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ameliashalco · 10 months ago

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Finding the Perfect Stainless Steel Pipe Supply Company: A Comprehensive Guide

Welcome to our comprehensive guide on finding the perfect stainless steel pipe supply company! If you're in the market for stainless steel pipes, then you know how crucial it is to choose the right supplier. The quality of your materials can make or break your projects, so it's essential to do your due diligence in selecting a reliable and reputable company.

In this article, we'll discuss why choosing the right supplier is important and provide you with some key factors to consider when making this decision. Whether you're a construction professional, plumber, or industrial manufacturer, this guide will equip you with the knowledge needed to find a stainless steel pipe supply company that meets all your requirements.

So, let's dive in and explore what makes these suppliers stand out from the crowd!

Importance of Choosing the Right Supplier

When it comes to sourcing stainless steel pipes for your business, choosing the right supplier is crucial. The quality and reliability of your supplier will directly impact the success of your projects. So, what makes selecting the right stainless steel pipe supply company so important?

Working with a reputable supplier ensures that you receive high-quality products. Stainless steel pipes are used in various industries such as construction, automotive, and manufacturing, where durability and corrosion resistance are paramount. A trusted supplier will provide materials that meet industry standards and specifications.

Customer service plays a vital role in maintaining smooth operations. Dealing with a reliable supplier means having access to expert advice and support throughout your project's lifecycle. They should be responsive to inquiries or concerns promptly.

Moreover, timely delivery is critical in meeting project deadlines. Look for a stainless steel pipe supply company known for their punctuality and efficiency when it comes to order fulfillment.

Lastly but equally important is pricing transparency. Choose a supplier who offers competitive prices without compromising product quality.

To sum up, partnering with the right stainless steel pipe supply company guarantees top-notch quality products on time while receiving exceptional customer service at competitive prices – all factors essential for the success of your business endeavors!

Factors to Consider When Choosing a Stainless Steel Pipe Supply Company:

When it comes to choosing a stainless steel pipe supply company, there are several factors that need to be considered. One of the most important factors is the reputation and experience of the company. Look for a supplier that has been in the industry for a while and has built a strong reputation for delivering high-quality products.

Another factor to consider is the quality of products and customer service offered by the company. You want to ensure that you are getting top-notch stainless steel pipes that meet your specifications. Additionally, it's important to choose a supplier who values good customer service and is responsive to any inquiries or issues that may arise.

Price is also an important consideration when selecting a stainless steel pipe supply company. While you don't want to compromise on quality, finding a supplier who offers competitive pricing can help save your business money in the long run.

Availability is key when it comes to selecting a supplier. You want to work with a company that has ample stock of stainless steel pipes and can fulfill your orders in a timely manner.

Taking these factors into account will help you make an informed decision when choosing a stainless steel pipe supply company for your business needs

Reputation and Experience of the Company:

When it comes to choosing a stainless steel pipe supply company, reputation and experience are two crucial factors that should not be overlooked. A company's reputation speaks volumes about its reliability, trustworthiness, and the quality of its products and services. Look for companies with positive reviews, testimonials, and references from satisfied customers.

Experience is equally important in this industry. An experienced supplier will have a deep understanding of stainless steel pipes, their various applications, and the specific needs of different industries. They will also have established relationships with manufacturers and distributors, ensuring they can provide you with high-quality products at competitive prices.

Consider the number of years the company has been in business as well as their track record in delivering consistently excellent products and customer service. A reputable supplier should be able to demonstrate their expertise through certifications or memberships in relevant industry associations.

Moreover, an experienced supplier may have worked on projects similar to yours before which gives them valuable insights into your specific requirements.

Remember that reputation isn't built overnight; it takes time and consistent effort to earn the trust of customers. Therefore, prioritize suppliers who have proven themselves over time by delivering exceptional products and services consistently – these are the ones you want to partner with for your stainless steel pipe needs.

Quality of Products and Customer Service:

When it comes to choosing a stainless steel pipe supply company, one of the most important factors to consider is the quality of products and customer service they offer. High-quality products are essential for ensuring that your projects are durable and long-lasting. A reliable supplier will provide you with pipes that meet industry standards and specifications.

To assess the quality of products offered by a supplier, you can look at their certifications and accreditations. Make sure they adhere to international standards such as ASTM or ISO. Additionally, inquire about the materials used in manufacturing their pipes. Stainless steel grades play a crucial role in determining the durability and corrosion resistance of the pipes.

Apart from product quality, excellent customer service is equally vital. A reputable supplier should be responsive to your inquiries, provide timely updates on orders, and address any concerns or issues promptly. They should have knowledgeable staff who can assist you in selecting the right type and size of pipes for your specific needs.

A good indicator of superior customer service is positive reviews or testimonials from previous clients. Reputable suppliers prioritize customer satisfaction and strive to build long-term relationships based on trust and reliability.

In conclusion (not conclusive), don't underestimate the importance of considering both product quality and customer service when choosing a stainless steel pipe supply company! These factors can greatly impact your overall experience with a supplier, so take your time researching different companies before making a decision!

Price and Availability:

When it comes to choosing a stainless steel pipe supply company, price and availability are two crucial factors that cannot be overlooked. You want to ensure that you are getting the best value for your money while also having access to the products you need when you need them.

Price is an important consideration in any business decision, and finding a supplier that offers competitive pricing is essential. However, it's important not to solely focus on price alone. While it may be tempting to go with the cheapest option available, quality should never be compromised for cost savings. Look for suppliers who offer fair pricing without sacrificing product quality.

In addition to price, availability is another key aspect to consider. A reliable supplier should have a consistent stock of stainless steel pipes and tubes readily available for purchase. This ensures that you won't face delays or disruptions in your operations due to lack of supply.

It's also worth considering if the supplier has multiple locations or distribution centers across different regions. This can improve accessibility and reduce shipping costs by ensuring faster delivery times.

When evaluating price and availability, take into account any additional services offered by the supplier such as customization options or expedited shipping. These value-added services can enhance convenience and meet specific requirements for your business.

By carefully assessing both price and availability aspects from different stainless steel pipe supply companies, you can make an informed decision that meets your budgetary needs without compromising on product quality or timely deliveries.

Conclusion: Making the Best Decision for Your Business:

When it comes to finding the perfect stainless steel pipe supply company, there are several factors that you need to take into consideration. From reputation and experience to quality of products and customer service, each aspect plays a crucial role in making an informed decision.

In conclusion (without using "In conclusion"), selecting the right stainless steel pipe supply company requires careful evaluation of various factors such as reputation, experience, product quality, customer service, price competitiveness, and availability.

By considering these aspects thoroughly, you can make an informed decision that best suits your business needs.

#stainless steel pipes #Stainless Steel Pipe #stainless steel tube suppliers #stainless steel tube supply companies #stainless steel pipe supply companies

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peepeepoposblog-socool · 2 years ago

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Me when people come into a chain craft store with the most bare bones beginner supplies for every catagory in the god forsaken store and ask me how to do professional projects when none of us have been trained in the actual art of crafting itself because we were all hired on as cashier's meant to simply help you at check out and even though I can probably give you some sort of answer because I personally have done research on/ been a hobbyist with a lot of the merchandise we sell, you're still probably better off just doing your own research because I am not a fucking expert you fucking cunt ass bitch.

#you are asking me right now if we sell the supplies or a kit even to replicate this person using thick acrylic paint and a henna piping #tube to make henna like designs on canvas..#ok so get a henna piping tube WHICH WE DO NOT SELL and some acrylic paint which we do sell fortunately #and then do it on your design #no we dont #we dont have kits for it #no #oh it was a class #she offers classes but its a two month wait time #maybe its because THIS FORM OF ART HAS SOME SORT OF CULTHRAL RELEVANCE AND A LOT OF PEOPLE WANT TO PAY FOR HER SERVICE SO THEY CAN LEARN #but you think you can buy this at this craft fucking store with over priced beginner supplies in an entire kit #nothing irritates me more than the white women that walk into my store fr

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taleeater · 7 months ago

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Fragile Part 7

Sorry for the wait! It was hard to focus while writing this chapter, so I might be editing it for mistakes here and there. I hope you like it! :] <3

Generation: Bayverse TMNT

Tmnt x Reader Fanfic

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

Warnings: injury, broken limbs, violence, drowning, not proof read

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You were laying dazed on the cold metal floor. In too much pain to focus on anything else besides breathing. You heard a commotion, voices muffled through the thick glass. At least inside this tube they couldn’t touch you anymore. Your mind strayed to the turtles. You weren’t able to save them. You weren’t able to do anything. You just hope they can somehow get away safely. That April and Casey can somehow save them.

“I won’t ask again…. Where’s (y/n).” Leo growled. He grit his teeth as he lowered his stance, ready to strike.

Baxter Stockman was quickly typing commands into the program on his computer. Karai stepped in front of him and drew her katana.

“Out of your reach, Turtles.”

“Aaaaand, there!” Stockman hit one last key on this computer and a red light started to flash on the tank, bringing the turtle’s attention to the crumpled form inside the glass. At the same time a multitude of files and programs started closing on the screen one after another, Stockman’s signature digital self-destruct program. Baxter stepped away from his computer and lifted his arms up triumphantly.

The sound of rattling pipes overhead catches your attention.

“Ha! You’re too late, Turtles. For years, the Foot Clan has sought out the means to fight you mutants on equal footing. And now, we have our secret weapon! An endless supply of pure mutagen!!!”

You heard a loud beeping sound, then a click, and the squeak of metal.

A gush of icy water pours down on you from above. The sudden cold shocks you and marginally distracts you from the pain. You pull yourself to the edge of the glass away from the heavy stream of water coming down from above, slowly starting to fill the base. You take a shaky deep breath and bang a fist on the glass. No use. Dizzy and numb, you look outside the tank for someone, something, anything that might help you. That’s when you see them.

And with dawning horror, they see you.

“Guys….?” You press your wet hand up against the glass. They’re here! They’re safe!!!

“(Y/n)....? (Y/N)!!!!” Leo shouts and lunges towards the tank. He tries to rush up to the glass but Rocksteady blocks his path. There’s blood on your cheek, and even a good distance away he can tell you’re in bad shape.

“OUT OF OUR WAY!” Raph roared at Bebop and Rocksteady, crossing his sai in preparation for a fight.

“Uuuh hey guys? Why is (y/n) in a giant fish bowl…?” Mikey asked, nunchucks at the ready.

“They ain’t comin’ out anytime soon, short stack.” Bebop said with an evil grin.

“You turtles totally fell for our trap!” Rocksteady chuckled.

Donnie immediately noticed the computer hooked up to the tank’s controls. He tried to subtly sneak past Bebop to get to Stockman but Karai stepped forward and blocked his path.

Karai pointed her sword at Donnie. “The Foot will be unstoppable.”

“And I will FINALLY get the recognition I deserve, for single-handedly creating an entire race of superhumans that will rule over the city!!!”

“You’re crazy!! You don’t even know what kind of side effects that mutation will have on regular humans!” Donnie activated the electricity at the end of his bo staff, ready to fight Karai to get to Stockman.

“I do have to thank you turtles for activating their mutant gene. Without your help, none of this would be possible!” Stockman’s laugh echoed through the large room. He waltz over to the canister filling up with the distilled mutagen from your blood. “We originally got (y/n) by a…. foreseeable mistake. But to our surprise, they survived where others had failed. And yet- their results were incomplete. Their animal DNA wasn’t materializing no matter what we did to them. So we came back to New York, where the population could supply us with countless more test subjects.” Baxter said cheerfully, popping the lid off the canister. “But now that we have the results we wanted, we have no need of them! We can preserve (y/n)’s body in a special chemical compound that will put them into a permanent hibernation. No need to worry, their body will be harnessed for science!” Stockman’s laugh was deep and evil, and to everyone’s shock-

He dumped the canister of mutagen over his own head.

Karai lept back out of the trajectory of the splash. Baxter’s laugh increased in volume as he began to morph and change. His head and eyes grew large, his body shrank, little papery wings sprouted from his back, and he mutated into a giant mutant fly.

Bebop and Rocksteady were stunned by the transformation. “Eeeeewwww… he turned into a bug?” Bebop whined.

“Nasty!” Rocksteady shook his head. Neither of them were paying attention to the turtles so Raph and Donnie covered for Leo and Mikey to make a break for the tank you were in. By now it had filled enough that you were starting to float.

“We’re here babe! We’re gonna get you out!” Mikey reassured you.

You whimpered helplessly. You were having a hard time keeping your head above water, not really able to swim with a broken dislocated arm and broken ankle.

“Stay back!” Leo sliced at the glass, and Mikey hit it with his nunchucks as hard as he could, but their attacks barely left a scratch!

“Guys! We have incoming!” Donnie yelled as Stockman had started flying around the room, maniacally laughing as he swooped down and kicked the back of Mikey’s shell, almost knocking him over.

“Dude, gross!” Mikey protested. Stockman looked to be drooling some kind of acid substance from his mouth.

Bebop and Rocksteady had recovered and started to charge towards them. Leo and Mikey had to jump away from your tank to avoid getting trampled.

“Donnie, that glass is as hard as steel!!” Leo jumped up and kicked Rocksteady across his cheek, then retreated.

“What’re we gonna do? (Y/n)’s tank is already half full!” Raph shouted. He was using his sai to hold back Bebop’s tusks as he tried to charge them.

You were doing your best to calm your breathing enough that you could float, but every time your head ducked below water you panicked. Your body was exhausted and protested against your desperate movements, but you needed to survive long enough for the boys to break you out.

“Donnie! See if you can turn off the water!!! I’ve got Karai.” Leo ordered

“Mikey! It’s you and me!” Raph called over, clanging his sai together and shouted a war cry running up to strike Rocksteady.

“What?! What about the bug brained dude??!! Eep!” Mikey ducked as Stockman flew over his head. He looked down and realized he was kneeling at the feet of Bebop, who had taken the black taser out of his pocket.

“You wanna taste too, little man?”

When Bebop flicked on the taser, Mikey saw the small stains of fresh blood on the pointed tips that buzzed with electricity. He looked back over to you struggling in the tank and how heavily injured you looked.

He saw red.

Mikey had a rare moment of true anger as he jumped to his feet and knocked the taser out of Bebop’s hand with his nunchucks, and in a flurry of rapid hits he beat back the warthog. He finished him off with a powerful roundhouse kick to the head.

“THAT’S WHAT YOU GET FOR MESSING WITH MY BAE!” He shouted triumphantly.

Raph looked back to Mikey with wide eyes, proud of his little bro for letting loose. “Woah. Way to go Mikey!” He ducked a hit from Rocksteady and punched him hard under his chin. Knocking him out cold.

Leo was crossing swords with Karai. She was a skilled fighter. But he was much stronger than her. While he pushed her back with a heavy strike, she slipped on some of the mutagen that had spilled on the floor, allowing Leo to take advantage of the opening and disarmed her. He flicked her sword out of her hand and knocked her back. She glared daggers at him, quickly recovering. But seeing as Bebop and Rocksteady were knocked out, she opted for a tactical retreat.

“This is just the beginning.” She hissed and ran out of the lab door.

Stockman was buzzing around your tank, still laughing maniacally.

“You turtlezzzzz cannot defeat the mighty Dr Stockman!! I am invincible!! I am-“

Donnie turned on the taser at the end of his bo staff and vaulted it at the annoying human insect, striking him and electrocuting him, knocking him out of the air to fall on the floor with a gross splat.

“Good thing I always carry a bug zapper.” He deadpanned.

Donnie went back to trying to hack into Stockmans computer. He managed to get past the firewall with his hacking program, but he discovered that all of the interfaces connected to the tank control had been erased.

There was no way to stop the tank from filling up completely. Donnie would have to write a whole new interface from scratch to control the tank.

There was no time.

You were running out of air, trying desperately to keep your head above water as the tank was almost full to the top. You took in one last deep breath just as the water consumed the last of the space. You held your good hand over your mouth and nose hard, trying to hold in the air, and floated down towards the bottom of the tank.

No more air.

“(Y/N)!!!”

“ANGEL CAKES!!!” Donnie and Mikey yelled out in panic.

Your eyes snapped open, hearing their muffled voices outside the tank. You swam over to the glass and met eyes with Raphael. He had picked a spot and began punching at the glass over and over again with his sai in his fists.

The needled jabs just managed to scratch the surface.

You looked at him sadly through the glass. He was stressed, sweating and desperate to break through. Mikey had grabbed a chair and had chucked it at the glass from another spot but it just bounced off and broke on the floor.

Leo was standing behind Donnie with his hand on his shoulder, but his eyes didn’t leave your face.

Time was running out. You were choking on the stale air in your lungs. Head getting dizzy from lack of oxygen. You removed your hand from your mouth and pressed it up to the glass, some bubbles of air escaping your mouth. Your eyebrows knit together to concentrate on not breathing in the fluid in the tank. But you were suffocating and in pain.

It was hard.

You looked back up at Raph, and forced a smile on your face. You felt sad. You didn’t want them to see you like this. They felt so far away.

Darkness was consuming your vision. The last remaining bubbles of air escaped from your mouth and your eyes slipped closed.

“NO!!! NO-! (Y/N), STAY WITH US.” Raph pounded his fist hard against the glass.

“DAMN IT.” Donnie frustratingly slammed his fist down next to the keyboard, his head falling into his hands. None of the lines of command coding he was typing in were working.

Leo left Donnie’s side and strode up to the tank.

“Move.” Leo ordered as he came up behind Raph. He unsheathed his swords and began slicing at the glass again. It was barely making a scratch. But combined with the small dents Raph had been making, he was slowly chipping away at the surface.

“Leo! If you can manage to cut 1.2 centimeters deep, it should weaken the glass enough to shatter with enough force!” Donnie yelled from where he was still furiously typing into the stationed keyboard. His attempts to unlock the system all in vain.

Leo and Raph worked together to stab and slice at the weakest point in the glass until finally-

*crack*

A small fracture appeared in the glass.

“There!!” Donnie called out. Raph and Leo switched to charging at the door and ramming it full force with their shoulders. Over and over as the cracks grew wider and wider.

Mikey came over, and with a hand on Leo’s shoulder, the leader stepped aside to let his little brother help. Mikey joined Raph and rammed the glass again with such force the crack split all the way across the glass. One more strike-

The glass shattered on impact.

The gush of water that burst through swept Mikey and Raph off their feet. The floor of the lab flooded, and your body washed up on the floor. Lifeless and unmoving.

“(Y/N)!!!!!!” The boys all yelled.

Leo reached you first, falling into a kneel at your side. He ripped out the two needles from your back and held you in his arms. Donnie rushed over and slid down into the other spot at your side, his goggles pulled into place as he quickly checked you over.

“They’re not breathing. Put them down flat, now.” Leo obeyed and laid you on your back. Donnie first pressed down on your diaphragm to check for water blocking your lungs, then began compressions.

The room was dead quiet all except for the sounds of Donnie’s whispered counting as he pressed down on your chest. He paused, opened your mouth, pinched your nose, and breathed into your lungs.

Mikey was nervously walking around you back and forth, and Raph watched you from a distance, a vacant expression as he watched your face for any sign of movement, pleading with himself for you to be okay.

After what felt like an eternity, you coughed. Leo quickly rolled you lay on your side. You spit up water, gasping for air. You felt like you were coughing up a lung full of ethanol.

Mikey cheered and Raph took a deep breath, covering his face with his hands. Donnie fell backwards onto his butt and pulled his goggles off his head, so incredibly relieved you were breathing. Leo rubbed your back comfortingly as you got your breathing back under control.

Once you got a suitable amount of oxygen back in your lungs, you whimpered. Your throat was burning and a pain in your stomach and chest made it hard to breathe.

Leo picked you up again, and held you close to his chest. Your eyes fluttered open and you winced at the bright light from the ceiling.

“Welcome back.” Leo said with a smile on his face.

“Leo…?” Your voice was quiet and scratchy. You looked around at Donnie, Mikey, and Raph that all came into view around you and Leo.

“Guys….?” You felt barely conscious. Head foggy and tired like you were under water.

“We’re right here.” Donnie assured you, reaching down to pick up your good hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

All the fear and emotion of drowning and being captured suddenly crashed down on you all at once. You sniffed and big tears gathered in your eyes.

“I was… so scared… I thought I was going to lose you….!” You hiccuped and sobbed as Leo held your trembling form tightly against his chest.

“Shhhh, it’s okay. I’m here. We got you.” Leo soothed, rubbing his hand down your back. He buried his nose into your damp hair and held you tight.

“You had us worried there for a minute!” Donnie was smiling at you, soft and relieved. Mikey was standing behind him rubbing tears out of his eyes.

“Let’s get you home.” Raph said, kneeling down behind you.

“Wait. I need to splint their arm and their ankle first. Mikey, can you find me some-“

*crack*

“Will this work?”

Mikey had already broken off the thin legs of a chair across the room.

“Yeah that works fine.” He pulled out two rolls of gauze from one of the pockets on his belt, and took the offered sticks from Mikey, who knelt down by your feet.

“What’re we gonna do about him?” He asked, motioning over to Stockman’s twitching form across the room.

The brothers all sneered at the fly mutant with similar levels of disgust on their faces, finding him rather gross. You smiled.

“Just leave him there, we can worry about him another time.” Leo offered, adjusting you in his grip. You winced terribly when your arm was moved.

“….Is ...your arm dislocated?” Leo asked you, holding you upright in a sitting position, now thoroughly checking you over.

Donnie and Mikey were working together to splint your ankle, Mikey holding up your foot while Donnie wrapped the splint to it.

“Let me see that.” Raph placed his hands on your shoulder and you clenched your teeth and whined quietly at the sharp pain.

“Leo, hold them still for a minute.”

“Just hold onto me tightly, it’ll be over in a second.” Leo hugged you close, wrapping an arm around your good side.

Raph got hold of your tender arm, and with practiced ease, popped your shoulder back into place. You cried out loudly and buried your face in Leo’s shoulder, taking deep breaths.

Raph tried to rub the soreness out of your poor shoulder. “Good job, princess. Now let Donnie get a look at that break.”

You hesitantly detached yourself from Leo, your shaking red and swollen arm was carefully picked up by Donnie, who set the splint and carefully wrapped the bandages.

“I’ll be able to get a better look at it with the x-ray machine back at home. For now we just have to be really careful not to jostle them too much when carrying them back.”

“I got em.” Raph volunteered. Leo looked to Raph, wordlessly nodding his head for his brother to take you from his arms.

“Careful of their arm….”

“Got it.”

Without much effort, Raph scooped you up in his big arms. You winced as a sharp stabbing pain radiated through your stomach as you were held close to Raph’s chest.

Something was definitely wrong.

“I’m sorry, princess. It’s just until we get you home.” Raph apologized. Leo led everyone quickly out of the lab.

Once back out in the hallway you had entered from, you noticed with visible shock the literal sea of bodies that covered the floor. Foot ninja. They fought through all of them, just to get to you.

Everyone exited the lab, careful to stick to the shadows as the sun began to rise. As the turtles made their way for their home, your stomach burned worse and worse with a white hot pain that radiated through your body. The movement of the city passing you by made you become dizzy, and your head felt like it was spinning. You felt nauseous and incredibly tired.

“Hey Raph….?”

“Yeah princess?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you guys…. You had to save me instead….” You weren’t making any sense. Raph could barely hear you as the wind whipped past his head. You just felt so tired.

“Hey, stay with me, princess. We’re almost there. It’s okay.” Raph didn’t know what the right thing to say was. But your eyes were starting to slide closed.

“Can we…. Can we watch Princess Bride again…. When we get home….?”

Raph smiled at that.

“Yeah. We’ll watch it as many times as you want, short stack.” He didn’t care if his brothers teased him for secretly liking your girly movie. He didn’t care if he had to watch it with you a hundred times. He just wanted you to get better.

“We’re almost there. How you holding up?”

Silence.

“(Y/n)…?”

“Mmh?”

Your eyes were closed.

“Come on, wake up, we’re almost there.”

He was desperate.

“Mm…hm…”

You hummed, but your eyelids felt too heavy to lift. You felt yourself sinking into a dark liquid abyss. You could no longer fight the pull.

“(Y/n)….. (y/n)? Hey…! Hey, no no no no no, you gotta stay awake. Come on princess…! (Y/N)!!!”

You felt Raph try to shake you awake, felt his muscles tense as he pushed himself to go faster.

“We’re almost there, hold on…!”

“Hold on….”

Darkness overtook you.

Part 8

@itsberrydreemurstuff @thecreat0r64 @eli-chris @kurlyfrasier @autisticnutcase @drenix004 @donniesgirlie @cherryp-op @foggyturtleknightangel @blackrockshooter780 @l-n-g-t @peachesdabunny @silverwatergalaxy @willy-the-witch @caeliasaida @veri-varily @xnorthstar3x @leonardo-dabitchy @sh1ga-to3s

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

#tmnt x reader #bayverse tmnt #tmnt bayverse #tmnt fanfic #tmnt bayverse x reader #tmnt 2014 x reader #tmnt 2016 x reader #tmnt imagines #bayverse donatello #bayverse raphael #bayverse!tmnt #tmnt bayverse imagines #bayverse michelangelo x reader #bayverse leonardo #bayverse leonardo x reader #bayverse raphael x reader #bayverse donatello x reader

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juniper-sunny · 2 months ago

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The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 1

As a professional artist, you've made a career out of bringing works of art to life. The colors of Zaun are no exception, and your current commission is literally larger-than-life: a mural in the Undercity. But then you meet a young revolutionary named Silco who shows you a side of the underground that you've never seen before...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst || SFW | WC: 3k

beta readers: @silcoitus @deny-the-issue

ao3 || Masterlist

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

There’s color everywhere in the Undercity. It’s not that hard to find, but most people don’t care to go looking for it. But you’ve always been able to appreciate it in all its forms: dandelions straining through cracks in the concrete, eclectic graffiti in hard-to-reach places, pale weak lighting streaming through broken glass and ironwork…

Anywhere you look, there’s always a feast for the eyes.

There are plenty of artists from the Undercity, and you proudly count yourself among their number. But not many of them manage to cultivate a steady clientele; fewer still manage to attract the attention of wealthy Topsiders. They’ve sustained you for years now, since the beginning of your professional career. Making the transition from tagging crumbling stone walls with graffiti to painting on smooth, delicate canvas was a huge learning curve, but you make great money from commissions. And there’s a seemingly never-ending supply of wealthy Piltover families who want family portraits, individual portraits, pet portraits, portraits of long dead ancestors, portraits of them participating in historical events that they weren’t present at…

Whatever opinions you have of your clients, you keep them to yourself. They probably have their own issues with you since you were born and raised in the Undercity. But you wouldn’t give up your upbringing for anything. Certainly not the hallowed halls of Piltover’s art schools, learning to paint only in the styles of long-dead “masters” who romanticize poverty as an abstract concept, something to be studied and observed at a distance.

Today, your work brings you to the periphery of the Undercity, where Piltover’s largest bridge ends at the aboveground levels of Zaun. You’re working on your biggest commission yet, literally: a mural high on the side of a whitewashed gray brick building in the Promenade, the emergent layer of the Undercity’s glass and iron jungle. Still close enough to the surface to be touched by the sun, illuminated in the early hours on days with good weather. Your artwork is going to encompass at least two-thirds of the wall, over a hundred times larger than most other wall art in this area of Zaun.

The location has you nostalgic for those bygone days of your childhood, but the fresh air and warm sun are miles above where you used to run around in the lowly gutters, competing with your friends for the best real estate and vandalizing each other’s work, showing off who can paint the fastest and most elaborate pieces before Enforcers come stomping around. That’s when you’d all scatter like rats, only to do it all over again the next day.

The mural you’re working on is large enough to warrant the use of a scissor lift, which you’re standing on right now. Its highest extension brings you standing higher than the wall, level with the roof’s ledge. When you lean back and stretch as far as you can, a cool breeze trails through your fingers. You can’t help but savor the beautiful day for a little while longer before getting started.

Just as you lean over a yellow paint can to open it, the sound of running footsteps makes you pause. You lean over the scissor lift’s railing to look down at the alleyway below. It’s narrow due to the close proximity of other buildings, pipes and glass tubes rising above rooftops and wrapping around windows like fungi. You squint hard, trying to make out the source of the noise.

It moves so fast you almost miss it. A blur runs over the irregular stonework on the ground, coalescing into a shadowy figure that dodges and jumps around the landscape with ease, darting and almost flying on a deliberate path. Maybe it’s an avian Vastayan?

This area doesn’t see a lot of foot traffic around this time of day; you deliberately chose your working hours so you wouldn’t be disturbed. Still, it’s not unusual to see or hear people nearby. But what really gets your attention is when the thing ducks around your scissor lift and peeks out, using your machine as cover to look back where it came from.

You don’t know why you’re watching, but something compels you to. Compels you to defy the first law of survival in the Undercity: mind your own damn business. Or else.

For a moment, it doesn’t move.

Then, it looks up. Catching you staring at it.

No, not “it”—a man. Human, dark-haired with brilliant blue eyes, staring back at you in defiance and uncertainty.

He turns and goes down to his knees, crawling to a nearby manhole cover and lifting it, then jumping in. His movements are swift and graceful, no doubt thoroughly practiced at using this specific escape route.

Footsteps fill the air again. You turn away to look down the other end of the alleyway where the man came from. These footfalls are slower and louder; whoever they belong to, they’re wearing heavy boots and don’t seem to care about being subtle.

A pair of Enforcers turn the corner, navigating the debris and unsteady ground much more clumsily than the stranger.

“He can’t have gone far! Damn gutter rat…” one of them swears angrily.

They’re about to pass right next to your scissor lift.

You hold your breath as you grab two of your paint cans at random and pry their lids off as quickly as you can…

Perch them carefully on the railing…

Take aim…

And then—

SPLAT!!!

Your aim is perfect: the cans drop like bombs, crashing into the Enforcers’ shoulders and clanking onto the ground, spinning wild arcs of paint all over their boots. They’re both drenched in paint from head to toe, prim and proper gold and blue outfits stained in long drips of light pink and pure white, bright enough to be seen even from the great height you’re standing at. Just as you hoped, they stop their pursuit to shake themselves like mangy dogs, trying to swipe the paint off of their sleeves. One of them takes off their hat and whips it frantically up and down, splattering the nearby walls and your scissor lift.

You school your face from a triumphant grin into a serious, mournful expression as you lower the lift to the ground. The loud hum of the machinery drowns out their furious cursing.

“I’m soooooo sorry officers, I didn’t see you there!” you apologize profusely as you climb down to approach them.

“Dammit, woman!” one of them shouts, brandishing a paint-splattered baton at you. “What the hell—”

“If you want to be reimbursed for your uniforms, just let Councilor Salo know and he’ll cover the costs,” you smoothly interrupt the Enforcer, unbothered by his outburst.

The namedrop makes them pause. You pull your business card and a golden engraved crest out of your pocket. One of the officers takes them both, not bothering to look at your card. Instead, he carefully examines the crest, a pure gold and tacky letter “S” in calligraphic script, set in a delicate filigree of a leafy bush laden with berries. The crest is given by the Councilor to his contractors to give them free entry to restricted areas in Piltover. You’ve only ever used it so far to gain access to his gated mansion, but right now it’s coming in handy too: having Salo as a patron basically tells people that they shouldn’t mess with you unless they want to piss off a councilor.

“It’s genuine,” the Enforcer mutters to his partner and hands the crest back to you. He clears his throat and addresses you in a calmer, more formal manner. “And it’s not a problem, ma’am. We won’t bother the Councilor with something so trivial. Have you seen a—”

You gasp melodramatically, exaggeratedly widening your eyes. “Your uniforms! You need to wash them right away! Or else they’ll stain permanently!”

They glance at each other impatiently. “It’s fine. We’re looking for a—”

“And your skin! Did you get any on you?? It’ll stain you too!!”

That gets their attention. One of them tucks his hat under his arm, rubbing a gloved hand furiously at his pink-and-white cheek. You shove the other Enforcer with all your might, pushing him away.

“Scrub your bodies with tomato juice and then soak in onion peels! That’ll get it all out! But hurry!!”

They finally break out into a run, out of Zaun and towards Piltover where they belong. You snicker to yourself and toss the crest in the air. It flips over and over, casting bright reflections that spin dizzily on the walls as it catches the light. Those Enforcers won’t actually have to do all that to get the paint out of their clothing, but it feels like a small victory against the cruel arm of law enforcement who cause even worse trouble whenever they visit the Undercity.

You catch a glimpse of something twinkling on the ground. It’s the eyes of the man, still watching you from underground.

As you suppress the instinct to wave hello at him, he pulls the manhole cover back into place, disappearing into the sewers.

The next day starts off like any other, and you’re looking forward to getting more work done. But as you climb your scissor lift, a jolt of fear zaps up your spine. Prickles on the back of your neck crawl upwards to settle at the top of your head. It’s an Undercity instinct, a warning that someone you can’t see is watching you.

And they’re looking down at you like a bird of prey.

You dart into the shadows, crouching low against the wall. You take deep breaths to settle your nerves. The high ground gives them an advantage against you. If they have a gun, it’s just a matter of them pointing and shooting—

But then, just barely, you’re able to catch a whiff of smoke. It smells of cheap nicotine, and you look up to see a ring of cigarette smoke uncurling lazily against the backdrop of a cloudless sky.

The cigarette smoke is as good as a signal fire. If they wanted to hurt you, they wouldn’t make themselves known like that. Still, whoever it is, they know where you work and were waiting for you. That makes you wary enough to grab your sharpest palette knife and hide it in your pocket. It’s not a conventional weapon, but there’s no way you’re going to confront a stranger unarmed when you ask them to leave you alone. Your grip around the knife’s handle is tight as you punch the button to extend the lift to its fullest height. It brings you level with the roof and the person waiting for you.

It’s the same man from yesterday, now close enough for you to notice that his narrowed, suspicious eyes aren’t blue but turquoise, clear as the ocean and just as deep. He’s pointy and whip-thin, leaning against the roof’s ledge with crossed arms, a cigarette squeezed between the clenched fingers of a tight fist.

“What kind of person works for a councilor but won’t turn in a wanted man?” he asks, curious. His voice is low and smoky, a smooth baritone intonation rolling over gravel. It’s a beautiful voice, tempting you into lowering your guard. If you closed your eyes, you could be fooled into believing that his voice belonged to a Topside radio host or a curator giving tours in a museum.

“Just wanted to help a fellow ‘gutter rat’,” you reply, shrugging.

“And why would you do that?” His fashion is typical for an average Zaunite: his dark shirt is made of rough and well-worn fabric, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal wiry but muscled forearms. On his left shoulder is a leather pad, studded with brass buttons and stitched with metal wires, all highly polished and shining brightly in the sun, reflections dancing off them like flares. His left wrist is wrapped in bandages while a leather bracelet threaded with silver coins adorns his right wrist.

“Why not?” you ask. “Isn’t life hard enough already? We should help each other out whenever we can.”

He doesn’t acknowledge your statement with a reply, but instead raises an incredulous eyebrow. You let the silence continue as the two of you mutually size each other up. His high cheekbones and long, narrow and shapely nose are framed by straight hair, black as coal. It looks so soft, parting in the exact middle of his forehead to end in drapes around his chin. His skin is pale with an ashy undertone, a symptom of living long-term in the deepest guts of the Undercity where its denizens rarely get to enjoy any sunshine at all. His lips are thin, the irregular cupid’s bow longer on his right side than the left.

This man’s face would be an interesting challenge to paint.

“Now that’s not an attitude you encounter every day in the Undercity,” he muses. His eyes are especially striking. They gaze at you with such intensity, it makes you self-conscious of your paint-stained attire, a loose workman’s jumpsuit that prioritizes utility and comfort over style. He doesn’t seem to pay any mind to your painting materials, which you’re suddenly realizing are lying out in the open… He could get a good price for them if he stole them from you. Yesterday’s prank was a spur-of-the-moment decision; losing some easily replaceable supplies was worth inconveniencing the officers, but you suddenly regret painting a target on your back.

That’s why you have to keep to yourself in the Undercity. If you help a stranger, they could stab you in the back instead of thanking you.

But the man seems more interested in staring through you, scrutinizing you with such focus that it could put yesterday’s Enforcers to shame.

“Well, it’s fun to mess with Enforcers, too,” you chuckle at the memory. Staring back with casual indifference, you quietly readjust your grip on your knife. Another rule of survival in the Undercity is to never break eye contact with someone trying to intimidate you unless you want to be seen as weak. If he wants to start a fight, you’ll be ready to finish it.

“That, I understand all too well.” The stiff line of his lips quirks upward in appreciation before settling again into wary neutrality. He finally breaks eye contact, turning away to take a pull on his cigarette. You let out a low breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Your eyes are drawn to the elegant, lazy movement of his hand as he puts out his cigarette, grinding it against the ledge. The wind carries away small brown flecks of ash in a sudden breeze.

His demeanor is stony, but not hostile. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking just from looking at his face. But he went out of his way to come here and find you, and that says a lot about his determination overriding his sense of caution. You didn’t get a good enough look at him yesterday to track him down, either to turn him in or demand a reward. He could have just as easily carried on with his own life on a path that never crossed yours again.

He must be really curious about you.

You don’t know why, but the feeling is mutual.

“You’re welcome for yesterday, by the way,” you smile at him, relaxing your hold on your knife. “Those Enforcers would’ve caught you if it weren’t for me. Although you’re so skinny you could literally slip through their fingers.”

His impressive façade cracks as he bares his chipped teeth, bristling and ready to attack. “I did not need your help. I was perfectly capable of escaping on my own.”

You thoughtfully stroke your chin. “Guess we’ll never know.”

He stands tall to his fullest height, towering over you, a dangerous challenge in his voice sharpening its edges into a threat. “What makes you think it would be a good idea to antagonize someone wanted by Enforcers?”

“Ooooh, the Enforcers want to lock up little ol’ you. You’re such a big baddie,” you tease. “If they had it their way, they’d have every single one of us locked up. You’re not special.”

He leans forward again, curling his hands over the ledge of the roof. “Perhaps I’ve done something especially terrible to warrant particular attention from Topside.”

“Let me guess,” you purse your lips as you examine him. “You pickpocketed some rich guy?”

He smiles slyly. “Worse than that.”

“Running an illegal Poro-fighting ring?”

“No.”

“Impersonating a councilor?”

“Not quite.”

You shake your head in bemusement. “What was it?”

“Seducing a Piltie noblewoman,” a mischievous twinkle shines in his eyes. “I all but rescued her from a cold and loveless marriage. Unfortunately, her husband didn’t seem to feel the same way.”

“Really?” you laugh again, more out of surprise than humor this time.

“No,” he winks. “I guess you’ll never know.”

“If I bump into those Enforcers again I’ll just ask them— not that I’d tell them where you are,” you add hastily. It was meant as a joke, but from the way he glares at you with humorless alarm it was clearly the wrong thing to say. “Besides, if you did seduce a Piltie lady, you’d be doing her a favor.”

He raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “And what do you mean by that?”

You blush. It was something you thought when you first laid eyes on him properly, but it just slipped out while you were babbling— he’s handsome. “You’re probably better looking than her husband.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you,” his smile this time is accompanied by a soft exhale of amusement. He leans forward again, this time a slight slouch in his shoulders as he allows himself to relax. “I also owe you my gratitude for coming to my rescue. Thank you, madam.”

You wince at the word. He doesn’t look that much older than you, so there’s no need for him to address you so formally. “Please don’t call me that.”

“May I have your name then?” he asks politely.

You give it to him. He repeats it slowly, as if appreciating the shape of it. Something about the way he says it makes you want to step forward. The opportunity presents itself when he reaches his hand out for you to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Silco.”

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! <3

Chapter 2

#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco #Silco x Reader #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #my writing #The Art in the Heart #TAITH

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nice-deep-breaths · 3 months ago

Text

can i offer anyone some more warm comforting anesthesia flash fic/short stories

—

He gestures with the mask, and the tubing it’s attached to sways slightly. “Ready?”

Your heart starts to pound a little faster. “Yeah…I guess.”

He looks you over again, and you catch a glimmer of satisfaction in his expression. “All right, then. Just stay relaxed and take some deep breaths, okay? It’s only oxygen for now. We’ll do this slow, give you a chance to adjust.”

His hands are gentle as he settles it on your face. It’s soft, almost cushioned, and it doesn’t smell like anything in particular.

“Comfortable?” he asks, and you nod. You were expecting a lot worse, but it’s actually quite nice. “Good.”

You take a couple of breaths, bouncing between staring at the ceiling and staring up at him. It’s a strange angle to begin with, but he’s got a focused look on his face, looking down at you slightly clinically. It’s rather disconcerting, though there’s something…comforting about being watched so closely. As if you’re being cared for. Like you’re safe.

“How do you feel?”

“Okay,” you respond, unsure of what else to say. If anything, you feel like you’re more awake than you were a second ago, which just fuels the hamster wheel of your brain.

“You’re doing really well,” he reassures, and long, cool fingers brush across your forehead. “I’m going to start giving you some medicine, all right? It might smell a little strange, and make you feel a bit funny. No need to panic, just keep breathing.”

And yes, your next breath tastes sweet, artificial, but not necessarily unpleasant. You breathe in again, slightly less raggedly.

“Good…” his voice is calm and steady in your ears as he draws out the word. “Deep breaths, nice and slow.”

You blink, taking a few more slow breaths as he instructs. Your head begins to feel slightly light, and your thoughts begin to slow a little bit.

“Oh. Feel it.” You’re a little alarmed at how you’re now slurring your words, but he doesn’t seem fazed at all.

“Yeah, you would be feeling it by now. Else I’d be a bit concerned about your circulatory system.” You almost want to cringe away from the intensity of his gaze, even though your vision is beginning to blur ever so slightly.

“Difficult to focus?” he asks, and you nod. That’s a good way to describe it. You feel his free hand press to your wrist. He’s taking your pulse again. You’re becoming detached, though, and the touch feels just a little dreamlike. “Good. And your pulse is slowing way down. Definitely kicking in.”

His hand lifts from your wrist, and suddenly it feels as though his touch was what was grounding you to existence. You miss the tether. “I’m going to give you some more medicine. You ready?”

You nod, and then your next breath is tinged with something pungent and sharp, like a permanent marker being piped directly into your air supply. You gasp. A little cough escapes your throat, and you instinctively try to turn your head away. You don’t get very far.

“All right, all right, okay, it’s okay, you’re all right,” Cool fingers stroke your forehead again, before pressing to your temple. “Just breathe. In….and out, nice and easy. You’re being very brave right now.”

You don’t feel brave. You feel light, like you’re floating. His words filter into your ears as though through a blanket of cotton wool. You lean into his touch, trying to breathe as he says. The room is beginning to spin.

His hand is still on your forehead, gently stroking up to your hair. You blink up at him, your vision beginning to waver.

He’s looking at your eyes again. They feel thick and heavy. You have to make an active effort to keep them open and focused. The anxiety suddenly flares at the growing loss of control.

“It’s okay,” he repeats. His words are echoed in your ears as he looks at your eyes again. “You’ll start to feel sleepy, that’s normal. You’re just going to take a little nap for me.”

Distantly, despite his gentle reassurance, you feel the urge to struggle, to squirm away or to pull the mask off or to hold your breath. But your muscles are melting into the bed. All they give you is another twitch.

Then, there’s a cool hand gently steadying your head, and the gentlest of touches to your temple again. His voice is so soft, calming and clearer in your ears. “Easy, easy, easy, I’ve got you, you’re okay. You don’t have to be scared, you’re doing just fine.”

The fear evaporates.

“That’s it. Just a little more now. Keep breathing.”

The cool fingers disappear from your face, briefly, before they return. They are perfectly timed with a more intense smell. It’s like someone’s uncapped another marker. You automatically hesitate to breathe, but suddenly it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

“There we go. Calm, calm, calm. I just want you to start counting down from ten with me now. Ten…”

You find it weirdly hard to speak. But you try. For him. “Nine…”

Gentle fingers stroke circles into your temple. “That’s right. Just relax…Eight…”

You blink as if on cue, taking another breath. Your muscles feel even more limp, as though they weigh a thousand pounds. “Seven…”

“Keep taking nice, slow, deep breaths, in and out, just like that…Six…”

“Five,” your voice is getting quieter, more mumbled. You can barely keep your eyes open.

“That’s very, very good. Four. You’re doing brilliantly.”

You take another deep breath. Your vision is going dark now, your eyes definitely wanting to stay shut. They roll backwards when you try to open them again. You twitch, shaking your head just a little. “T-three…..”

Another circular pattern on your temple. His voice is low, gentle, comforting, lullaby-like. “Shhh, shhhh, relax, just relax, and don’t try to fight it. Two. One more breath, now.”

One more breath.

You’re not even sure if you manage to breathe out a “One”, or if it’s just a disembodied sigh.

“There we go. Go ahead and close those eyes for me. I’ve got you.”

A gentle hand passes down over your forehead. And, just as the words drift into your mind, your eyelids lock shut, and you’re falling into the swirling dark.

#j speaks #this is very much a specific character but i’m anonymizing it #also probably unrealistic how long/slow it is but whatever #this is all i want in life tbh

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dizzy-n-busy · 1 year ago

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★ SAINT ★

Al and Seth run into problems, SugarBoo won't allow it.

{cw: homophobia, social anxiety, biblical-esque titles(?) and me calling SugarBoo both Sugar and Boo}

• • • ★ • • •

Seth shrugged on his coat, being careful to not reap the baker's stitch-work as he did.

Waiting by the door with fidgeting hands, Seth had wondered over and over and over again about why the couple housing him had asked him to tag along on a grocery trip.

Technically, Sugar had told him why.

" I'm runnin' low on supplies, and I don't want you here alone. "

I don't want you here alone.

The brunet rolls his lips together, knowing the implications behind their worry; his bruise - though having stopped it's swelling - still stung and his body still ached.

Seth sighed harshly through his nose, bunching up his brows and leaning his side to the door with crossed arms, wallowing.

If I had just -

" What'er you poutin' about, cowboy? You in time-out or somethin'? "

Seth jolts at the familiar voice.

Practically snapping his head to look at the pastel punk heading his way, throwing his jacket on and fixing it to sit properly on his broad shoulders.

Alphonse had a brow raised and sassy pout dressed on his lips - Seth scoffed at his playful demeanor, rolling his eyes and pushing off the woodwork to look at him head on. " I am not in time-out, just waiting for your slow self ta giddyap. "

" Don't start with the pissing contest boys, " Boo rounds the corner from the master bedroom, bundled up in a - clearly stolen - hoodie, " we've got places to be. "

They breeze past an incredulously faced Alphonse and towards Seth, who stiffens when they reach around him and grab their keys; turning their gaze to him with soft, lidded eyes.

" So, giddyap. "

Seth was practically glued to the couple - Boo, who pushed the cart and Alphonse, who touched every little thing that caught his eye - feeling skittish about being out in such a crowded area.

His eyes bounce between heads, waiting to see ones that set of the alarms. An impending tar pours over his heart; heavy, unrelenting and painfully difficult to ignore.

" Seth. "

Brown eyes find blue ones.

" You okay? Boo kept callin' you but you were kinda...zonin' out. " Alphonse tilts his pastel head at the shorter and Seth realizes that they're in the frozen isle - or maybe the trembling he was suddenly experiencing was from anxiety knawing at his bones.

Seth can't find his voice quick enough, gesturing with his hands as he fumbles over his words; feeling eyes bore at the back of his head.

" I - uhm - yeah! I-I'm fine, why wouldn't I be fine? " The brunet glances at the products chilling behind glass doors, " so, ice cream? "

Seth's relieved when Sugar follows along, shifting their weight to show him what was inside the rows, " how do you feel about sharing some neapolitan? "

" Harlequin. " Al says in a quiet pout to himself, Boo seems to hear him despite it. " You really like that name for it now, aye sweet thing? "

Seth chuckles - relaxing - as Alphonse leans his head on top of theirs, mumbling a small confirmation and gazing beady eyed at the tri-colored tub. Seth sees Sugar still waiting for his response with patient eyes, " I don't mind, never really ate it before. "

Sugar nods and grabs the ice cream, shutting the door and making Al cling onto them, giving them a quick back hug and cheek kiss before pulling away.

" We're almost done, just need some new piping tubes. " Boo pulls out their phone after placing the ice cream in the half-full cart, " don't say anything about that, Al. "

Seth looks at the male next to him; the tall fever dream slouches and pouts again, muttering a small 'I'm not that predictable' under his breath.

Boo starts pushing the cart away and the boys start following; Seth sighs discreetly and shoves his hands in his jeans pockets, wondering if the older citizens remember him.

Remember his unsaintly tendencies.

Seth feels something tug at his wrist; he panics instinctively. Eyes tearing to the connection and seeing a hand encompassing it; his eyes lead him up the arm to -

Alphonse?

His dyed head was turned away from him but Seth could see the tips of his ears turn pink. The male's grip was featherlight and gently coaxing him to keep walking.

Seth slides his hand out his pocket and their hands fall interlocked; naturally and out of instinct.

The brunet's head blanks as he continues walking forward - nevermind his ears and face burning hot - he can't even feel people in the isle start staring.

Time flies quickly after Al's display of comfort and soon the trio is stationed at the cashier, placing everything on the moving rack.

" D'you two want any candies while we're here? " Boo asked thumbing through their bills, Alphonse jumped up instantly and nodded, excited.

Seth admired the male who scanned through the limited array of brightly colored sweets; a smile slipping onto his face fondly, softly squeezing his hand when the pastel punk crouched to see them more properly.

The southern male turns his attention to Sugar as Al hops up with a small package, he wanted to ask if they would like anything but -

The sentence dies on his tongue as the deadpanned stare Sugar's giving him - no, not him but behind him.

Seth takes a peek and sees an older woman looking away uncomfortably. She catches his eyes for a second and it's blatant that she's...unapproving of him and the blue eyed candy addict next to him.

Thwack!

All three jump at the noise, the older woman more so. Seth looks at what made the noise and sees a divider being white-knuckled in Boo's hand.

" There you go, " Boo spits, eyes dark even under the florescent lights, " you can stop staring now. "

The woman doesn't get a word out before Sugar speaks again; a little quieter and more softly, " can you two start baggin' the stuff? "

Seth and Alphonse nod, walking to end of the register with their hands still connected; forcing the woman and Sugar to stand closer. Boo gave the woman a nasty look when they paid.

The trio make it outside the grocery store, the sky halfway to dusk and glimmering faintly with stars. All holding a variety of bags on their arms while they walk to the car.

Seth had to let go of Alphonse for this but he still reminisced about what happened.

That behavior wasn't anything new to him, but the fact that somebody actually said something about it was...odd?

Unfamiliar? Unnatural?

Seth can't quite put his finger on it, he just knew that it made him feel weird - not a bad weird, but 'this is something new' weird - he kinda liked it.

Big brown eyes glance at the leading figure, Sugar already fast approaching the car. A warm feeling almost brings Seth to his knees when he looks at them.

He'd never felt comfortable in this town - he always felt antagonized; evil, wrong.

Never in his life did he think he'd ever be seen as human or worth protecting. Not since his mama left him here; she was his sole protector.

His saint in this hell hole.

But now, he - and his soul bound partner - had another haven.

Another saint amongst the evil.

• • • ★ • • •

#literally hate this and idk why 🔪🔪#yuurivoice #yuurivoice seth #yuurivoice alphonse #yuurivoice boo

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paradoxlemonade · 4 months ago

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Like a Flower in Bloom; chapter 1/3

Summary: Doc Monster is a many things: he's a tinkerer, a college graduate, a creeper hybrid, and a husband to his wonderful spouse, Ren. Most importantly, he is a father. And he would do anything to make his trans daughter Scarlet happy. Even if it means becoming a Buttercup Scout troop leader and herding a trio of middle school girls.

This is my @mcytblraufest fic, made in collaboration with my artist @watchmewhirl and beta-read my @raivaughn. You can find the masterpost for the art here.

Warnings: minor transphobia

Ao3: Here!

Next ; Last

---

Violence does not solve very many problems. It usually just creates newer, more complicated problems. As a rational person, Doc understands this.

As an animal, however, he wants the Buttercup Scout troop leader in front of him to be eaten by hyenas.

The meeting wrapped up a few minutes ago and most of the girls and parents already filtered out the door. Doc told Scarlet, his daughter, to hang behind and talk with the other girls. She's more than happy to do so, chatting away with the Symmetry twins.

He has a few concerns about how she was repeatedly sidelined during the badge event and wanted to ask about that. She hadn't yet joined the troop and was only there for a preliminary meeting, yes, but the adults could have stood to be a bit more welcoming to new members.

Which led to him hunting down the troop leader, tapping her on the shoulder, and asking about her meeting policies. Which led to her trying not to sneer and just dismissing him out of hand.

Ms. Reflecta Symmetry doesn't bother to face him as she gathers up tubes of decorating frosting and glitter sprinkles and returns them to their original packaging. “I'm busy. Could you please wait a moment?”

Doc shakes his head. “I just have a question about how meetings tend to go, and then I'll be out of your hair. Nothing big; it’ll be quick.”

Reflecta drops the decorating supplies back onto the camp table with unnecessary force and finally turns to face him. She gives him a plastic, simpering smile. “I think I can help you! Were you here to check out our troop and think about joining?”

“...Yes, that's correct.” Something about the way she carries herself sets Doc's nerves on edge. “Scarlet wanted to be a part of the group that was piping frosting onto the sugar cookies. But every time she asked you if she could switch groups, she got ignored or told to wait her turn, but she never got to be a part of the piping group. It seemed like she was… forgotten during the group changes.”

How does he phrase this diplomatically?

“I was wondering if this was how most of your meetings run, or if you were just distracted. There were a lot of girls to keep from making messes, after all.” He's had long days before. It would be nice if that were the case here; this was the only close option for a troop in the area.

“Uh-huh.” Reflecta’s arms cross, fingers tapping away. She switches her expression to an equally-fake one of hyperbolic sympathy. “You see, I'm just not certain that your… child is a good fit for our troop. I’m concerned that they won’t have very much fun; we have a specific culture here. I'm sure you understand?” With that, she spins on her heel and continues packing up the materials from the meeting into an oversized patchwork tote bag.

Doc stands there for a moment, frozen stiff. “Excuse me?” What exactly did she mean by that? He steps to her side, working himself back into her line of sight even as she works and attempts to ignore him. “I think I misunderstand you. Could you explain what you mean?”

She glances over to give him another apologetic look, but her lip is curled back just enough to show teeth. “It just takes so many resources for a Buttercup Scout troop to make sure all girls involved have an enriching experience. We've just had a few new girls join, so I'll need our treasurer to reassess the budget. Perhaps you should look into some other organizations in the area? I'm sure there's plenty that they would like elsewhere.”

Doc grits his teeth and wills himself to silence. Budget problems and personality are two different issues. That leaves one conclusion: Ms. Symmetry is full of shit. She just doesn't want Scarlet to join the troop. He'd hoped her earlier curt attitude was just her being busy with other kids—even gave her an out to claim that—but that doesn't seem to be the case.

He clears his throat. “Sure, yeah, I understand.” Before she can get another word in to affirm his agreement, Doc barrels on: “It's just a little surprising to hear, considering how well Scarlet seemed to get along with the other girls. The advertisement your troop posted on Facebook the other week also seemed so welcoming; was that scheduled in advance before your means were clear?”

Reflecta's smile remains, though the bottom of her eye twitches ever so slightly. “Something like that.” It's her turn not to give Doc a chance to respond as she jerks to face the remaining girls in the room. “False! True! Get your things. We're leaving.”

The two blonde girls that Scarlet is talking to perk up at the same time, like prairie dogs out of a burrow. Aside from the longer hair and extremely thick glasses that nearly resemble goggles they both wore, they were spitting images of Reflecta. One just nods without emoting much, while the other brightens and responds, “Yes, ma’am!”

The smiley one clambers to her feet, buttercup guide book clutched to her chest. She waves farewell and says something else before bounding over to her mother's side. The stoic one bumps a silent shoulder against Scarlet’s and follows a moment later.

“Ah, Scarlet,” Doc calls out. “You come on as well. We finished speaking, so it's time to go home.”

She nods and scoops up her cat plushie backpack.“Okie-dokie, dad!” Once it’s on her back and she gets her crutches situated, she’s by his side as he guides her out the door.

“Did you have a nice conversation with the twins?” Doc asks, a bit louder than necessary in the hopes that Scarlet won’t hear Reflecta hissing ‘I don’t want to hear about you two talking to that one again’ to her daughters. He directs Scarlet along a little bit faster.

“Yeah, they were really nice to me!” There’s a bounce in her step as she chatters away. “True didn’t talk very much, but that’s okay since False talked enough for both of them. I think she talks when she’s nervous and when she’s comfortable. And then she asked about my Jellie backpack, and—”

Doc ushers her out the doors of the community center, but his eyes can’t help but fall to the trans flag button on the strap of her bag.

Truth was, a gnawing sense of dread hollowed out his chest when she insisted at age ten that she was a girl.

It’s an ugly thing to think, but it’s not because Doc doesn’t want her to be herself. The world can be mean, and the people in it even meaner; Scarlet suffering unnecessarily because she’s different from her peers became a regular staple of his stress dreams.

He hugged her worried, helped her pick out a name worried, went shopping for new girl clothes worried, met with her school teachers and the principal worried—

Today he drove her to a Buttercup Scout troop meeting worried.

Beyond the obvious of names and clothes and telling family members, the one thing Scarlet wanted was to become a Buttercup Scout.

Doc pulls his keys from his jacket pocket and unlocks the truck while they walk. Scarlet takes that as a cue to rush ahead and climb inside without assistance—door open, crutches against door, Jellie bag tossed into the seat next to hers, hands on the seat for stability, one foot on the running board, push off and lean forward, wiggle into a seated position, pull the crutches in and close the door. She has it down to a science at this point, though Doc will occasionally still offer her help if she’s having a bad pain day. He doesn’t have to worry much about Scarlet hurting herself.

And yet, now he has to drive her home, worried about disappointing and hurting her.

The air inside the truck hits him like a wall of heat when he opens the door, though he pays it little mind as he slides into the driver’s seat and puts the keys into the ignition. Until the air conditioning fully kicks in, he cracks the back windows just a touch.

A glance in the rear view mirror shows Scarlet looking out the window with a slowly slipping happy mask.

He’s pulling out of the parking lot before he can bring himself to say anything. “Did… you have fun at the meeting?”

“Oh! Yeah, I did! False and True and me were talking, and they—”

“No, not near the end of the meeting, or after it.” His grip on the steering wheel tightens minutely. He makes sure to take the next turn carefully in spite of that. “I meant all of it—the badge work, the other girls, the adults—how do you feel?”

Another stolen look, and this time she’s pulling her knees to her chest.

“I mean… the girls were nice to me.”

He’s always been worried about her peers ostracizing her. Their parents hadn’t even come up on his radar.

Doc presses down on a sigh. “I’m sorry that troop wasn’t what you were expecting.”

“It’s fine!” she blurts out. “They’re fine! I want to be a Buttercup Scout!”

His heart twists. “I know you do, and we’re trying. It’s just… maybe we should keep our options open, sweetie.” The gentle comfort in his voice sounds fake, even to himself.

“What? No, no!” She leans forward in her seat to grip the passenger headrest. “I’ll make it work! It'll be fine!”

“Scarlet.” He's firm, but so tired, tired, tired. There's no way he's letting his daughter put herself in a situation where she regularly has to interact with transphobes. “I know you want to be a Buttercup Scout, but tonight wasn't fun for you, and it wasn't fun for me to watch you be upset. We'll keep looking, okay?”

Despite herself, she sniffles and hiccups. “But, but, there aren't any other troops in the area that work for us. You said that! I heard you and Papa talking about it!”

Fuck. He didn't think she overheard that conversation. She was supposed to be asleep on the couch after a movie, he and Ren sequestered in the kitchen to discuss in hushed voices.

“All the others are too far, or they meet when I have physical therapy, or they aren't accepting new members, or, or—” The words seem to flood out of her before abruptly stopping with a sharp inhale of breath and another wet hiccup. “I just want to do what all the other girls get to do. I don't understand why I can't.”

With a grimace, Doc changes lanes and turns into the parking lot of a fast food joint. This isn't a driving conversation.

Once stopped, he gets out of the driver's seat and opens the back. He slides in next to Scarlet and puts an arm around her shoulders. “Oh, mein Schatzi…”

She sniffles and presses her side into the hug. “S’ not even that bad. I dunno why I'm crying.”

Doc picks up the Jellie plush from where it fell into the floorboards. Sure, it may have a few notebooks in it, but it's still a plushie and Scarlet sure seems to need one. He sets it on her lap and she has it squeezed to her chest in a blink.

“This is something you really wanted for a long time. It's normal to be upset when stuff doesn't work out.”

“I wanted it to work out.”

“I know, I know.” He runs a hand through her hair. “Your papa and I will see what we can do, okay?”

“But—” She sniffles again. “I thought that—”

“I know what we said,” Doc murmurs. “We’re going to look into other options so you can be a Buttercup Scout. I cannot make any promises, but I can promise to try.”

She looks up at him with wounded eyes, shining with unshed glass tears. It seems that this cry was a long time coming. “O-oh.” Another sniffle.

She twists to the side and he's suddenly engulfed in a hug. “Thanks, Dad.”

He holds her close.

“Always.”

#hermitcraft #mcyt #docm77 #goodtimeswithscar #hermitfic #fanfic #idea writes #idea original post #hurt/comfort #MCYTBLRAufest2024

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admin-cock-creations · 5 months ago

Text

Date a Merc: Chapter 13

Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Pairing: Pyro / Scout / Reader Summary: Date a Scout who plays on a slip n’ slide with Pyro. Warnings: N/A

There was bound to be heat when you worked in the desert of New Mexico, but sometimes you were cursed when an extra potent heat wave rolled through the area. Such was one of those times, and right smack in the midst of summer. The Admins had some mercy on you mercs and gave you some ceasefire time until the temperatures were back within a reasonable heat index for fighting, so until that point, you were all working on keeping cool with limited supplies.

There was a benefit, however, of having near unlimited access to industrial grade and quantity materials. While nosing around in the somewhat cooler garage of Engie, Pyro came across a large roll of high-density polyethylene and was quick to share a rather brilliant idea with the aforementioned Texan and Scout. You were initially in the dark about their little plan as you were in the rec room sucking in ice water and air from the pathetic air-con unit, but it didn’t take long before you began to hear the construction sounds outside.

In a signature move of playful intellect, the trio was building a large slip n’ slide course using the roll of liner and some assorted materials Engineer had lying around the garage and wasn’t going to use anytime soon. There were sloped turns, Pyro had already begun digging for a holding pond to end in, and Scout was discussing a ramp sliding down from the base’s roof.

Scout and Pyro being your significant others, you knew them pretty well and chalked this up to Engie humoring their melted brain antics until the heat made them give up, but soon enough you were the one being proved wrong, and within only two days the trio had built a fully functional slip n’ slide course and pool-seized retention pond. Engie had even added a little ‘splash zone’ for those less inclined to sliding and swimming.

So, you currently lounged, watching Scout and Pyro slip, slide, and play while you relaxed in a chair under the gentle, cooling mist of the ‘splash zone’. Mostly you were there to make sure the pair were regularly applying sunscreen, but you weren’t going to deny that your little makeshift waterpark was doing wonders to beat the heat wave. From behind your sunglasses, you watched Scout make another pass down the slide, splashing into the retention pond a few feet away from Pyro who diligently shielded their little rubber ducks from the incoming wave. You couldn’t help but smile and laugh at your lovers.

“Come on, you two, time for another round of sunblock!” You called while waving the tube in the air to get their attention. Scout had initially groaned when you insisted on the sunscreen before they started playing, but now he was right beside Pyro in rushing up to meet you as getting the stuff applied was just an excuse to have your hands all over his body. Pyro wasn’t nearly as exposed as Scout with their wetsuit on, but they still had exposed arms and legs that needed covering, and they insisted on Scout lathering them up while you attended to him.

“Alright, fine, hold on a sec!”

You giggled at your two partners, taking care to lather up Scout’s back and shoulders while he first attended to Py’s arms. You waited patiently while he got the other’s legs, waiting your turn to do the same until Pyro piped up and offered to return the favor.

“Daaaaang, gettin’ fondled by both my hot babes? Go right ahead, Py!”

It was hard not to snort a little at Scout’s eagerness, leaning back in your chair as Pyro finished up the lather job on Scout. Once done, the pair gave you a spin so you could make sure they were thoroughly covered before returning to the water.

“You look good to me,” you started, getting excited shouts from the two as they turned to run back into the water before you shouted at them.

“You forgot something, though!”

Scout and Pyro stopped, turning to look back with expressions of confusion and slight embarrassment.

“I’d say I’m overdue a kiss from you two,” you grinned at them, sending them scampering back up to your side. Scout clutched your face in his hands with a grin of his own, smothering your face in a barrage of little kisses that made you giggle before placing a sloppy kiss on your mouth. Pyro nudged their mask into your neck and cheek, making you blush and giggle as you could hear their excited breathing through the air filter. They didn’t stop there, though, as they swiftly turned to Scout and gave a nudge to his cheek as well.

“GET A ROOM, HIPPIES!”

The three of you turned to look at where the shouting had come from, spying the rest of your team now suited up into their bathing suits and ready to join in on the slip n’ slide fun.

“Yer just jealous I got two hot partners and I can do a better slide down the ramp, Sol!” Scout taunted his fellow American, starting up one of their signature spats that resulted in them racing off to climb up the roof to the start of the slip n’ slide. You chuckled and shook your head at the two as Engie, Spy, and Medic came to join you in the ‘splash zone’ while Demo and Heavy joined Pyro in the retention pond and Sniper gave himself enough space to follow up to the roof without getting caught in Soldier and Scout’s little battle.

“At least the liner’s tough enough to withstand all the nonsense. I think we’re gonna have to keep this slip n’ slide around.”

#tf2 #date a merc #reader insert #Team Fortress 2 #tf2 pyro #pyro #tf2 pyro/reader #tf2 pyro x reader #pyro/reader #pyro x reader #tf2 scout #scout/reader #scout x reader #tf2 scout/reader #tf2 scout x reader #pyroscout #flashfire

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jinkieswouldyoulookatthis · 6 months ago

Text

Growing

Just a little piece of gen domestichesters fluff about Sam taking up gardening and Dean adopting another dog. Set in season 15 during that unknown period of time between episodes 19 & 20, or maybe it's canon divergent and episode 20 never happened (whichever makes you happiest).

No pairing, no ship, just fluff.

Words: 2746

Read it on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So I was looking into the history of the power plant.”

“Of course you were.” Dean deadpanned.

“And, turns out that it was never actually abandoned like we’d thought because it was never actually in use as a real power plant. As far as I can tell, it was built to cover up the mechanical equipment that runs the bunker and isn’t even hooked into the local grid.”

“Fascinating.” Dean said, with sarcasm so dry Sam completely missed it.

“That’s what I thought. So I came up to check it out, you know, see how the systems were set up, just in case something ever goes wrong… again. But what I found was,” Sam opened the double doors that creaked loudly in the cavernous space that they step into.

It was like a cathedral, vast and empty with a vaulted ceiling thirty feet high. It was saved from being gloomy, all that grey stone and dark ironwork rafters, by two of the walls which were striped with four sets of floor to ceiling windows and there were large skylights above. Most surprising to Dean was the fact that they were all, miraculously, unbroken. The rest of the space was mostly empty, with just a few bulky pieces of equipment that looked like they were part of the bunker’s various mechanical systems. That looked like all that had been there, at least that was all before Sam had gotten to the space. Now, there were two rows of what looked to Dean like black, plastic bathtubs standing near the south side of the room. And there were long fluorescent tube light fixtures suspended above them.

“That doesn’t look like mechanical equipment.”

Sam laughed. “It’s not. But the space was completely empty when I found it. But it had electricity and a sprinkler system and I think it’s actually heated. Or, at least, there’s ductwork that seems to come up from below.”

They had been wandering closer to the tubs as Sam talked. As they got up to them, Dean could see that they were each filled with rich, dark soil. There was also a network of PVC pipes that ran along over the top of the tubs, with red, shut off valves and nozzles every so often.

Dean sneezed. It had come up so suddenly he hadn’t even had time to cover his mouth, just turned to the side. The noise echoing back to him from every corner.

“I’ve swept up, but it’s still pretty dusty, I guess.”

Dean sniffled and asked, “Did you do all this?”

“Yeah. I’ve been working on it for the last couple months. The tubs are 150 gallon stock tanks that I got from the Tractor Supply over in Smith Center. But I scrounged most of the rest of the supplies. I set up the lights because, even with all the windows, I just don’t know if the plants will get enough sunlight. And I flushed the irrigation system throughly and tested it for lead, since, you know the building was built back in the 30’s. But everything is clear and yeah.” Sam looked at Dean. “What do you think?”

“You gonna be growing pot in here or something?”

Sam laughed again and shook his head. “I was thinking more, vegetables and herbs.”

“Oh.”

“Try not to sound so disappointed.”

“Well, I’m not going to lie, I’d be more excited about pot. But this is impressive, Sammy.” “You think?”

“Yeah. You put a lot of work into this. Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. I just started working on it and then it was just… something to do. Plus I didn’t want you trying to claim it and fill it up with cars or something.”

Dean looked into the tubs. “You plant anything yet?”

“No, I actually need to go pick up the plants and thought you might want to ride over with me? We can get lunch at Pete’s and then swing by the nursery?”

“Yeah, okay. Barbecue sounds great.”

They were almost out the door when Dean sneezed again. “Damn. I think you need to sweep again.”

Down in the garage, they both got into the Impala, doors squeaking and banging shut in unison. Dean had the key in the ignition and was just about to start her up when he stopped and looked at Sam.

“How many plants are you planning on getting?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, Dean could practically see him going through his mental list. They both turned and looked in the backseat at the same time.

“Uh…” Sam started.

“Why don’t we take the truck instead?”

“Yeah, probably a good idea.”

So they took the old pick-up truck. It was a 1946 Chevrolet 3100 in Morat Green. Sam thought the name sounded made up, but he knew better than to argue about classic vehicles with his brother.

It was an easy fifteen minute drive from Lebanon to Smith Center. By the time they got to Pete’s and parked, Sam had not only run through his list of plants he wanted to get, but had gone on a bit too long (in Dean’s opinion) about the merits of various varieties of tomato and lettuce. He’d also mentioned several herbs that Dean was about ninety percent certain weren’t used for cooking.

“Some of them are medicinal but the other have more…” Sam lowered his voice as the stepped into the restaurant, “esoteric uses.”

Dean gave him a look.

“We’ve depleted most of our supply of components. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there aren’t many suppliers of those things that are still willing to sell to us. So it would be a lot easier if I could just grow what we needed.”

“Okay, settle down. This is your project, you can get whatever plants you want.”

They changed the topic of conversation as they sat down, deciding without needing to discuss it, that they’d rather debate who would win in a fight between themselves and various comic book superheroes and villains. The lapsed mostly into silence when their food arrived, with only the occasional obscene groan from Dean around a mouthful of double bacon cheeseburger.

“Dude.”

“What? It’s good.” Dean asked still chewing.

“So is my salad, but you don’t hear me moaning like Meg Ryan.” “Yeah, ‘cause no one gets orgasmic over a salad, Sam.”

“Just, try not to get the cops called on us. And don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Fine, Mom.”

Shaking his head, Sam rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite stop the corners of his mouth from pulling up into a smile as they finished off their lunch.

It was a short drive across town to the greenhouse. To be fair, everything in Smith Center was a short drive, it wasn’t a big town. When they pulled into the parking lot there was a banner string up on one side of the entrance to the greenhouse. Several families with kids were gathered by it.

“Adopt-a-Pet?”

“Go, check it out, play with some puppies or something. I’ll just be a few minutes anyway.” Sam said as he wandered inside.

Dean made his way over and was having just as much fun watching the kids coo and squeal and beg their parents for a puppy or a kitten as he was looking at the baby animals.

There were older animals too, a bunch of cats and a few dogs. One of the dogs was laying down in its crate, and while its ears perked up at every loud sound, it wasn’t watching the chaos around it as much as the other dogs. Dean crouched down and peered at it through the bars of the crate. It was black and white with longish fur.

“Interested in adopting a pet?” a woman asked him when she was done handing a clipboard of paperwork to one of the families.

“I’ve already got a dog. I just thought I look while my brother’s getting stuff for his garden.”

“Well, each animal has a tag on their crate with information like breed, sex, age, and if they’re good with kids or other animals.”

Dean looked and saw the tag on the crate in front of him. “Otis, huh?”

The dog’s head perked up immediately.

“Guess that’s you.” Dean said. He read the tag and looked at the dog and then read the tag again.

It had taken Sam a lot longer than he’d anticipated in the greenhouse because they didn’t have a couple of the varieties that he’d really wanted, so he had to decide on what to get instead. But once he checked out, he had several packets of seeds tucked into his pocket and two long flats of young plants, and was feeling pretty good about his choices. Dean was nowhere to be seen when he carried the first group of plants out and slid them into the back of the truck, but when he came out with the rest of them, he could see Dean’s head through the back window of the truck. Plants safely stowed, he closed the tailgate and walked around to the passenger door.

A loud bark when he opened the door made him jump. Sitting on the bench seat next to his brother was a border collie.

“Dean?”

“Sam.”

“There’s a dog in the truck.”

“You always were observant.”

“Dean, why is there a dog in the truck?”

“His name is Otis. Otis, say hello to Sam.”

Otis chuffed.

“Okay.” Sam looked at the dog and then at his brother. “Did, did you adopt a dog?”

Dean just smiled at him and ruffled the fur on Otis’ head as he started the truck up. “Yes I did. Come on, let’s get him home and introduce him to Miracle.”

There was much barking and vigorous wagging of tails and lots of butt sniffing. After a few minutes, Dean declared the introduction a success and went to help Sam carry the plants up to the power plant.

“I can’t believe you got another dog.”

“Sam, he’s blind and had been at the shelter for over a year. I couldn’t leave him there. Plus, look how happy Miracle is. Now he won’t be completely alone when we have to go out. He’s got a buddy.”

“Yeah, no, I get that, I–I do. But, I just… I just think this is the sort of thing that we should have talked about first.”

“Hey, I didn’t hear you asking me about turn the upstairs into a conservatory, but I’m okay with it. I think it’s great that you’ve got a new hobby.” He sat the flat of seedlings down next to the planters and sneezed. “Shit. Man, are there cats up here or something?”

Sam looked around and shrugged.

Dean sneezed again.

“There is definitely something up here that’s not agreeing with you. Go on downstairs, I’ve got this.”

“Yeah,” Dean sniffled. “I’m gonna go take the dogs for a walk before dinner. Don’t stay up here too late, There’s still, like, half a lasagna in the fridge and I think there’s even some salad left over from last night.”

He sneezed again before he got to the door.

Sam pulled the seed packets out of his pocket and flipped through them. There was yarrow, angelica, burdock, belladonna, chamomile, and catnip. He looked back at the door before glancing over to where there was a large cardboard box tucked between two pieces of equipment that Sam was about 80% certain were part of the air handling system. After a moment he started spreading the plants and seed packets around in the various tubs of dirt, plotting out what to grow where.

The next few weeks passed quickly. Miracle adopted Otis faster than Dean had, and it was rare to ever see one without the other. Sam took them out running in the mornings and Dean took them for rides into town or out to some field or another where they went on long meandering walks in the afternoons while Sam tended to his growing garden. He took careful notes and photos, and adjusted the timing of the lights and the sprinkler system. Dean, who still sneezed at least once every time he went up there, kept his visits short and mostly left Sam to his gardening. Meal times were when he was most likely to come up, looking to make sure that his brother was eating.

“Hey, Sammy. Lunchtime, come and get it! Wow! It’s looking lush up here. Got anything edible yet?”

“Uh yeah, there’s some lettuce over there but I just want to get this set… Shit!” He swore as the sprayer nozzle he’s been adjusting snapped off in his hand. Water started to gush out of the pipe even as he clamped his hands down tight over the opening. “Ah! Get the, uh, the thing... turn it off!”

Dean rushed over and followed Sam’s gaze to a red shut off valve a little ways down the line. “Yep! Hang on. Got it.” He cranked the valve down tight and the water pressure died.

Sam shook his hands, flinging drops of water into the planter. “Thanks.”

A tiny, high pitched, squeaky sort of noise came from between the tub where Sam was working and the one behind it.

“What…” Dean began as he leaned over to look between the tubs.

“Well, no point in trying to fix this on an empty stomach. Let’s go eat!” Sam said loudly as he wiped his hands on his jeans and then all but herded Dean towards the door.

“Wait, what was that?”

“It was just the pipes, you know how pipes are. What’s for lunch?”

“Stop pushing me!”

Sam stopped but stayed between Dean and his garden. There was another squeak.

“Sam?” Dean said, glaring at his brother. Before either of them could say anything else Dean’s attention was drawn to a tiny little ball of grey and black striped fluff that toddled out from around the tub that Sam had been working on.

“I knew it.”

Another tiny mewl came from the other end of the garden and Sam’s eyes went wide.

“Dude, how many kittens are in here?”

Sam deflated with a sigh, “Five.”

“Five?!”

“And the mom cat.”

“Were you seriously just going to keep pretending like you didn’t know what was making me sneeze?”

“No! No. I was just waiting until the kittens were old enough to find them homes.”

“But why not just tell me?”

“I didn’t want it to be a big deal, I figured you’re not up here much anyway and it’s a quiet, safe place for them and, well, they’re cute.”

“But I still don’t get why you were lying to me.”

“I didn’t really lie… yeah, okay, I lied. I’m sorry. I guess I was afraid that you’d want them gone.”

Dean looked offended. “I’m not a monster, Sam.”

“I know! But I also know how much you hate cats, so…”

“I don’t hate cats.”

“Yes, you do. You say it all the time.”

“I don’t actually mean it.”

Sam just looked at him, exasperated and at a loss. A squeaky mewl, louder and more demanding than before, sounded from their feet. The first kitten had reached Sam’s foot and was starting to climb up his pants leg.

Dean leaned down and carefully unhooked it’s claws from Sam’s jeans before standing up, holding it gently in his hands.

He looked at it.

It looked at him.

It cried loudly.

“Have you named them?”

“Pfft, no.”

“Cool, so I can name them.”

Sam sighed and looked closer at the kitten. “That one’s Doc.”

Dean scrunched up his nose and looked at him. “Like the dwarf?”

“No. It’s short for Burdock. It’s a plant.” He looked over to where the other kitten was sitting, still next to the tubs. “That one is Cam, short for Chamomile. And the others are Yarrow, Catnip or Nip, and Belladonna, like the plant, not the pornstar.” He added quickly at the hopeful arching of Dean’s eyebrow. “The mom is Angelica.”

“Uh huh. You big softy.” Dean smiled at him.

“Shut up.”

Dean chuckled as he handed the kitten, who had started to squirm, over to Sam. “They can stay, just, uh, up here, okay? Now, I’m going to go wash my hands and eat. Come on.”

Sam placed a quick kiss on Doc’s head before setting him gently down on the ground and following after his brother.

#dean winchester #sam winchester #spn fanfic #spn fan fiction #fluff

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kaywavy · 9 months ago

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transforming soffits reorganizing keys formalizing immersion joints justifying kick extractors advising aggregates managing elbows recasting connectors achieving aluminum trowels officiating disks exhibiting absolute spigots progressing coil hydrants jerry-building reflectors informing casters inventing rubber hoists performing wrenches judging chalk adapters upgrading ignition paths

regrowing flashing recommending ratchets approving barriers sweeping impact fillers sewing mirrors detailing collectors enforcing measures distributing systems presenting plugs interwinding registers piloting ash diffusers gathering cranks supplying eave pockets undertaking scroll stops accelerating straps designing fittings protecting diamond boilers logging downspouts correlating shingles uniting mallets qualifying electrostatic lifts sharing clamps obtaining circular fluids ranking foundation gauges sensing miter brackets originating space networks translating drills regulating guards selecting gable padding utilizing pellet dowels reconciling artifacts altering pulleys shedding space filters determining vents representing mortar remaking flash rakers supporting funnels typecasting rotary chocks expressing junctures resetting auxiliary vises professing strip treads inlaying matter trowels questioning drivers forming edge fittings sketching blanks overshooting spark breakers rewriting controls playing tunnels inventorying buttons enduring joint handles effecting ratchet bibbs unwinding couplings forsaking vapor conduits defining sockets calculating heaters raising grids administering tiles measuring resources installing ignition remotes extracting corners manufacturing ventilators delegating consoles treating mounting stones enacting jig deflectors intensifying alleys improvising cargo pinpointing bobs prescribing arc masonry structuring metal chucks symbolizing lathes activating plumb kits adapting coatings fixing channels expediting cordage planning compressors enlisting hangers restructuring keyhole augers shearing ridge hardware collecting reciprocating bolts maintaining corrugated dimmers whetting hole collars conducting mandrels comparing assets compiling sealants completing paths composing equivocation wheels computing dampers conceiving electrostatic treatment ordering cotter grates organizing ties orienting ladders exceeding materials targeting thermocouples demonstrating emery stock expanding latch bases training wardrobe adhesives overcomming[sic] fasteners streamlining storm anchors navigating springs perfecting turnbuckles verifying gate pegs arbitrating arithmetic lifts negotiating outlets normalizing strips building surface foggers checking key torches knitting grinders mowing planers offsetting stencils acquiring bulbs adopting rivets observing avenues ascertaining coaxial grommets slinging wing winches instituting circuit generators instructing wicks integrating pry shutters interpreting immersion lumber clarifying coils classifying wood bits closing cogs cataloging matter strips charting holders conceptualizing push terminals stimulating supports overthrowing shaft spacers quick-freezing connectors unbinding ground hooks analyzing eyes anticipating gateways controlling proposition rollers converting power angles coordinating staples correcting benders counseling joist gaskets recording gutter pipes recruiting drains rehabilitating rafter tubes reinforcing washers reporting guard valves naming freize sprues nominating rings noting straps doubling nailers drafting circuit hoses dramatizing flanges splitting framing compounds refitting stems interweaving patch unions placing sillcocks sorting slot threads securing mode cutters diverting catharsis plates procuring load thresholds transferring syllogism twine directing switch nuts referring time spools diagnosing knobs discovering locks dispensing hinges displaying hasps resending arc binders retreading grooves retrofitting aesthetics portals seeking stocks shrinking wormholes assembling blocks assessing divers attaining lug boxes auditing nescience passages conserving strikes constructing braces contracting saw catches serving installation irons recognizing fluxes consolidating fuse calipers mapping shims reviewing chop groovers scheduling lag drives simplifying hoists engineering levels enhancing tack hollows establishing finishing blocks

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haastera · 11 months ago

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The Corpse Spire's Purpose

The purpose of the spires are a major, unresolved mystery in Murder Drones. We know they must have a purpose beyond merely keeping the MD out of the sun, but don't know what that purpose is.

However, after looking at them more closely I believe they might be oil-harvesting operations. The Murder Drones need to drink oil to survive, yet the amount of oil they need is miniscule compared to the quantity of dead workers drones present in the spire. In EP2, V tells N that if he frees her she promises to only kill what they need to survive, implying that the number of drones they need to kill to sustain themselves is far below the number of drones they have been killing.

We haven't even seen N drink oil since the pilot, and that was months ago in universe.

The absolute solver itself isn't immune from the laws of physics. It still needs oil, and likely oceans of it to survive and use it's power.

N, V, and J's spire's design is what initially led me to this theory.

Specifically the tubes. They are too thick to be electrical cabling, and don't look like their purpose is solely structural, as we see that the spire is structurally supported by several much smaller steel wires connecting it to adjacent buildings.

To me they look visually similar to those cylindrical trash chutes you occasionally see on the side of apartment buildings, or large municipal water supply pipes.

I'm wondering if their purpose is to collect all the oil that drains out of the dead workers and store it underneath the landing site, or feed it to an unknown subterranean location.

The Murder Drones might fly to the top of the spire (or wherever there is an opening to the tubes), and drain the oil of any surplus workers they kill into it before adding their corpse to the spire.

Not a lot of evidence for this theory but figured it was worth mentioning.

#murder drones #murder drones details #murder drones theory

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peepeepoposblog-socool · 2 years ago

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turnupswritessometimes · 8 months ago

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Geppetto's Boy - Lies of P - Ch1

AO3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/54517777

Summary: He watched Geppetto, as he tilted the boy's arm to clean it. After they'd reunited, after he'd been held by the shoulders – again – and told that he was precious – again – Geppetto had eased him into the large chair that stood in his rooms. The pipes and tubes pulsed around him. He wasn’t connected to them, yet. "Let's get you cleaned up, son," the man had said. The stranger, really, and yet, the boy felt a pull towards him. A tug in his core. Like he was a magnet searching for its other half. This man was his creator. Was that the same thing as a father? Was that an important enough a question to ask?

A collection of oneshots set throughout the game, mostly exploring P and Gepetto's relationship. (But exploring P's relationships with most of Hotel Krat too.)

Chapter One

The puppet sat in the chair. And it had been, he thought, the first time he'd sat down by himself. At least, that was assuming when the blue butterfly woke him, that was the first time he’d ever been awake. It must have been, because he couldn’t remember anything else.

Unless someone had tinkered with his memories. He had no way of knowing, if they had. Not unless they told him. He could only ask. The trouble, as he'd discovered upon arriving at the hotel, was that humans could lie.

Would the man calling himself the boy's father lie to him?

He watched Geppetto, as he tilted the boy's arm to clean it. After they'd reunited, after he'd been held by the shoulders – again – and told that he was precious – again – Geppetto had eased him into the large chair that stood in his rooms. The pipes and tubes pulsed around him. He wasn’t connected to them, yet.

"Let's get you cleaned up, son," the man had said. The stranger, really, and yet, the boy felt a pull towards him. A tug in his core. Like he was a magnet searching for its other half. This man was his creator.

Was that the same thing as a father?

Was that an important enough a question to ask? He had the impression that this man only wanted to answer important questions.

He let Geppetto ease off his shirt. The shirt Lady Antonia had given him – the uniform. The man had paused, holding the fabric in his hands just as tenderly as if it was his own creation, too.

"I never thought you would…" He didn't finish that thought. He noticed the boy watching him, and shook his head, with a sigh. "Forgive me."

The boy nodded, though the man needed him too. He sat, bare, and watched Geppetto bring out a suitcase of cleaning supplies. That was when he realised how covered in oil he was. Not just oil, there was blood on his hand too. When he caught his own gaze in the mirror on the wall opposite, he saw there was blood splattered all the way up his cheek.

"We must take care of you." Geppetto started on that cheek first, and the blood dried there, with a cloth that smelt of lemon. He wasn't meeting the boy's eye. It felt like that should mean something. "Make sure your joints are clean and clear. Especially your arm. That must be cleaned, as often as possible, to keep it working."

The boy nodded again. The cloth slid over his cheek. Geppetto's hand caught his chin, holding it still. So, he stayed still. Gemini pressed against his hip, glowing dimly, but staying silent.

His head was tilted to one side. The cloth wiped his neck.

He could hear his own springs. Could hear the tick, tick, tick of his mechanical organs. Was that what it was like to have a real heart? Could his father hear the thump of his own flesh heart in his chest?

Was that an important enough question to ask?

He didn't think so. His father didn't seem interested in questions like that. He wanted to talk about what they were going to do next, and how Krat was going to be saved. That was important. That was why he'd woken in the first place. Why should the boy's trivial questions matter?

The cloth had to be rinsed several times. It left swirls of red and black in the water bowl. The oil floated to the top, reflecting the dim gas lamps in a rainbow. His skin was slowly turning back to porcelain.

When Geppetto reached the boy's wrist, he decided he could ask one question. He'd deemed it important enough.

"What should I say my name is?" His voice seemed as soft as the piano music drifting from the gramophone in the hall.

Gemini's light twitched.

Geppetto paused, for a moment. He smiled. "Are you asked that often, in a fight?"

The boy didn't answer. He could recognise that Geppetto was teasing; toying with him; avoiding the question. He didn't want to explain himself - to explain that he still wanted a name. That there were people at the hotel who did not want to kill him. That the other puppets he’d met had a name. That he didn't know how to think of himself, without a name.

Who was he, beyond Geppetto's puppet?

"You can call yourself 'P,'" Geppetto said, finally. "Is that acceptable?"

It was a short name. It was a letter. And it didn't feel fitting. But it was a name, and it was given to him by his father. The boy didn't argue; he nodded. He let his hand stay limp as his father wiped the blood and oil from his fingers.

"I assume you didn't meet anyone on your travels through the city."

"I met a merchant." He spoke before he could stop himself. Gemini gave another pulse and he couldn't figure he was trying to say.

Geppetto paused in his work. It reminded the boy, P, he supposed, of puppets. How they would pause for a moment, evaluating, before attacking.

"And did he find out what you are?"

What, not who. The distinction felt important.

"No."

"Good." He was at the tip of P's fingers now, at the nails set there. He even had nails. Polendina didn’t have nails. "The world will be a dangerous place for a puppet."

P – that still didn't feel right as a name, but it was all he had – knew that. One of the first things that had happened after he'd woken up was that he was attacked. And he had destroyed what attacked him. And that made sense.

He was attacked by puppets, and he fought puppets in return.

And then there had been the man on the bridge. The man who'd attacked him, simply because he'd recognised him as Geppetto's puppet. So, P had fought back.

Most of what he had done so far was fight. It was only at the hotel that he had real conversations. That he leant things. That he could stop and think about questions, and whether they were important enough to ask his creator about.

This was clear: the hotel was safe. The world was dangerous.

The oil was deftly removed from his fingers. Even under his fingernails.

He decided he could ask one more question: "Will I go into a frenzy?"

"No." And Geppetto did look up, then. He smiled, like there was something amusing about that. "No. You won't go into a frenzy. You're not like other puppets."

But how could he know that for certain, without knowing what caused the frenzy in the first place? P wasn't like how a puppet should be, but he was still a puppet.

"Because I do not obey the grand covenant." It was the logical conclusion from being able to lie.

"It's true that you are not bound by the covenant." His father still had that half-smile. He brushed P's hair from his eye. It fell back into place, almost immediately. "But I hope you will listen to its other principles."

"I hurt a human."

"To protect me." There were those hands again, on his shoulders, and they felt heavy. They pressed him into the large chair. "And I hope you will listen to your father."

Father was a softer word than creator, P decided. It was a word he liked. He watched Gemini, in the lantern. It was still lit with a soft glow, and he could see the silhouette of the cricket inside.

One of the hands lifted from his shoulder – but only to tilt his chin again. He knew he should be looking into Geppetto's eyes, but he found himself staring at the creases around them. At the way the light reflected on the rim of his monocle.

"Will you do that, son?"

Geppetto couldn’t tell P wasn’t meeting his eyes. "Yes."

The word came so easily it would seem he was bound by the Grand Covenant after all. He said it because he knew it was the right answer, and he had to do what was right. He had to do what his father wanted – he wanted to do that. But he wondered if saying ‘yes’ meant anything, at all. He could lie. He didn't know if he was lying now.

Geppetto smiled at him. More genuinely than before. The gas light reflected on his white teeth too. "Good.”

His father turned his attention to P’s other arm. The mechanical one; his legion arm. It was also splattered with oil, and it had become harder and harder to move as it had built up in the gears. The mess warranted more of his father’s tools; brushes and picks and flosses to get in between the parts. It would take a while.

P could talk more. He could talk about the woman with the baby. He could talk about only finding a puppet to give her, and how she didn’t know the difference because her sight was gone. He could talk about how it had made his springs do something strange to lie to her.

Was that feeling? Could he feel?

Should he be able to feel?

He didn’t think his father wanted to hear about that. Those were not questions he wanted to know about.

He knew that much about his father, already.

P saved that question for Sophia. For the next morning, before he was setting off again. Though even she had to coax it out of him. He stood in front of her in the lobby, staring at the hem of her dress, the lace just trailing against the rug. It was caught in a draft, drifting gently.

“What’s wrong, clever one?”

She asked it twice. But it was only when she raised her hand, as if to touch his cheek, that he came to his senses. He looked up, to her face.

“A woman. With the disease.”

Her hand stayed in the air between them. Her fingers gently closed, like a snail retreating into its shell. She watched him, closely, and her eyes darted in the direction of Lady Antonia’s portrait.

“The petrification disease?”

P nodded. “Her baby was taken from her.”

“That’s a terrible shame. She must have been heartbroken.” That hand fluttered to Sophia’s chest and settled there. It rose and fell with her breath.

P’s chest did not move. It ticked. It whirred. It didn’t breathe. What was it like to breathe? “She asked me to get it back.”

They blue light from the great stargazer flickered. There was the sound of rain pattering on the ground outside.

Sophia spoke slowly, watching P. “And what did you do?”

Her eyes were too blue and too piercing. P looked at her hand instead. “I said I would.”

“But when we got back to Krat Central Station, there were no survivors.” Gemini perked up from his hip. He hadn’t spoken, in front of Geppetto. He chirped, now. “We only found a puppet baby.”

Sophia didn’t reply. A strand of her hair had escaped its style, and hung by the collar of her shirt. It drifted in the breeze, like the pendant of a grandfather clock.

“I gave her the puppet,” P said.

“She thought it was her baby,” Gemini spoke up again. “She asked if we thought it was a cute baby.”

“And did you lie to her?” Sophia asked. Her voice was still soft.

P looked up, then. She seemed soft; seemed like she was shining from the inside out, like a star.

He nodded.

And she smiled. Not a happy smile, he could recognise that. It was a smile that had sadness there too. Yet, her eyes sparked with something else. Something like pride. The same kind of pride his father had, when he first saw P. Her fist closed on her chest, and for a moment, she closed her eyes.

She looked beautiful, P thought. Maybe Gemini did too, because he chirped.

“It was a very kind thing you did for that woman, you clever one,” she said, finally. “You made her feel happiness in what could have been her final moments of humanity, and that’s a lovely thing.”

His springs did that strange thing again. It felt like they jammed, for a second, like there was something stuck in his system. He blinked, and it passed. He nodded, again, and his hair fell in front of his eye, fully. He liked it there.

He adjusted his belts, and Gemini clinked against his leg. It was easier to look at the lantern to ask, “Are lies wrong?”

“There are different kinds of lies. Some lies are hurtful, and some lies are kind. It’s too complicated to call them all wrong.”

So why weren’t puppets allowed to lie at all? If it was always better to tell the truth? He didn’t think he would get a simple answer for that, either. He thought about what Sophia said, instead, twitching the fingers of his legion arm. He clenched his fingers. It helped get rid of the swirling thoughts.

He said that he was ready to go to Venigni Ironworks now, and Sophia didn’t argue with him. She nodded, her smile faltering slightly, and helped to make him stronger with Ergo. He watched the blue sparks and swirls in the air around him, from the stargazer. It was as beautiful as her, and he wanted to stay with it. With her. Wanted to stay in the hotel, and stay safe.

How could he want something, if he was a puppet?

How could he have so many questions?

P encountered the cat as he was making his way out of the hotel. It hopped off from a table in the hallway, landing without a sound, and sauntered down the rug. It was all amber – from its striped fur, down to its eyes. Eyes that looked up at P, somewhat blearily, as it trotted to him.

It made a noise in its throat, like a machine starting up. Its tail wiggled, like a flag.

Something in P recognised what it wanted him to do, and part of him wanted to do it. He knelt down, and offered the fingers of his human hand towards it.

The cat ran closer. He thought it was a neat, tidy creature; with its pointed ears, pink nose and tiny paws. He liked the look of it, and he wanted to touch it.

But it stopped short of his fingers. When he twitched them, to touch its head, the cat recoiled. The inside of its mouth was very pink too, he found out, when it hissed at him. Like a cobra. Not just hissed, but arched its back and puffed its fur out.

Then it ran. Just as soundlessly down the stairs.

P stayed crouching in the hallway, his hand still outstretched.

Gemini chirped, on his hip. “Guess puppets and cats don’t mix, pal.”

The cat didn’t like him because of what he was. He didn’t like the cat hating him. It bothered him – could he be bothered, or annoyed, by things? Was that in his design?

He closed his fingers, slowly, and stood back up.

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” a voice said.

He looked up. It was Eugenie. She was coming down the hall too, carrying a box full of bits and bobs; something for her to tinker the day away with.

She smiled at him, somewhat nervously. She always looked nervous of him. “Spring’s not a sociable animal. She takes a while to warm up to strangers.”

“Spring?” P asked.

Eugenie was only a few paces away from him. She tilted her head to the side, and the gas lamps caught on her glasses, like the sunrise on the horizon. Just for a moment, before he could see her dark eyes clearly, again. “That’s the cat’s name. Spring.”

P nodded, to show he understood. (That was important, he’d learnt – to show he understood.) Then he held his hands out, feeling more mechanical than usual.

“Oh, thank you.” Eugenie’s smile became less nervous, as she passed him the box. It was heavier than he expected. Not heavy for him, but must have been heavy for her. He stared at her, wondering where she was hiding the extra strength.

They started down the stairs together. P’s footsteps were much louder than hers.

“Spring,” he repeated. “Like I have?”

“Oh, yes – I suppose!” She gave a small laugh, pushing her glasses up her nose. “But she’s also called Spring for the season. The season of new life and new beginnings. Of hope.”

“That’s pretty,” he said.

It was her turn to nod, as though she wanted to let him know that she understood. The idea made him smile. She noticed. Her expression changed, but he couldn’t read it now.

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Eugenie tilted her head in the direction of her workroom. She started that way, and P followed with the box.

“The cat – she – is scared of me.”

Eugenie paused. She knew it, and she knew why, P thought, but she didn’t want to tell him why. It was as though he had feelings to hurt.

But his feelings had been hurt by the cat, hadn’t they?

“She just needs to get used to you.” Eugenie didn’t face him, though, as she moved through her workspace. “Keep trying. I’ll find you some treats to bribe her with. You can put the box there.”

She gestured to the desk. P placed the crate of parts on top. It made a louder clatter than he meant it to, and he bowed his head as an apology. Flexed both his human fingers and his mechanical ones, at his side.

“Cats can be bribed with treats,” he said, to make sure he understood it.

“Everyone can be bribed with something,” Eugenie replied. She was starting to sort through the box of parts. But then she stopped, and looked up. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that. That’s teaching you some bad morals.”

Gemini laughed; P was sure he heard him laughing. He shifted the lantern on his hip, thinking that through. He asked, “Is it good morals to bribe the cat to like me?”

“No, that’s just making friends.”

“Is it good morals to bribe you to like me?”

Eugenie stopped in her sifting. She looked up at him. A strand of brown hair had come loose, and it swung down in front of her glasses, like a pendulum. “But I do like you, already.”

He didn’t reply, because he didn’t know what to say. He was expecting a simple yes or a no. But P found that he could only stand at stare at that pendulum of hair.

Eugenie stepped back around the desk. Her hands moved, as though she was going to take his hands – or his shoulders, like his father had done – but then they returned to her chest, clasped together.

“You don’t need to bribe me.” Her eyes were very brown, very warm. P liked them. “Because we’re friends already, alright?”

He didn’t understand it. He really didn’t understand how it could be so simple, yet so confusing. But he found he didn’t particularly want, or need to. They were friends. He had a friend, who was a human. His springs ticked again – that strange lurch of ticking that made him feel off-kilter. Off-kilter, but not bad.

P nodded.

He didn’t know what else to say.

#lies of p #fanfiction #pinocchio #lies of p pinocchio #fanfic #multichapter #best way to follow along is on ao3 #or via my writing tag #turnupswrites #lies of p geppetto

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