you find the way she cares for you subtle and kind, but your smile falters when Natasha is so close that her breath brushes your face. Her fingers are on your jaw, some run over your ears, and you smell her, feel how close she is now, and her touch is simply the icing on the cake. It lights you up.

“It was just a silly bar fight, Natasha, it's fine. Steve and I were with some friends, Maria, our friend, was being bothered by some weirdos and I had to take action.” You explain, swallowing.

“And by that he means: he took on three men practically on his own and got his head bashed in. That's why he's bleeding.” Steve commented, not looking threatened by your fatal stare.

“Jesus Christ. You've got to be out of your mind, you should be in hospital right now! Hang on, I'll take care of it.” Natasha said, moving away to rummage through the cupboard drawers.

Just then, Bruce appeared, coming down the stairs. He had his glasses in his eyes, his hair crumpled and dishevelled, a crooked posture and a grumpy, grey look in his eyes. He didn't look very friendly for someone who'd had sex this afternoon. Well, it's not as if he's the type who knows how to leave a woman satisfied. It seemed to make sense.

“Leave the boy alone, Natasha, he can look after himself, he's practically a grown man.” He said and she replied. “No, he's bleeding, he won't know how to look after himself.”

“You're stubborn, just go and serve the dishes and stop voicing your opinion-” Bruce said rudely, but she cut him off.

“Shut up, Bruce. Sit down. I'll take care of Y/n's wound first.” She practically grunted, bringing with her a first aid kit.

Bruce looked static, probably furious that his wife had hit him for the first time, but he went to sit down at the table and remained silent.

“Natasha-” You sighed, feeling her sit you down in the living room armchair and shake her head.

“No Natasha, Y/n. You're hurt, the least I can do is clean it up and hope it gets a bit better, but if you were in hospital, you'd probably need a few stitches.” She shakes her head, opening the small suitcase. “And that's going to hurt a bit.”

You close your eyes and shake your head subtly, trying to ignore the way her breath was practically in your face and judging that her full breasts were so prominent inside her striped shirt, she was probably without a bra. Fuck, don't look over there, kid. Natasha takes a piece of gauze, her hands already clean and sanitised, and presses it gently on the cut, trying her best to stop the bleeding without hurting you.

“You know, I was a nurse when I was about your age. For a few years. I served in the army in Manhattan. I was good at what I did, but I didn't think it was for me.” She whispered softly, her eyes fixed on every part of your face.

“Can't stand the smell of blood?” You asked rhetorically.

“Not just the smell. I don't like seeing the consequences caused on the body of a man who is trying to defend his country. I didn't have the stomach for it.” She swallowed dryly and you nodded softly.

“What do you do now?” The question escapes her mouth faster than she realises and Natasha pulls out the bloodstained cotton wool, fiddling absent-mindedly with the case.

“I make cakes, sweets in general, it's been a long time since I married your father. I was unemployed anyway, so as I'm almost obsessed with baking, I put one thing together and that's what happened.” She replied, bending down to wipe the dried blood from her brow.

“Do you make them and have your own shop or?..” You stared at her.

“No, well, I cook them and prepare everything myself. Young Thor, from next door, delivers them on his bicycle, and I pay him accordingly. He's a great kid.” She says simply.

Your jaw clenches, the fingers of your hand squeezing the seat cushion indiscreetly. Annoyed? Certainly. But why? She's your stepmother, she's married and well-off, even though she has your idiot father for a spouse. Apart from that, you shouldn't be jealous of her.

“Got it.” Your eyes flash dangerously and Natasha suddenly blushes, looking away.

“I'll put a saline solution over the cut to make sure it's cleaner. Then I'll cover it with gauze, but please make sure you go and see the doctor, Y/n, I don't want you to get an infection or anything.” She asks and you nod.

Romanoff leans over and with a new piece of damp cotton wool, she dabs it over his still open cut with the utmost caution, cleaning the area as best she can. A grunt comes out of your mouth as the wound burns all over, the blood running cold through your veins. Natasha notices and pulls her hand away slightly, feeling your gaze on her.

“It's all right. Take a deep breath.” She says and you do as she says, your chest rising and falling.

She moves closer again, and feels your hand on her wrist, which makes her breathing increase slightly, intimidated by you. But you follow her every move, and she cleans the wound as much as she can, pulling away when she's finished. With a clean towel, she carefully dries around the wound and takes a piece of gauze, making a few improvised cuts because of the angle of your wound. She quickly covers the area and sticks the cotton fabric there, making sure it sticks well but also doesn't cover or obscure your vision.

“Thank you. That wasn't necessary.” You say, your heavy accent making Natasha's legs tremble discreetly.

“It was necessary. And please don't get into any more fights if you want to kill me and your father with worry.” She says, and her hand accidentally brushes against your broad shoulder.

“I'm sure he doesn't mind, but I really appreciate it, Natasha.” A crooked smile curves her lips.

“I care about you.” She says simply.

Natasha's gaze on you is surreal. Everything about this woman is surreal, her eyes, her voice, her completely gentle and naturally full demeanour. Fuck, she should be unwanted here, but you're starting to completely ignore the very rules you've built behind the wall you're hiding behind, because deep down, you want this woman in every way possible. It doesn't matter if she's your stepmother, or a forbidden woman.

“Aren't you coming round for dinner?” Natasha smiled softly, a bite on the lower lip being enough to end your evening.

[hoe-days]

Can we get stanxeno daughter hugging robot stan and xeno and reader are watching and recording.

Ahhh this is so sweet.

———

(D/N) had been fussy all day. From the time S/O woke her up for breakfast and got her ready for daycare to the time Xeno picked her up that afternoon. She had been whining. They chopped it up to teething, she had started about two weeks ago, maybe today was a hard day for her.

When S/O came into the infant’s room that morning, the normally happy to wake up and play baby was fussing and whining. Xeno walked in, tying his tie.

“Now what’s all the fuss this morning?”

He leaned down as S/O rocked (D/N).

“She’s teething. She doesn’t have a fever or anything. But that’s the only thing I can think of.”

“She doesn’t seem to be sick. Perhaps she had a bad dream.”

“Dada!”

They both looked at her as she squirmed in S/O’s arms.

“You want me to hold you?”

“No no no no no!”

She wiggled and pouted as Xeno took her from S/O before slumping down into his embrace.

“Perhaps we should spend more time on vocabulary words. I just hate not knowing what she wants.”

S/O nods in agreement.

“She’s not sick. Just grumpy. Maybe seeing her little baby friends at daycare will cheer her up.”

———

They went on about their morning as they normally do. S/O dropped (D/N) off at daycare and they all went on about their day. That afternoon, Xeno got off. He and S\O alternated their schedules and would get off a little early on different days to spend time with (D/N). When he walks into the facility the teacher greets him.

“Dr. Wingfield! (D/N) has been talking about you all day. She really misses her dad.”

She chuckles, but when she says that, the issue finally dawns on him.

“Yes it seems so.”

He gets (D/N) home and fed, while she sits in her high chair eating he checks the time. Stanley should be waking up soon.

“Dada!”

“Yes yes, I know sweetie. You want Dada?”

He cleans her face and picks her up, taking her up to his home office, but not before picking something up from her room on the way.

He sits her down in the play pen and sits a teddy bear down next to her, something Stan had mailed home a few months back. He presses the paw and Stan’s voice rings out from the speaker.

“Hey Princess, is it bed time already? I miss you lots.”

Xeno sighs in relief as she begins to calm down as the recording reads out a story to her. She dozes for s bit, leaving Xeno to peacefully work on his project outline at his desk.

“Front door unlocked.”

The robotic voice blares out from the intercom behind him, waking up (D/N).

“Dada! Dada! Dada!”

S/O walks into the office a few seconds later.

“No! No! No! No!”

“She’s still upset?”

“Yes, but I’ve figured out why. She wants Stanley.”

Xeno gets up, leaning down to press the paw of the bear again. But this time, instead of calming down, (D/N) throws it.

“It seems that won’t work anymore.”

“I have an idea.”

S/O walks out of the room, coming back moments later with Stan’s robot. (D/N) claps, giggling happily.

“Dada! Dada!”

S/O kneels, sitting the robot next to her in the play pen.

“Dada is sleepy right now, (D/N).”

S/O puts their hands together, pretending to be asleep.

“Night night?”

“Yes. Dada is going night night.”

“There’s no way that’s going to work, S/O.”

(D/N) takes her blanket, putting it on top of the robot before laying down beside it.

“Night night Dada!”

S/O looks back at Xeno and chuckles.

“As smart as our little girl is, she’s still a baby, Xeno.”

“Fair enough.”

———

About 10 minutes pass when (D/N) is up again. When she wakes up, she’s lying with her hand on tbe robot, the blanket thrown elsewhere.

Imagine Stanley’s surprise when he wakes up, ready to bother S/O and Xeno with his robot, only to be met with a sleeping baby. His heart absolutely melts when be sees his princess waking up.

“Dada night night?”

“No Princess, Dada is wide awake.”

She squeals holding onto the robot with both hands now, babbling on as a baby does.

Stan has no clue what she’s saying, but he hums and talks along.

“Is that so? Really now? I can’t believe he would say such a thing Princess.”

Xeno smiles and shakes his head as he watches the interaction. S/O comes in from their shower and stops to watch as well, pulling out their phone to record the moment.

Xeno looks at his computer when he hears a notification tone. He reads the message from his shared planner and blinks.

‘Stanley booked a flight’

‘Stanley home Tues evening’

‘Stanley depart Thurs’

[jay-m3]

Eggcellent

Male reader insert Characters: Adam, Lucifer, Alastor, Valentino, and Vox Warning* Foul language

Ok, imagine giving them an egg. Like in those tiktoks where people give their dogs an egg to see if they will be gentle with it.

Adam

"Uh, what the hell do you want me to do with this?" Adam looks at the egg in his hand. An eyebrow raised in confusion as he rubs the egg with his thumb before looking over to you; who walks away.

"Babes?" You didn't even explain why, just placed the egg in his hand when he arrived home. With a snarl, he follows you in the kitchen, pocketing the egg in his robe.

The whole day, Adam didn't get an answer. Egg in his pocket which he sometimes smooths a thumb over it. Seeing that it is now bed time, he enters the bathroom where you were brushing your teeth. Through the mirror he narrows his eyes before a flash of a grin spreads on his face.

"What the fuck Adam!" You screech when the eggs' yolk runs down your face when Adam smashes it on the top of your head.

"Ha! That's what you get bitch! Hahaha!"

Lucifer

"Uh...want me to make you eggs?" Lucifer chuckles out, looking down at the egg that was placed in his hand. When he looks up, you shrug as a response before leaving him in his office.

Narrowing his eyes at the egg, he gently places it on his desk, away from the duck that he was creating before you walked in. It was a little late to eat just eggs (it was 9pm) and has seen you in pj's so that means you were now heading to bed.

Over night, he stays up to finish his project. Eyes drifting to the egg every so often. Everytime he does, the memory of you just pops in from the random encounter. How funny.

"Awe, Lucifer." You smile as a plate of eggs is set infront of you as you sit up from bed. The egg that you gave him on the side, fully intact with a smiling duck face painted on it.

"Good morning, handsome."

Alastor

"Dear?" He questions as the egg is placed in his hand. Without much of a goodbye, you rush off. With an eye twitch, he places it down on his table.

He stares at if for a couple of minutes, sipping at his tea as he tries to make out what is your intention. He hasn't done anything wrong...unless it's your communication of wanting dinner with something with an egg in it? With that idea and only solution of just giving him a fucking egg, he darts off to the kitchen.

"What the hell, Alastor." You say in shock once you see one of Sir Pentious's egg boy tied up in the middle of the table on a platter.

"Please save me nice man!"

Valentino

"What's this?" Valentino questions as you hand him the egg. He examines it closely, wondering if it's a vibe that was shaped as an egg. Those things have been selling well. But as he examines it closer, it's just a regular plain stupid egg.

With a frown he looks up to find you gone. How rude. With a displeased sigh, he takes a gulp from his cocktail that he was trying before you interrupted.

"Kitty, give me my usual." Valentino grumbles out, watching as the robot quickly takes the drink that was placed down to replace it. Sighing, he remembers the egg in his hand.

"Fucking bitch." He grumbles out as he let's the egg slip from his hand and splat on the ground.

Vox

"Bye hot stuff." Vox says before rushing out the door. He was on a call, distracted as he grabs his stuff from your hand which you thankfully gathered for him. He is so going to reward you tonight.

"What the fuck?" He says once he notices the egg in the cup holder of his car after he finishes up the call. He picks it up, examining it. How the hell did the egg end up there? Why did you give him an egg?

"Hey Valerie, call Lover boy." The sound of a ping rings out the car as it starts to call you. After a few seconds, it goes to voice mail. Rolling his eyes, he calls again. As he waits, he lowers his windows to get some fresh air.

"Don't cut me off!" Vox yells out to the car that swerves in his lane. Having none of it (especially not wanting to damage his sport car), he speeds up next to the car and throw the egg at it.

"Hello?"

"We need to buy more eggs."

[homestuckreplay]

d&d robot wizard named Intellibeam Laserstation

(page 1555-1572)

It’s feeling so Act 2 up in here because we are seeing a couple of kids try to figure out Sburb mechanics while being equal parts competent and silly.

But first, a revelation that Jack Noir has ‘a policy of handing out a REGISWORD and a HITLIST to just about everyone who enters your office’ (p.1555). This is in my homestuck jokes hall of fame because it’s a sudden punch of absurdity that adds to the plot and characterization, instead of detracting from them. I think the jokes that don’t hit for me tend to be when a character uses a phrase format or SBAHJ reference that feels out of character for them to say, or when a joke replaces what could be a character moment (for example, p.444). This joke contributes to Jack’s amorality and clear-headedness while inciting disproportionate violence, and preserves PM’s character arc, since it’s significant if she’s the only recipient of this hitlist who actually carries it out.

It sucks that the Queen keeps Jack locked behind a desk watching other people when he has this much flair and style. He should be on the stage. Also I cannot imagine the damage PM would inflict upon Jack if she saw him open that package that isn’t addressed to him. That’s a MAIL CRIME and I for one am not even curious what’s inside until the package reaches its ADDRESSED recipient.

Dave and Jade are a fun combination of Sburb players, because Dave has no concerns with playing the game ‘correctly’ and is willing to go with whatever makes things easier, while Jade has the inventor’s curiosity and wants to exploit hacks and glitches to advance as fast as possible. And Dave may have made fun of Jade for her ‘goofy modusses’ (p.382) but he is definitely benefiting from them now. Jade doesn’t play many games (p.442, 1400) but has spent her whole life engaging with Skaian technology, which is essentially ‘tech that functions on video game logic’ [sidenote: this definition made me decide that the sylladex is also 100% Skaian tech] so I think this helps her intuit how Sburb works.

The ability to alchemize the alchemiter feels right and correct. Alchemiter upgrades and add-ons allow for more complexity in the mechanics without needing more machines than would be practical to work with, just like how Sburb’s Atheneum (p.620) can store previously carved totems so that it’s not necessary to retain the physical objects. It seems like if enough machines are combined into one, the physical steps (moving around, handling and carving cruxite and cards) will be eliminated and the whole process will be automated. On a story level, it allows for power scaling as an upgrade can be anything, and there’s less concern for the time and space that a task takes – small developments like this and the suggestion of transportalizers between planets (p.1531) are still expanding the scope of the story.

I think a portable alchemiter would be a great next step. Gotta have a punch card for a little backpack and then Dave can carry this around while exploring his planet and he won’t end up like John, in a land of copper giclopses far away from weapon upgrades.

But what I love about Sburb is that it doesn’t care if an update is helpful. It lets the players make bad and nonsensical decisions and incorporates them into its logic. It’s open world and if you want a blender or a GameBro bust on your alchemiter then you can. It’s the difference between a game that makes an error sound if your strength is too low to equip the Ultra Greatsword and a game that lets you equip it and then just be a shitty fighter.

Dave struggling for space on page 1563 made me wonder about the smallest space needed to play Sburb. Its name suggests a full house, but a large room, like a well kept studio apartment, might have room. But a dorm room or houseboat or RV or nursing home or hospital simply would not work without modifications, and the idea of playing Sburb in unconventional living spaces is really interesting to me. Maybe if I write fanfiction it will be about that since it seems outside the scope of the comic at this point.

There’s no WAY we find out what the intellibeam laserstation does any time soon – this reveal is definitely getting saved, which leaves room for speculation! ‘Intelli’ comes from intelligence or intelligible, ‘beam’ and ‘laser’ both suggest a highly precise and advanced ray of light, and ‘station’ is a designated place for an activity (or a regular stopping point, and now I am imagining a train station for lasers). So, this is intelligent light, light that can shape and direct itself according to what it’s needed for? Or it’s light that can itself be used as a resource or material, a place for creating light or building with it? Light is a theoretically infinite resource, so could tie into Skaia’s ‘unlimited creative potential’ (p.422). It could even be involved in creating constructs – things with an intelligence of their own – giving lategame players the ability to alchemize their own light kingdom agents to combat the dark.

[relayrobotics]

Enhancing Workplace Efficiency with Office Mail Robots

Explore the dynamic role of office mail robots in transforming business operations and boosting workplace productivity. These innovative robots are designed to automate the distribution of mail and packages within office environments, reducing manual tasks and streamlining communication flows. By navigating office landscapes autonomously, mail robots ensure timely and secure delivery of internal documents, enhancing operational efficiency. Delve into how integrating office mail robots can lead to more organised mail management systems, freeing up valuable employee time for more strategic tasks. Discover the future of office automation with the latest in mail delivery technology.

[boombox-fuckboy]

Hey, @t0tally-n0t-3m0, figured this might be easier to read as a post. Here's 24 pods with nonbinary lead characters to get you started. There's more out there, so if anyone wants to add on, go for it.

Additional Postage Required: (Sci-Fi) Adventures of an interstellar courier who starts to get glimpses of the past from their packages.

Anamnesis (on the Tin Can Audio feed): (Mystery, Weird Fiction) Someone wakes in a temple in an empty town with no memory. Short, really nice sound design.

Badlands Cola: (Mystery, Supernatural & Horror elements) big city PI Sunny is hired to find information on a rural cult leader, and is drawn into a world of strange radio, horse enthusiasts, and dinosaur bones.

The Dead Letter Office of Somewhere, Ohio (one of two leads, you'll meet them halfway in): (Supernatural, Weird) Two workers for an Ohio dead letter office read the strange confiscated mail their organisation collects, and do some follow up investigation.

either: (Weird Fiction, Sci-Fi, Romance) An explosion at a duck factory sends a pet robot to another reality, connecting two very different (but both lonely) people.

Hello From The Hallowoods: (Supernatural Horror) A dramatic entity beyond your comprehension visits your nightmares to tell stories of the people (in varying degrees of human and alive) that inhabit the strange, deadly, and beautiful Hallowoods.

Inn Between: (Fantasy, Adventure) Ever wondered what the party gets up to at the tavern between D&D sessions? (Not a tabletop).

Jar of Rebuke: (Supernatural, Horror elements) An unkillable amnesiac scientist (they die, just have a hard time staying dead) investigates weird entities, makes friends, and eats a lot of tasty food in the strange town he lives in.

Khôra Podcast: (Sci-Fi, Adventure) Somewhere between inspired by and adapted from greek mythology, a space adventure following four mythological figures on their search for the golden fleece.

Less is Morgue: (Comedy, Horror elements) A ghoul and a ghost host a podcast about whatever they please in the ghoul's mom's basement, and manage to get off topic anyway.

Light Hearts: (Slice-of-Life, Supernatural elements) Three friends run a lightly haunted queer café. Upbeat and wholesome.

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Horror elements) A friendly AI tour guide leads you on a tour of the Mistholme Museum, explaining the strange and often alternatural story behind each item. (To be clear, the nb lead is an AI with no concept of gender, but the creator is NB also and it is far from the only nb character.)

Monstrous Agonies: (Advice, Supernatural) An interpersonal advice show for supernatural entities and other people living liminally in the modern world.

ROGUEMAKER: (Sci-fi, Whodunnit) A commercial space flight explodes and passengers are left isolated in the escape pods, only connected for minutes at a time and unsure what happened, or why.

Second Star to the Left: (Sci-Fi) Audio logs of a colonist sent to a new world and her communications with the minder in charge of keeping her alive.

Sidequesting: (Fantasy) A wholesome podcast following Rion, an adventurer with a difference: they only do sidequests.

SINKHOLE: (Sci-fi, Weird Fiction) Forum posts from a data restoration community in a near future where the human brain is its own computer and one city hosts a massive void.

Skyjacks: Courier's Call: (Tabletop, Fantasy) Three young postal workers aboard a skyship go on various adventures. Kid-friendly but enjoyable for all ages.

The Starport Inn: (Supernatural, Mystery) An FBI agent sent to a rural town to solve a disappearance finds they've walked into something much stranger.

The Supernatural Protection Agency: (Supernatural) Call logs for a helpline that aims to solve the supernatural problems plaguing your life.

Tell No Tales: (Supernatural, Horror elements) Leo Quinn, secretary to the man in charge of the world's leading ghost removal service, interviews various ghosts in an attempt to create a device capable of actually recording them, in the hopes of taking down the company they work for.

Trial and Error: (Sci-Fi) Interviews with various AI as a scientist attempts to make sense of spontaneous machine sentience.

Under the Electric Stars: (Sci-Fi) A courier's failed heist to help their AI friend/navigator pulls them into a world of crime organisations and unethical science.

The Weird: (Tabletop, Supernatural, Comedy, Horror elements) The two staff members at The Department of the Weird travel America in their shitty Ford Fiesta to investigate various strange happenings

[paradoxmimzy]

Shapeshifter HRT

Day -394

I go in to the doctor. Doctor T.H. Arian. The name is a little suspicious but his treatment of my wife has been favorable.

"I thought about this for a long time doctor. I want to be a shapeshifter."

His face gets serious. "Do you know how many people that come in here and ask for that? What do you really want to be? We do offer polytherian treatments if you just can't decide between a few."

So I list them. Every single one. Cat, dog, fox, mouse, snake, bird, hermit crab, angel, devil, elf, vampire, unicorn, hamster, ferret… and others… forms that don't have names but I describe their anatomy in great, sickening, detail.

"If I tried to go through all of them one at a time it would be too complicated. Too much for me to keep track of and what happens if I want to change into something I haven't listed yet? Please doc, if I had to be one thing it would be a shapeshifter."

He removes his glasses and sighs.

"There is a treatment for it." He says.

I can't contain my squeaks of excitement.

"But." He cuts me off. "The substance I'm using is a lot more controlled. I can guarantee the things that it will do to your body will be worse than what your wife went through."

"I still want it… If you got anything that basically makes me like Venom that would be ideal."

"Will you be changing into anything mechanical or robotic?"

"Probably not."

"Okay. I will put in the request now, but do not hold your breath. A government agent will eventually contact you and mail you the paperwork that you need to fill out."

- Day -96

6:21 in the morning. My phone was ringing and with my wife still asleep I answered it.

"Hello this is Officer Mitchell. I am here with Agent Duress. We're here to ask you some questions about this… medication you are requesting?"

My local sheriff, with some guy from the government. Great.

"Yeah I made a request sometime last year and hadn't heard anything."

"Yes, well. There had been some policy changes 150 days ago about the substance you're requesting. Everyone who filed a report had to do so again."

"And I'm just hearing about this now??"

"Your doctor had been informed about it two weeks ago and resubmitted all files that needed to be submitted. He requested we handle this urgently so that is what we're doing, ma'am."

"I'm not a ma'am. Please use Sir if you can."

"With all due respect, ma'am. You take this medicine it's going to turn you into something that I don't even want to think about. Gender ain't gonna mean much to a freak like you."

"I can still use whatever damn pronouns I want."

"Okay, okay. No need to be so sensitive about it. I just gotta sign this thing that says I'll keep an extra eye out for you if you decide to start doing crimes."

"Oh my god."

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to be everything all these stupid fucking things. Ferret, angel, hermit crab? Really? If any crimes are done from species in any of these lists you're gonna be on the suspect board by default."

"Fine. I'll consent to it."

"Alright, good. Next is understanding the exact risk of this substance. Has your next of kin been notified?"

"My wife is fully aware yes."

"Your parents, darling. I'm asking about your parents."

"Dad died 3 years ago and mom's never had custody of me. I am nearly 30 fucking years old, why are you asking about my fucking parents?"

"Standard procedure. Normally we have underage people asking for this stuff. So what age would you say you were dysphoric as a… 'Mono-formic being.'" He sounded out each word bitterly.

And so the questions went on and on and on and on and on. Until finally a voice different from the sheriff's came in.

"Thank you for your time. It will be under consideration."

And then it hung up.

"Ugggghhhh." I groan to myself.

"If you wanna go to the diner I could search for a shirt that fits me now." My cow wife says.

"It's fine. I'll just hang out on the internet. All I can do is fucking wait after all. From email or carrier pigeon I guess!!"

"Too loud."

"Sorry. I'm just mad."

"Do you think they hire pigeon therians into the government to carry messages?" She asks,

"Derpy Hooves is definitely a pigeon therian." I reply back,

"So true OP…" She yawns and slips back into sleep.

- Day 0

It was a text message. It was ready at the pharmacy and all I needed to do was go pick it up like any other medicine.

Doctor T.H. Arian gave me information on how to apply it and what to expect for the low dose they start me on.

He was very insistent I record my emotional state through this and that he would be prepared to stop the treatment if it made me 'worse.' Though he refused to define what worse was.

The medicine itself was just a little black goo in a bottle. I had been informed that it could be applied just on my skin, but that carried a risk to my partner and her own HRT procedures. So I opted for injection instead.

[telesodalite]

Random thought, but like, thinking about how the previous possible life/career style differences between Fulcrum and the rest of the Scavengers kinda makes his situation a reverse "my fair lady".

...my fair loser??

Anyways, he lived through the peak of the Decepticon empire in what could be considered a very comfortable, albeit busy, position in the greater military workforce. (Assuming the cons didn't really do a civilian kinda thing, since that seems very unlikely)

By wartime life standards, Fulcrum had to be fairly well off. Especially to achieve the position of managing a whole planet. Not super impressive by the broader Decepticon standard yeah, he's no warlord or conqueror, just the douchebag who looked at your beautiful organic planet, said "ew", and promptly started turning it into a mini-cybertron. But compared to the average soldier? He's got it made.

A master of communication skills via whatever the Decepticon equivalent of corporate speak is. A perfect kiss ass to higher ups. Just firing off e-mails, filing reports, overseeing work sites, giving presentations, just an unassuming, boring, passive, busy guy, etc etc.

And then that's all gone. Poof. That comfortable consistent life out the window in one fell swoop. And he's thrown to the dogs, the dogs being the his own surviving workforce and his commanders, and then the guards of styx, and then the other k-cons, until finally the djd and the scavs.

It's like, bear with me here, it's like someone's comfortable little show poodle having gotten kicked out of the house and left to the streets in the middle of a storm, only to eventually end up matted and bone-thin in whatever the W.A.P equivalent of a rescue home is. But despite the grime and constant trembling, its still someone's pampered little dog at heart, its just now it bites and eats garbage. And it's incredibly amusing in the form of giant robots.

He had a life some Decepticon soldiers could probably only dream of. No threat of death around every corner. A head of command who cared about the wellbeing of his contingent. Food on the table and an actual berth to sleep on every night. So on so forth.

And then he goes through what's gotta be hell to him, really to any mech. And maybe that's a bit of a wake up call that things are about to be very different.

So you've got a guy like him, amidst a group like the scavs. It's like, 'Joined the military because they couldn't afford college vs A business major.' Or something, idk. But it's fascinating.

He's just there, on clemency, looking like death on two legs, and still somehow emitting unassuming guy, with "I know what I'm doing👍" vibes that the others pick up on and rely on when Krok's unconscious.

And it's like, from there he probably falls back on his team manager mindset towards the group once the whole "nervous new guy" thing wears off.

And surely it's to the confusion, if not mildly hackles raising annoyance of Krok, ya know, the designated officer, who is a micro manager, who fought tooth and nail to get his rank and position across trenches and blood baths before life threw him the opposite curve ball, landing him with a warworld job instead of another battlefield after the worst day of his life.

But how does unassuming passive guy respond to fellow authority after some time being a loser amidst losers? With nary a care. He'll just micro manage Krok right back.

Krok's dramatics, quote, "When I want your opinion, Fulcrum, I'll kill myself", surely aren't all that different from dealing with the heads of construction crew's disagreeing with the adjustments he made to their schedules.

And if anything, Fulcrum isn't bothered or intimidated or whatever because he knows him, he knows Krok. More so than he ever knew his own crew's pre-B'lahr. And they all see through each others bullshit. So it's a casual micro management war, because who's really in charge? Nobody. But also Krok, but mostly Fulcrum, until there's the threat of getting shot, then it's Krok again.

I'm losing the point of this ramble. But like, I think the point is that they made Fulcrum worse. They made him worse and that's great. They built him a spine and he promptly bossed them around with it.

He went from vaguely model citizen, (by Decepticon standards), to wanted dead or alive in multiple sectors of the galaxy.

Like, sure he's riddled with anxiety and a fear of dying, but he's also full of some kind of audacity they somehow fueled to their own occasional detriment. And I think it's hilarious.

[dreamerandthedarkhalf]

I know there are many people out there who appreciate automated menus and they really are helpful if you just need some quick account information or business hours or have anxiety when talking to a real human. I know automated menus can be very quick and very easy. But I also know that one of the big reasons more and more places are trying to switch to more automation is so they don't have to pay their workers. There's a very specific portion of the population out there who believes government office workers are free-loaders and participating in fraud, waste, and abuse of tax payer dollars, so they are excited to see government workers fired, even though the services many of them provide make the lives of everyday people remarkably better. For example, I have a very quick, very simple question regarding the return of a form I was sent in the mail. But I want this question answered by a real human who might indicate if I missed something important, as the whole reason this form was sent to me was because I missed something when I originally submitted it. I want a human to verify that I understood the instructions. A REAL, LIVE HUMAN. I feel a little bit like the portion of the population who loves the idea of firing "lazy government workers" maybe doesn't realize that firing humans means no one is there to answer a phone call when you have a simple question. It also means that human is now unemployed and they absolutely HATE people who don't have "a real job" because the unemployed are a "drain on the good tax-paying people." But if you ask these people what a "real job" is and how people are supposed to stay employed when work keeps getting overtaken by generative predictive text algorithms ("AI"), they don't have an answer, other than continuous derogatory comments about "lazy free-loaders". And the increased automation isn't even helpful. It's circular. There's no guarantee it'll give me correct information. There's going to be no accountability if it tells me incorrect information, as someone can easily change what the robot says and there would never be proof I was given incorrect information. Anyway. Maybe I'm alone in my desire to have my tax dollars go to paying real human workers who get good benefits and answer the phone when I have a question. (And yes, in the hour I've been typing this, I'm still on hold).

[spongeguyandlelouchvibridankia]

for non ao3 readers:

(Hey Now (Girls Just Want to Have Fun) - Cindy Lauper, 1992 version)

“Hey now, hey now What’s the matter with you?”

February 10th, Monday, 1998.

Walking confidently together to school, Gretchen and Ashley R chatted away about the magazines in their hands, a science journal and a teen mag, while passing by The Ashleys at their lockers, with a glaring absence among them: Ashley A.

“Girls just wanna have fun now Come on”

Ashley R quickly excused herself and disappeared down one hall, emerging from the other as a late Ashley A. Greeting her friends (of whom only Ashley B seemed truly suspicious), Ashley A leaned back to listen to B’s latest gossip tirade, but only had eyes for the departing Gretchen, who made a secret “Talk to you later” gesture as she headed towards class, passing by her friends and continuing to give them the cold shoulder, as they looked on in guilt.

“Hey now, hey now What’s the matter with you?”

As class went on, Ashley A found herself genuinely listening, now invested in her studies thanks to Gretchen. Ashley Q and T shrugged at each other while Ashley A stuck her tongue out in concentration, taking down dozens of notes on what Ms. Grotke was talking about. Some were marked down to show Gretchen, since she wanted to know what she thought of the subject.

“Girls just wanna have fun now Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah”

Gretchen, for a change, was eager for classes to end. The moment they did, she waited at the exit of the school, while Ashley A changed back into Ashley R (having hung out with the Ashleys on Sunday, she saw that as justification for not hanging out with them today). Arriving at the exit, Ashley R offered her hand like a gentleman, and Gretchen bowed and took it, the two girls rushing out and giggling.

“I come home in the morning light My mother says “When you gonna live your life right”

Ashley A came back that day totally covered in dirt and worms. A shocked Ashley A Sr. ordered her to get in the bath. Ashley A shrugged and ran off, while her siblings stared at each other, shocked but not displeased with this turn of events.

“Oh mommy dear, we’re not the fortunate ones”

Gretchen, meanwhile, came back with a new hairdo (similar to the one she had in “Outcast Ashley”), happily joining her mother and father in washing the floor. Phil and Doris smiled at each other knowingly.

“And girls, they wanna have fun, girls they wanna have”

February 11th, Tuesday, 1998.

Sitting bored at her mom’s office, while Ashley A Sr. showed the other Ashleys around, Ashley A Jr. noticed a lone PC on an e-mail service. Remembering what Gretchen told her about it, Ashley quickly typed out a message. Gretchen, using Galileo, noticed the e-mail and opened it. “I wish you’d beam me out of here :)”, Ashley messaged, referencing the Star Trek episode they saw. Gretchen, beaming, wrote back “Like, totally”

“Hey now, hey now What’s the matter with you?”

Penny, on her knees, kept begging and begging, but the Tyler’s all backed up Tyler A and refused to share any info she wanted about Ashley A or Gretchen. Distraught, Penny kicked a kickball, only for it to bounce back on her face, knocking her over.

“Girls just wanna have fun now Come on”

In the late evening, at Gretchen’s house, the two girls built a magnetic leash for B.U.D.D.Y, working together like a well oiled machine. Ashley M, meanwhile, kept fanning herself from the sight of the robot dog.

“Oh daddy dear, you know you’re still number one”

February 12th, Wednesday, 1998.

Taking her breakfast (but suspiciously not eating it yet), Ashley A leapt up, kissed her father on the cheek, ruffled her brother’s hair and hugged her sister, then rushed out, clicking her heels. Xavier A chuckled, unsure what he did but appreciating it all the same, while Ashley’s siblings shrugged again.

“But girls, they wanna have fun, girls they wanna have”

Reaching Gretchen, Ashley took out her big sandwich and cut it in half, pretending her father had made her two sandwiches by accident. Gretchen, knowing Ashley A was just doing that because she herself was skipping breakfasts to not cost her parents too much, nodded gratefully and took the second half, the two girls eating away as they walked to school.

“That’s all they really want, some fun When the working day is done”

During recess, Gretchen and Ashley R face painted each other, having a great time, while the other Ashleys wondered where Ashley A was, as they were supposed to do face paint today.

“You know girls they wanna have fun Come on”

A nervous Ashley A watched on as Mikey signed to join the drama club, getting warm welcomes from the others. She couldn’t help but wonder if they’d ever accept her… Or if they’d only want Ashley R.

“Hey now, hey now What’s the matter with you?”

Watching Ashley A watch Mikey, Penny wished she could find some excuse, some way, to squeeze info out of the girls. Then, like a lightbulb turning above her head, she noticed beyond the drama club a door marked “School Paper”, and she rubbed her hands in glee.

“Girls just wanna have fun now Come on”

After school, the girls hung around at an arcade while wearing stylish outfits Ashley A had in her closet. While they both played together on the same game (“Metal Slug”), their heart necklace stood connected, making them play cheek to cheek, determined grins on their faces. Ashley Q and Ashley T, sent once more by Ashley B to check this friendship out for seemingly no reasons, both judged these two geeks… While playing NBA Jam and X-Men respectively.

“Hey now, hey now What’s the matter with you?”

Back home, Ashley A was about to watch TV, when her brother and sister charged in, demanding the remote. Deciding to be nice, Ashley let them, and the siblings, even more confused, put their show on. Ashley A stayed and even shared her snacks. The siblings didn’t get it, but they sure didn’t hate it.

“Girls just wanna have fun now”

February 13th, Thursday, 1998.

At a hairdressers, Gretchen read “The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy” aloud to Ashley, who listened, enthralled. Later, in Ashley’s room, with her parents away, the two had a tea party with their teddy bears, talking the hours away and laughing harder than they ever had before.

“And the boys they wanna have fun And the girls they wanna have fun And the boys they wanna have fun And the girls they wanna have”

Meanwhile, as Vince and his friends tried to enjoy a kickball game in the park, Vince caught Ashley B staring at him from afar, reminding him of what she had told him with a “Call me” sign. Vince rolled his eyes, but he wondered if it was time…

“Some boys take a beautiful girl And hide her away from the rest of the world”

And meanwhile, at his house, Randal (slowly putting away his Penny costume) wrote his latest plan on a dinky new typewriter: a proposed interview with Gretchen Grundler. He kept his wig on, though. It made him feel pretty.

“I wanna be the one to walk in the sun”

February 14th, Friday, 1998.

Ashley was walking with the other Ashleys to the cinema, but she didn’t mind. Her beam was as strong as ever, as she thought of her agreement with Gretchen for this day. Glowing, she happily marched into their first, busting a few dance moves as she did.

“Hey now, hey now What’s the matter with you? Girls just wanna have fun now Come on Hey now, hey now What’s the matter with you? Girls just wanna have fun now Hey now, hey now What’s the matter with you? Girls just wanna have fun now”

As she danced to a song only she could hear, Ashley B smirked, knowing she had a secret plan to figure things out, while Ashley Q and Ashley T fawned over the posters for the movies they were gonna watch.

But Ashley A only had eyes for one poster: “Titanic”.

And her bag secretly held another special gift for the only subject of her soul: Gretchen, who conspicuously sat on a couch away from the Ashleys, secretly holding onto something too.

To be continued… In the Scandalous Chemistry Valentines Day Special!

[halfadoginatank]

RE:BOOTING, Awakening.

Part one-> Here.

Have fun!

———————

There are three things John believes in. The divine, The machine, and The flesh.

His own body has been over, under, twisted around this conglomerate of parts for months. People have called, texted, mailed him for Christ's sake. But there's nothing more important than feeling unforgiving metal bend under his human hands.

Ghost is a machine so broken and tragic, John cries when he's alone with it.

he forgets there's a human inside of there, forgets though always passively aware of the chip in the machine's name where he works around it. When he's welding metal together, wiring it, staring into its chassis with adoration and wonder, he neglects the fact there is a human ‘soul’ in there, waiting to wake up.

John's never been dead, he doesn't know what the real man inside the metal feels.

But he longs, he wants to shove more than his hands inside this robot. This Replicant, he wants to become one with it, in a body he's created himself. In his hazy mind he believes there's god inside this machine, because there is some god in everything and in him, and he is inside this machine, bits of himself- his handiwork, his blood, his sweat, the tears from drunk nights sobbing over a machine while he tells it things he could never admit to himself.

It takes his time, his sleep, his awareness away from the world. There's a bottle of medication right by his night stand and everyday he avoids it, he's so focused now. There's never been anything else like this, like peeling the synthetic skin away from metal and improving what couldn't fix itself. John doesn't want to lose any attention he has on this machine.

Days and nights pass, he prolongs the inevitable, making tiny worthless upgrades, small details, painting back some of Simon Rileys tattoos onto the cold dark grey metal, they barely show up unless in the right lighting but who cares? Anything but turning it back on, anything but having the man inside look upon John and see what he's done, to see him, see inside John's head and every thought he's had while inside him.

John hopes robotic bodies don't hold memories, he hopes when a Replicant's body is turned off that they can't see anything, can't hear anything, he hopes Simon is sleeping well in whatever realm of data his soul is in now. He doesn't want to be seen, he just wants to work. Free to love and care for things that feel nothing at all.

When he turns this machine on it will cease to be just that, it'll be a person. A person who will look down at themselves, call it good, and never see him again.

He'll be letting go of the best thing he's ever made, he'll be letting go Ghost.

[«»]

Time catches up anyway. He sends the email and they respond in kind. A week from now John Price, Kyle Garrick, and Kate Laswell will arrive at his office, So it's time. John will turn the ‘key’ and Simon will wake up.

When he does, for a brief moment he considers a gift from god- there is silence. Those brown eyes blink open, the synthetic skin on his face and neck pull when he turns his head, scrunches when he sniffs the air. John has never felt so… unsure of what he's done.

“Where am I?” Simon's head pulls up, he rattles against the metal table, john looks down in shame and purses his lips- unable to really make anything of his own doing.

“Where the hell am I?!?” Simon rattles again, John looks away from the restraints on him in guilt.

Simon continues his questioning, his flailing, John can only hope it'll end soon so he can get a word in- maybe explain. But in truth, how could he explain being reborn into a machine?

The sounds grow closer and John makes nothing of it until a towering figure blocks every inch of his vision.

Of course, he would make Ghost inhumanly strong, and of course he would fail to make proper restraints.

“Who are you, what orders were you given?”

Simon's face looked down at him, that face he had painfully put onto a plate he 3D printed just so he could keep it as accurate to what few pictures he was given. Scars and everything, even those tiny freckles he hand painted on- exactly where they should be.

Orders, right, orders are much easier to explain.

“You're aware of what a replicant is, yea?”

God let him keep his eyes anywhere but on the man in front of him.

“Captain Price, your superior; found you dying in Texas of all places- put you in a very old Replicant soldier body that was beat up and declared a spare.”

John thanked whatever gods out there that Simon had taken steps back to sit on the table, the table with broken leather straps- Christ above.

“He came to me to fix you up the best I could, so I did. Fix you, I mean.”

He felt… tired, John didn't bother explaining even more. couldn't really think beyond the sudden wave of exhaustion. Instead he sat down at his closest chair and bemoaned some of the papers and parts Simon had stepped on.

There's a giant silent expanse between them, John yearns for cold metal with no gaze to freeze him solid.

“When am I on active duty.”

John bites his tongue, goes for a cup of coffee on his desk he knows is cold.

“Price is coming around with the rest of the squad in three days, presumably he'll move you and you'll be in their care.” He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Simon is prone to one word responses and direct questions, John shouldn't blame him for it. He doesn't, not really, he blames himself most of all. For getting involved with a Replicant, for spending what little sleep he got at its bedside, for whispering his secrets into a hollow skull.

“And you?”

Oh, John doesn't know. What does anyone do when losing a part of themselves?

“I'll move on to other projects- military always has issues with something, once someone gets word about who patched you up, i'll get more orders. I do good for myself.”

He wants to brag, he wants to brag and act like Ghost isn't the best thing he's worked on in his life.

“Right.”

[«»]

In the end those three days are spent in silence. Simon only needs to recharge really, so John goes back to sleep in his bed. The world has never felt colder.

He's not listening to their reunion, not really. Price is happy to see Simon again and Garrick makes his introduction- he's charming and John finds he likes the people in this squad, it's certainly better then some.

Laswell is who he spends most of the time with, there's papers and documents of all kinds. John wants to poke fun at them using ancient methods like a paper contract but he's still so tired.

In truth, the only thing that really catches his attention is when Price turns to him and asks him, John Mactavish, to join the one-four-one.

It's been years since he'd been on a military base, he shriveled at the thought of shitty “laboratories” and rec rooms full of people that became uninterested in him once he spoke about what he was truly passionate about.

He lays down his clauses, he'll work here, loath to change his environment.

There's a secret glee inside of him though. Proper gym equipment, maybe the opportunity to work on more specialized robotics then just his usual contract allows. When he says yes, Kate slides his contract from under the one he just signed.

Quietly it feels like fate.

——————

👍I take my leave.