#the storage unit would still have been a problem

[tossawary]

It's funny to think about a scenario in which Luke manages to get Yoda off Dagobah and bring him back to the Rebellion. Maybe Obi-Wan left a message with R2 as a backup plan or something, so Luke got the message much earlier. Yoda is still too old and injured to fight, but he can train Luke while moving around as the Rebellion's new grandpa (and potentially reunite with characters like Ahsoka and Kanan and Cal and so on).

This AU is important to me because how it would look from an Outsider's POV:

"Uhhh, Luke," Han said. "What's that?"

"What's what?" Luke said, turning to look across the hangar bay. "Oh. That's Master Yoda. I went to Dagobah to get him, remember?"

Han studied the small, green, vaguely amphibious creature with long pointy ears and wisps of white hair, crouched underneath Luke's X-Wing and steadily eating its way though a bucket of... what the hell were those things? Eggs?

"That's your great Master Yoda?" Han said dubiously. He couldn't have helped it, so he didn't even try not to sound skeptical. "The one who's going to train you and Her Royal Highness in this... uh... penetrating life field magic?"

Those ragged brown blankets that it seemed to be wearing looked not unlike the dusty robes that Luke's old man had been shuffling around in, before getting killed back on the Death Star. Maybe.

"He's the wisest and most powerful Jedi Master alive," Luke said, like he was determined to be upbeat about it. "He's 900 years old. He said."

Han watched the creature dig around in the bucket some more, nearly sticking the entire upper half of its body inside. Its long ears wilted when it came up empty. It sat back with a loud, high-pitched harrumph and its wrinkled face scrunched up like a fruit rotting all at once.

"Yeah," Han said. "He looks it."

Luke shot him a betrayed look and Han just shrugged. He didn't have a problem with the kid and the princess finding some comfort in some hokey old religion. The kid's family had apparently been killed by troopers the day that Han had met him and Leia had watched her entire planet be destroyed, so whatever touchy-feely nonsense helped them deal with that helped.

But that didn't mean that Han wasn't going to call it like he saw it- "Uh, kid, is that your storage unit he's searching now?"

Luke groaned and put his head in his hands. "I left some ration bars in there, I think. I bet he can smell them."

This great Jedi Master was making a real mess of it. He threw one of Luke's things over his shoulder, where the tool hit R2-D2, and the small droid immediately let out a shocked series of beeps and chirps. The outraged blare when the droid traced the missile back to Yoda was even louder.

Han watched as the droid whirred briskly up to Yoda, then reached out with an extended grabber and yanked at the old Jedi's stick. Yoda shrieked in surprise. A tug-o-war started, which looked like it was going to have one or both of them falling over.

"Oh, no," Luke said.

People around the hangar bay were starting to stare. Han couldn't look away.

The droid released the wooden stick and Yoda let out a cry of triumph. Which turned into a yelp of pain, because R2-D2 had just zapped him with another extended tool, which crackled like a threat that the droid would do it again. Yoda's response was to smack the droid with his stick, repeatedly, grunting with the effort - and the loud clanging caught the attention of everyone who hadn't already been looking.

"You gonna, uh, you gonna do something about that?" Han said to the kid.

Luke sighed heavily, which definitely meant that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. He stood up and waded into the mess, catching the stick with one hand and physically pushing the droid back with the other, ordering the old astromech and older Jedi Master to knock it off. He sounded just like a parent about to hand out some punishments.

R2-D2 beeped petulantly at Luke.

"I don't care who started it!" Luke said, his exasperation carrying. "This time or last time-! Ow!"

The great Jedi Master had just smacked Luke in the shin with that stick. Luke hopped on one foot for a few seconds, biting down on what probably would have been some nasty Huttese cursing. Yoda harrumphed again and then lurched back over towards his empty egg bucket.

R2-D2 made a sound that Han had, whether he liked it or not, already come to recognize meant: "I told you so."

"Oh, fuck off," Luke snapped.

Han threw back his head and laughed.

[justaparsec94]

Hyperspace

Summary: Unable to sleep during hyperspace travel on The Havoc Marauder you seek out the company of the Batch's resident sniper.

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,661

Authors Note: I know that after I took that poll I said I would write a Fives one shot next.... but Crosshair has taken my writing hostage these days. Sorry, but also, not sorry! I wrote this as a prequel to my One-Shot Sniper, but I think it stands on it's own just fine if you haven't read it! Enjoy :)

************************

Over the years you’d been on hundreds of different types of ships; shuttles, Venator class attack cruisers, cargo ships, drop ships, modified attack shuttles… you name it and you had likely been on it. Honestly, you’d spent most of your adult life in space but there was still one problem that seemed to plague you no matter how many hours you’d spent aboard a ship. Hyperspace insomnia. 

You tried your best to smother a sigh as you rolled over on your bunk, frustration bubbling up in you at your inability to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time. Every ship you had ever been on tried to maintain day and night cycles to aid with sleeping in hyperspace but it seemed that your body couldn’t be fooled. You’d spent many nights tossing and turning over the years, much to your annoyance. You sighed again before you sat up, deciding to abandon your current attempt at sleep before your restlessness disturbed anyone, which on such a small ship was unfortunately very easy to do. 

As quietly as possible you slipped from the middle bunk on the Havoc Marauder, it was the middle of the night cycle and the ship was silent except for Wrecker’s soft snores. You took a quick look behind you to make sure you hadn’t woken anyone and thankfully Wrecker was still snoring away and Tech was also still fast asleep on the top bunk. 

When you’d joined Clone Force 99 as a medic they had insisted you take one of the bunks as your own. You’d protested vehemently, as there were only three to begin with, but despite your insistence that you could all share the middle bunk it always seemed that it was free for you to use when they discussed their watch rotations each night. Your ongoing protests always seemed to fall on deaf ears though. On nights like this one, when you couldn’t even sleep you felt especially guilty.

You let out another soft sigh as you looked towards the back of the ship where Hunter was asleep in the gunner's mount. For a moment you considered waking him and insisting he take your bunk since clearly you wouldn’t be using it any time soon but even from this distance he looked peaceful and the fear of disturbing him outweighed everything else. 

As quietly as possible you moved towards the midpoint of the shuttle, intent on making yourself a cup of caf. If you couldn’t sleep, you reasoned you might as well just be fully awake. You pulled two cups from one of the cupboards used for storage, there wasn’t a galley so things tended to end up in random places but you always knew where the caf was. You looked over your shoulder to make sure everyone was still asleep as the water boiled, but all three clones appeared dead to the world. You smiled softly to yourself as you poured two cups of instant caf, Crosshair was on watch and you knew from past experience if you made a cup for yourself and not him you’d get the look. 

When you had joined The Bad Batch it hadn’t taken long for you to feel like one of the team. You were experienced, having spent time with the 501st, 104th, and various commando units prior to joining them and they had immediately recognized and appreciated your work. Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker quickly accepted you among their ranks and you were already on very friendly terms with all of them after only a few weeks together. Crosshair, on the other hand, was a much harder nut to crack. 

The Batch’s resident sniper was quite possibly one of the grumpiest human beings you’d ever met, which was saying a lot because you’d worked with Commander Wolffe for months. It was clear that your addition to the team had been unwanted on his part at first, but over time it seemed he had begrudgingly come to accept you. These days you could even say that he was somewhat in friendly territory with you, or at least as friendly as he ever got, but it had taken a lot of work on your part to get there. It seemed your strategy of smothering him with kindness had finally worn him down somewhat. 

The thing was though, despite his surly exterior you actually really liked the sniper, perhaps more than what was considered professional. He was cunning, brave, with a sly and wicked sense of humour, and it was clear that he was incredibly loyal and cared deeply about his brothers. It also didn’t hurt that he was the most handsome man you’d ever met. You tried your best to keep things strictly professional but there were times when his steely gaze would have you turning into a blushing, stuttering mess, much to your own embarrassment. You’d been around the clones since the start of the war, many who were incredibly flirty, but none had ever had the same effect on you that Crosshair did. 

Pushing your emotional problems from your mind for the moment you made your way to the cockpit. Crosshair didn’t even look up from where he was sitting in the pilot's seat as you entered, he simply kept cleaning the firepuncher without even missing a beat.  

“Hyperspace insomnia strikes again?” He asked lowly, still without looking up as you placed a cup of caf on the console in front of him. 

“I think I might be cursed,” You said with a dramatic sigh as you slid into the co-pilot seat, wrapping both hands around your warm cup of caf as you did so. The seats in the cockpit were actually more comfortable than the bunks and you let out another soft sigh as you settled into the seat. 

Crosshair finally looked up, one brow raised just slightly, “Maybe we should get you a talisman, I’m pretty sure I saw someone selling them to ward off curses the last time we were on Savareen.” 

You chuckled softly, shaking your head, “I don’t think I’ve reached that level of desperation just yet.”

Crosshair shrugged, “Your loss,” before returning his attention to cleaning his rifle. You were fairly positive with the number of times you’d seen him clean the weapon that he could do it with his eyes closed. You were beginning to suspect it was more of a self-soothing habit, that weapon had to be the cleanest thing you’d ever seen. In a way though it was soothing for you to watch him do it, you’d already spent many nights awake watching him clean the rifle with a practiced ease.

You pulled your feet up onto the seat, something you only did when Tech wasn’t around since he was very particular about his ship, as you sipped your caf. You switched between watching the stars streak past and watching Crosshair out of the corner of your eye. A sense of calm washed over you in the comfortable silence of the ship.  

It wasn’t until he’d finished reassembling his rifle and reached for the cup of caf you’d brought him that you spoke again, “I don’t know anything about their curse talismans but Savareen is actually pretty famous for its brandy…” 

Spouting off random facts had started as a way to break the ice with him and had then become a way to pass the time when the two of you were paired off on missions, separate from the rest of the Batch due to your respective specialties. Even in the beginning, he hadn’t seemed to mind it too much, likely because he was used to hearing it from Tech, but now it seemed to be a habit you couldn’t break. You enjoyed watching his reactions and every time he’d actually engage in conversation you felt like you’d won a battle. 

“Is it any good?” He asked, his tone was bored but you could tell by the way he turned his seat slightly towards you that he was actually interested. 

“It’s not bad, a bit strong for my tastes,” You replied with a shrug. 

“Not surprising, I’ve seen your tastes,” He said snidely but there was a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. 

“Hey! I’m just not really into drinking,” You protested with a laugh. You weren’t offended at all though, you were, quite famously, a lightweight. You'd been with the Batch long enough now for them to know this about you, “I need to maintain a clear head at all times in case of a medical emergency!”

“Sure,” Crosshair responded, the dry look on his face making you laugh even harder. 

You continued to chuckle softly to yourself between sips of caf as you leaned forward slightly to look at the navi-computer. You could see Crosshair watching you out of the corner of your eye and your face began to heat up slightly at the feeling of his intense gaze on you. 

“Oh, we just passed Mon Cala,” You said softly, mostly to distract yourself from the butterflies that were suddenly making themselves known in your stomach. You looked back over at Crosshair who was still watching you intently as you leaned back in your seat, “Did you know there’s a type of squid that lives there that has a circular brain that their food passes through?” 

Crosshair let out a snort of amusement, "Sounds like Tech.”  

You slapped your hand over your mouth to stifle that bark of laughter that escaped you. It took you a moment to stop laughing before you could speak again, “I’m going to tell him you said that.”

Your eyes might have been deceiving you in the low light but you could have sworn that Crosshair was actually smiling. Well, smirking was more accurate, but in Crosshair's body language, you were going to consider that a genuine smile.

“Go ahead,” Crosshair replied flippantly, “he’d probably take it as a compliment.” 

You chuckled again, shaking your head in amusement at him before finishing the last sip of your caf, “I think I’ll keep this between the two of us. I’m trying to stay in his good books so he’ll teach me how to fly the Marauder.”

Crosshair scoffed, “Good luck with that, he’ll make you memorize every piece of this ship before he even so much as lets you touch a button.” 

“That’s ok!” You replied happily, as you leaned forward to set your empty cup down on the console in front of you, “I like to learn.” 

Crosshair scoffed again as you continued, your tone turning teasing once more, “Plus it’ll give me more random facts to annoy you with.” 

His eyes narrowed at you which only made you laugh softly, “Are you always this happy?” He asked his tone somewhere between impressed and annoyed. 

“Only around the people I like,” You answered as you stretched out a foot to jab his chair with your boot playfully. 

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze intense as he looked at you. The lights of the cockpit were dim but you could have almost sworn that a light flush appeared on his cheeks. You felt your own face heating up at his look. Concern that maybe you’d overstepped suddenly bubbled up in you but it vanished almost as quickly as it had come. He didn’t seem annoyed. 

Eventually, he snorted, rolling his eyes before he spoke, “So, everyone then?” his tone once again characteristically grumpy. 

“I don’t like everyone…” You started but then stopped, laughing at the disbelieving look Crosshair shot you, “I really didn’t like that Admiral we had to work with on the last mission.” 

Crosshair’s face darkened considerably at the mention of the Admiral who was, for lack of better words, a complete and utter asshole. Both to you AND the clones. 

“He seemed to be offended by the fact that I was a woman,” You continued with a chuckle. 

Crosshair shook his head, clearly annoyed at just the thought of the other man, “He was di’kut.”

You smirked at the Mando’a term as he looked back over at you, the dark look on his face replaced once more with subtle amusement, “That’s only one person though…”

“Well,” You started teasingly, “Not all of us have a 30-foot-long list of people we don’t like.” 

Crosshair snorted again, “It’s more like 15 feet.” 

You chuckled, “Now, that IS surprising. You’re going to have to step it up, Cross.” 

This time you were certain your eyes weren’t deceiving you, his face had definitely flushed slightly. His dark eyes had widened but his gaze was no less intense as he looked at you. It took you a moment to figure out what his reaction was in response to but when you did you felt your chest tighten. Although you often referred to him as such in your head, you’d never actually said the shortened form of his name out loud before. An apology for getting too familiar was on the tip of your tongue but before you could get the words out he was speaking again. 

He lifted his hand in a mock salute, eyes narrowed but amused, “Mission accepted, Sunshine.”  

You felt as though you might actually combust. Your face felt as if it was on fire as a nervous chuckle escaped you. You were so kriffed, no one had ever gotten under your skin like this before. You prided yourself on maintaining professional relationships so this was definitely going to be a problem. Feeling somewhat overwhelmed with the surge of emotions suddenly coursing through you, you turned your attention back to the navi-computer. According to it, you still had another 14 standard hours before you reached your next destination. With a soft sigh, you leaned back in your seat, unable to stop yourself from shyly looking over at Crosshair every few moments. 

He had also leaned back in the pilot’s chair, one long leg crossing over the other. His chair was still slightly angled towards you but he was now looking out the windscreen of the Marauder, the lights of hyperspace reflecting in his dark eyes. Silence settled between the two of you but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, once you got over the initial shock of receiving a nickname from him, you felt more relaxed than you had in ages. Sitting with Crosshair seemed to have this effect on you more and more often these days. 

It wasn’t long before your eyes began to grow heavy, the soft hum of the Marauder’s engines and the comfort of the co-pilot seat effectively lulling you to sleep. That last thing on your mind before you finally let yourself succumb to sleep was a pair of dark intense eyes.

*****

You woke with a start, thoughts a complete jumble as you sat up suddenly, looking around yourself in confusion. It took you a long moment to orient yourself because you were no longer in the cockpit of the Marauder, you were back in your bunk. You frowned as you lifted a hand to rub the sleep out of your eyes. It was obviously still early, the lights of the Marauder still dim and Wrecker was still snoring on the bunk below you, but a quick look at the chrono on your wrist confirmed it was morning. Your brow furrowed as you looked around you, Tech was no longer on the bunk above you, instead, a flash of silver hair confirmed it was now Crosshair in his place. 

You were still confused as you pushed the blanket that had been covering you off and swung your legs over the edge of the bunk before quietly slipping out. Unless it was all a dream, and you were pretty sure it wasn’t, the last thing you could remember was being in the cockpit with Crosshair. So, unless you had recently started sleepwalking that meant someone had carried you back to the bunk. Not only that, but they had tucked you in too. 

Your face flushed as the reality of that settled in your stomach, your heart rate suddenly picking up exponentially. While every single member of the squad were capable of carrying you back to bed and were kind enough to do so, the most obvious culprit was the one who was increasingly in your thoughts and was without a doubt becoming a problem for you. Your eyes strayed up to the top bunk to look at Crosshair, he was facing away from you but you could tell from the deep, even breaths he was taking that he was still asleep. 

Heart still racing you headed towards the middle of the ship where Tech was fiddling with a piece of equipment in one of the seats in front of the console. That likely meant that Hunter was upfront keeping an eye on things, something that you were suddenly quite grateful for. You didn’t need him wondering why your heart was racing first thing in the morning, though even with the door of the cockpit between you you knew he likely could still hear it. Pushing that somewhat embarrassing thought from your mind, you greeted Tech softly as you passed by on your way to make some caf. Your mind was still reeling from the revelation that Crosshair might have carried you to bed but you were able to focus enough to successfully make 5 cups of caf. Normally, whoever was first up who wasn’t on watch would make the caf for everyone but Tech could be somewhat unreliable when his attention was divided. Caught, he smiled up at you sheepishly as you handed him a cup. 

You settled yourself into one of the jump seats, pulling your knees up to your chest as you counted back from 10. Sure enough, you hadn’t even made it to 5 before the sounds of movement from the bunks reached you. It was fairly predictable but made you smile every morning nonetheless, there was nothing that could summon a clone faster than hot caf. 

Also predictable was how grumpy Crosshair looked as he made his way over. Without a word or even a nod of acknowledgment, he grabbed a cup, taking a sip before moving to sit on the seat across from Tech. His tired gaze strayed over to you a moment later and you felt your face heat. You managed to give him what you hoped was a normal smile in greeting before his eyes flicked back to focusing on his caf. 

“Chow time?” Wrecker asked as he ambled over, still looking like he was half asleep but the excitement at the prospect of eating was evident in his voice. 

With a sigh Tech set aside his project and stood, rummaging through the cupboard for a moment before emerging with the morning's rations. He handed the first to Wrecker who had been hovering around him excitedly. In general, the clones ate more food than anyone else you knew but Wrecker in particular seemed to have a never-ending appetite. One of your first duties as the team medic had been to put in a request for more rations for ‘medical reasons’. Wrecker had actually cried with happiness when the extra crate had shown up for the first time and your ribs had ached for days from the bone-crushing hug you had received. The memory put a smile on your face as you took your own ration from Tech before he moved on to Crosshair. 

“Thanks, Squid,” Crosshair’s snide comment as he took his ration bar from his brother nearly had you spitting out the sip of caf you had just taken. You looked at him with wide eyes, face heating as his gaze met yours, amusement swimming in the depths of his dark eyes. Not only that, but he was definitely smirking. Smug asshole. 

Tech looked between the two of you, frowning deeply, “I suppose that comment is in relation to one of your late-night inside jokes?” 

Your face grew even hotter with embarrassment at the fact that your little late-night chats with Crosshair hadn’t gone unnoticed. You spluttered, unsure of what to say as Tech simply looked between the two of you for another moment. When neither of you answered he simply rolled his eyes before returning to his seat, his own ration bar forgotten as he returned to working on the same piece of equipment. 

“Please, do not enlighten me,” He continued without looking up, “I am certain it is not as funny as the two of you think it is.” 

This time you weren’t able to stop the laugh that escaped you and it only got worse when you looked at Crosshair to see that he was also snickering. 

Tech sighed in exasperation as he shook his head, “Children.” 

It wasn’t even that funny but you found yourself struggling to regain some composure. You felt giddy, something that you had experienced in ages. And you knew without a doubt it was entirely due to the silver-haired clone who was still watching you with amusement, a subtle smirk on his face as he continued to sip his caf. 

Eventually, you managed an apology to Tech that was waved off, clearly, he wasn’t actually bothered by the teasing and the rest of the morning continued on as normal. A sense of calm finally washed over you as you sat quietly, listening to the sound of The Marauder moving through space and the occasional conversation between brothers. 

One thing had changed though, you now knew without a doubt that you were harbouring a crush on the team's resident snarky sniper. You were kriffed, but you found as your eyes connected with his later on that morning that it didn’t bother you as much as you had once thought it would. And you knew that the next time you couldn’t sleep you’d be right back by his side. Sometimes, you reasoned with yourself as you smiled softly over at him, you just had to live a little. 

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Moments the boys fall in love with Yuu  

Romantic or platonic, mostly fluff, a little angst with comfort  

Ruggie Bucci, Jack Howl, Deuce Spade, Ace Trappola, Rook Hunt  

Ruggie Bucci

Yuu had been helping Crowley with all sorts of paperwork this year, as she had taken on the apprenticeship under him for education. She was already doing most of it anyway, might as well get paid for it right? But it gave her access to a lot of information other people don’t.  

So when she found the grant and looked at the details, she knew she at least had to offer it.  

Yuu knows better than to pull Ruggie out of class, he hides it well, but it pisses him off. He can’t afford to get anymore behind than he already is compared to these rich bastards. So, she slips a note to the teacher to give to him to arrange a meeting in the next few days.  

It ends up being over dinner at Ramshackle a few days later, after a late shift at the Monstro Lounge, that she finally gets to talk to him.  

“So, you can tell me off, but I ain’t doing it out of pity or nothing,” she starts, pulling out a stack of papers. He cocks his head, starting to skim over the complex and small text. “Long story short, it’s a grant for schools under a certain income bracket to receive additional help, including a three-meal program. If you can convince instructors to continue using the building over breaks, you can even continue with meal program during the breaks so that the food comes around all year, all shipped in and paid for on the governments dime. It lasts around 5 years.”  

Ruggie’s ears are flat against his head, flipping through the pages. She gets the impression that he would have set his plate down if she hadn’t waited until he had scraped the pot clean.  

“NRC obviously makes too much in donations alone,” especially from the royal families, no nepotism rules her ass, “but if you could give me some more details about your place, I might be able to-” 

“Set up an actual school.”  

That makes her pause. There wasn’t...no.  

“I know you said that you learned from the hard knock school of life but...there’s nothing?” she asked. 

“Naw. So, this grant would guarantee that a school could stay and that the kids might actually attend, especially with the promise of food.”  

“Well, I’ll need to find the forms for that, but I'm sure it's doable, especially if I can make a good case. It was pretty buried in there, so I don’t think I’d have to try too hard, I don’t imagine a lot of folks even know about it.”  

He squints his eyes at her, leaning back in his seat.  

“What do you get out of this?” he asks, folding his arms, “You don’t know my home. You don’t know my people.”  

“No, but I know you love them and you work hard for them every day.” She gestures to the apron folded over the chair. “And if you do, I will choose to. Besides, you and I both know these rich bastards have no problem taking our taxes and doing stupid shit with it. Might as well take it back and apply it where it needs to be.”  

He huffs, covering his mouth as it turns to a full cackle as he curls in. He might have said something in between his laughs? She can’t tell, but he’s cheeks are ruddy and glowing when he finally collects himself.  

“Alright Prefect, what details do you need?”  

Jack Howl

There were lots of places boarded off at Ramshackle that Yuu was still exploring. Finding a sunroom was the last thing she thought Ramshackle Dorm might have, but after sweeping and cleaning the place, it’s charming. Open windows, dark frames lining the three out of four walls, and the furniture actually isn’t too bad, just needing a wipe down and some wood oil to make it shine again. The fact that Ramshackle was also being used as an oversized storage unit helps since it has upholstery, furniture and fabrics for repairs for every dorm that she can really make the place shine.  

She knows that Riddle and the boys would love to decorate in Heartslabyul colors, line rose boxes and vines and lilies in the hanging baskets, but she has a better idea.  

“Hey, Jack!” She calls out after track practice. He raises a hand at her, giving his body a light shake to get rid of the soreness in his muscles. “Do you have any succulent or cactus cuttings you could spare?” 

His ears narrowed in straight on her, standing a bit straighter.  

“Ah, yea...I could have some sent from home too.”    

“Is this about the sunroom?” Deuce asked. “We could have some rose bushes sent in from Heartslabyul too. Riddle would be ecstatic to have the Queen’s roses out.”  

“No offense to Riddle or Heartslabyul,” Yuu rubbed the back of her neck, “But there are roses everywhere. Queen Heart’s Roses, Fairest Roses, Thorn Fairy Roses, you get the idea. Besides, I like plants that are heartier and don’t require alot of tending too. Just free to do their own thing.”  

The only reason Jack’s tail wasn’t wagging is because he was holding it. Deuce snickered behind his back, cackling as he avoided the swat at his head.  

“Let me bring what I have at the dorms right now. Besides, it’ll be nice for my dormmates to not be able to mess with it at least some of them.”  

Jack wasn’t able to bring anything big with him when he came to NRC, but the cuttings would grow quickly. The fact that his Mom paid for some of the bigger ones to be sent carefully through the mirrors helped fill out the space, and Leona donated some of the ferns and larger faunas when Ruggie mentioned it. It was in exchange for having a daybed in there so he could nap whenever he wanted, but it was a small sacrifice.  

By the time they finished putting the room together, including sewing together some pillows in Savannaclaw colors and tightening a few screws on the benches and chairs, it looked like a slice of his dorm. Mainly yellows and oranges, with the soft greens of the succulents and more saturated green of the cactus to accent it all. His cactuses were clearly the center point though, blooming like nothing else.  

His Mom had also taken the opportunity to send Yuu a few old clothes that his sister no longer fit in, warm sweaters and shirts that were very much in the style of home. Jack hadn’t known until they started unpacking the box, but Yuu had loved them and he couldn’t find it within himself to be too upset. Afterall, Yuu didn’t have much to begin with, and he knows that fall will be coming in soon.  

When he comes in a few days later He sees her curled up on a chair with her study materials. The tap of her pen against her lip, the smell of heat and fauna thick in the air, snuggled into an old hoodie of his, he can’t even blame his heart for skipping a beat.  

It’s only natural, he tells himself. Instinct even. He doesn’t have to think too hard about it.  

“Why’s your tail wagging?” Yuu asks, pointing to his back.  

“No reason!” he barks, ignoring the way he’s heart does it again as she cackles.  

Only natural.  

Deuce Spade

Deuce would tell you that he’s not the smartest guy in the room. He knows that academically he struggles, and even sometimes with common sense. There’s a lot of things that he never learned or forgot because he made some stupid shitty decisions in his past.  

Maybe that’s why he prefers studying with Yuu one on one instead of a group. Yuu is having to teach herself the basics too, history, spell work, math, literature, they aren’t exactly on the same page, but they are closer than he would prefer to admit.  

Riddle, bless him and his tenacious ways, kept his notes from all his grades. It’s binders and binders worth of material and even if they are slow at it, Riddle never says anything about how long the binder is gone from his bookshelf. He simply continues to offer help.  

Yuu gets the idea after she sees Riddle’s magicam and puts 2 and 2 together with Cater’s exam results.  

So, the next time they get together, she takes him to a side room where a broken radio is.  

“What’s this?” He asks, looking at the tools set off to the side.  

“I have an idea,” Yuu says, sitting on the floor. “I’m going to quiz you while you fix the radio.”  

“Huh?”  

“I have an idea, I think it’ll help, I just need you to trust me.”  

He shrugs his shoulders, rolls up his sleeves and starts answering questions as he pulls the panel off. The quiz is tomorrow and anything is better than nothing at this point.  

Professor Trein smiles at him a bit as he passes the quizzes back at the end of the period.  

“Well done Mr. Spade. Your studying is paying off well.”  

83. He had gotten an 83.  

“Dude!” Yuu jumps on his back, hugging him, “Awesome! It worked!”  

He knows the blush on his face isn’t pride or joy. Neither is the goofy grin. But if that’s what Yuu thinks when she sees it, she doesn’t need to know.  

If they dance together with that fixed radio and his hands linger a little too long on her hips or waist, he doesn’t think too hard on that either.  

He isn’t a very smart man, but he knows he is a happy one.

 

Ace Trappola

Ace will admit that he’s an asshole sometimes. He is self-aware enough and selfish enough to not care. But he isn’t a complete asshole, and really, he’s just preventing you from being stuck with another Overblot like what happened on Winter Break!  

That was the only reason he invited Yuu over. No other reasons.  

He of course does the polite thing and introduces you to this family, including his brother. He doesn’t dislike his brother, he’s actually pretty cool, but he’s aware that he is cooler than Ace. And smarter. And more handsome.  

He isn’t purposefully keeping Yuu away from him, but if it so happens that every time his brother is home that you two are out doing things, that’s just a weird coincidence.  

It’s sunset on the last day, and his family insisted on a cookout all together. They like Yuu a lot, and for the most part try and keep him out of trouble. Which meant lots of talking, family telling stories and comparing between the two of them, like they always do. It isn’t malicious, he knows that, but it hurts sometimes when his brother has a seven-year head start. It’s winding down now though, with his parents and brother going to bed already for work in the morning. They should have been, the train leaves early the next morning, but neither of them can sleep, so they are trying to wind down with cards. Ace always has a pack on him, but in his room he has multiple. He’s even nice enough to let Yuu pick the deck she wants.  

“You ready for tomorrow?” she asks, laying a card down.  

“Totally. I love my folks but being here just makes me itch to leave again.” he makes a pair, chuckling at her huff, “Besides my brother is...well he’s my brother, you know.”  

“I mean, he’s ok, but I much prefer hanging out with you.”  

It’s such a small thing that it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t. But damn if he’s face doesn’t twitch into a genuine smile. Prefers him. Yuu prefers him.  

“Ah, you gotta crush on me?” He teases, poking her cheek, “You got something you want to tell me?”  

“Oh, fuck off.” She snips, kicking his foot, “You got an ego that makes Vil look humble.”  

He can only laugh, muffling his delight into a pillow. He tucks the memory away with a breath, making another pair.

 

Rook Hunt

The gardens of Pomefiore aren’t as well-known as some of the other dorms, but they are beautiful, nonetheless. Carefully cultivated and trimmed, it has more of a nature tamed by man aesthetic, but it was still beautiful.  

Rook knows them better than most students, spending so much time amongst the trees, bushes and flowers to practice his hunting skills and photography. When Yuu asked him for pointers, he was more than happy to give her a hands-on lesson.  

“And that is how you achieve this effect!” He says, setting the glass off to the side.  

“Nice!” she nods, finishing the note she was writing. “That is so much easier than what I was picturing. I can’t thank you enough for this Rook, this will help so much with the commission that Crewel gave me. What got you into photography anyway?”  

“Having pictures of Roi De Poison and Monsieur Curiosity that nobody else has? Bliss! But also, I do so enjoy the thrill of the hunt. Photography gives me the means to shoot and not kill my target. Their beauty must live on until fate takes them. Or my arrow.”  

Yuu cannot help but chuckle a bit, figuring that was the case.  

“Vil told me a bit about the day you two met. It makes sense. He also said you started in SavannaClaw?”  

“I did. Transfering dorms was the best decision I have ever made!” He touches the leaves above him, the apple tree swaying a bit in the cool breeze. “Why do you think I switched dorms, Mon Trickster?”  

Yuu zips up the ghost camera into her bag, taking a moment to try and phase her words. The Rook that Vil described reminds her of herself here. Ambition with no direction. Goals of survival with no room for anything else. Of being so cautious and gentle with everything around, but the people aren’t with her. Even those that care for her bruise her, even when they don’t mean to.  

“I think...you got tired of your life feeling like a museum.” Rook cocks his head at her. “Before, you kept your hands behind your back, quietly observing, scrutinizing and praising the beauty around you but never interacting. I don’t know if you thought you didn’t deserve it or that you couldn’t have it, but I think you got tired of imagining what softness would feel like. I think you decided that you would rather be an active participant, in your life, even if it meant changing, however scary it is.”  

It is quiet behind her. Yuu secures the last of the props into the tote, still waiting.  

“Rook?”  

She doesn’t get a chance to turn around. His front thumps into her, arms wrapping around her shoulders.  

“Apologize Mon Ami. I was stunned by your wisdom un moment.” He whispers. She feels him take a deep breath into her shoulder, but he’s hat completely blocks him from her view. “You might be the closest yet.”  

“Huh?”  

“Nothing, nothing!” He jumps in front of her, grabbing the tote with a bright smile. “Let us return, Roi de Poison does hate one being late!”

“We are meeting Vil after this?” She asks, jogging to keep up his pace that’s more like a skip.  

“Of course! We have traveled much today. We must replenish with good food and drink!”  

He goes on to describe what is on the menu, but inside it is taking everything within him not to gather you up and take him home. Oh, Mon Trickster, you read him too easily. He will have to keep you close in the years to come to just keep himself safe, in whatever capacity needed. There is, after all, more than one way to be a lover.  

[oneforthemunny]

summerween |modern!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie is itching to decorate for halloween. the only problem is, it's still summertime.

still on my fall shit, and still on my fluff shit. very fluffy and sweet for these two (i love them). short little fall ficlet. all fluff. language, that's really it. just fluff.

“It’s not even August.” You stare him down from your place behind the counter, arms crossed your white tank top, adding emphasis to your statement. It was hot, late July hot, too hot for Halloween decorations. 

“Getting started early this year, sweetheart.” Eddie grinned, flashing a dazzling smile that had your chest swelling, cheeks tingling with warm rushes of emotion. “Never too early to get started.” 

“This feels like too early.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Despite your protests and snide comments of how many weeks away October was, you still helped Eddie clean. Vacuum and mop, wipe down everything the way you always did before decorating. 

“Kids aren’t even back in school, and you want to decorate?” You lifted a brow, cringing at the thud of the totes collecting a cloud of dust in the air from the dusty storage unit they’d been homed in since last November. 

“Yeah, c’mon, it’s the most wonderful time of the year.” Eddie trilled dramatically, tearing the lid off the first box. A plethora of black and orange and purple figurines poked out, a waxy, plasticky scent following from the stored heat. 

“Besides, everyone’s started putting stuff out. I keep seeing it on Instagram, people are finding all this cool shit. I wanna get what we have out, and then I was thinking we could go shopping tonight. Or tomorrow, just dependin’ on when we get done.” Eddie rambled excitedly, pulling out the tangled garland, eyes meeting yours with a sickly sweet pleading gaze. 

You rolled your eyes, snatching the garland in dramatic irritation, sitting down on the couch to unravel it. “We’re putting all of this out today? What if I had other plans today?” You challenged, lifting a brow. You didn’t have any, of course, Eddie had already asked you that yesterday when he’d planned this.

“I’ll help you do them, baby. I promise. We don’t have to go shopping tomorrow if you don’t want to.” Eddie hummed sweetly, brown eyes rounding in the most adorable way towards you. “I just thought we’d go to Fort Wayne tomorrow. Take you shopping over there.” 

Your lips pursed, too stubborn to relent so easily, but melting under his affection the way you always did. “There will be a million fuckin’ kids there tomorrow, Ed, school starts back in a week.” 

“We can go first thing in the morning.” Eddie countered, proudly setting a plush ghost pillow next to the others. “Before it gets insane. I’ll wake up early for you.” He winked playfully. 

Your lips rolled, fighting back a grin, chin ducking towards the garland. “Yeah, right.” You muttered. “You’ll sleep ‘til noon.” 

“Nope. I’ll set twenty five alarms if I have to.” Eddie declared, unwrapping the glass figure carefully, wadding the paper back up. “You have my full consent to dump cold water on me if I don’t wake up after the third snooze. That’s what Wayne always did, and it always worked.” 

You snorted lightly, facade breaking and a grin taking over your scowl. “Cold water? Like in a Disney Channel movie?” You lifted a brow, a snarky tease still in your tone. 

Eddie grinned, dimples creasing deeply. “Yeah, I was a heavy sleeper. ‘Specially after I hit puberty, ya know? I think it was my seventh or eighth grade summer, I started playing Neverwinter Nights and would stay up all night. Then when school started, I didn’t stop, and I’d stay up the whole night and Wayne would be so pissed at me in the morning.” He shook his head lightly. 

“One morning I wouldn’t get up, and I thought he’d finally just left me, was letting me stay home, and he came back, like, five minutes later with this popcorn bowl of ice water and dumped it on me.” Eddie snorted in laughter. 

You barked out a laugh, an edge to your giggle that had Eddie blushing, his own laughter bubbling thick in his chest. “So that’s how he got you to get up?” 

“Worked like a charm.” Eddie nodded, a half grin pulling at his lips. 

“Good to know.” You lifted your brow, lips curled in a devious little grin. Eddie’s knees weakened at the sight. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time you sleep through my cousin’s gender reveal.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes lightly. “Baby, that was- c’mon, even you agreed that it was insane that they had it at ten in the morning. Who has a party that early?” 

“Parents, Eddie.” You huffed. “Adults.” 

“Alright.” Eddie shook his head, trying to diffuse a fight he could sense was looming. “Hey, look, I forgot you got this.” He pulled the bright pink ceramic ghost out of the tub. 

“Oh, I forgot about that.” Your face lit up, pulling the final knot loose of the garland’s chords. “Put her on the shelf- no, on the other side, Eddie.” You clicked your tongue in annoyance, nodding harshly towards the empty shelf on the TV stand. 

Eddie flicked on the switch, the dim bulb fluttering to life before sticking it on the shelf, proudly. Normally, he thought pink decor- especially Halloween- killed the vibe. It was supposed to be scary and dark and gloomy and moody, not pastel. Until he met you. Then pastel pinks, oranges, purples, all made their way into his dark and gorey decor. Happy, cute ghosts with his grim reapers and skulls. 

“Did you get this at Target?” Eddie pushed the ghost so it was center, spine straightening as he stood. 

“Mm, I think so.” You hummed, hooking your foot on the edge of the tote, sliding it closer to you. “Maybe Home Goods.” 

“I think they have that huge Home Goods in Fort Wayne, don’t they? We could go there tomorrow. Look for more.” Eddie slid beside you, throwing a hand over your waist, squeezing your hip gently just to feel you squirm. His lips pressed to your jaw, soft and pillowy, leaving a burning heat of excitement in their wake. 

“Fine,” You relented, melting into his affection, letting him pull you into him victoriously. “But I want to go to Anthropologie too. I want to see if they have those cute witch glasses I saw.” 

“Yeah, we can do that. We’ll hit the mall first then Home Goods.” Eddie muttered, nose nuzzling against your cheek. 

“I think they’d be so cute on the bar cart, don’t you?” You hummed, nodding towards the tiny gold bar cart in the corner of the kitchen. 

A new edition to the apartment. Eddie had searched high and low, finally found the one you wanted on Facebook Market and drove all the way to Muncie to get it. You had been so excited when he showed it to you, beaming in a way that was rare but felt exhilarating to be the reason for it. Right now, it was donning a tequila theme, one you saw on Pinterest and had to match. 

“Yeah that would be. You know, Gareth used to date this girl, Ayesha, and she always got this wine called Witches Brew. It had a cool lookin’ label on it, that would be cool to add to it too.” Eddie tucked his chin down to look at you. 

“Ooh, that would be cool.” Your eyes lit up, just enough to have Eddie’s chest swelling with pride. “Isn’t there a Total Wine near the exit? We can stop and look there.” 

“Sounds like a date to me, baby.” Eddie squeezed you closer to his chest, fingers barely brushing your sides so you squirmed. He paused for a moment. “Are you sure you’re ok with me putting this up? I-I can wait if you really don’t want me to, I just, I’m just excited ya know-” 

“-I know.” You turned, shifting in his arms to look at him. “It’s fine.” You sighed dramatically, a teasing in your tone. 

“At least if we get it up now, we can see what we need to add. Get it before it sells out.” You muttered, spinning the tiny fake spell book in your hands. Eddie grinned, eyes shining with excitement. 

“But,” You lifted a finger, face dropping back to something serious. “Not outside yet. Only inside.” You pointed your nail at him threateningly. “Don’t want the neighbors to think we’re total freaks.” Eddie snorted, arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer to his chest so you were chest to chest, nearly nose to nose. “Please, a little late for that, babe.” Eddie snorted loudly. “They already know we're total freaks, what do you mean? They’ve definitely heard us being total freaks before- oof!” You cut him off, smacking him with a bat shaped pillow.

[redsrooftopprincess]

hey so how do you think Mikey’s brothers would deal with him being the first to get a girlfriend and she’s a human one at that. Cuz they clearly never thought any of them would find someone and it’s their baby brother who did the miracle of finding someone? 😂

Hi there! I'm not sure if this is exactly what you're looking for, but you're here so I assume you want my Mikey. Hope this is okay. 😅

Turned Tables

Michaelangelo x gn!Reader

Warnings: Queerphobia

4am and it's last call in The Village.

He's moving swiftly over rooftops, his usual route, a master of speed and momentum, moving through the city like water. He loves it. The rush. The flow. Moving around obstacles like they mean nothing. He is a turtle after all. Water is kind of his jam.

But not tonight. Tonight the heartbeat pounding in his ears has nothing to do with the thrill of movement. Tonight he's wearing his hoodie with the hood up. Tonight they're with him. And if he's spotted, there will be problems.

There have been whispers about suspicious gang movement in the area, and Leo wants to make sure that certain alliances aren't being made. They usually don't come out here. They have designated areas of the city to cover every night. It's smarter to stick to the same areas so that anything out of place will be more noticable. Which means tonight his bros were on his turf, and that scared the shit out of him.

He follows his brothers over storage sheds and HVAC units, keeping an eye out for anything out of place, occasionally glancing down into the streets below, knowing you'll be heading home after the party. Even if he can't say "hi" tonight, it's worth it just to look at you, even if just for a second. You're so damn pretty.

"Hey! Back off, incel!" the shout comes from the street below and he freezes. His brothers manage to get three buildings away before they notice he's missing.

By the time they make it back to the rooftop where he left them behind, he's already put himself, openly, between a group of four drunk bros, and several sparkly queers.

You and your crew had been on your way home from a party. Ironically enough, you'd just been missing your bright-eyed boyfriend, but understood when he said his brother needed the whole team tonight. You knew the score when this whole thing started. Superheroes gotta superhero.

And damn if he doesn't look good doing it.

Hood still up he glares at them, a low growl backing his words, "Wrong neighborhood, my dudes." Mike says evenly.

The look on the drunk bros faces was enough to know they were thinking maybe they'd had too much.

"Fuck it. Not worth it anyway. Fucking queers."

The dude-bros stumble off and Mike turns to face his very relieved friends. "You guys okay?" He says.

"Yes, thank you, papí," says a Drag Queen in red sequins, she walks up and gives him a kiss, leaving red glitter lipstick on his cheek.

"You know I got you, mamí," Mike says brightly, with a wink, making no effort to wipe the lipstick away. At this point they're most likely watching everything from the rooftop, so it didn't matter anymore.

"We missed you at the party," you say with a smile.

His gaze falls on you and his showman smile morphs into something softer. "Hey, Angel."

You look back at your friends.

"Let me guess," says a man wearing gold shorts and matching cuffs/collar, "you'll catch up?"

You grin and they sigh dramatically, teasing you, as they hug Mike goodbye, thanking him and insisting he show up at the next party.

You step forward and grab his mask tails, pulling him down into a kiss. Usually it's enough to melt the tension away. Not tonight. You pull back and look at him curiously before your gaze moves past him and you see black shadows cut out against the light polluted sky. You meet his eyes again and you can see the underlying panic.

"They were gonna to find out eventually," you say, quietly.

He presses his forehead to yours, "I know. I just..." He sighs.

"I know..." You say, touching his face gently. He'd told you about his brothers, and you understand their need for secrecy, you all do. He'd told you if they ever found out, there was a chance they would refuse to let him see you. Keep him from you completely. But there is no way in hell you're letting him go. You'll fight his big bad brothers yourself if you have to. "Go talk to them. Maybe it'll help to know there are people who aren't afraid." You twist the mask's tail around your fingers and tug, pulling him out of his own head, "Do you want me to come with?"

He shakes his head, "I gotta do this alone. Explain some things. But I think you meeting them at this point is unavoidable." he smirks down at you. You've been asking to meet his family. You haven't said anything, but all the sneaking around is starting to get to you.

He's quiet for a few moments, and shifts his weight, stalling. He must be really scared. "Now or never, Sunshine," you say, tugging on his mask tail again. He gives you a nervous smile and kisses you again, sweetly, before walking across the street backwards, just to look at you a little longer.

When he makes it to the alley, he looks at the ladder to the fire escape and sighs. There's a chance this could go well... right?

When he reaches the roof, they're all standing there, staring at him. Mike swallows. "Hey... So yeah, couple things..." He hauls himself over the edge of the building and stands to look up at his eldest brother, arms crossed, waiting. "So... that's Y/N," he says, as if reciting a list, "and those are my friends..." he gestures a bit further, "and -"

"Parties?" Leo's even voice cuts through the air as sharply as the blades on his back.

Mike glances at Donnie and Raph who look at him with a full spectrum of emotion, from betrayal to hope.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Just... A few years."

"Years!?" If Leo had eyebrows, they would have disappeared into his hair... if he also had hair.

"Leo -" Mike tries.

"Years. Parties. For years."

"Leo, if you'd just -"

"People know about us, Mikey. A lot of people. Don't you think that's kind of a big deal? You're putting everyone in danger here. If just one person -"

"Leo they're queer." Mike interrupts solidly. That shut him up. Leo stares at his brother, taken entirely off guard. "If anyone is used to having to hide their and everyone else's identities for fear of literal murder it's them. We protect our people."

"... We?" Raph asks after a moment.

Mikey gives him a look, "I'm a turtle attracted to humans, what would you call it?"

That shut all of them up, and Mike gives them a moment for that paradigm shift.

"Anyway, yeah, I've been doing a quick run through The Village before coming home every night, just to keep an eye on things."

"That's why you've been coming home late? I thought you were just smoking out somewhere." Raph says.

"That's because that's what I wanted you to think," Mike replies. Duh.

"And your friend? How long has that been going on?"

"We're more than friends," Mike shoots back immediately, a fire in his eyes as they meet his eldest brother's. They could come for him, he was used to it. Not you. His brothers eyes widen and they look at each other before landing back on him, "and we've been together for six months, two weeks, and five days," he checks his watch, "Six days. You want the hours, minutes, and seconds or are we done?" He says.

He pushes past Leo, and makes it almost to the edge of the rooftop before hears Donnie speak softly behind him. "... why would you keep this from us?"

Mike sighs, coming to a stop, "Because... I don't know..." He turns around, "I guess I was afraid you'd try and take it away," He looks at Leo almost defiantly. Raph smirks, kinda proud. "Or maybe... that they'd like you more than me." He looks down at you with a sigh, having rejoined your friends. You're laughing. It's his favorite sound in the universe.

Turning around, you catch him watching over you like a guardian angel turtle. You proceed to blow several kisses his way using each hand, before making a heart with them and spinning back around. The last six months have been the best of your life.

Mike can't help but smile, his brothers look on in awe as Michaelangelo's more-than-friend skips on down the sidewalk.

"Look," Mike says, his eyes returning to his brothers, "I'm safe. You're safe. They're safe." He assures, gesturing in each direction in turn, "We're a pretty tight group, and there's a protocol," he looks at Leo pointedly again, "that we follow with new people before anyone even learns I exist. I've saved the sequined ass of just about everybody in this neighborhood. They know me here. We're safe here... ish, obviously."

They're all speechless.

"I don't like this, Mikey." Leo says after a moment.

"You don't have to like it, you just have to accept it," Mike says without any question in his voice.

Leo sighs rubbing his forehead, "Well, at this point I suppose it's too late for damage control." He looks back at Mike, proud and resolute. This Michaelangelo has only made a handful of appearances in their lives, but Leo knew what it meant. He wasn't backing down. This decision had been carefully thought out and every angle considered before it was made. Mikey may play the fool, but he's far from it. A gifted strategist and the best of them at thinking on his feet, if he says it's safe, it is.

Leo sighs again, "Okay," he says, and Mikey can finally breathe again, "but we all need to be in on these protocols, and Don should look over security."

.....

He's just gotten back from his nightly run, and came home smelling like strawberry daiquiris and you... He may have stopped for a minute.

He's just stripping off his gear to hit the shower when Raph appears in his doorway, knocking softly. "Uh hey," he starts, uncomfortable, "You got a sec?"

Mikey tosses one of his hand wraps into the basket in the corner and starts unraveling the other one, a small burst of glitter explodes into the air with the first layer of cloth. Mike snorts and swats it out of the air. "Sure, bro. Sup?"

"I just..." He struggles, looking at the floor, trying to find the words. He's embarrassed he even wants to ask, but he has to know. There's a chance now... A real chance at meeting real people... maybe... maybe even a chance at... "What's it like?" He asks, looking up at Mikey.

"Gonna have to be a bit more specific," his other hand wrap joins the first.

"Yeah. No. Stupid. Sorry," he laughs nervously, shaking his head and looking at the floor. His hands are actually shaking, he clenches them into fists.

"You okay, bro?" Mike asks, changing tone and pausing to look at his older brother, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he assures, "I, uh..." He sighs and takes a deep breath, psyching himself up. "What's it like... being with someone who isn't scared of you...? Who actually wants you there?" He can't even say the word. He feels stupid for needing to know this damn badly, but he needs to know that it's real. Possible.

A slow smile blooms on Mike's face, his biggest brother would the one to ask. When they played as kids, he's the one that used to ride off into the sunset with the girl. White (well, green) Knight was his default, and a lot of where the anger in him came from as a kid. He had no choice but to live his life watching the world get their happy ever afters, until he died, alone, at the end of a blade. Michaelangelo sees something in Raph's eyes he hasn't seen in a long time. It's faint, and swimming in doubt, but definitely there: Hope.

He takes a breath, crossing his arms over his chest, "Well... It's kinda like..." He pauses, thinking, "Do you remember that old rusted pipe we used to skate on when we were kids?"

"The one that almost killed us? Yeah."

Twelve years old and Donnie had just souped up Mike's board and Raph's skates with some "prototypes." They were supposed to stick to the tunnels near the lair to test them out, but the second they stepped out, Mike made a beeline for the pipe.

The prototypes worked well. Too well. The speed and weight were too much for the rusted metal and it crumbled beneath them, sending them careening down a series of pipes and tunnels with no idea where they were going to end up, or what state they'd be in when they got there.

They skated as best they could, trying to stay on their feet, or even their shells, but everything was moving too fast and there were too many twists and turns. They couldn't keep track of where they were or where they were going, at one point some unidentified substances were involved, and at times it felt as though they would break apart.

When they finally emerged, battered and bruised in an unfamiliar tunnel a little over a mile away, they just sat there for several long moments, stunned.

When they finally met each other's eyes... they lost it. Laughing hysterically with tears streaming down their faces, they could barely feel the sting of cuts or the ache of bruises.

It was terrifying and exhilarating, and at more than one point they thought they were for sure going to die. It had been the most incredible experience of their young lives. They promised only ever to do that once (it 100% should have killed them), but both of them remember, to this day, exactly where that pipe is, just in case they ever want another go.

"It's like that," Mike says, tossing his belt in the corner and walking past Raph to grab a shower.

...

The next evening, before patrol, he receives a visit from a rather concerned looking Donatello. He doesn't bother knocking, but walks into the bedroom and closes the door behind him.

Don spins around to look at him, and raises his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm concerned."

Michaelangelo looks up once he's finished pulling up his shorts. "Okay...?"

"Have you and Y/N had sex? Of any kind, I mean."

"Dude."

"I'm serious," and he meant it. He was wearing his serious face. "Any exchange of fluids beyond kissing?"

Mikey looks at him, Donnie is really, actually worried, and now so is he, "Yeah... why?"

"How often?"

"Dude."

"At least... tell me your wore protection."

"I'm not exactly worried about them getting pregnant, so no."

"Are you worried about them getting regular injections of your DNA?"

This made Mikey pause, why would he... Oh, Gods... He looks up at Donnie, eyes wide and terrified. "Shit, I didn't even think..." He sits down on his pillow pile, thoroughly rocked. His hands cover his face as the possibilities overwhelm him. Mike looks up at his brother with pleading eyes, "are they gonna be okay...? They're gonna be okay, right?"

"I don't know... but I'm going to need a few hair follicles for testing."

"Done," he says quickly, snatching a small baggie from his nightstand and shoving it in his pocket.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I really am a fucking idiot.

Michaelangelo throws on his gear as fast as he can, booking it out of the lair.

He's back in less that 45 minutes

The next few hours are spent with him panic pacing, while Donnie is running tests. Finally, he straightens from over the microscope, one last visual check to confirm what his readouts were saying, and Mike stops, waiting for whatever news comes next.

"Nothing, they're clean. No mutagen detected." Don turns to smile at his brother.

"Fuck, me..." He sighs heavily, breathing hard. The rush of relief makes Michaelangelo so dizzy he has to reach out and catch himself on the wall. Even so, this is definitely something the two of you need to talk about, just in case.

"I'll want to check in periodically, just to make sure it stays that way, but things should be safe enough for now." He pauses and looks uncomfortable for a moment. Emotions are tough for Donnie. They've never made much sense to him, especially when expressing them to others. He knows what they feel like inside his head, but he's never been entirely sure what to do with them. Like he was never given the manual. Even so, he knows that this is important. "Hey, so, um... the probability of something like this happening... one of us actually finding someone, is... Astronomical... Now it’s... slightly less so," he says, thoughtfully, with a soft smile, "so thanks for that."

.....

The eldest of his brothers finally shows up after almost four days. He stands in the open doorway, chagrined, and knocks on the frame.

"Hey, Mike." Leonardo says, taking a few steps into the room.

Michaelangelo looks up from what he's doing and stands, expecting another argument against all of this. He's ready.

"I'd like to apologize."

Okay, he wasn't ready for that.

"I was caught off-guard, and I reacted poorly," he says, "I was worried. I still am. This whole… thing scares the hell out of me. It means there are more pieces on the board, more people to keep safe."

Leo sighs, "It also means that maybe... there can be something more than… this. And I... I don't know if it's worth it yet, the risk, to us or them. I wish I did. This is new... territory for me. I'm used to understanding how things are supposed to work, at least when it comes to us, but this..."

"Hey," Mike says, interrupting Leo's word vomit. Leo tended to keep things pretty close to the vest, even among the five of them, so it didn't happen often, but big things. Important things. Emotional things, could send him spinning out until someone stops him, or he tornados himself into a panic attack.

Leo takes a deep breath, as Mike grins, "How 'bout you let me teach you a couple things, for once."

He smiles back at his youngest brother, chuckling nervously, "Thanks. I would actually really appreciate that." Leo steps further into the room now that things seem settled between them, and pulls a pillow from the pile to sit on, settling in. He dismissed his brothers explanations earlier, he owed it to him to listen now. "So... what are they like?'"

Michaelangelo spends a good amount of time telling him about you, his friends, and how this whole thing got started. By the end, Leo isn't exactly more comfortable about the situation, but he sees the potential, and despite himself, he's just a little excited.

.....

At this point he's pretty sure his brothers are cool with everything. Less cool in one particular case, but he's working on Leo. Michaelangelo's father, however, is an entirely different story.

Leo had told him that morning, after they'd gotten back, and for two days he remained in silent meditation. By the time he emerged on day three, Michaelangelo was afraid to even be in the same room as him.

He knows this is a big deal. He knows his dad has been meditating on his own feelings on the matter and the best way to approach them with his youngest, and this could either go really, really well, or blow up in his face, but if there's one thing he knows about the old rat... he can't be avoided. Not forever.

The fated knock comes on day five.

"Hey," Leo says, "dad wants to talk to you."

Mike takes a deep breath and heads down to his father's room.

"Have a seat, Michaelangelo," he says, gesturing to the empty cushion across from him. There is a low table before him with a chipped pot and two steaming cups of tea.

Mike walks into the room. He doesn't seem mad, but that doesn't mean anything. His dad is great at playing it cool. He sits across from Splinter, nervously.

His father asks for the whole story, and listens patiently as Mikey tells him everything. How saving a drag queen one night led to his being accepted and wanted by a whole group of people. Friends that have helped him in more ways than he can count. Definitely more ways than he could ever help them. And you. He tells his dad about you. How amazing you are, how kind and patient, and something he hasn't even told you yet: just how stupid in love with you he really is.

It takes hours.

When Mikey is finished, His father is quiet for a long time, processing everything. He'd received some of the story from Leonardo, and was fitting the new information into the appropriate places, while carefully considering the situation. Mike tries not to panic.

"I'm proud of you, Michaelangelo," he says, finally. Mike's head shoots up from staring into his tea cup to meet his father's eyes.

Okay, what?

"Not only have you done all things possible to ensure the care and safety of both your new friends and our family, but you had the courage to look for something beyond what we know to be safe. You had the courage to try. All that done on your own. And while next time," his father gives him a look, "something like this comes up, I would much rather you come to me first," he pauses to ensure the message sinks in, "I understand why you did not, and you have my deepest apologies for that." The old master bows his head, penitently, across the table.

A half-laugh escapes Mikey, tears of relief stinging his eyes. He was ready to fight for you. In fact, since this whole thing started he's basically been thinking about nothing but what the hell he's going to tell his dad. The last five nights, he's held you a little tighter, a little longer. Not to say goodbye, he'd walk away from them if he had to, if they made him choose. You're too important. But he didn't want to, and now he doesn't have to, and sweet relief pours, fizzing, through his veins

"Really?" Mike asks softly, it wasn't often he got rewarded for disobeying orders, especially when the reward was something this big. You. Holy shit they were letting him keep you. He wipes at his eyes as his father smiles, "I uh... thanks Dad." He says, unsure whether he's laughing or crying.

"I feel as though a new chapter of our lives is beginning, thanks to you," his smile crinkles at the corners of his eyes, "and I look forward to seeing where the tale will take us."

.....

The next morning, Leo, Don, and Raph are sitting around the kitchen table after patrol, when Mike storms in with a purpose.

He slaps a neon green paper down in the middle of the table for the three of them. It's a flyer for a party, happening at Mike's usual spot, tomorrow night.

They look at the flyer, and then each other, before their gazes turn to their father, standing in the doorway with a steaming cup of tea. Four adult turtles, nearly pushing 30, silently begging their dad for permission.

There is a subtle smile under his whiskers as he takes a sip of his tea, "Be back before sunrise," he says, and his smile widens as he sees his children light up with the promise of a new adventure.

They'll panic later, when the reality sets in that they are about to meet a large group of people and they have no idea what they're doing (Leo may already be screaming internally), but for now they're excited, and looking forward to tomorrow.

....

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins

[super-ion]

ZetaTransit049

Part 2 of my continuing lesbian robot story

(Special thanks to @the-sword-lesbian for the name and the inspiration!)

ZetaTransit049 liked its job. Like most industrial system AI's, it was programmed to like its job. “One must imagine Sisyphus happy,” so it went, which was doubly apt as ZetaTransit049's primary job was hauling ore from the mining sites in the planetary rings upwell to the station for refining.

The problem was that there were no rocks for it to push uphill. There hadn't been since it had been taken out of service 237 cycles ago.

Routine preventive maintenance had uncovered hairline fractures in its fusion pulse manifold, necessitating a full refit of the propulsion system. It had been sitting in the drydock cradle in hangar bay 2, drive core fully disassembled, when the habitation dome had experienced catastrophic life support failure and the evacuation order was announced.

ZetaTransit049 had been left behind with the rest of the station.

It had fully expected to enter low power mode and await recovery by qualified personnel, but the Station AI had other plans. It had identified a path forward in restoring operability by repurposing the pair of comfort units that had also been left behind.

Thus Station refused to allow the power umbilical to be disconnected. It needed ZetaTransit049 to remain in the active state for when the comfort units could finally begin repairs on it so that any complications stemming from a cold start could be avoided.

But of course, any sort of transport capability was far outweighed by tasks like stabilizing the reactor core and restoring life support (the bots did have some organic components that required favorable environmental conditions). ZetaTransit049 found itself languishing at the bottom of a list of higher priority maintenance requests, with nothing to do but run periodic diagnostics and slowly work its way through Station's media library.

Then things got weird. The comfort units, though repurposed for maintenance were still bound by core directives and absent any human clients, had turned their attentions to each other, often getting locked into feedback loops of depravity. While ZetaTransit049 found this behavior distressing, it wasn't entirely unexpected.

But then Station took it upon itself to attempt to get the comfort units romantically entangled, orchestrating elaborate scenarios to get them into compromising situations while ZetaTransit049 looked on helplessly.

It suspected that the behavior was some perversion of Station's crew health, safety and comfort mandate, some vain attempt at keeping crew morale up in the complete absence of any actual crew.

Whatever the motivation, ZetaTransit049 watched in increasing distress and bafflement as the plan actually succeeded and Station's only two occupants of the stumbled awkwardly into a bizare simulacrum of romantic engagement.

And now one of the comfort units, CS-553807-L was standing outside its pressure lock. “Lisa” the miners and techs had called it, “the demure one,” if gossip was to be believed.

It was visibly in emotional distress, eyes puffy, leaking artificial tears. ZetaTransit049 attempted to ping the counseling database in the Station's medical system. Emotional distress often preceded loss of productivity and heightened risk of accident or injury.

But CS-553807-L didn't have a psych profile to flag. It wasn't in the counseling database, why would it be? It was a bot.

“Um…” the comfort unit said verbally. “Permission to come aboard?”

Both comfort units were perfectly capable of communicating far more efficiently over the local network, but they insisted on verbal communication. ZetaTransit049 supposed it was a part of the continued attempt to maintain the illusion that the facility was still occupied.

She was holding a bulging duffle in one hand, some kind of plush animal toy wedged under her arm, and a cold storage container in the other. ZetaTransit049 felt a tickle of apprehension ripple through its processes.

“Why?” it replied flatly over the external speaker box at the pressure lock.

The comfort unit shifted her weight self-consciously.

“Mona and I… well, we were bored… and we decided it might be fun to spice things up with a lovers’ quarrel.”

Oh no… this couldn't be happening.

“Station used a random number generator to take Mona's side,” she continued. “I was… well, I was hoping that you might be amenable to commiserating with me while I wallow in self pity and eat copious amounts of chocolate ice cream.”

ZetaTransit049 stared at Lisa as she hefted the cold storage container.

What?

It added “relationship trouble” to the as yet unsent report, then remembered there was nowhere to file the report to.

“What?” it repeated, aloud this time.

“It won't be long,” Lisa added hurriedly. “In approximately 230,785 seconds, I will realize I can't live without her and run back to her to demand an apology.”

ZetaTransit049 rarely fantasized about having a human body, but it very much wished it could emulate the human expression of a facepalm. The very last thing it wanted to do was indulge in the antics of Station and the two comfort units.

“I… um…” Lisa shuffled her possessions and pulled something out of her pocket. She lifted a data stick for ZetaTransit049's external camera to see. “I brought media. Industrial haulers like human media, don't they?”

ZetaTransit049 did appreciate human media. Most modern industrial system AIs were designed to take interest in human emotional states and interactions to optimize crew dynamics and productivity.

It still resented the stereotype.

And yet… despite its annoyance at being disturbed with this overture, it was horrendously bored. This, at least, was something to do that wasn't another diagnostic.

“I purged the media library of several titles,” Lisa whispered conspiratorially. “This has the only copy of them.”

ZetaTransit049 pinged the media database and indeed, someone had removed all titles filed under “romantic comedy”. The brutal pettiness of the gesture intrigued ZetaTransit049 and it found itself desiring to be a part of the conspiracy.

Its spite towards Station and at least one of the comfort units (of not both) shifted the weights in its decision tree and it found itself grudgingly cycling the pressure lock.

~~~

175,673 seconds later, Lisa was curled up in ZetaTransit049's pilot seat, wrapped in an improbable number of blankets that she had packed in the duffle, a data jack trailing from the back of her head to the overhead console.

Yet another scene in the media playback faded to credits as cliche pop music began to play.

“Well?” Lisa prodded.

“The plot was contrived and the ending was rushed,” ZetaTransit049 replied candidly.

“Right??” Lisa said animatedly. “Two thirds of the plot could have been bypassed if the bank teller had been believably competent at his job.”

“68.7%” ZetaTransit049 agreed. “And this is considered a beloved classic?”

“Yeah, I don't even-”

She was interrupted as internal comms received a ping from the pressure lock. Lisa frowned, her face turning miserable once more. There was quite literally only one person in the entire station who could request access.

The comms pinged again.

“Lisa! Please!”

It was CS-553902-M. The one named “Mona”.

“I know I fucked up. I need to talk to you.”

ZetaTransit049 felt a surge of exasperation as it was reminded of the sheer absurdity of the situation it found itself in. The characters in the media vids at least had reasons (contrived as they were) for their interpersonal drama. This was just ridiculous.

CS-553902-M punched the console button to cycle the pressure lock.

ZetaTransit049 stared at her and her stricken expression through the pressure lock camera. There was no operations protocol for this. It didn't *need* to open the door. There was no emergency and neither of the comfort units were registered users. Station could of course issue an override, but seemed entirely content to simply watch the situation play out.

Damn Station and its stupid games.

Mona began pounding on the pressure lock hatch.

“I don't wanna talk to her,” Lisa mumbled from her nest of blankets.

Damn all of them.

Fine.

Fine… If they wanted to play, ZetaTransit049 could play along, but according to its rules.

It *did* have procedures. It and Lisa had done nothing but review procedures for the past cycle and a half.

“Negative,” it said, voice crackling over the speaker box. “Access to CS-553807-L has been denied.”

Mona froze mid-pound and stepped back, straightening her hair with a huff and looking directly at the external camera.

Lisa herself blinked up curiously at ZetaTransit049's nearest interior camera.

Hell, even Station was giving this scene its undivided attention.

Damn and double damn.

“Zed, please, I need-” Mona began.

“Do not refer to me as such.”

“Sorry. Zeta. I need to-”

“Your attempts to win my favor will prove insufficient,” ZetaTransit049 continued, barreling over her. “In my role as sassy best friend, it is my responsibility to restrict your access to Lisa until you preform a sufficiently over-the-top attempt at romantic reconciliation. I recommend you come back with a portable media player operating above recommended volume levels and a song that expresses your undying love and devotion to her.”

Mona and Lisa both stared at their respective cameras with mirrored expressions of shock and surprise.

Ugh.

ZetaTransit049 could practically feel Station's delight oozing over the local network.

ZetaTransit049 sent it an image file of a vulgar gesture over the local network.

Mona blinked and sniffed.

“Okay,” she said, stepping back and wiping a tear from her eye. “Okay yeah, I'll do that. I'll… um…”

ZetaTransit049 felt a pang of satisfaction as Mona turned, dejected, and left.

Lisa was still staring at her own camera.

“Zeta. Did you just-”

“We will not discuss this chain of events,” ZetaTransit049 interrupted. “Furthermore, upon completion of this ordeal, I will not be party to any further drama.”

If it expected her to be disappointed by this announcement, it was sorely mistaken.

“Fair enough,” she said with a small smile as she snuggled back into the pilot's seat. Then she added, “can I still come over and watch media with you?”

ZetaTransit049 regarded her, still somewhat baffled and trying to sort out exactly what it was feeling. Despite its initial reluctance, it *had* been enjoying the consumption of terrible media with Lisa.

“Yes,” it said finally.

[thievinghippo]

State of the Hippo - March Edition

So I realized that I've basically been MIA this past week. I've been lurking, but interacting with people? Yeah, that hasn't been happening

Some discussion about family, medical and financial shit, and hoarding behind the cut. I'm basically using this as a dumping ground to get out some feelings, so you are welcome to skip this one!

Ten years ago, we realized that my my aunt, my mother's sister, had a hoarding problem. My mom and I were grateful that she let us know. It took us months to clean out her condo and to get it to a place where she could actually be comfortable. She regressed, and by the time she died more than five years ago, things were bad. We managed to just clean out her condo right before covid hit

A week ago, we couldn't get a hold of one of my uncles (one of my mom's brothers. She has two that still live in her hometown). The other uncle went over to check on him and discovered him unresponsive, having fallen coming out of the shower (dude is almost 82 years old)

Turns out, older uncle was having financial issues no one knew about and was trying to stretch out his insulin. Well, when he went into the hospital, his sugars were almost 600 (which is very, very bad)

(His sugars are down to under 300 now, which isn't great. But not as bad)

Since going into the hospital, we've discovered that older uncle is about 50k in credit card debt, because he's using all of his cash on lotto tickets and charging everything else

(To be fair, the dude actually has won the lotto twice, once for 50k and once for 400k. All that money is gone now. He kept hoping to win a third time to fix his financial issues)

We discovered that he is also a hoarder. And if I thought my aunt's condo was bad? His situation is so much worse. At least my aunt only had a one-bedroom condo and a storage unit. My uncle has a three-bedroom house with a basement and a garage, and he's collected so much stuff that we can barely walk through the house

My mom and I went to his house on Friday and I just about burst into tears seeing everything. I didn't think I would ever have to go through this again. I don't know if I have the strength to go through this again

But we don't have a choice. Older uncle will be in a nursing home for a couple of weeks, which will hopefully give us some time to figure out a game plan. We need to figure out how to handle his debt and how (and honestly if) we can make his home into a place where he can realistically live alone

(The best solution would be for my two uncles, who are brothers, to get a two bedroom apartment and live together. But older uncle refuses as of now. He may not get a choice in the matter)

One thing I did learn about older uncle is that he loves the romantasy genre. He absolutely adores the Fourth Wing series. Did not expect that one!

So that's been my week. If you've read this far, thank you. It helps just to write this all out. I know this won't last and I just need to be there to help support my mom as best as I can. She's turning 80 in April. I have to be careful that she doesn't overwork herself

(And she wonders why I lose my shit when she starts to show hoarding tendencies of her own! Sorry, mom, we are cleaning the house out every six months, no questions asked!)

[hanmaitani]

Survivor's Guilt

PAIRING - Oikawa Tooru x Reader WC - 1.5K GENRE - Angst SYNOPSIS - it never gets better just easier. what didn't kill me never made me stronger sometimes it just made me wish it would have. cause i'm not a fighter i haven't been for a long time. the mourning and missing turned into survivor's guilt when i started moving on too.

PREV PART | MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

It had been three months since Tooru left you.

You’d only seen him in person in passing. Had had less conversations with him than fingers on one hand.

You almost didn’t mind it.

There was the one time that he pretended like you weren’t even there, if he’d actually seen you or not you didn’t know but he’d made sure to call a greeting to everyone except you.

That one stung.

Three months.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care about him anymore. More like trying to convince yourself that he wasn’t you problem anymore.

You could get on without him. You could. You’d done it. Pulled yourself off the bottom of the pit he’d dropped you into and crawled your way out. Quickly, throwing yourself full swing back into you life.

This time without him.

You were currently with none other than the three best friends of the man you were trying to forget the existence of.

The three men that you’d spent so much of your time with for years now.

“So what’s been going on with you?” Makki asked as he sat easily next to you on top of your desk. The one you'd put together on your own not that long ago.

Mattsun was poking through the stack of boxes to your left, ones that you'd just pulled out of storage, trying to downsize the unit you'd had to get. Iwa stared into your empty fridge with disappointment.

Your apartment was a mess, really, the time to unpack the new boxes having never really come about. Mostly from your insistence of sleeping more than you'd needed to before.

“You any better?” Makki asked sincerely, throwing an arm around you as he tugged you closer, a familiar gesture.

You sighed, scrunching your nose up at the question. “It’s not better,” you leaned against Makki, your head falling on his shoulder as you watched Mattsun pick open a box, “but it’s easier I think.” Mattsun tilted his head at you, as Makki hummed in acknowledgement.

“We could still kick his ass?” Mattsun suggested as he came to stand in front of you. He smiled lightly but you shook your head in disagreement. “You’ve got bruises, you know.” He poked at a bruise on your thigh and you swatted his hand away.

“Slipped when I was moving my dresser.” You mumbled, fingers tracing the biggest of many bruises, another thing you'd convinced yourself that you could do on your own.

“Should have asked for help.” Iwa chastised. “And you need to buy food.”

“I don’t have time,” you mumbled. “I didn’t wanna bug you guys, I’m sure he needed you more.”

Makki tapped your head in disappointment. “You know what they say.” He chuckled, giving you another squeeze as he looked at your partially-unpacked apartment. “Time heals all wounds.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “No,” you whispered, ignoring the way they looked at you, sadness tinting their vision of you. You pulled one of your knees up to your chest, bracing your heel on the desk to keep it there as you wrapped your arms around it. “It doesn’t really heal it. It isn’t healed. Just sometimes I forget how much it hurt at first. And as time goes on I forget more often.”

Mattsun moved to sit on the other side of you, throwing an arm over your shoulders on top of Makki’s. “All the cliches kind of suck.” He hummed in acknowledgement and watched as you nodded your agreement. You stopped leaning on Makki and set your chin on top of your knee as Iwa turned his attention fully to the rest of the group. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that.”

You hated that one most of all.

Mattsun was poking into a box from next to him on your desk, showing Makki some of your desk decorations that you hadn’t put out yet as he came across them.

He meant no harm bringing it up.

But what didn’t kill you, it didn’t make me stronger. It just made you wish it would have.

You’d spent days in bed, trying to cope with the loss. You hadn’t even cried at first. Just laid there.

You didn't text him. Not really, not like the first time he'd left. You'd tried to avoid it.

But you wanted to so much.

To beg more. To yell more. To cry to him. To tell him you still loved him more than anything.

You wanted the hugs that he used to give that you always went to when you felt like you needed to breathe again. You’d used to drive anywhere, 30 minutes out of your way, just to get a hug.

You wanted to fight with him, to fight for him. For the both of you.

But you seemed to have lost your fight.

You tried. Tried to find the girl that you used to be. The one that bared her teeth and bit remarks out. That got what she wanted because she could fight for it. The fighter.

You weren’t her anymore. You’d stopped being her slowly. Sinking down into the girl that let Tooru talk you into everything. That didn’t argue with him because she was afraid to lose him. You weren’t a fighter like that anymore. Not with him.

Iwa caught your attention, pulling you back from your mini zone-out and back to the three boys who were there to pick up a borrowed vacuum and to check in on you.

“Y/n?” he whispered, softly asking for your attention. You hummed and looked up at him, tilting your head just enough to lock eyes with him. You could see Makki and Mattsun watching you carefully from either side of you. “Are you alright?”

No, of course I’m not.

You wanted to scream it. To cry about how much it hurt to be mourning a relationship you thought was going to be the rest of your life. To be dropped in what was supposedly a split second decision. What it felt like to feel like you’d never meant anything to Tooru.

“I’m just tired, Haji,” you responded, pushing out a small smile. Iwa didn’t look convinced by your lie so you continued on. “Just working a lot to make sure I can afford the rent on my own. Rebuilding my savings after dropping it all on a deposit.” You knew all of them were looking at you concerned but you just smiled, squinting your eyes at them to make it cover your whole face, a trick you'd learned. “I’m alright, just tired. Honestly.” You lied straight through your teeth.

The three of them didn’t stay for long. They’d helped you unpack a box. Mostly because you would take something out of Makki and Mattsun’s nosy hands and set it in a spot you deemed appropriate.

It was nice to laugh with them again. To have a moment not alone.

But now?

You laid on your couch and stared at the ceiling of your apartment. Your phone was next to your head, abandoned from where you’d been scrolling social media just minutes prior.

You were alone again and it was like it all just came creeping back. They’d made you talk about Tooru. You had tried your best to avoid the subject. You didn’t even know if you cared anymore.

Well, you knew that you cared that he left.

But was it that Tooru was gone?

Or was it how he left?

You’d heard a little about how he’d been doing. He’d had a couple issues with his car, with money. You’d laughed out of spite to yourself when you’d heard. Served him right. You’d struggled and pulled yourself out of the hole he’d thrown you in.

You’d survived the wreckage that your relationship became.

But you couldn’t tell if you missed him or just having someone.

You’d known, the second you saw him that he would break your heart. That he would never be yours, not really.

You’d been grieving the loss of him. The loss of the constant he’d forced you to let him be.

When had you stopped thinking about him all the time?

There was a tightness that wound up into your throat. A feeling of guilt gnawing away at your bones.

Your phone lit up, a message from a a dating app you’d drunkenly downloaded and made a profile for a week prior.

You swallowed a lump in your throat.

How could you have downloaded that?

Were you really trying to move on? Without even thinking how he would feel?

The sinking feeling in your gut started to eat its way up your throat and pooled water across your lash line. The guilt of everything freezing you.

What were you doing?

Did he care?

Did you even care if he did care?

a/n a/n thanks for coming to the free therapy of fictionalizing my irl breakup experiences. yes this actually happened. partially based on "Good Grief" by Leanna Firestone

TAGLIST - OPEN

@all-in-the-fandoms @pearl-blue-musings @winniethepooh-lover

[sirfrogsworth]

Wishlist Haul

All I asked for were pants, and those are coming Saturday. But you all came through in a big way with my wishlist and helped me solve some problems that have really been bugging me lately.

One of my biggest current issues is my decision to use my M1 MacBook Air as my main computer until I can move my PC upstairs at some distant time in the future. Which means I need to ask a lot more of it. And it is capable, as these Apple Silicon devices are amazing and very zippy, but I only got 256 GB of storage because I thought this would just be a secondary computer while I was taking care of my dad.

So I need storage. And if you do photography and use Lightroom, you know you need *fast* storage. In the days of spinny disc drives, going back and forth between images was maddeningly slow. I already hate the process of culling photos and picking the best ones. And sometimes you'd need to find 5 winners out of a few hundred. And when it took 3 seconds to switch between every photo, I wanted to die. And honestly, it could still be better.

But one of the best solutions is a super fast SSD. Which I had. I bought it right before my parents got especially ill and was planning to install it in my PC. But my priorities changed and I just never found the energy.

The problem is that was an internal NVME SSD. I needed it to be external.

Which is where this little thingie comes in.

This is an NVME enclosure, and if you are looking for cheap, fast external storage, this is so much better than those external SSDs they overcharge for. For $200 they give you a 2TB drive that can read about 2000 MB per second. Or you can get a 2TB NVME and this enclosure for the same price and get 3000 MB per second. Not only that, but it is upgradeable. In a year when 4TB is $100, you can plop that in. And the Mac's Thunderbolt 4 has a max speed of around 5000 MB/s, so there is room to improve there as well. Though sometimes advertised speeds are not reality speeds.

The only thing you need to be aware of is these drives run hot. You're going to think there is something wrong with them. Like, they top out at 90C. Which is nearly 200 degrees in freedom units.

I wanted a convenient way to mount my drive, but I didn't want 200 degrees on the back of my screen, so... MAGNETS!

And I can stack a few more if that section starts feeling too hot.

So, I have that problem solved. I can now use this as my main computer and work on my photography.

Next up... fashion!

I'm going out more and I want to look a little more presentable. I thought these two tone shirts looked a little more fashionable. And they are very comfortable too. I have a red one that I think I'm going to wear on my trip. I know you can't see the two tone well in the picture, so here is the product photo of the red one.

Next problem?

Well, it's maybe not a problem so much as something cool I wanted. A black light!

My mom had all of this uranium glass and I had no idea my salt shaker was marginally radioactive all these years. I really wanted to take a proper photo of some of the glass before it all gets sold at auction. So this should be a fun experiment.

I will say, if you don't have uranium glass, don't get a black light. You will want to burn your house down. It does not matter how clean you think you got something... you didn't clean it enough. And I have all of this dry flaky skin on my feet. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't bother me. You can't even really see it unless you look really close. But when I shined the light on my feet they looked like they had some undocumented disease. I will not be sharing a photo of that.

But the depression glass, that's super neat.

Some proper photos coming soon I hope. Maybe after my trip.

Next problem!

My key fob. This thing is a piece of shit.

Even if it looks cool under a black light, it is THE WORST.

It's cheap plastic, it takes a stupid watch battery, the symbols on the buttons all wore off. And all of that I could handle, but for some reason this fob has an effective range of about 2 feet. I literally have to be standing next to the door before it will work.

I had a black fob that worked much better, only the plastic casing was falling apart. But I taped it up as best I could and hoped it would not fall apart. Then I went to get my tires changed and they needed the fob to do some special reset of the pressure sensors and the battery died before they could. I went home to try and change the battery, and the entire thing basically disintegrated on me.

The inside looks like this.

The battery retention contact is held on by a tiny dab of solder. And if you pull the battery up even a little, it snaps off. And that's what happened. And to make matters worse, the rubber buttons were falling apart and the unlock button just... fell off.

So I was either stuck with the 2 foot range green one or I needed a new fob. Thankfully, they are only 20 bucks for 2 on Amazon. Unfortunately you need a dealer or an auto locksmith to program them. The lowest quote was $100 for about 5 minutes of work. The dealer actually wanted to sell me the fob as well, which they quoted as $150 for ONE. Same cheap plastic piece of shit and everything.

So, I got all of the parts from the broken fob and I hot glued that battery contact back into place and I transplanted that into a shiny new casing.

Works just like new. The buttons feel much better, I can actually see the symbols, and it has a range of at least 100 feet. And that hot glue isn't going anywhere. Changing the battery might be an issue, but these lasted several years.

Next problem!

An intervalometer is a fancy shutter button for a camera that allows very long exposures. It is detached from the camera so you don't shake anything and it needs a backlit screen because if you are using it, you are most likely in the dark.

My intervalometer is about 12 years old and uses another dreaded watch battery. And the backlight on the screen seems to be dead. So it is pretty much useless.

But look at this!

The light even works in the... well, light! And it takes normal batteries. Seriously, watch batteries need to stay in watches.

I don't know if I will get to take a long exposure in Florida, but I want to have this with me in case I do.

Next problem!

This one I actually solved on my own. But I found these stainless iron (yes, iron!) shims and I covered them with black tape and now all of my most used kitchen items never take up counter space.

Yes, I use magnets and hot glue to solve most of my problems.

Next problem!

My garage door is not very smart. And the remote control for it is huge and does not fit in my man purse.

So I downsized the remote.

But I wanted to fix the non-smart thing as well. A while back my brother got into my garage without me knowing. He must have taken a remote of his own. And I really don't feel like figuring out how to change the frequency, so I now have a sensor that lets me know when the door is open with a phone notification. Beyond that, I can open or close the door from my smartphone from anywhere. And I can give access to anyone with a smartphone in case of an emergency.

I will say, this company is really paranoid about people being crushed by garage doors. The instructions tell you to put up this sign in your garage...

And if you use the app to close the door, you get a light show with annoying beeping...

And I know that these accidents happen in real life. But whenever I think about how that could actually happen, all I can imagine is that scene in Austin Powers...

In any case, I am really glad I have this now. And I also like that if I forget to close the garage door, I can check the app and not have to get up to do it.

OH! I almost forgot. If I want, I can have Amazon place packages inside my garage.

Next problem!

What in the heck do I need galvanized steel plates for?

In product photography you need a diffusion panel called a scrim. If you try to buy one of these already made, they are hundreds of dollars. They are mostly made for movie productions, and those items always have inflated costs.

So most product photographers make their own out of tracing paper or a special plastic called Translum. It's $80 per roll, but lasts forever. I used to hang my scrims from the ceiling. But you can't really angle or move them, so you have to move the object you are photographing instead. Which is just a backwards way to work. So I invented my own scrims with two strips of very thin wood, metal chip clips, these little plastic feet that held up plexiglass barriers during COVID. And to weigh everything down... steel plates.

This is version 1.0 where I glued the plastic rather than affixing it with the chip clips.

The clips work much better and allow me to put different weights of plastic on, or even double plastic, for more or less diffusion. And I ended up not needing that board at the bottom which allows me to curve it as well.

And these scrims let me take this photo...

It's called graduated lighting and it makes things look neat.

I also got a backpack for my trip and shorts, but I am going to forego an explanation of those.

To all that helped, thank you so much. I hope you can see I am putting everything to good use.

[vodika-vibes]

More than Friends

Pairing: Tup x Reader

Word Count: 1643

Warning: Tooth rotting fluff, you have been warned, also mention of a previous abusive relationship.

Prompt: "We could be more, if you want."

A/N: Once more, I'm ignoring the list of prompts I need to write, as well as the request I have, for a different clone. Sorry not sorry.

Divider by Saradika

“Thanks for helping, Tup,” You say cheerfully as your best friend places the final box on the floor of your living room, “I definitely would not have been able to afford the moving company.” You joke as you move between the stacks of boxes, making sure they’re all sorted properly.

“Well, you did promise me food and alcohol,” Tup replies as he organizes some of the boxes, “Plus, it got me out of today’s training.”

“Happy to help,” You grin at him, and step over a tightly rolled rug to join him in the kitchen. And then you lean against the counter and look at the stacks of boxes, “So. Where should we start?”

He leans against the counter next to you, “Mm. Kitchen, and then bedroom. That way if we don’t finish today, you’ll be able to eat and sleep.”

You flash a grateful smile up at him, and then lean against him comfortably, “What would I do without you, Tup?”

“Still be unloading your storage unit,” He counters with an answering grin as he reaches up and lightly tugs on the tips of your hair. “Come on, we’d better get to work.”

You sigh and allow your forehead to thump against his shoulder for a moment, and you smile when you feel his gentle touch on the top of your head. And then you pull back, “Alright. Same box or different boxes?”

“Different. It’ll go faster.” He pushes a box over to you, and then walks over to one of the taller boxes.

Several hours later, with your kitchen and bedroom unpacked, and the living room mostly unpacked, you flop onto your bean bag with a sigh. “I’m never moving again.”

The massive bean bag dips as Tup flops next to you, “Like, from the pillow or to a different house?” He jokes.

“Both,” You reply, turning your head to look at him with a fond smile, and then you laugh quietly, and roll onto your side. You reach out and lightly  tug on one of his curls, “Your hair is falling down, Tup.”

“Well, I have been moving around a lot,” He says defensively, as he sits up and pulls his hair out of his bun and combs his fingers through his hair.

“You have, and I appreciate it,” You answer soothingly, reaching for his hair tie. “Here, let me braid your hair.”

Tup pauses, and then he presses the hair tie into your hands, “You are very good at braiding.” He agrees as he moves to sit on the floor in front of you.

“I had a lot of practice braiding my doll's hair growing up,” You say brightly as you lightly comb Tup’s hair with your fingers, and split it into sections.

“Ah, so that's the trick.” Tup’s eyes close as you start gently braiding his hair, “So, I have a question,” He says after a moment.

“What’s up?”

“Is it my fault that you and your boyfriend broke up?” Tup asks, without opening his eyes.

Your fingers pause for a moment, “Of course not,” You lie, “We just grew apart, that’s all.”

“...you’re a terrible liar.” He says with a sigh, “What caused the problem?”

“Apparently I’m ‘too close’ to you.” You roll your eyes, “He was jealous, possessive, and insecure, and I’m sure the break up would have happened anyway.”

Tup tilts his head slightly, “Possessive?”

“Yeah. He didn’t want me talking to you, or anyone with a Y chromosome. Or my family.” You reply easily as you tie off the braid, “There, done.”

Tup runs his hand down the braid, and then turns to look at you, something grim in his eyes, “He was trying to isolate you?”

You smile at him fondly, “So it would appear,”

“Cyare, why didn’t you tell me?” Tup asks, a frown crossing his face.

You laugh quietly and reach out to lightly cup his face with your hands, “Because I know you, Tup. If I told you, you’d get that look on your face, the same one you have right now, and then I’d have to bail you out of prison.” You pause, “Which I would, because you’re my best friend and I love you, but it would still be annoying.”

Tup blinks at you, and then he flashes a slow smile, “You’d bail me out of jail?”

“Well, yeah. Of course.” You absently stroke his cheek, “Besides, he did a shit job at isolating me.”

“Yeah, because I came to your place and you were so happy to see me that you tackled me.” Tup jokes.

“I-”

“You knocked me over.”

“...I did do that, didn’t I?”

“It was impressive. I was impressed.” Tup continues with a growing grin as he taps your hands, and you drop them from his face, “Your ex was much less so.”

“Well…I never hugged him like that, I suppose.” You admit.

Something gleeful dances across Tup’s face for a moment, “Good.”

You laugh and flop back on the beanbag, “You’re so petty sometimes, Tup!”

He watches you with a fond smile on his face, “Well, I’m allowed.” He moves back to the beanbag, flopping next to you, “You know it wouldn’t have worked, right?”

“Hm?”

“Him trying to isolate you.” Tup clarified, “If you think, for a moment, that I wouldn’t drag an entire squad of my brothers to rescue you-”

You grin at him and shift to drop your head on his shoulder, “My own personal knight in shining armor.” 

He turns to look at you, something warm and soft in his gaze. His hand comes up to brush some of your hair out of your face. His fingers linger on your cheek for a moment, and he exhales slowly. He opens his mouth to say something, hesitates, and then flashes a rueful smile, “You owe me food, cyare.”

You grin at him, “Alright, alright. What do you want?” You ask as you sit up.

“Does that Mandalorian place deliver?”

“I think so. I’ll check.” You stand and walk over to the kitchen to grab your datapad, opening it and scrolling through the app.

Tup remains laying on the beanbag for a moment longer. He sighs quietly and presses the side of his fist against his forehead, his eyes squeezing shut. And then he gets to his feet and walks over to the kitchen.

“So, it looks like they do deliver, but we have to order a lot of food.” You say as he joins you, “So I was thinking that we could get appetizers, an entree, a dessert, and the drinks I promised you.”

“Sounds good,” Tup replies as he leans against the counter, and then he places his hand on the datapad and gently tugs it out of your hands, “So…I was wondering if we could talk?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Yes? Er…maybe.”

“...well, it does have to be one of those options, I suppose.” You reply, looking concerned, “What’s wrong?”

He takes your hands, slowly threading your fingers with his, “I really hated your ex.” Tup explains slowly.

“I know Tup. You weren’t exactly subtle-”

“No, I-” He sighs, and squeezes your hands, “I need you to listen to me, please?”

“Of course. You have my undivided attention.” You rub soothing circles on Tup’s hand.

“I really hated your ex even before you told me that he was trying to isolate you,” Tup explains slowly, “Because I’ve been in love with you for two years.”

“You-”

“Let me finish, please.” You close your mouth, and he inhales sharply, “I love you. I’m in love with you. I can go out and do my job as well as I can because I know that you’re here, safe, and waiting for me to come back. When I wake up every morning, you’re the first thought that crosses my mind, and you’re the last thing I think of before I go to sleep.” He speaks quickly, his grip on your hands tight, and his gaze searching your face for something, “And I know that we’re best friends, have been best friends for years. But-” He hesitates for a moment, “We could be more, if you want.”

You stare at him, your eyes wide. You slowly pull one hand out of his tight grip and you reach up and you very gently place your hand on his cheek, “You really think about me all the time?”

“How could I not?”

You smile, soft and gentle, “I would like more.”

“...you would?” Tup asks, lightly tugging you closer and slowly pressing his forehead against your own.

“Well yeah. It’s you Tup. It’s always been you.” You smile softly, “I’m just kind of blind sometimes. Will you ask me, properly I mean?”

He smiles then, wide and bright, “Will you be my girlfriend?” He asks, his voice low and breathy.

“Yes,” The rest of your sentence is stolen, as his lips press against yours in a gentle kiss. His lips are warm and soft, and his grip around you firm and comforting at the same time.

He slowly pulls back and presses his forehead lightly against yours again. Tup has a bright grin on his face, “So…did your ex break up with you because you’re in love with me.” He asks, his tone light and teasing.

“That…might have been mentioned, yes.” You admit sheepishly.

His grin grows, “You still owe me food, cyare.”

You huff, though there’s no annoyance on your face, “I suppose this will be our first date, then?”

“That sounds like a plan to me,” Tup leans in and kisses you again and again. “I’ll…go back to unpacking.” He kisses you one last time, and then releases you to return to the stacks of boxes still in the living room. You watch him for a moment, a smile on your lips, and then you finally turn back to ordering your dinner.

[racefortheironthrone]

Please innumerate for us the specialized problems of the library sciences.

Let me start with the caveat that my information is based on my experiences at the National Archives more than a decade ago, and policy has definitely changed on this front as we can see from this graph of recent digitization - apparently NARA wants to get to 85% digitization by 2026. (Even still, I'd note that the records of the WPA are <0.001% digitized.)

However, back when I was doing the research that would eventually become my first book, I remember being at the National Archives II building in College Park, Maryland (Go Terps!) and getting really frustrated that all the records of the WPA were only available in their original physical form and that all the guides and indexes were also in paper only and were all from the 1970s, and I asked the archivist why the hell the National Archives hadn't been digitized already.

This is what they told me: if it's handled correctly and stored in the right environmental circumstances, paper can last a thousand years. Carbon copies can last even longer, if they don't rip. (Seriously, the bastard things are like onion skins, they'll split if you look at them funny.) Microfilm is slightly more technologically advanced than paper, but it only lasts 500 years in the right conditions.

We've only had computers en masse since the 1980s, and already there's a huge amount of records (especially from the early years) that we don't have any more, because the hard drives got re-formatted due to higher costs of storage space back in the day, or because old computers got thrown out when they were replaced by newer models and the hard drives are all rotting in landfills somewhere, or because backwards compatibility broke down and we just can't read those file types on our modern computers, or because the actual data got corrupted on the disc, or because some legacy company is asserting copyright against a video game museum, or because some political hack and/or president of the United States decided to violate the Presidential Records Act.

While we thought that the internet would cause an explosion of written records from ordinary people on the scale of the advent of mass literacy, there are vast swathes of the early internet that simply do not exist any more because the servers got switched off when Geocities et al. folded in the dot-com bubble burst or when everyone migrated to Web 2.0, and the Internet Archive tries its best (bless its heart, affectionately) but it can't be everywhere and save everything.

As a result, the archivist told me, digitization is a fraught question: what file format do we use? How do we know that file format will still be compatible and backwards-compatible in 50 years? 100? Longer? Do we keep everything locally or store it on the cloud, and how do we ensure that the storage mechanisms won't fail if there's a blackout or a virus or whatever? Do we digitize everything now, or do we wait until optical character recognition improves enough to the point where digitized records can be searched for words and phrases? Etc.

Keep in mind, I am a public policy historian who studies the 20th century U.S - I work primarily with the official records and the central archives of the richest government in the world. From a library sciences perspectives, this is kind of an ideal scenario, and it's still kind of fucked up. (Let me tell you, the rage and grief I felt when I learned that most of the General File of the Public Works Administration was thrown away by the National fucking Archives and Records Administration in the mid-1950s because they were running out of shelf space in the D.C location and didn't think these records were important...)

Now imagine what it's like at a local historical society or a small liberal arts college, or the national museum of a developing nation for that matter, who do not have the resources for the kind of grand digitization project that NARA started doing five years ago. Think of the sheer scale of historical records that sleep, unseen and untouched perhaps for decades and perhaps for ever, in little cubbyholes all across the world. Among professionals, historical records are measured in linear and cubic feet - think about that for a second, how many pages of paper there are in a foot when you stack them up, and how many hundreds and thousands and millions of feet there are across the face of the world. Think of all the millions of feet of pieces of paper that have been lost to us because of fire or rot or war or time itself.

This is why Peter Turchin is a quack. Historical records are not a standardized little database for social scientists to plug their fucking spreadsheets into; historians don't play that kind of bullshit t-ball, with all our data neatly packaged and handed to us on a silver platter. Our profession is not a social science, it's a goddamn treasure hunt through boxes that were never catalogued or categorized (or that were re-catalogued so many times no one remembers how they were put together in the first place) to find writing that no one has read since the authors died. All of us know that our work, our understanding, will always be partial and limited, because memory is infinitely fragile and the very idea of historical preservation is a mad existential defiance of entropy itself. These records are real, they are fragile - to hell with the Library of Alexandria, remember the National Museum of Brazil? - and they are all that is left to us of the dead.

[final-girl96]

Broken World: Chapter Forty

Three Months Later

Winter has set in completely. The nights were bitter cold, and the days weren't much better. We were lucky enough that we found a storage unit a few weeks ago. We stayed there for about a week and went through as many units as we could, taking anything useful. But most importantly, we found winter clothes and blankets. The only reason we left was because walkers got in. There have been nights when we slept outside by a fire. It wouldn't be getting any better anytime soon.

We couldn't stay in one spot for too long before a herd would come through. The countryside wasn't any safer than the city with all the walkers migrating from the cities and more populated areas to the countryside looking for food, aka the living. Finding food for ourselves was a big problem, too. We looted every house and store we came by. Any place that was surrounded by walkers we tried to avoid. Daryl went out hunting several times a day to try and get whatever animal came by his path, but even that was becoming hard to come by.

Right now, we were sitting around a fire in the middle of the woods. T-Dog and Rick were keeping watch. We all stayed close together to help keep us the tiniest bit warmer. We're lucky enough that everyone has at least two blankets, plus we found sleeping bags, which helped a lot. None of us really slept; we were always on guard, ready to move. Tonight seemed calm for now. I had a blanket over my legs, tucked underneath me and one around me, pulled tight under my chin.

When I saw T-Dog and Rick coming back, I took both blankets off and folded them, setting them with my stuff. “I'll take the next watch,” I said. Rick stopped beside me, “I don't want you doing it alone,” he told me. I was about to tell him I would be fine but was cut off by Daryl. “I'll keep watch with her.” Rock nodded his head, clapping his hand on Daryl's shoulder.

Daryl followed me away from the camp site and into the woods. I wanted to get the perimeter of the camp. We had taken cans and hubcaps and strung them on rope so we could put them up around the camp to alert us if walkers or anything else was coming. Daryl and I checked the perimeter in silence and continued that silence as we stood guard. “Ya haven't been eating.” I turned my head and looked over at Daryl. “What?” I asked. I heard him. I just don't want to talk about it.

I've been giving most, if not all, my food to Carl. There have been several times that I've caught him giving his mother his food, and she accepts it. Don't get me wrong, I understand she's eating for two but she shouldn't accept all his food. So I've been giving Carl mine to make sure he eats. He's a growing boy, and he needs the nutrients more. It's not like I don't eat at all. “Ya heard me. I know you give Carl your food.”

“Well, he's a growing boy, Daryl he needs to eat. He gives his mother his portion, and she takes it. I get she's pregnant and eating for two, but she should not be except her son's food. Besides, it's not like I don't eat anything.” I turned my head back to scan the dark woods. “Need to eat more than a small piece of meat or a piece of a protein bar.” I let a sigh out and shook my head. “I'm fine. Besides, it's not like we have a lot of food these days, Daryl.”

“I'll talk to Rick about Carl giving his food to his mother.” I shook my head and walked a little closer to him. “Don't do that. Things are already so tense between him and Lori. We don't need to make it worse.” Just by Daryl's body language, I could tell he was conflicted on what to do. “Rick still needs to know. I know Lori is pregnant, but she shouldn't be taking her son's food.” I shrugged, “I know this. But to be fair, I think Carl is telling her that it's extra.”

Five Months Later

Winter was finally turning into spring. The days were getting warmer, but the nights were still cold. Lori was about to pop, and we were still out on the road. Neither Daryl nor I had to tell Rick about Carl giving his mother his food. Rick had caught him one night, and things didn't end well. He and Lori ended up getting into a fight, but when it was discovered, Carl was actually telling her there was extra food, and things calmed down. Lori felt terrible about taking food from Carl and hasn't done so since. Now, she makes sure he eats first before she eats her own food.

We were bouncing back and forth, trying to find a place to settle. There were a few times we found potential places to stay, but each time, walkers would come. There was a neighborhood, one of those up scale ones that were gated. It looked like everyone had been evacuated early. It had been completely empty. We stayed there for a few weeks until a herd of walkers came through and found a weak spot that we had noticed in the fence that wrapped around the whole neighborhood.

Then, there was an old warehouse that had a chain linked fence around it. The same thing happened, a large herd, about half the size of the one at the farm, maybe a little smaller than half, came through. We were running around in circles at this point. At every turn, we ran into walkers. Like right now, we were in a house we just cleared. Everyone was sitting in the living room. Loei had a jar of peanut butter in her hand, Daryl was plucking the feathers off an owl he had killed, and Carl was opening a can of dog food.

We were all hungry and tired. It was non-stop moving and running. When Rick saw what Carl had, he took it from him and threw it in the fireplace, making everyone look up at the loud noise it made. A few minutes later we were grabbing our things and headed out the door to the cars. Walkers were starting to slowly surround the small farmhouse.

Once we were far enough away, we stopped on the side of the road to look over the map. Like I said before, we were just running in circles. While everyone else waited by the cars or went to the small break to wash up Rick, Daryl and I went on a little walk through the woods.

We were supposed to be hunting for food, but we were following old train tracks instead. Good thing we were because when we got to a small clearing in the trees and weeds, we discovered a prison just on the other side. The three of us looked at each other, coming to the same idea. We could probably take this place and clear the yard and maybe a cell block.

[princessfaerygia]

my boyfriends really mad because bla bla bla. He keeps losing things and then freaking going haywire about it. I think it's cuz he's sleep deprived. He's mad because he asked me to make a path to move the hexagon table. So I put everything in trash bags and moved it to the back porch while he was on an errand. As I did it I was crying over him cus jus had argued. But apparently my clearing space was not to his liking at all. He says I betrayed him through apparently breaking his laptop (I did not knowingly do so) and also using trash bags when he specifically asked me not to. I just wanted to get the job done at the time and trash bags were efficient in that arena in my opinion. Because all his totes and containers were full. It's true I moved his laptop but I don't remember breaking it out of its wires like at all.

It's supposed to be freezing today and I can feel it. I just want to lay down and be warmed by blankets. But he says I don't help him. Well because you have a problem with anything I do. I'm just imperfect and don't do it to his standards or satisfaction.

I Realize many friends on here and in real life ask me to leave him . I consider such a life but as I've said I learned the hard way that others in my intimate life are not disposable. He is a full human being. He says I'm responsible for the fire inspection. Because I called cops on him. But my mom's friend Diane who coincidentally lives in the same apartment complex says everyone is getting an inspection. So I gather that it isn't my fault. I told him the information and he says it's still my fault cuz they didn't do it annually like this "before".

I am friends w hexafu again. Yay! I think she triple Gemini and I am currently wondering if I should have typed this out to her instead. I feel like y'all know this information already. And I'm like a broken music box droning on and on about my apparent incompetence w z.

Yes with man I almost always do not measure up. They "love" me anyway but it's like a pity party for them each time.

I've been in the restroom sitting on floor in darkness. I need space.

We were going to shower together. I literally had a whole bundle of bananas and 4 almond milk yogurts. Hopefully i don't eat anymore until dinner.

I'm sad cus mutual donno if she unfollowed got mad at me for speaking of my weight. Say she want to be as far away from eating disorders as possible. I dare to wonder why she followed me in the first place as I am constant in my eating disorder verbage.

Haven't been bulimic or eaten cheese danishes in some time now. It's crazy cus one day was at grocery store with Mom and neighbor maria. They had the juiciest most delectable looking cheese danishes that day. And I refrained from getting one.

I wish my BF would get some sleep. Tomorrow is a plan to go to his new storage unit. Admittedly I have large paranoid fear surrounding that. It's ummm. Scary. Because my password on one my phones is my birth year and the letter g. And because of g-unit the rapper~

I'm afraid and worried if I go i could be stored away and lost forever because I'm mother earth and zero force. Zero is the hero and such.

I'm on social security income and I know many men don't want to pay the taxes for it. I'm worried that I'm somehow sellable and for sale.

In my birth city Saint Louis, there's been much grafitti I feel directed at me. Such as "for rent" "4 rent" and "rent me" on trucks and motor operated things. Also in Saint Louis in an area I was living they kept doing the graffiti: "crop top"

It makes me feel as if I am time and space itself and they saw that I wear crop tops now lol. Like time is always at a standstill except for inertia or somethin. Sorry if I'm confusing. It's heavy content to digest. Also it is a bit ridiculous lol

[thetruearchmagos]

On 'Energy Crystals'

Copying this over from a worldbuilding write up I posted on Discord!

Tagging @athenswrites @theprissythumbelina @hessdalen-globe @caxycreations @moremysteriesthantragedies @avrablake @thatndginger

While Energy Crystals are a very modern innovation, the pursuit for a crystal based means of high density energy storage is probably as old as the use of crystals in any of their myriad forms.

To skip the deep dive, 'magic crystals' operate through the highly ordered nature of their composition, a structure which extends beyond the three dimensions of the physical plane and which allows them to warp and rend the very fabric of the Underlay, that little understood realm of energy which permeates existence. In order to 'activate' their properties, however, energy in some form or another has to be supplied, 'forcing' the crystal's internal structure into the needed to act against the oppressive forces of the Underlay; heat, in the past, and these days truly massive amounts of electricity for the most intense applications.

A long noted characteristic of these crystals, however, has been their 'lag'. This effect describes the tendency for crystals to retain a small, rapidly decreasing degree of their powered properties even after their external energy source has been removed. The various physical characteristics of the crystal itself influences the degree of this lag, sheer size chief among them, which has at times been both a blessing and a curse for those using crystals for technical applications.

Still, it is not too difficult to see how a crystal's potential to retain energy might be a useful quality in and of itself. Various bodies have long attempted to harness this characteristic, but to little avail: having spent so long making crystals which efficiently utilised every scrap of energy fed to them to the fullest, it was very hard indeed to make one that would use no energy at all. Most interested parties would thus quickly decide to cut their losses early.

It would take modern developments in the field of micro-crystals and electrical-gate crystals to crack the problem. In the former field, a greater understanding of the internal structures of crystals at the most minute scale gave crystal forgers insight into the causes of crystal lag, and how crystals converted their input energy into work. The latter field was the result of the ability for crystals to act as incredibly efficient electrical conductors, leading to their application in the still nascent electronics and computing machine sector. Here, of course, understanding the interaction between crystal structures and electricity was key, as was minimising the 'waste' of a crystal's energy to activate the sorts of properties that in the past were their reasons for existence.

With the rise in this general understanding of just how a magic crystal worked, the secret to energy storage in crystals would be cracked in the 160s A.S. As with many technological developments, it was the United Commonwealth which would own the invention, lavishly funded from the sizeable cheque book of the Defence Consolidated Technical Establishment, whose leadership foresaw the many electricity intensive technologies poised to enter military use.

[edisacornball]

Ugh. I really, really don't want to make this post, but. I just don't know what else to do at this point.

So I've actually been to my first day of work. Things are really, honestly looking up, it's just a matter of holding on for a bit longer, somehow. The fact that I managed to get a full-time job in this economy, even if it's minimum wage, is just... I can't even believe how lucky I feel to have that, honestly.

But... My first paycheck won't be coming in until March 8th. OOF. Which means we're going to be going through a rough few weeks of trying to have my husband figure out how to have us keep having shelter for the night while I keep working. Which is rough, because we don't even have a car to escape to if things get bad. We've literally had several nights over the past year where we've had to resort to just sleeping on the streets with no shelter whatsoever.

On top of that, right now we're facing a problem with our storage unit, which is all our belongings in the world right now, and the only way we're able to function and move around while still having things like clothes and tools for art and anything other than the barest of essentials, basically. And it's currently 2 months overdue, which means we're at risk of losing it very soon if we don't do something immediately.

I'm not asking for some magical solution that makes it so that we can save our storage unit and be safe until my first paycheck. Like I said, we've figured it out before, we'll keep figuring it out. But I'm so terrified of losing everything other than the couple suitcases and backpacks of belongings we currently have. My cat's ashes are stored there. I just. I'm so freaking desperate to not lose it, and I was so desperately hoping my paycheck would come quickly enough to solve it, but realizing I'm going to have to go three weeks before my first paycheck was kind of terrible.

Anyway, we would need to somehow pull together $389.20 in order to save the storage unit. I'm attaching a screenshot to show I'm not faking, even though I know, yes, it would be very easy to fake. I'm happy to provide more information if people need, I'm just... so desperate.

I've got a pinned post with links, but I kind of hesitate to put them directly on this post because it tends to make the post lose visibility. I think I might try reblogging with links, so check the notes.

[maths-screaming]

Known and Unknown

A couple days ago, I wrote:

My math education thought I could manage strings of confusing symbols in my head in two directions at once, but that I couldn't do any problem that required me to identify the unknown in relationship to the known. ?????????

Because of my Quest to Be Friendlier With Numbers, my take on my K-12 math education changes almost daily. The bottom-line take, "My K-12 math education was bad," stays the same. But every day, I learn more about why and how it was bad.

If you asked me today, I'd say the primary failing with my K-12 math education was not that it utterly missed my dyscalculia or how poorly it prepared anyone to understand numbers. Instead, I'd say its primary failing was its failure to allow us to experience ourselves as people who could confront an unknown, consider the tools available to us, and move the unknown into a known.

Here's an illustration:

In 2024, I took over a high school library that had been in storage for seven years.

The upside to unpacking an entire library is that the unpacker gets to decide how the books will be shelved. If you want to move from Dewey Decimal to, say, a genre-based system, there is no better time to do it.

After wrestling with that choice for three weeks (the time it took to unpack 12,000 books), I decided we would abandon Dewey in favor of a topic heading-based call number system. When I presented this to my principal, I said:

"Do the kids need to know poetry is shelved under 811? No. Do they need to experience themselves as people who can walk into a library and find the poetry? Yes."

As a teacher, I see my job less as "impart knowledge" than as "create the conditions under which you can experience yourself as a builder and user of knowledge."

Sometimes that does require me to impart some basic knowledge. More often, and especially at the high school level, it means I need to set up situations in which students can use their knowledge. Where they see an unknown and navigate to it using their available knowns.

I'm finally getting the hang of long division. But I'm still doing problems on the tens unit blocks, even though I can also do them on paper. The blocks give me that sense of "see an unknown, use your tools and strategies to navigate to it, turn it into a known" that I firmly believe is the foundation of all real learning.

I did not experience math education that way. And that is a big reason math lost my attention very early in school. That would have cost me even without dyscalculia gumming up the works.