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fizzingwizard · 3 years

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I’ve missed two days now so I guess I’m just gonna be sporadic with this ;_; but I managed something for day 4 of Triweek!

The theme is “Grief.” There’s a lot of grief in Tri and at first I planned to do a bunch of short snippets for several characters, but Daigo’s ran away with me. I really REALLY liked Daigo and Maki in Tri, and I so wish Maki especially had had a more satisfying arc (like, I don’t mind her having a “bad end” as they say, it just felt underdeveloped, and Nishijima’s sacrifice was moving but it left me wanting to know so much more about him). I also especially loved Daigo and Taichi’s interactions, so I guess mix it all together and you get this ficlet.

By the way, thanks to the folks who liked/reblogged last time ^^ This fic isn’t as silly but I hope you still like it.

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Tri week day 4 - Grief - Dream Big

When they made it home at last, it was to find - nothing much had changed.

Except, of course, for absolutely everything.

Home was such a strange idea. A place where he could eat till he was full, sleep the whole night through without the vaguest fear that something might come creeping up on him while his guard was down. Still, Daigo fell back into those comfortable patterns, of being a child in a house with parents to look after him, with practiced ease. It was silly. He had just saved the world. That meant he was an adult now, or at least it should.

But whether or not you're a hero, mothers are mothers. And his would insist on interrupting his favorite movie to ask what he wanted for dinner. And he'd whine at her about it. Whining felt amazing.

At first a day didn't go by without Bearmon crossing his mind. After all, his partner had accomplished so much. He'd morphed into such a grand evolution. There was nothing else like it. So the separation was... well, he felt with all that, it ought to make it easier.

It didn't really.

What a pity that they'd had to leave that not-so-distant world the way the did. So much unexplored. But they'd go back one day. He really believed so. They'd gone through so much that how could they not? And when they did, imagine the stories Bear- Baihumon would have to tell him.

He kept on believing it even after he fell out of contact with the others, other than Hime-chan. Their homes were scattered all over the country. Fora while they sent each other, but the years went by and everyone got busy, and... at some point, Daigo suspected it was just easier to focus on other things. Normal things sustaining normal lives.

The further they grew from it, the more their adventure felt like a game of make believe they'd let sink down from the clouds. It was time to send it back where it belonged.

Hime-chan wouldn't say so, but Daigo could tell she resented them. Of course she would see it as leaving their partners behind. And what Daigo would never tell her was that, sometimes, he wished he could do the same as them.

Because Hime-chan wouldn't let go. No matter what. And Daigo couldn't not see the damage. He waited and waited for time to heal her, or at least blunt her grief. It never did. Turns out a dull blade only hurts more.

One day she'd be like her old self, pretending she wasn't laughing at him, then shooting him coy, backwards glances. The next day...

Daigo had no time for grief.

Life was short. If the digital world had taught anything, it was that.

It made him impatient. He itched to run. But he couldn't. Because he couldn't leave Hime-chan behind, and she couldn't leave her partner.

So he helped her with her research. He followed her to the bureau, helped build it from the ground up. Mochizuki Meiko could be the answer, he thought for a while. Hime-chan loved that girl. Visiting her made Hime-chan light up, like she hadn't since she was a child. It wasn't a look she never had even while they were dating, much though it hurt to admit.

Adults have children in order to relive their childhood through them, he'd heard. Like some kind of symbiont. Or parasite.

Watching Mochizuki interact with Meicoomon brought back a flood of memories, but they seeemd to be all good ones. Full of light. This, Daigo thought, would help Hime-chan heal from the pain of losing Bakumon when nothing else could. She would finally be able to come home.

If only he knew.

---

Why did he try to rescue Yagami? As if there was any chance he'd manage to reach him in time to pull him to safety. The earthquake had been overkill, honestly.

Stupid, he was stupid. He should have stayed put. At least he'd be in a position to help the kids stranded on the other side, who were certainly dealing with much more than a bunch of high schoolers knew how to handle. No matter how much of a genius Izumi was.

He was stupid. He didn't regret it.

Daigo didn't have time for regrets.

He'd liked Yagami since the day he met him. Before starting his stint as the calligraphy teacher at the high school, he'd been briefed on each of the so-called "Chosen Children" enrolled there. Sure, they piqued his curiosity, but there was no call for concern that he'd have trouble with his role of the hands-off observer. No, he had nothing to share with them. Anything they might have had in common had been lost long ago.

That Yagami was fun, though. Not the class clown, though all signs pointed to he'd absolutely been one when he was younger. But he'd grown up somewhat shy, at least around girls, which provided a convenient source of ammo for Daigo to tease him without mercy. Yagami got on well with classmates and teachers alike. He seemed, overall, open and good-natured, which made Daigo's job easier. (Both the observing and the teasing.)

But the kid wasn't so easygoing that keeping a lid on his secret had been a walk in the park. All the kids surprised them on a daily basis. Daigo had pegged Ishida for the suspicious type from the start, but he'd never expected him to go all James Bond like he did.

He liked Yagami and he thought Yagami liked him back. He was the type that bonded through jokes and ribbing and wasn't so emotionally demonstrative. That suited Daigo fine. There were certain other similarities between them too, but Yagami didn't need to know about those.

The way his scowl pulled his whole face down whenever he disapproved of Daigo never ceased to amuse. That he had no problem disapproving of a teacher was almost as funny as the fact that he believed he hid it well.

It was like having a little brother, a sort of mini-me. Perhaps, if he ever had a son, if that was ever in the cards for him, he would turn out somewhat like Yagami. Without the hair.

All of a sudden, Daigo felt he understood Hime-chan a lot better. So much for remaining detached.

... He supposed he could do worse. Than Yagami. For a son.

In fact, Yagami was probably better than him.

Daigo wondered, if Yagami ever lost his partner, what he would do. Would he never stop searching? Would that one moment in time consume the rest of his life, until finally it destroyed him? Like Hime-chan?

Or would he just... go numb, like Daigo?

Watching castles in the sky crumble one after the other and let it roll off his shoulders like it was nothing. Nothing, just the toll of living.

Daigo knew Hime-chan had drowned. He didn't know what made him so sure of it, but he supposed he just couldn't shake the feeling that nothing less than an ocean could put out that unrelenting fire of hers.

And he, Daigo, was adrift. Letting the current take him where it would, year after year. On and on. The river ran on, and on, and on, and on.

So the irony of dying in an explosion was not lost on him. All that cinematic drama, wasted on a guy who wore crocs to work. Whose rare bursts of anger always tumbled stillborn into the air, and who had just let himself get used to that.

He couldn't even get angry about dying.

He'd lost it, he guessed, in his Faustian bid to rid himself of grief.

Yagami's eyes were bright with sheer desperation. Daigo watched him trip around the small, dark room like a wild animal in a cage. All the while insisting he believed in that third hidden option, that choice that would make this all okay. If he really believed in it, he wouldn't look so panicked.

Ah, thought Daigo, with a sudden burst of clarity, like the bell of a clock striking the hour, so it was despair all along.

There were many things he owed Yagami, things he ought to tell him. But now he just talked. Talked selfishly, knowing somewhere, Yagami was screaming himself hoarse. That love and betrayal and confusion were about to reach a fever pitch. And he'd have to make a choice. Rage, or numbness.

Or... maybe a hidden, third option.

Daigo raised his fist.

"Dream big,"

he said.

#triweek2020 #digimon #digimon adventure tri #daigo nishijima #taichi yagami #fizz writes

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guksthighs · 5 years

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The Stakeout || jhs

Your long-time crush on Hoseok is reciprocated during a drug bust.

wordcount: 1.7k

genre: police!au, fluff, slight angst

“Why did we insist on completing this stakeout with no relief team again?” Hoseok leant back in his chair, continuing to bounce a ball of the crumbling beige wall that had suspicious browning stains splattered in clusters.

You turned to look at your partner, his black hair was pushed out of his forehead with a hairband and wondered if you could plead mental instability in the court when asked why you would kill your partner and boss of three years because he wouldn’t stop talking.

Glueing your gaze on the door of the opposite building and fixing the lens of the camera to stop it from being blurry, you wondered how much longer you would have to wait at the alleged drug pick up point before your superior, Jung Hoseok, would agree that you had been misinformed.

That was unlikely but still, you could dream.

“It’s not that I’m taking away from your star performance on the field Y/N, it’s just- I might have come to the conclusion that two weeks of being cooped up into a hotel room together is sanity-destroying.” Hoseok was on radio duty, flicking through the channels in case anyone radioed a meeting in, but the familiar static that you had grown attuned to was no longer audible and you knew he was busy stalling from actually working.

“Stop talking like I’m enjoying this,” you replied, frowning at how snappy you sounded and with a sigh you pulled your gaze away from the door to meet Hoseok’s intense stare.

Both of you stared at each for a few moments before Hoseok laughed and ran a hand through his hair, “how could you not enjoy being cooped up with someone as handsome and fun as me?”

He batted his eyes in an exaggerated fashion before pouting slightly, causing you to laugh and as you moved to stand up, he leant over and placed a hand on your thigh, “if you’re so bored, wanna have sex?”

Your eyes widened, heart racing as you prayed Hoseok was joking because although you had been crushing on your boss for as long as you’d known him, you were certain there was a clause in your contract that said there were to be no workplace relationships.

After an extended awkward silence that left you whiplashed with shock, Hoseok cleared his throat and caught your eye, a huge blush spread over his cheeks and dyed the tips of his ears a scarlet red, “I was just joking.”

But before you could answer he was beginning to rise from his chair, slowly raising a finger to point at the door you had both been watching, “fuck they’re here.”

And that was all it took for both of you to lose the bashful “first love” act and become serious, as you reached for the camera and began to set it up to record the meeting, both of you grabbed your guns and vests before sprinting out of the apartment.

Even so, you couldn’t help but hope that Hoseok hadn’t been joking and that for once his own emotions had caught him off-guard.

“We have a 10-78,” Hoseok was running down the stairs behind you, his voice echoing around the stairwell, cold and commanding and in front of him you were sprinting, pulling your bulletproof vest on whilst trying not to fall flat on your face.

There had been busts that were famous for losing the only lead and ruining cases and it would be over your dead body that you would be cooped up in a room with Hoseok for two weeks again knowing you had to maintain a work relationship with him.

“All units are needed!” Hoseok sounded frustrated and you decided now was not the time to point out you weren’t wearing your trainers but a pair of bright yellow crocs. Now was the time to make a bust and that was all.

Finally you reached the bottom floor, pulling your gun from its holster you looked at Hoseok waiting for his nod to signal you could leave, but instead you found yourself staring at the small crease in the middle of his forehead, eyebrows furrowed and lips pouting slightly as he waited for enough cover to attempt an arrest.

His shoulders rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath, and it was when you placed your gun back into the holster so you could lean forward and tighten the shoulder strap of his vest that Hoseok fell silent, and you felt the heat of his gaze burning into your scalp as you bit your lip and finished your action.

But before you could pull away Hoseok caught your hand in his and squeezed it, “stay safe detective,” with that he pulled you into his chest and pressed a kiss to your lips. And just as Hoseok began to pull back, you decided it was now or never.

Your hands moved from your sides to wrap around his waist, grabbed his waist so you could run your hands over Hoseok’s new undercut which had made your heart flutter since he’d first come in with his cut. He cleared his throat before glancing away to avoid your gaze and you don’t know if maybe he knew what was going to happen in that bust or if it was just luck that he managed to spout the words: “you know- I- I’ve liked you for awhile now. ”

You were so shocked you were sure your face was hotter than the surface of the sun and you laughed before pressing a kiss to Hoseok’s lips, grinning as you replied, “I’ve felt the same Sir.”

Hoseok pulled away, his entire face flushed red, “so don’t you fucking die,” he whispered against your lips in a hot pant, “my star detective.” and you tried not to smile as you licked your lips and tasted the residual spearmint of his tongue, before placing one last kiss to his lips.

The static of the radio reminded you both of your situation and you jumped out of his hold, with a shy smile to yourself you touched your lips with the thought of Hoseok actually reciprocating your feelings causing your stomach to bubble with joy.

But then you heard the familiar click of a handgun being loaded, and looked up to see Hoseok clicking the safety off his gun before nodding for you to do the same. Quickly you pulled your gun out of its holster and flicked it off safety before nodding at Hoseok, biting your lip and sending a quick prayer to any omniscient being to protect him if this got out of hand.

With a final smile, Hoseok placed his left hand on the door handle, slowly bending it down before nodding at you and pulling the door open in one smooth movement before pointing his gun at the dealer as you aimed at the buyer, “you’re surrounded, drop everything and put your hands up.”

Your eyes were trained on the woman who was smiling a little to large, a black case was tightly in her grip and you watched her nod at the seller who placed a wad of money on the floor. His hands were trembling as he raised them but you felt something cold run down your back and that was when trench coat moved slightly in the wind and you saw what looked like the black strap of a gun holster.

“Sir-“ you started, but Hoseok was busy greeting the other units, who were now arriving with sirens and flashing blue lights, with curt nods and you attempted to warn him again, “Sir’”

“Not now Detective,” he whispered before pointing his gun at the woman who had placed a hand on her hip and was still looking worryingly okay, “Miss hands up and drop the case.”

“Go to hell!” The woman said and your body was moving before you could say anything, and it was as if in slow motion as her manicured fingers wrapped around a small automatic gun before aiming at Hoseok. Then upon seeing the shocked look he was giving you, she smiled, “die you fucking pig.”

The bullet would have hit you in the head if another officer hadn’t tackled the woman by the waist and floored her, using her distraction to take her down and keep the number of causalities to one.

In fact, the bullet skimmed you shoulder and left you laying on your front covered in your own blood and it was only when you watched Hoseok shove other officers to get to you that you began to feel the pain bleed into your bones, “where was she shot?” His eyes were wide and from the amount of blood that covered you, it was unclear to where the wound actually was, “is she dying?” He locked eyes with you and grasped your hand, “don’t you dare fucking die.”

With a cough, you nodded before turning your head to look at the officers detaining both criminals and quickly a medic arrived on the scene, one that was familiar with having to treat you following big cases.

“Woah Y/N, you managed to get shot this time,” Jimin laughed and signalled to his partner to help move you onto your back which led to you biting your lip so hard it drew blood. The medics were quick to find the bullet wound and even though it wasn’t life threatening, the close proximity to the gun and the extent of your shock resulted in you being loaded into an ambulance with Hoseok holding your hand through the entire process.

It was only when you were placed on a hospital trolley that Hoseok noticed your footwear, his eyebrows furrowing before he began to laugh, “Did you seriously just catch a major drug dealer in crocs?”

+++

Jessnote: BROOKLYN NINE NINE SEASON 2 EPISODE 11 !!!!! i’m hopelessly obsessed with my boy jake peralta and also i admit i love a man in a uniform sooo i give you a policeman!au~~ all the terms were from b99 bless and there might be a smuttier part two if wanted?

+ PROMPT GAME:

181: “If you’re bored; wanna have sex?”

48: “I’ve liked you awhile now.”

> POSTS EVERY MONDAY, WEDNESDAY AND FRIDAY AT 11PM (UK TIME) <

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shadows-echoes · 6 years

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The Logic of Emotion - Pt. 3

Pairing: Connor RK800 x fem!reader

Summary: Connor’s just trying to complete his mission but he keeps running into the emotional roadblocks of those around him. You’ve been assigned to the deviancy investigation along with Hank and Connor, but you’re starting to ask questions no one seems interested in listening to. The investigation becomes more difficult for everyone involved as it progresses, and for vastly different reasons.

Warnings: None (save for terrible jokes)

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Some lighthearted indulgences before the coming angst 🙃

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Masterlist

You were not a drinker, this could be considered a fact. Occasionally, however, you would accompany Hank on his outings to Jimmie’s bar. It was solely to keep an eye on him and his likely faltering liver, but still you went. On yet rarer occasions, you would have a drink with him.

Tonight was one of those rare nights.

Less than two weeks ago you’d run into Kara and the little girl she was with- when you’d actively prevented them from being followed and not turned them in as you were legally obliged to do. The run-in with Gavin -as unfortunate as they always were- was less than a week ago. Even forgoing all the other stressors in your life, the ones so kindly provided by your job were troublesome enough. On top of that, thoughts and questions about Connor kept creeping into your mind.

So, when Hank saw you stroll into the bar and started grumbling something about not needing a babysitter, you simply plopped down beside him and ordered a drink.

The trouble was that you were a giggly drunk.

After the first drink, your signature composure would quickly dissolve- and you had had more than one tonight. You were amused and apparently amusing enough to even drag a few hearty laughs out of Hank and more grins than he would ever admit to.

At some point during the night -early morning?-, Connor found the two of you laughing in the corner of the grungy bar and insisted on getting you to your respective homes. Which is also why Connor currently had his arm slung around Hank as he led him up the path to his house. When Hank demonstrated a new inability to unlock front doors, you naturally commented on it. Though, the lighthearted bickering was abruptly cut short as Connor snatches the keys from Hank’s fingers and opened the door himself.

If you hadn’t been so amused by the android’s actions, you might’ve felt a tad guilty. It wasn’t always the most pleasurable experience to take care of one’s decidedly not-sober partners, you knew.

Following Hank and Connor inside, you quickly turn on the lights before anyone gets the chance to introduce their face to the floor. Reaching out to pet an eagerly awaiting Sumo, your hand freezes in midair as you catch sight of them.

“What are those?!” you cry, dramatically throwing out your arms at the offending articles by the entranceway. Too transfixed, you don’t notice the faces of those now turning towards you. Hank looked like a man slowly dying on the inside, while Connor merely looked perplexed.

“I believe those are his crocs, Detective.”

Ever so slowly, your eyes raise from the shoes and pass directly over Hank’s suddenly exhausted features to land right on Connor. An entirely, completely, one-hundred-and-ten-percent serious Connor.

Then, the only sound bouncing around the apartment was your echoing laughter. With a hand clutching your stomach, you stumbled back a step or two in desperate need of a wall to assist with your now unstable legs.

“Lieutenant,” Connor slowly hedges, “is something wrong with her?” He knew your blood alcohol concentration levels were far higher than normal, but technically you were only one average drink above the legal driving limit.

“Something, all right,” Hank mutters, looking down at you with a disappointed shake of his head.

“Oh. My. GOD,” you exclaim breathlessly, wiping away the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand. “Connor, if- If I hadn’t seen the things you put in your mouth, I could almost kiss you right now.”

A groan of disgust erupts from Hank and he yanks himself free of the supportive grip Connor had on him as if he could be contaminated by the reminder alone. Connor merely readjusts his grip on the Lieutenant to keep him upright. Although, it takes Connor a full second longer than it should to do so.

You were too busy laughing to pay attention, and Hank seemed too drunk to particularly care or notice, but Connor nearly froze. No, he had frozen for a single moment as he processed your words.

Connor knew it was a joke. He knew, given your obviously inebriated state and the fit of laughter you seemed consumed by, that the remark had not been a serious one. All the same, it gave him pause. Kissing as a behavior had never crossed his thoughts before. He had witnessed people kissing, understood its possible implications for the parties involved -generally interest; an expression of attraction of some kind-, but it was an action irrelevant to his mission and normally had nothing to do with the deviants he hunted. It was certainly not something he had ever thought about in relation to himself. Why would it be? Neither was it something he thought about in relation to you. So even though the comment was made in jest, he wondered why the idea of you kissing him had stuck out in his mind you would mention such a random behavior.

“If I start vomiting, I want you to know it’s all your fault,” Hank groans.

Suppressing your laughter, you push off the wall to stare him down with dignity. “If you start vomiting it’s definitely because of the alcohol,” you counter. “I told you that you should’ve eaten something-” you continue, struggling to keep your voice level. “May- maybe you should’ve had some free shavaca-”

“Y/N, I swear to god if you reference one more old joke tonight, I will find a way to get you fired,” Hank warned, sharply cutting you off. He eyed you with all the authority he could muster, but the look he gave you fell far short of stern.

The two men watch with varying amounts of dread, confusion, and suspense as the muscles in your face began to twitch with the effort your expend to keep it blank. It’s a complete failure, but it’s almost admirable the way you desperately try for a straight-face. “Does that mean you don’t have enough money for chicken nuggets?”

Now, you are no lieutenant or chief, only a mere detective, but you’re fairly certain Hank’s sudden coughing fit is more than it seems. It’s quick to be smothered by an overly-loud groan but not quickly enough to prevent the smug smile crossing your face.

“Don’t ask,” Hank orders, eyeing Connor’s opening mouth. Looking back to you, he grumbles, with a not-so-well-disguised fondness, “get out of my house,” before telling Connor to “make sure she gets home in one piece.”

Hank misses the sight of your rolling eyes as stumbles away, disappearing around a corner before you have a chance to retort.

“Well, goodbye to you too,” you call after him in a chiding tone, a smile lingering on your lips.

A faint grunt from somewhere down the hall is his only response. Shaking your head, you say goodbye to Sumo and leave as requested with Connor trailing out after you.

After being inside for even a short amount of time, the temperature outside was far more apparent. The wind bit at your exposed skin, soberingly so, and your amusement morphs into wonder as you glance upwards.

It was a dark night. Through all the light pollution of Detroit, a few bright stars poked through the unusually clear sky. It was a great change, you decided. Seeing the stars, space, it was peaceful. After a few moments of appreciation, you lower your eyes back to reality- only to encounter Connor’s watchful gaze.

You mistake the look to be one of impatience. “You really don’t have to come with me, you know.”

“I don’t mind,” Connor easily replies.

Having expected him to default and remind you of the order he’d been given, his answer surprises you. For half a heartbeat, you consider insisting that you weren’t the one who needed a babysitter and ordering him to carry on with whatever it was he did at night. But the thought was a fleeting one. Sure, you had the authority to give Connor orders, but you’d made a silent point of never doing so. Besides, on the few occasions Hank had ordered Connor to do this or that, Connor seldom obeyed.

“Alright,” you relent, shrugging away the thoughts. “Well, do you mind if we walk?”

Your apartment wasn’t far. Plus, it was a nice night after all, one of the nicer ones Detroit would likely see before the city was blanketed with snow for the winter.

“Walking wouldn’t be the most efficient means of travel, and statistically speaking, it isn’t the safest at this time either,” Connor cautioned. Though, it was only a half-hearted and futile attempt at persuasion since you were already walking away.

Resignedly blinking away any further protests, Connor quickly matches your stride.

“Ah, yes, but life is about more than efficiency,” you inform with a pointed look and a grin. “Besides, I’m armed and you could probably outrun anyone you needed to anyway.”

Connor wasn’t overly reassured to hear that you still carried your weapon, but he’s quick to glance down at you with furrowed brows and a correction on his tongue. “My concern was not for myself, Detective. I can easily be replaced. You, on the other hand, cannot.”

Involuntarily, your head snapped towards him as a part of you immediately rebelled against such a statement. Hearing him talk about his own death like that was horrible, even if it was technically true.

Your tongue stung from biting back your immediate retort.

Though, a part of you was… strangely comforted by the admission of concern. Who knew? Maybe Connor’s programming really did include instructions to keep people from harm.

“Aww, Connor,” you cooed with a partially teasing smile. “I knew somewhere deep down in those frozen biocomponents of yours that you cared.”

Had he any lungs, you were positive Connor would have sighed- the look he shot you was certainly flat enough to exude the same energy. The corners of your lips curl up into a grin, the remaining tension from your shoulders and the last few moments quickly fading.

“My biocomponents aren’t frozen,” Connor grumbles under his breath, staring straight ahead. “One of the initial complications in producing androids was actually overheating.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Really?” you prod, equal parts intrigued and baffled. “So, what, you run warm?”

If you thought about it, it did make sense: most electronics heat up to some degree when in use. Hell, despite the advances made in technology in the last twenty years alone, your laptop still overheated. It was still an odd thing to think about in relation to androids, though.

At first, Connor doesn’t say or do anything aside from keep walking, and you wonder if he’s officially ending the conversation. Beginning to worry that you had accidentally crossed some weird android etiquette rule, you’re drawing nothing but blanks as Connor extends a hand. He reaches out with his palm facing up as though he were gesturing to the barren sidewalk ahead.

As though in invitation, you note with a start.

The entirely unsubtle, slightly challenging raise of his dark brows snapped your blank mind back to attention and you were unsure whether or not to be grateful.

Well, alright then.

Desperately trying not to overthink it, you reach out and wrap your hand around his. The synthetic skin was smoother than you expected -not that you really knew what to expect-, and it takes a second to remember what you guessed your task was.

Peering inquisitively at the sight of your combined hands, like it would somehow heighten your sense of touch, you focused on temperature. The tips of his fingers were cold, colder than your own, but the center of his hand was… faintly warm? It was hard to tell whether or not the warmth emanated directly from him or if it was from your own hand. Sending him a questioning look, you slide your fingers slightly higher to the skin beneath his sleeve to find a space less affected by the elements.

“Dude, you are warm,” you exclaim, withdrawing your hand even as you unconsciously shift a little closer in the hopes the proximity would help stave off the chill of the night. “How does that work? Like, do you have a liquid cooling system or something? What if you get too cold, can you heat yourself up?”

Connor meets your curious, awaiting eyes and feels the strong urge to run a self-scan. He doesn’t know why he reached out. A verbal explanation would have sufficed, would have been more informative than the half-unintentional tactile demonstration.

The sensation had been nice strange, however. It left his mind spinning.

He needed to run a full diagnostic after this, he decided. For now, he tries to remember what you’d asked him.

A strange, curious look passes Connor’s face but it’s immediately vanquished as he launches into a very technical explanation that was dryer than many unfortunate textbooks. With a verbal filter thinner than usual, you prod him with follow-up questions as well as some random ones you’d been curious about. The latter included inquiries about how he thinks -no, he did not have an inner monologue but different courses of action; possible responses to external stimuli did appear in his programming to help steer him-, physical sensations -he can physically feel, yes, but sensations are not registered as painful or pleasurable-, and, of course, if androids dream of electric sheep -he didn’t get the reference-.

You could have needled him with questions until the sun rose and set again, but you thought it best to stop asking questions before you sounded like a friendly interrogator. It did not take long for Connor to turn the tables and start questioning you. He asked why you decided to partake in Hank’s drinking habits tonight -you cited stress-, why you had seemed so interested in the sky earlier –“why wouldn’t I be?” you queried back-, and then, after a few more questions, he asked if you were normally this carefree after drinking.

It was a stark reminder of how carefree you couldn’t be, of how careful you needed to be. With any luck Kara and the girl were long gone by now, but that didn’t mean some random street camera hadn’t captured your deeds. It didn’t mean that someone curious enough might not notice small pieces of evidence you have accidentally overlooked since then.

Whether or not Connor noticed your stiffening posture was left up to some degree of debate. But by some miracle, the door to your apartment building appeared, graciously granting you coverage and preventing a tight response. His question was quickly overshadowed by your quick, sincere thank you and a half-hasty goodbye.

Connor was great, but if he gained any insight into what you’ve been doing, if you raised his suspicions… You couldn’t let that happen.

A/N 2.0: This is a short-ish chapter and I debated whether or not to post it at all, but I feel like it’s necessary because the following parts won’t be as lighthearted.

I am shooketh by the number of people enjoying this story. The amount of support this is getting is something I never expected and it’s so incredibly appreciated, guys, you don’t even know.

A lot of the D:BH fandom seems pretty set on androids being cold so it I hope no one is put-off by the warm-android thing. I saw this post about something similar and I think it’s so incredibly adorable and it’s now a headcanon for me, okay? So, with much love and respect, you can pry it from my cold, dead, human hands.

Tags: @aya-fay @mamamemequeen @layinglonely @robin-rokossovsky @simplysaying @superanonymousreader (your comments have been giving me life btw) @aririna1412 @marinettelafayette @purpstraw @tinycyberhacker @lunarlexycon

#connor rk800 x reader #dbh connor x reader #connor dbh x reader #connor rk800 x fem!reader #connor rk00 #connor dhh #dbh connor #detroit: become human #the logic of emotion #fanfic #dbh #connor rk800 imagine

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headfulloffantasies · 6 years

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Arkham Dating Tips

5 times Arkham villains gave Nightwing and Batgirl dating advice in the back of the Batmobile.

1. Harley Quinn.

It was not an uncommon occurrence for the masked vigilantes of Gotham to drive arrested villains back to Arkham. Harley Quinn sat sullenly in the back of Nightwing's acquired Batmobile. Batgirl was also sullen in the passenger's seat. Nightwing gripped the steering wheel hard, staring straight ahead at the road. He reached over and flicked the switch to soundproof the cockpit.

"Are we going to talk about it?" He asked.

Batgirl huffed. "Not now Dick."

"Then when?" Nightwing huffed. "It wasn't my fault. Two Face was-"

"You skipped out on officially meeting my father for Two Face. How do you think that makes me feel?" Batgirl snapped back. "I know Gotham was in danger, but now I have to deal with my father thinking you're an absolute scumbag of a boyfriend because you didn't even call-"

"It's not my fault!" Nightwing repeated.

Tap tap. Harley tapped her finger against the divider between the backseat and cockpit.

"Are you lovebirds ok up there? I'm a therapist, you know."

Nightwing glanced down at the controls in horror. He'd accidentally hit the wrong button, broadcasting their conversation to the backseat instead of silencing it.

"You've got to be kidding me." Batgirl groaned.

"Tell Dr. Harley everything." Harley sing songed.

"You're not a doctor." Batgirl snapped.

Harley leaned forward, pressing her face against the bulletproof glass. Her smooshed nose made it difficult to understand as she offered.

"The best advice I can give a new couple is this: You need to see a person's dark side before you commit. You gotta find all of their buttons and push 'me until they explode!" Harley peeled off in wild laughter. "But seriously, you gotta make sure your partner ain't gonna throw you out a window if you accidentally set them off. And the best way to know is to see them angry. Hit them with a giant hammer! That's my professional opinion." Harley leaned back, satisfied.

"You're not licensed anymore, Harley." Nightwing reminded her icily.

"So? I still got all that fancy doctor knowledge in my noggin." Harley banged her cuffed fists against her head hard enough that Batgirl winced.

Harley leaned close again and said to Batgirl seriously. "If he hits you, you hit him right back." She turned to Nightwing. "That goes for you too, sugar."

2. Edward Nigma, the Riddler

The next week Batgirl and Nightwing had the pleasure of driving the Riddler back to Arkham after he blew up a joke and costume shop.

"It's symbolic of my relationship with the Joker." He'd explained.

The ride was long and tense until.

"Are you guys being safe during sex?"

Nightwing almost swerved off the road. "What the hell, Nigma?"

"It's important." The Riddler insisted.

Nightwing spluttered as Batgirl blushed. "We're not... we haven't..."

"Oh. You're not there yet. I thought you were dating for a while now. You know how Harley talks. Well, when you get there, make sure-"

"Shut up right now!" Nightwing demanded.

"Does all of Arkham know we're dating?" Batgirl groaned.

"More like all of Gotham by now." Riddler answered thoughtfully.

Nightwing slammed his forehead against the steering wheel.

3. Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter

The Mad Hatter gave Batgirl the creeps. He was obsessive, of course. And he always stared unblinking at Batgirl when she arrested him. Nightwing and Batgirl caught the Mad Hatter attempting to kidnap a young blonde girl that he'd once again claimed was his long lost Alice. Batgirl was beginning to think every blonde in Gotham should start dying their hair.

"I see you've found your Alice." Hatter said wistfully from the backseat of the Batmobile.

Batgirl stiffened uncomfortably. This was not a conversation she wanted to have. She gave Nightwing an imploring look. He didn't notice.

"I guess so." Nightwing answered nonchalantly. He gave Babs a sappy grin. Batgirl could have slugged him.

"Never give her up. Not to anyone!" Tetch snarled with ferocity.

Nightwing glanced at him in the rear view mirror. "What if she decides she doesn't want to be with me anymore."

Batgirl groaned. Way to lead Tetch into a rant.

Predictably, the Hatter started in on his spiel. "You never let her go! She's yours, bound to you by Destiny. She'll see, eventually. Her spirit and yours are inseparable. Nothing in the universe can divide you. And if she won't believe it, you take her and you remind her of the bond between you!"

"Nah," Nightwing answered. "I think I'll just respect her wishes."

Jervis spluttered the whole rest of the trip, but Batgirl was incredibly proud.

4. Jonathan Krane, the Scarecrow

It was a few weeks before Batgirl and Nightwing were back in the Batmobile with a criminal in the backseat. Scarecrow was unusually talkative that night.

“Do you fear this relationship falling apart?” He asked in his raspy voice.

“No.” Nightwing said a little too quickly. Batgirl glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Nightwing gripped the steering wheel tighter and clenched his jaw.

“A healthy relationship includes a physical element.” Scarecrow said sagely. "Fear is a powerful aphrodisiac. Are you looking for a way to spice it up in the bedroom?"

"No."

"Y'know ropes-"

"No!"

"BDSM-"

"No!" Batgirl and Nightwing shouted together.

"I see what the problem is." Krane said thoughtfully. "You're not open to new experiences."

"I'm going to gag you if you don't shut up." Nightwing growled.

"Kinky!"

5. Killer Croc

The long drive from the Gotham Harbor to Arkham was blessedly silent, if a bit tense. The powerful predator in the backseat always made Batgirl nervous. She was never quite sure the Batmobile would be able to hold Killer Croc, especially since she’d seen him hurl full sized trucks over his head once.

The drive went without incident. They pulled up to the gates of Arkham.

Nightwing turned around in his seat to look at their prisoner. "Y'know Croc?” He said sincerely. “You're my favourite villain."

"Nightwing!" Batgirl protested. "He just ate someone!"

"Yeah, but he's the only criminal who hasn't offered us dating advice." Nightwing answered. He gave Killer Croc a cheeky grin. "What do you say, Croc? Got a nugget of wisdom for a happy couple?"

"Communication is key." Killer Croc growled.

"That's the longest sentence I've ever heard from you." Nightwing said seriously.

Croc sat in Silence.

+1. Two Face

Harvey Dent was hardly the gold standard for good relationships. Hell, his ex-fiancee had turned into a crazy supervillian plant lady. And his other fiancee left him after his split personalities came into the light. There was, as Nightwing had heard, a long list of broken hearts behind Harvey Dent. And of course, the whole morally corrupt criminal thing going on. No, he was not the guy to take dating advice from.

Harvey leaned in next to his ear and hissed “Kiss her”.

Nightwing did.

Thanks for reading! This is my first foray into Batman fanfiction. I saw a prompt for “villian gives the hero terrible dating advice” and this is the result. If you like what you read, consider buying me a coffee.

#nightwing #batgirl #fanfic #batman #dc comics #harley quinn #scarecrow #two face #killer croc #riddler #mad hatter #batmobile #arkham dating tips

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koreywritesdc · 7 years

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Being best friends with a witch (Damian Wayne x Reader headcanon)

Requested: Nope but who cares

Notes: These are my first headcanons and the first thing I’m posting on this blog so please be nice and I hope you guys like it :)

Warnings: Brief mention of death?

♦

- You guys met when you joined the Teen Titans - At first he didn’t trust you since it wasn’t possible to know the full extent of your powers yet and that made him quite wary of you - But after a while of getting to know each other better, he started to grow fond of you - You were way too kind and your aura was too beautiful and calming for him to loathe - He slowly started to trust you and even invited you over to the manor since you didn’t have a family of your own - He taught you to fight (not that you didn’t know already, but you depended on your powers more) - You would teach him about magic, how you did your spells, how they worked, what you believed in and about all the things -as far as you knew- you could do - Since you were deeply connected to the elements and living beings, you got along with animals pretty well - All his pets were drawn to you instantly but you could influence them enough to make them give you two some space when you wanted to hang alone - Which didn’t happen often since you both were crazy about animals - You’d just watch movies with Alfred the Cat on your lap and Titus on Damian’s - Damian loved how powerful you were (he secretly liked that you could kick his ass in a fight. very very secretly) - He tried to teach you how to fight with a katana a couple of times but you would always panic when he came at you and accidentally sent him or the katana, or both, flying away with your telekinesis - Everytime you got weak from healing someone, he would get really mad and would ((try to)) force you to get some rest - Even when you knew damn well he could be dying but he would still go fight the whole Justice League if he had to - “You are too weak, you need to rest” “Oh, like you got some rest the other day when you were sick but went to fight Killer Croc?” - He thought it would be interesting to go on a regular patrol night in Gotham with you - Boi was he wrong - Damian would be trying to get some information out of a goon in a violent way while you would just stay in the back, confused - “Robin, you do know that I could just get inside his mind and get you the info you need right?” “If you insist on taking away all the fun” - You would also occasionally compliment Poison Ivy - “I don’t know, Dami. She’s just trying to keep the plant world safe, nothing wrong with it” “Y/N, she has killed 40 people in the last week" - But when it came to Titans missions… you were his go-to partner - Since you were the only one he deemed “competent” enough - You took that as a honor - Despite everything he had done, despite everything people said about him, despite the way he acted most of the time, you knew that Damian was simply a warm and caring soul who was hurting and craving affection - And you trusted him more than anyone

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne headcanon #damian wayne headcanons #damian wayne fluff #robin x reader #robin imagine #robin headcanons #robin fluff #dc x reader #dc headcanon #dc imagine

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creativitytoexplore · 4 years

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Pandemic Advertising Got Weird Fast

A few weeks ago, as millions of Americans settled into home confinement in a desperate effort to stymie an era-defining pandemic, Little Caesars invited them to step up to its Pizza Portal, a virus-hostile pie locker that circumvents the need for human interaction. Little Caesars was not the only brand—or, for that matter, the only pizza company—that wanted people to know their lockdown options. Commercials by Domino’s and Papa John’s reminded viewers that the heat of pizza ovens annihilates germs. Others had different ideas: Become a Burger King Couch Potatriot with a socially distant burger delivery. Buy a face mask from Forever 21 and it will donate a mask to a person in need. Take up to 25 percent off kitchen-organizing essentials at the Container Store. Buy a whole Hyundai on the internet.

Even in a culture numbed to viral stunt marketing, these abrupt pivots to the pandemic in television commercials, social-media posts, and marketing emails have been hard to ignore. It’s jarring to see advertisers, usually so optimistic about their products as a means to improve lives or grant happiness, forced to acknowledge that things in America are broadly terrible. Some viewers have noted an unsettlingly similar solemnity across brands’ pledges to protect and serve their clientele. Others have found comfort in the commercials’ shoddy earnestness; if America’s salespeople have no choice but to share in everyone’s uncertainty, then maybe the country is mostly united after all.

Together, these ads reveal a pandemic dystopia with a particularly American twist. With unpredictable government-aid coffers, most companies that want to remain solvent through an extended catastrophe will have to master the precarious, high-stakes art of disastertising. To do it, they’ll need to persuade you that giving them your money is an act of solidarity.

[Read: Don’t spit! Pandemic posters through the years]

By most accounts, the coronavirus catastrophe became real to advertisers around the same time it did for lots of Americans: when the NBA suspended its season. “That’s when we were like, ‘Oh, this is going to be big, and it’s going to change consumer behavior and affect people’s lives for real,’” says Fernando Machado, the chief marketing officer for Restaurant Brands International, which owns Burger King, Popeyes, and Tim Hortons. The company shut down all its offices in the country and threw out its existing advertising plans. Its new ads spotlight low-contact payment and the plan to scoot bags of food out the drive-through window on a tray. If the company’s restaurants were going to pay employees and order supplies, it wanted people to know they could still come buy food.

At Domino’s, the situation was similar, according to Kate Trumbull, a vice president of advertising at the company. The pizza giant scrapped an ad campaign that showed customers standing close to one another, rolled out information about its hands-free food-packaging practices, and repurposed a Risky Business–themed ad to address social distancing. (Sliding around at home in your socks and underwear is all too relevant to many viewers now.)

Chain restaurants like these have an edge when it comes to disastertising. Most small restaurants have had to close during the pandemic because they have no delivery infrastructure or can’t sustain themselves on takeout alone. Grocery stores force people into close contact, sometimes run short on staple goods, and have few or no delivery options in many parts of the country. Pizza delivery and drive-through, meanwhile, are convenient enough to be recast as public services. On top of that, chains can advertise that they're offering thousands of low-wage food-service jobs to Americans who have lost their income in the past few weeks. “We are open, and we are hiring,” Trumbull says. “If there’s one way that Domino’s could actually help right now, that’s the way.”

Both Machado and Trumbull say that Americans have greeted their companies’ efforts with near-uniform positivity. Customers, they say, are grateful for the information about pandemic-related services and safety procedures. Marketing executives of course have a vested interest in the perceived success of their work, but some evidence exists that people actually do appreciate companies that disseminate this information, even if the ads themselves are a little corny. A recent survey by the data company Morning Consult asked participants what they’d prefer to see in ads during the pandemic, and among the eight options, by far the most popular choice was ads that explain how companies have changed their services. Explicit information about safety procedures was also among the top requests.

There are many reasons Americans might embrace this performance of coronavirus care, including the simple comfort of knowing that companies that sell your favorite french fries or service your car have given at least a passing thought to your safety. But there might also be a certain appeal in hearing clear, useful information from whatever powerful American institutions are willing to supply it right now, when guidance from the U.S. government—the institution ostensibly most responsible for providing it—has been slow, inconsistent, and confusing. Plus, advertising gives businesses far broader and easier access to people’s attention than other sources of solid safety information have, such as public-health experts or epidemiologists, who offer sound guidance in far less profitable ways.

[Read: Brands are not our friends]

In the past decade or so, deepening cultural and political divisions in America have frequently led to perceived leadership vacuums, in which broad consensus is difficult to rally for any particular institution or person. Those vacuums have often been filled by brands that see social issues as an opportunity to connect with customers—especially younger ones, who want to believe that there’s a right way to spend their money. “That comes from a mix of deep cynicism and heady idealism” on the part of young people, says Jessica Greenwood, the global chief marketing officer at the advertising agency R/GA, which works with brands such as Nike, Airbnb, and Verizon. “They want to believe that these companies can change the world, but also they’re very cynical about being sold to.” In the Morning Consult survey, people under 40 were more likely than their older counterparts to think advertising should cease entirely during the pandemic, but they also generally responded more positively than older people to recent ads that struck a useful, empathetic tone.

Today’s disastertising does merit plenty of cynicism. Beyond the plausibly useful ads, quarantine TV is flooded with messages of vague support from soda brands, insurance companies, or tech firms, set to sensitive melodies. Many of those ads feature the voices of executives insisting that we’re all in this together, while those executives might be self-isolating in sunny vacation compounds. This worst kind of messaging flies beyond the bounds of simple uselessness and lands at full-on smarm; there’s no value except to the company itself, reminding you that it’s still around to accept whatever money you have left.

The canniest disastertisers, meanwhile, aren’t relying on tone-deaf ads to rally people to their cause. Instead of traditional avenues, many companies have turned to conspicuous acts of charity. AB InBev, which owns Budweiser, has donated $5 million and some of its advertising airtime to the Red Cross, and the company is using some of its facilities to manufacture hand sanitizer. Apple has donated millions of masks and other protective gear to health-care workers. The shoe brand Crocs donated thousands of pairs of rubber clogs to health-care workers, then paid Priyanka Chopra to post about its good works on her Instagram account. Machado says that Burger King has donated more than 1 million meals to hungry kids through a charity partner. “Yes, it’s marketing, but it takes into account the context that people are in and the impact on their lives,” he says.

Read: The four rules of pandemic economics

Small local businesses pioneered many of these most popular pandemic charity ideas. But local companies largely lack the public-relations muscle or name recognition necessary to receive national media attention and public support, which R/GA’s Greenwood says is crucial for companies hoping to survive. “Everybody is watching Netflix and listening to Spotify premium and spending a lot of time in places that don’t have ads,” she notes. “In that environment, the tools that you have available to you as an advertiser are PR and social media—things that respond really well to newsworthy actions.” For big companies, an act doesn’t even have to be all that grand: Coors Light recently won press appreciation for delivering 150 cans of its product to an elderly woman who had put a sign in her window bemoaning her lack of beer.

But charity doesn’t guarantee plaudits for major companies, Greenwood cautions. When a brand courts positive attention, “people immediately look at your corporate practices and say, ‘Well, you’re expressing solidarity, but you’re not paying your workers,’ or ‘You’re expressing solidarity but refusing to shut down your warehouses,’” she says. “It’s super, super important right now to have all your ducks in a row, because if you want to say anything that’s meaningfully human at this time, you have to be operating in very human ways, and that’s not true of every company.”

This blowback has been particularly swift for the employers of low-wage service workers, who have been drafted into duty as de facto first responders in jobs with few benefits and an elevated risk of contracting COVID-19. Amazon and Instacart workers have gone on strike for better working conditions. Walmart is running ads in which its CEO expresses solemn appreciation for the company’s store employees while those employees work in dangerous conditions and receive meager sick leave. At least two Walmart store employees have died from coronavirus complications so far. (Walmart did not respond to a request for comment.) Many retailers have responded to these complaints with hazard pay, which usually amounts to a few extra bucks an hour, as well as paid sick leave. Accessing sick leave at some companies requires a positive coronavirus test or an official quarantine order, which can be extremely difficult to get until a person is severely ill.

Many fast-food workers experience similar issues with low pay and paltry sick leave, but they face a different set of challenges during the workday. Their restaurants’ dining rooms are largely closed, but commercial kitchens are close quarters, even when run with a skeleton crew. In-store employees for Domino’s have raised concerns about inconsistent safety procedures and the availability of masks and gloves, and Burger King employees fear that they’re still in too much contact with customers. Both Domino’s and Burger King say that they’re doing what’s possible to provide safety gear and sanitizing equipment for employees amid shortages, and that all workers in corporate-owned stores are eligible for paid sick leave.

In spite of disastertising’s pitfalls for brands and how much people may loathe it at times, it’s too late for the country to save itself from the necessity of some kind of advertising during COVID-19. Marketing is tied up in almost all parts of the modern American economy. The sale of goods and services is necessary to keep workers everywhere from factory floors to corporate headquarters fed. Advertising is also the economic engine of much of media, including journalism. If advertisers simply were to go idle, the harm could radiate out to lots of working- and middle-class people with little or no direct connection with advertising itself. In past recessions, companies that maintained their communications presence had an easier time recovering when the economy stabilized, enabling them to retain employees they might have otherwise laid off.

Just how necessary it is to disastertise—to contort a simple message about drive-through lanes or beer delivery to paint a company as public servants during an extraordinary moment—isn’t as clear. Americans seem eager for practical information and opportunities to help, not solemn vows of corporate togetherness. It’s also a choice, not a foregone conclusion, that the American economy is held together by advertising and low-wage workers during a crisis. Overseas, some governments have helped coordinate the distribution of necessary supplies to their homebound citizens, instead of forcing fast-food-delivery people and Walmart cashiers to shoulder the burden with little oversight. For companies whose income has dwindled, many governments are paying the majority of workers’ wages to prevent layoffs and allow more people to stay home.

If disasters have any silver lining, it’s that they give people a rare opportunity to reimagine society. When the pandemic ends, America might try to create a future that’s less reliant on broad public knowledge of virus-killing pizza ovens.

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#Blogger

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sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee · 1 year

Note

That headcanon was so cute! I'd like to request a double date cooking scenario with Croc x s/o and Poison Ivy x her s/o.

"Double Date" Killer Croc and Poison Ivy x their respective S/O's

Thank you!! I love seeing the sweet ideas you guys send me in!

TW: NONE

When Pamela first suggests the double date, Waylon is a bit nervous. Meeting his supervillain friend and her partner and all having dinner together? He already thinks his whole deal is a lot.

He's not ashamed of his rogue friends, but he does consider the fact that if his partner isn't acquainted with that world, it could be intimidating.

Poison Ivy is the one to give it to him straight- if they aren't okay with that part of his life, then they aren't for him. Whether he's trying to turn something of a new leaf or falling into bad habits, they both know he's not cutting off the friends he's made over the years.

She has her own anxieties, of course, rather small. Introducing her S/O to her friend means it's getting serious. Double dinner dates with adult friends? It's almost... normal. When was the last time she was really serious with someone and it was normal? Even as she's talking, Killer Croc can see the pitiful potted cactus in his apartment getting slightly bigger and much sharper.

They decide mutually to try and make it as casual as possible at his place to keep both of them grounded. No dress code, a good meal with wine and pleasant conversation.

Of course he's immediately focused on making an excellent meal. Despite what some people might think, Poison Ivy was not a vegetarian or vegan. She does, however, do her best to avoid anything that does permanent damage to a plant. Which... results in her growing a lot of her own food when she's out of Arkham.

He's calling his mother and Grandmother immediately to find a nice hearty dish that should win everyone over. Étouffée- Filling, delicious, he can show off a little (very important for his S/O)... Plus you can switch out the main protein easily based on allergies and preferences.

Pamela and Waylon go over ingredients, needs for anyone and make the shopping list. She provides most if not all the vegetables and spices they decide on, fresh and complimentary. She and her S/O also pre-chop and/or slice all her ingredients before she brings them over. Helps out with the claws issue.

Waylon is probably had his S/O help him make the stock beforehand, helping the cooking time even more by the time Pamela and her partner arrive. Putting everything together, a light sourdough appetizer-

By the time the smell of the Étouffée fills the house, they're already getting to know one another and exchanging pleasant conversation. The occasional embarrassing story from their respective S/O's that make the rogues laugh and flush.

The trio of S/O's and Poison Ivy tell Waylon to stop fussing over the food and sit down several times as he keeps checking. He's about to knock the table over when it's finished, though. Getting bowls ready, trying to be careful not to make it messy as he spoons it out.

It's a warm, lovely meal and everyone around the table gets to beam with pride in helping. They all end up talking for another three hours before Pamela finally has to cut off her S/O once they get a little tipsy on wine, giggly and affectionate on their Ivy.

As per usual, Waylon made a bit too much for their small group, so Pamela is getting at least two tins of the food as leftovers. It's going to be amazing the next day, he insists.

They'll have to do this again soon, at her place next time. She may not be quite the level of cooking her friend is at, but she's sure she can make something good.

Waylon's S/O is grinning ear to ear, "I loved them." the moment they've left. He visibly relaxes. "Yeah. Me too."

Pamela puts the leftovers away and her S/O in bed. Their S/O mumbles that they can't wait to meet all her friends and maybe even... she could meet their family? All in good time.

#Killer Croc #Poison Ivy #foxwriting #hcs

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thatcrazyfanfictionwriter · 5 years

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Secret of the Sewers: On the Run

In the wake of the Triceratons pulling out, Agent Bishop made a hasty exit from the U.N. building. Waiting for him was a large black trailer, unmarked save for an eagle on the side. The door slid open and he entered, greeted by the sight of several EPF techs monitoring a row of screens. Each screen showed a different view of New York, but their main focus was Time Square, and the alien wreck that lay smoking in the center of it.

"Status report." Bishop demanded.

"Air Force shot down a lone Triceraton ship that entered the atmosphere." an agent supplied. "Initial scans show multiple life forms aboard."

"Triceraton?" Bishop asked.

"No, sir." the agent answered. "Scans indicate four humanoids, and six non-humans."

Bishop stroked his chin in response.

"Must be the turtles." He deduced. "Any movement?"

"Not yet." Another agent answered. "Forces are moving in. Your orders?"

"Ensure that they are dealt with accordingly." Bishop replied. "No mistakes."

...

The scene of the wrecked spaceship was the center of everyone's attention. The army was moving in with weapons ready, helicopters coming in with bright spotlights shining down on the wreckage. Police cruisers cordoned off the area, people gathering at the barrier to try and get a glimpse inside.

Inside the ship, everyone was trying to pull themselves up from the crash.

"Alright, who's not dead?" Leo asked with a pained groan. "Sound off."

One by one, his brothers gave pained groans of their own. Splinter shifted some rubble off of himself, Leatherhead pushing his way through a mass as well, Hisako cradled in his arms. Mona Lisa slipped out from under the now crumbled dashboard, rubbing her face.

"We survived?" she questioned. "How?"

"My guess, by the skin of our shells." Raph chimed in.

They all convened, catching sight of their human allies. Casey and April were out cold, large gashes on their heads as they lay crumbled in a corner. Murakami was slumped over one of the seats on the ship, unmoving save for an occasion rise and fall of his chest. Hisako was still in Leatherhead's grasp, a state that greatly worried the crocodile.

"Why…. is she not… waking up?" He asked.

"She must have hit her head in the crash." Donny deduced.

"I guess we non-humanoids were tough enough to come out mostly unscathed." Mona Lisa remarked, wincing and holding her side. "Though I fear we are all in need of a medic."

"No time for that now." Leo replied. "We got company."

Spotlights shined through the broken windshield, everyone ducking down to avoid detection. Once it passed, everyone looked up again.

"We need to get out of here." Splinter insisted. "We have already lost our secret. I fear what the people of New York will do to us if we are caught."

"Then let's haul shell back to the lair." Mikey suggested.

"Uh, easier said than done." Donnie spoke up. "Four of us are down, all of us are injured, and there's an entire army out there ready to turn us into turtle soup!"

"Then our only hope is to separate." Splinter decided.

"Split up?" Raph let out. "Sensei, no offense, but there's no way we can take these guys on our own. Not the way we are now."

"And what about Casey, April, and Murakami?" Mikey asked.

"They should be alright." Splinter told them. "They are human and will be taken care of. As for us, we are too big a group to travel stealthily. We must disperse to reduce our chances of capture. We will reconvene back at the lair when our pursuers have been eluded."

"I will protect Oracle." Leatherhead promised. "I ran with her once… I will do it again."

"Wouldn't expect anything less." Leo replied.

"I'll stick with Lisa." Raph declared, taking the Salamandarian's arm. "She doesn't know this city like we do."

"Right." Leo agreed.

They all ducked down again as a spotlight flew over them.

"We cannot stay here any longer." Splinter realized. "We have to go now."

"Alright." Leo relented. "Good luck everyone."

Leatherhead pulled Hisako tighter in his grip, then ran through the windshield, shattering it to pieces. This opened a clear path into the dense wooded area before them. The croc took off into the trees, the turtles, Splinter and Lisa right behind him. Once they got a fair distance from the wreck, they all split off in opposite directions. Unaware of their escape, the army closed in of the ship, managing to pry the already loose doors open. They found April, Casey, and Murakami passed out inside, quickly radioing in assistance.

"We've got three civilians inside, suspected massive trauma."

"Bring them in." Agent Bishop's voice ordered. "I want them under lockdown. Nobody sees them until I give the all clear. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

...

Leatherhead came to the edge of the wooded area of Central Park, seeing all of the cop cars surrounding the entire area. He snarled, his eyes flashing momentarily at the realization of his current helplessness. Seeing a fair sized rock on the ground, he quickly came up with a plan. Gently setting Hisako down, he picked it up and chucked it at a cop car far off to the side. It smashed through the engine easily, drawing the attention of every cop within hearing distance.

Not wasting a moment, Leatherhead grabbed Hisako once more, bolting towards the edge of the park. A few cops caught sight of the escaping mutant and gave chase.

"Stop!" One shouted. "Monster!"

"We can't let it get away!" another cried out.

Leatherhead snarled, but kept running, doing his best to keep his head down. The cops pursued him, a few letting off a few shots to try and take him down. Leatherhead managed to move fast enough around the shots to avoid getting hit, but one managed to clip Hisako's dangling leg. She let out a yelp of pain, a sound that made the crocodile's blood boil. He whipped around and leapt at the cop, grabbing him and slamming him to the ground.

"The monster's got a hostage!" One of the cops shouted.

"Okay Missing Link, drop the girl now!" Another demanded, leveling his gun with Leatherhead's skull.

Leatherhead snarled at the officer, wanting nothing more than to tear them apart. He set Hisako on the ground and leapt towards the cops, his teeth tearing into their guns. A few shots got him in the arm, but his hide prevented them from doing too much damage. If anything, the pain just seemed to make him angrier. He whipped his tail at one, knocking him into a wall. He then moved towards the others and roared loudly.

"GO AWAY!"

The officers slowly backed away before flat out running in the other direction. Leatherhead snorted, then turned back to where he'd left Hisako. He froze when he saw she was no longer there, panic overtaking him. His breathing became heavier and his eyes darted around, desperately searching for his friend.

"Oracle?!" he shouted. "ORACLE?!"

...

Hisako, meanwhile, was being loaded into an ambulance by some officers that managed to grab her during Leatherhead's fight. An EMT was looking over her unconscious form, taking note of her wounds.

"Blunt force trauma to the forehead, possible concussion." The EMT began. "Bullet wound in the leg, severe burns on her arms, several broken ribs."

The EMT let out a small sigh.

"It's a miracle this girl's alive." they tacked on.

"We need to get her to the hospital." The EMT's partner insisted.

The doors to the back of the ambulance began to close, but before they could, a gloved hand stopped them. The doors were pulled open again, revealing a pair of EPF agents.

"We'll take it from here." One of the agents informed.

The EMTs were shocked to say the least.

"You'll what now?" One asked.

"Take the girl." The second agent answered.

"This girl needs a hospital." The second EMT insisted. "You're interfering with our job."

"We're taking her to a specialized facility capable of handling her." The first agent insisted.

"Handling her?" The first EMY questioned. "This isn't one of those… things. She's an innocent girl!"

"This isn't up for discussion." The agent told them, brushing past them. "We're taking her, and that's final."

The agent pulled Hisako off the gurney she'd been laying on, carrying her out of the ambulance. The EMTs went to object, but the second agent blocked their path. A third then activated a communicator on his wrist.

"Hamato Hisako has been acquired." He reported. "They nearly took her to the hospital."

"Then we just prevented a major cataclysm in this city." Bishop replied. "Take her to where her friends are being kept. Remember, no antiseptics, and minimal guards."

"What about the beast?" The agent questioned. "It won't rest until it finds her."

There was some mild cursing on the other end.

"Those idiot police..." he swore. "Alright, new plan. Patch her up and get her back to him. Hopefully that will quell his temper."

"Yes sir." the agent replied, signing off.

...

Meanwhile, Raph lead Lisa ran through one of the more deserted streets. The ship crash has taken out a few power lines, leaving a good block in total darkness, something the two took full advantage of. They made it several feet before they were forced into an alley, hiding as a patrol of soldiers passed by. Raph ducked behind a dumpster and Lisa clung to the wall, her eyes narrowing at the men.

"Who are these men?" she questioned. "Why do they hunt us?"

"Our planet's military." Raph explained. "As for why, let's just say this planet isn't as keen on mutants as space is."

"I recall the old, blind man mentioning your existence being a secret." Lisa remembered. "Now I see why. Your own planet has turned against you."

"They were never really on our side to begin with." Raph corrected.

"Then why return?" Lisa questioned. "Why not take Traximus' offer?"

"Got friends here." Raph told her. "Friends like April and Casey."

He let out a small snort.

"Ironically, the only human friends we have were on that ship with us." He declared. "There's only a few of them, but they're the best friends a ninja turtle could ask for."

"They are a mere three humans on a planet of nearly 10 billion." Lisa pointed out. "And this display of aggression makes it quite clear what they think of you. So again I ask, why did you return?"

"It's home." Raph answered. "Really, the only home I've ever known. Plus once you try some Mario Bros pizza, you'll wanna stay too."

"Mario… bros… pizza?" she repeated slowly.

Raph sighed.

"I'll tell you later." he promised before stiffening. "Hide!"

They both hid as a pair of officers turned towards the alley, shining flashlights all around. Once the lights were gone, Raph and Lisa poked their heads out of their hiding spots.

"We are too exposed out here." Lisa hissed. "We must get to safety soon."

"Easier said than done." Raph replied. "Nearest unmanned manhole cover in several blocks to the north. And it's in the middle of an intersection, so we'll be spotted for sure."

"Is there anywhere else we can go that's safe?" Lisa questioned.

Raph thought for a moment, glancing around before finally getting an idea.

"There is one place." he answered. "And lucky for us, it's just around the block."

They both emerged from their hiding places, taking hands before taking off.

...

At the same time, Donatello made his way through back alleyways. He'd tried to climb up to the rooftops for a safer vantage point, but his arm had protested almost immediately. He was certain something was either bruised, sprained, or broken, but didn't have the time to find out which. He held his injured arm as he ran, taking refuge in an alley.

"Which way'd it go?" a cop that had been chasing him shouted.

"He can't be hard to find with that coat on!" another replied.

Donnie looked down at his white lab coat, which might as well have been a neon sign saying 'catch me'. He took it off, wincing in pain as he did so, and stuffed it into an empty garbage can.

"Luckily trash day for this part of the city isn't for a few days." he remarked. "Hopefully I can get it back."

Getting back to his feet, Donny started running towards a nearby manhole cover. He came to a screeching halt when he saw that the alley said manhole was in had a pair of cops waiting.

"Shell." He cursed. "With my arm like this, there's no way I can get down below without them noticing. What am I gonna do?"

He backed away, his eyes never leaving the cops. Unfortunately, he wasn't watching where he was going and tripped over the curb. He yelped, falling on his butt and drawing the attention of the cops. Donny tried to get back to his feet and move but his injuries were making it difficult. He scrambled back, his shell hitting the door to a brownstone.

"No, no, no, no." he let out.

"Hey." One of the cops spoke up. "You hear something?"

"Better check it out." the second cop declared.

Donny's brain was overloading with a plethora of curse words Splinter would have punished him for. He closed his eye, preparing for the inevitable. That's when the door he was leaning against opened behind him, causing him to fall back. He found himself staring at a pair of old slippers, thick purple pajama pants partially covering them. His eyes traveled upward, eventually landing on the familiar face of Irma

"Irma?" He let out.

Irma didn't speak, merely grabbing him by the arms and dragging him inside. Once he was all the way inside, she closed the door, locking it before turning to Donny.

"You need to hide, now." she insisted. "I don't know if they saw you."

"I don't think so." Donny replied.

"You really want to take that chance?" Irma challenged.

"Good point." Donny conceded. "Any suggestions?"

"Coat closet." she answered. "You can't climb in that condition."

She helped him get to his feet, leading him over to the closet. She opened the door and he sat down in side, curling up in the corner behind several coats. Irma just managed to arrange them neatly before there was a knock on the door. Taking a breath and brushing off her pajamas a little, she went to the door and opened it.

"Good evening, Miss." One of the officers greeted.

"Is everything alright?" Irma asked, looking genuinely nervous. "Are those… Triceratons gone?"

"It appears so," the officer replied. "But the creatures they were after are still loose in the city. Have you seen anything suspicious at all?"

"I've been hiding in my room since this whole thing began." Irma replied. "You don't think those things are… Y'know… dangerous?"

"It's too soon to say." The other officer told her. "Just keep an eye out, and if you see one of the creatures, call 911."

"I will, I promise." Irma assured them. "Good luck."

"Thank you ma'am." The first officer replied, tipping his hat. "Good night."

With that, they left and Irma closed the door. She watched them through the peephole for a moment, then let out a sigh of relief.

"They're gone." she declared. "You can come out now."

Donny opened up the closet door and slowly walked out.

"Thanks." Donny spoke.

"You're welcome, Don." She replied, walking over to him. "Now, let's look at that arm."

Before he could say anything, she ushered him into the kitchen, plopping him down at the table. As she scavenged around for medical supplies, it finally dawned on him that she had clearly seen him as a turtle, and hadn't reacted to it in the slightest. More than that, she'd lied to the police for him.

"So… you seem relatively unphased." Donny noted. "With the whole 'mutant turtle' thing I mean."

"Mutant?" Irma repeated, looking up from a cabinet. "My thoughts went to aliens. That Zanramon guy did call you a 'Gamaron'."

"It's a misconception." Donny explained. "But still, why aren't you freaking out?"

"I kind of figured it out." Irma replied, finally finding what she was looking for. "Aha! I knew it was in here!"

She returned to the table with a large, white box with a red cross on it. She set it down, opening it up and pulling out a bottle of antiseptics.

"Any wounds I need to clean?" she asked.

"I think there's something on my arm." He explained. "How'd you figure it out?"

"Well, the makeup you wore to the science expo was rather heavy handed." she answered. "Arm up."

He held out his injured arm as she continued.

"An amateur could have done a better disguise job." she went on, gently dabbing some antiseptics on a rather nasty cut on his arm. "But, you seemed like you were having fun so I figured I'd get to know you before making any judgements. Glad I did. Most fun I've had in a long time."

"Same with me." Donny agreed.

Irma set the antiseptic cloth aside, looking at his arm carefully.

"Let me know if this hurts." she told him.

She then began gently squeezing the muscles on his forearm. To Donnie, it felt as if someone was crushing his arm in a garbage press. He gritted his teeth and tried to pull away, but Irma kept a firm grip.

"Damn, it's sprained." she muttered. "On the bright side, it's not broken. You got lucky."

"I guess so." Donny replied. "I can't stay here for long. I have to get back to my family."

"Not in this condition, you're not." Irma insisted, getting to her feet. "I need to get a splint for your arm, and you… help yourself to whatever's in my fridge. After the day you've had, you've got to be hungry."

"You're not wrong there." Donny agreed.

Irma walked off to collect what she needed, leaving Donnie alone in the kitchen. Though hunger gnawed at him, he couldn't help but sigh in relief, grateful to be safe, at least for the moment.

...

Mikey scrambled up a fire escape, trying to reach the rooftop as quickly as he could. His footsteps up the metal stairs drew the attention of several cops. A flashlight shined on him, eliciting a yelp from the orange turtle.

"Up there!" a cop shouted. "It's headed for the roof!"

"Uh oh." Mikey let out. "Time to book!"

Mikey picked up the pace as he ran up the steps towards the roof. Down below, he could hear the cops rushing to catch up with him, clamoring up the fire escape after him. Once he was up on the roof, Mikey dashed towards the other side, hoping to get some distance between him and the cops. Unfortunately, he didn't see the cops finally coming out from the fire escape.

"Freeze!" A cop shouted, letting off a shot.

The shot nicked Mikey in the leg, causing him to cry out in pain and completely miss his jump. He hit the wall of the adjacent building, rebounding off the fire escape before snapping through several laundry lines. The lines slowed him down enough, and several bags of garbage cushioned his fall.

"That's gonna leave a mark..." he groaned, looking at his injured leg and wincing. "No more rooftops tonight… shell."

He slowly picked himself up, nearly falling over again after putting pressure on his bad leg.

"No running either..." he winced. "Not good. Need to think of something fast."

He starts looking around, seeing certain items of garbage that started to get an idea. Knowing time was running out, he got to work. As he did, the cops descended from the roof as fast as they could, closing in on the alley. They got on either side of it, spotting Mikey's silhouette in the shadows of the closed off area. They bolted towards him, tackling him to the ground as several others aimed their guns at the orange turtle.

"Don't move!" They shouted. "We've got you-"

They cut off when they realized that what they had tackled was not Mikey. In fact, it was a dummy made out of garbage with Mikey's clothes thrown on it. The cops got up, looking down at the dummy in confusion and shock.

"The creature gave us the slip." One swore. "Damn. Search the area! He couldn't have gone far!"

The officers pulled out of the alley, spreading out to begin their search. Once they were gone, Mikey poked his head out from behind a dumpster in the alley. He watched them go, then let out a sigh of relief.

"Too close." he let out.

He carefully limped out of his hiding spot, clad only in a pair of boxers. He glanced down at his clothing left on the dummy, wincing a bit.

"As much as I don't want to go home in my underwear, my clothing could give me away." he muttered, groaning slightly. "Why has orange betrayed me?"

...

Leo meanwhile kept quiet as he dashed through the city. Sticking to alleyways and ducking behind cars, he tried to put as much distance between himself and the crash. He knew that cops and government officials were still close by, and was unwilling to risk leading them to his home.

"Need to lose my pursuers." he said quietly. "Just need somewhere to do it."

He tried to think of a possibility as his eyes wondered. Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of something in the distance. It was the Wolf Hotel, still under construction, with sheets of plastic waving slightly in the wind.

"That'll do." he declared.

He took off towards the building, catching the eye of a few cops. He ran right through the open main door, the cops closing in on him.

"I've got a visual on one of the creatures." One cop reported. "Orders?"

"Corner it." another commanded.

The cops then entered the construction site, guns at the ready. Swiftly and silently, they all moved through the halfway finished building, searching for the turtle. Leo moved quickly as well, darting across the skeletal halls with barely a rustle of plastic to indicate he'd ever been there. Seeing a recently added window, he came with an idea. He leapt to the ceiling and tossed a rock at the window, smashing it.

"What was that?" A cop shouted.

Leo quickly made himself scarce as cops rushed towards the broken window. Seeing the shattered glass, the cops all stopped short.

"It went out the window!" another cop exclaimed. "After it."

The cops all ran from the room as Leo slowly poked his head out of his hiding place. Carefully, he peeked out the window, watching as the cops went the way they perceived he'd gone. Leo smirked, then turned in the opposite direction, slipping out an unfinished window before disappearing.

...

Elsewhere, Splinter made his way across the rooftops of the city. Unlike his children, he had far more success in eluding the police. Though occasionally a sound he made would draw their attention, none of them ever caught sight of the mutant rat. After some more sneaking about, he managed to locate a manhole cover safely hidden in the cover of darkness. He prepared to open it, but was forced to take cover as a pair of cops came walking by.

"I can't believe these things were hiding in our city." One remarked.

"I know, crazy." His partner agreed. "What's next? Gargoyles?"

"With everything going on, it wouldn't surprise me." the first one replied. "Still, I'm still shocked these freaks weren't caught before now."

"Well, remember all those Purple Dragons that we brought in, swearing up and down they'd been taken out by turtles?" his partner challenged. "Maybe these things are what did it."

"Either way, I'll personally sleep better once all these freaks have been rounded up." the first one declared.

"You and me both." the second agreed.

As the cops kept walking, Splinter dove down to the street and lifted the manhole cover, slipping down into the sewers before the cops could even notice him. Once the lid was safely in place, he darted for home, the words of the two cops making his heart beat faster with fear.

"Please be safe, my children." he begged. "Please..."

...

Meanwhile in an EPF medical facility, April, Casey, and Murakami were being watched over by several EPF agents. Their wounds had been tended to, and right now they were waiting for the three to wake up. The first to do so was April, letting out a soft groan as she fumbled for her glasses. Finding them sitting on a small table beside her, she slipped them on, gasping when she found herself not on the Triceraton ship.

"What happened?" She questioned. "Where am I?"

Her eyes then landed on Casey, who was also beginning to come to. Murakami groaned slightly, consciousness returning to him.

"Casey, Mr. Murakami!" she called out.

"It's alright, miss." A new voice declared as a lone agent entered the room. "You're safe now. I had my men transport you here after you were pulled from the wreck of that space craft."

"Where am I?" April asked. "And who are you?"

"My name is Agent Bishop." the man introduced. "I'm the leader of the Earth Protection Force. As for where you are, you're in one of my medical facilities. I had a feeling you three would rather avoid being questioned by the police about how it is you came to be on that spacecraft."

"Uh… thanks." April replied honestly surprised.

"What do you want, man?" Casey questioned, clearly suspicious of the man.

"Nothing." Bishop assured him. "I am merely doing my job and protecting the inhabitants of this world, no matter who, or what, they might be."

All three patients understood the double meaning on his words, falling silent as he spoke again.

"You're all free to leave once the doctor clears you." Bishop informed them. "However, if I may offer my advice, tell your friends that it may be wise to lay low for a while. I fear what may happen to them if they show themselves during such turbulent times."

"We'll… be sure to do that." April told him.

Murakami's sightless eyes narrowed.

"Tell me, Agent." he spoke up. "The rest of the city hunts while you tend to us. Why do you not join the others in their quest?"

"Because I know the truth of their quarry." Bishop explained. "I know that they have given more to protect this city, no, this world, than most. I only wish I could do more."

He then walked out of the room, leaving the three patients to contemplate his words. Once Bishop was out of the room, his comm in his ear went off.

"Sir, we've done what we can for the Hamato girl." the voice on the other end declared. "Orders?"

"Put her on the bus stop off 11th and Bleaker." Bishop ordered. "That's near where the crocodile was last spotted. With luck, he'll take her and vanish before too long."

"Understood sir." the agent replied before signing off.

...

At the bus stop, An EPF agent gently deposited Hisako onto the bench. She was still unconscious, a fresh bandage on her injured ankle, as well as around her head and waist. As the agent ensured she was in no danger of falling off, the sound of what could only be described as a monster rampaging filled his ears.

"ORACLE!"

The agent wisely ran as fast as he could, tearing away from the scene just as a livid Leatherhead rounded the corner. He caught sight of Hisako and instinctively bolted towards her. He looked her over, seeing the bandages and the fact that she was not harmed any further. He felt some of his fear ebb away as he picked her up, cradling her close. Her eyes fluttered open as she looked up, seeing her oldest friend staring down at her.

"Leatherhead?" she let out.

"I've got you… Oracle..." he told her.

Gently running a claw through her hair, he turned towards a nearby manhole. Ripping it from the ground, he hopped right in, the lid clattering behind him. The agent, who'd been hiding behind a building, let out a sigh of relief.

"The croc took the girl and they went down below." he reported.

"Good." Bishop replied. "Any sign of the others?"

"No, sir." the agent replied. "My guess, they've either escaped below, or found somewhere to hide out. These mutants are adept in the art of disappearing."

"True." Bishop conceded. "Keep monitoring just in case. If anyone catches sight of them, I wanna know about it."

"As you command, sir." the agent agreed, going to do as he was told.

...

Back with Donny and Irma, the purple turtle was testing out the splint that Irma had made for his arm. It was sturdy, thank goodness, and did its job well. She even used an old scarf to make a sling for him.

"There, how's that feel?" she asked.

"Better." Donny replied. "Thanks."

Irma gave him a smile, then she let out a sigh.

"I don't suppose I could convince you to stay here until you've rested." she remarked.

"Can't." Donny insisted. "Gotta get back to my family."

"I can respect that." Irma replied. "I can give you a ride somewhere. You can hide in my backseat."

"There's an abandoned garage on B Street south." Donny told her. "It's our connection to the surface."

"Surface?" Irma repeated. "You live under the city?"

Donny nodded, standing up.

"Think you can get me there?"

Irma got up and grabbed her purse off a hook by the door.

"Let's get going." Irma nodded.

She went over to the front door, peeking around to make sure no cops were nearby. She then gave Donny a nod, unlocking her car with the push of a button. Donny rushed to get in, pausing for a brief moment.

"Wait, my coat!" he hissed.

He rushed over to the trash can he'd stashed it in, pulling the coat out. Tucking it under his arm, he dove into the back seat, curling up as best he could. Irma got in and gunned the engines, making for B Street.

...

Leo slipped towards the closest manhole he could locate, the sight of the every lightening sky spurring his movements.

"Gotta get below before the sun rises." he whispered. "Otherwise I may as well just turn myself over."

He made his way towards the manhole, but quickly ducked behind a car when he saw a cop coming his way. Leo watched the cop come to a stop right on top of the manhole cover, pulling out their radio.

"Sun's coming up chief." they reported. "These freaks are about to lose one hell of an advantage."

"You're telling me." Leo muttered under his breath.

"Maintain your position." The chief ordered. "If you see one of those freaks, taze it. I want it alive, so it can tell us where its nest is."

"10-4." The cop replied. "Maintaining position."

Leo mentally cursed, his fists clenching. He looked up at the horizon, knowing all too well he didn't have time to find another manhole. Deciding on a course of action, he silently moved towards the cop, sneaking up on him and performing a nerve jab on his neck. The cop crumbled instantly, Leo catching him and gently laying him down on the ground.

"Nothing personal." He told the cop.

He then lifted the lid of the manhole, hopping in and disappearing.

...

Back in the turtles' lair, Splinter managed to arrive first. He looked around his home, feeling his heart plummet into his stomach when he saw how empty it was.

"My children!" He called out. "Is anyone here?!"

Footsteps from the tunnel leading towards the lair drew Splinter's attention. He turned to face the approaching figure.

"Sensei?" Leo called out, stopping in the door.

"Leonardo!" Splinter let out, rushing towards him.

The two embraced, both holding tightly to one another. When they released, Leo looked around.

"We're the first to get here?" He asked.

"So it seems." Splinter confirmed. "I can only hope your siblings are faring well."

That's when the elevator beeped, signifying that it was coming down.

"Let's hope that's one of them." Leo spoke.

The elevator doors opened, unveiling Donny. He gave a wave with his good arm, his coat draped over his shoulders.

"Hey Leo." he greeted. "Sensei. Glad you two got here safely."

"Donatello, your arm." Splinter noted. "Are you alright?"

"And is that a girls scarf?" Leo asked.

"Yes to both questions." Donny replied. "I sprained my arm in the crash. Luckily, Irma got me to safety and patched me up. Made me a sling out of one of her old scarves."

"You mean that girl you met at the science expo?" Leo questioned.

Donny nodded.

"She knew I was a turtle and still helped me." he marveled. "She saw through my makeup, but decided to get to know me before passing judgement."

"Then she is a valued ally." Splinter decided. "And these days, we need everyone we can find."

"No kidding." Leo agreed.

Lumbering footsteps filled the lair, causing the three to turn around. Leatherhead then entered the lair, Hisako in his arms. She gave a smile and a wave.

"Dad, Leo, Don." she called out.

Leo and Donny immediately ran over to her and helped her out of Leatherhead's arms. Donny immediately took note of the professionally done bandages around her wounds, something he knew neither she nor Leatherhead were capable of doing.

"How'd you get these?" Donny asked as he set her down on the couch.

Hisako looked down at herself, looking at her bandages

"I've had them since I woke up." she explained.

"She was… taken from me..." Leatherhead reluctantly admitted. "But I found her… on a bus stop. She had been… cared for… then left."

"So, someone took me, patched me up, and then gave me back?" Hisako questioned. "That makes almost no sense."

"No, it doesn't." Leo agreed.

"It seems we have another unseen ally in our current plight." Splinter mused.

"But who?" Donny questioned.

"Only time will tell." Splinter answered.

"Speaking of time, I hope Mikey, Raph, and Lisa get here soon." Leo prayed. "Morning's coming, and if they get caught during the day..."

"Have faith in your brothers, my son." Splinter reassured. "They are capable. I am confident they will be alright."

...

Meanwhile, Mikey continued sneaking around, feeling a big cold without any of his clothes. He hunkered down behind a dumpster, shivering.

"Why did I have to be a cold-blooded reptile?" He whimpered. "And why did I have to leave my clothes behind?"

He peeked around the corner, his eyes landing on a Goodwill clothing donation bin. He sighed in relief, running over to it. With a swift kick, he knocked it open, spilling the contents. He quickly grabbed some pants, a shirt, a hoodie, and some rain boots. He yanked all the clothes on, shoving his feet into the boots before pulling the hood over his head and sticking his hands in the hoodie pocket.

"Warm clothes, check." he listed off. "Disguise, check. Some semblance of an idea on how to get home?"

He glanced around, eventually locking eyes on a manhole cover. He grinned.

"Check." he finished, rushing over to it and hopping down to safety.

...

Across town, Raph and Lisa made it to Galactic Enterprises. Lisa looked at the building skeptically, turning to Raph with a confused expression.

"I thought we were attempting to elude the humans." she remarked. "Why are we going into a largely populated building?"

"Thing is, it's populated by Utroms." Raph informed.

That caught Lisa by surprise.

"There are Utroms on this planet?" She questioned.

"Why do you think we were hunting for an Utrom Outpost when we met?" Raph replied.

Raph then hit the door's buzzer, the locks immediately clicking to let them in. Both of them rushed inside, where they were greeted by Samson.

"Raphael." The Guardian called out. "I am glad to see you alive and well."

"All things considered, yeah." Raph replied.

"Where is the rest of your family?" Samson asked.

"With any luck, safely back home." Raph answered. "Which is why Lisa and I are here. We were hoping you could port us back to the lair."

"Of course." Samson told him. "Come with me."

The three quickly made their way towards the transmat room. Professor Honeycutt looked up at they entered, relief clear on his face.

"Raphael, and your Salamandarian friend." he greeted. "When we saw your ship go down, we feared the worst."

"Yeah, it's been a rough day for all of us." Raph remarked. "We need to get back to the lair, and fast."

"Of course." Honeycutt told him, getting right to work. "I only wish I could've done more. I had been working on a retrieval system for the transmat, but it's far from complete."

"You aiding us in our escape is more than enough." Lisa assured him.

"I wish I could believe that."

The Professor hit a button, powering on the transmat.

"Step on, and you'll be transported safely to your home." he declared.

The two nodded before stepping on the platform. Almost immediately, the two were surrounded by pink, swirling light. The lights became faster and faster before eventually dying, carrying Raph and Lisa away.

...

Swirling pink lights drew everyone's attention in the lair, Raph and Leo instinctively going for their weapons. When the lights faded to reveal Raph and Lisa, everyone relaxed.

"Raph!" Leo called out.

Leo instinctively ran over and hugged his brother. Raph was taken aback, but returned the hug after a moment.

"I'm okay, bro." he promised. "Lisa and I just hitched a ride back her via Utrom Transmat."

"You took the transmat?" Mikey called out as he entered the lair. "Aw man, why didn't I think of that?"

"Mikey!" Raph let out before noting his attire. "What's with your clothes?"

"Kinda a long story." Mikey replied.

"Whatever the story, we're all here." Hisako pointed out. "We all made it home safe."

"Wish the same could be said for the others." Donnie remarked solemnly.

Just then, Donny's shell cell started ringing, much to his surprise. He picked it up, his eyes widening.

"It's April." he let out.

"Be careful, my son." Splinter warned. "It could be a trap."

"Don't worry, Sensei." Donnie told him. "With my encryption software, not even NASA could hack in and trace us."

He then answered the phone, putting it on speaker.

"April?" He asked.

"Donny?! Thank god you're alright." April let out. "Are the others with you?"

"Yeah, we're all okay." Donny assured her. "We're all a bit bruised, but we made it back to the lair safely. Even LH and Lisa."

"What about you, Casey, and Murakami?" Leo questioned.

"We're alright." April assured him. "We were taken in by some group called the Earth Protection Force. They patched us up and let us go. Casey's making sure Mr. Murakami gets back home safely right now."

"They just let you go?" Donny asked.

"That's not the weirdest part." April informed him. "We met with their leader, a guy named Agent Bishop. Though he didn't specifically say it, he gave strong hints that he was on your side and he was trying to help you."

Hisako glanced down at her bandages, thinking to herself silently as April went on.

"He also asked that we deliver a warning." she said. "He said it would be best for you guys to lay low, saying that in these turbulent times, any surface appearance could be a deadly final one."

"I hate to admit it, but he may be right." Leo agreed.

"Yeah, if tonight is anything to go by." Mikey commented.

"It works out anyhow." Donny remarked, trying to put a positive spin on things. "We need time to heal and rest."

"And then what?" Raph asked. "We're public enemies one through eight right now. It's open season on mutants."

Lisa let out a cough.

"And aliens." he amended.

"We must be patient." Splinter insisted. "The city needs time to repair itself, and for its people to return to a semblance of normalcy."

"Besides, it won't be too different from the way things were before." Leo said. "We've always had to hide ourselves. Now we just have to extra careful."

"Glad you guys are taking this well." April spoke up. "Just rest for now. Hopefully, things will settle down soon."

"Hopefully." Donny agreed, hanging up the phone.

With assurance that the last of their group was okay, everyone just slumped in exhaustion. Not even bothering to set up their bed, everyone either sat down or sprawled out on the ground, crowding in a huge group near the couch. Even Splinter, Lisa, and Leatherhead joined the pile, all of them falling into a dreamless sleep.

...

In the police precinct, Chief Rebecca Vincent was on a conference call with the various other precincts across the city.

"What do you mean they got away?!" She exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, Chief." one of the various cops apologized. "It's like they just vanished."

"We've got a few men down across the city." another remarked. "They don't appear to be injured, just knocked out."

Vincent rubbed her forehead, letting out a small groan.

"Put out an APB on these creatures." she ordered. "If these things show their faces, I want them rounded up and brought in."

"What about the girl they were with?" A different cop asked.

"Her too." Vincent answered. "One way or another, we are taking these creatures out."

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rudimentaryrecollections · 7 years

Text

Glasgow 01 – 05 July 2017

My things are dry. My feet rested. I go downstairs for breakfast. It is the best I’ve had this trip. Full English with black pudding, which I find I like. The bread is fried in butter. It is large with a lot of coffee. The perfect thing to restore me further.

I walk to the city centre and buy a groundsheet for a pound at Poundland, and dubin wax to reproof my boots. I also buy croc sandals, my boots are too heavy and painful for my feet now. I would take them to a doctor, but it appears there are none open on Saturday.

I catch the train to Glasgow. The city centre is nice, the standard affair of large old buildings and pleasant streets. I get rained on heavily and then the sky is nothing but sunshine. Welcome to Scotland.

And in my time here I discover Glasgow to be a bit rough around the edges. The city centre is nice, but it’s surrounds are still recovering from post-industrialisation. I see many taverns with no windows, derelict buildings, people tripping out (on drugs) and beggars in what appear to be nice suburbs close to the city centre. It appears that they are using street art, music and other culture to help rejuvenate the city, and there are many nice murals to be discovered which lively up their surroundings. Aye, it is being gentrified.

I walk the streets towards my Couchsurfer host’s house, which is about 20 minutes from the centre without getting lost.

To my surprise there is a male Tasmanian there too, Dom. This catches me off guard, but I am quick to adjust. At first I think he is her partner or housemate. But soon I learn he is also a Couchsurfer. He is younger than me, only 20. I give Eliza a bottle of wine for hosting me. She is in her thirties, so I wonder what wisdom she may have.

She feeds me soup and hurries me along, we have somewhere to be by 7. We follow the river Clyde to our destination, chatting along the way.

They seem a bit clicky, as Dom keeps talking about things that happened on their big night out yesterday. He reminds her of the unnecessary tequila shots they had at a nightclub, and questioned if he owed her anything for the drinks last night, which she dismisses. I be myself, and quietly acknowledge their chat, then take what opportunities I can to learn about each of them.

We go to a planetarium, and enjoy a dome show, travelling through the universe learning about stars, planets, constellations and spacecraft.

After we walk back and have some drinks. Eliza is tired from the night before, but Dom is in the mood to celebrate, as today marks one year since he left Australia.

He talks a lot, and seems to enjoy being the centre of attention. I generally like people who talk a lot, since I am quiet myself. However that can depend on the quality of the words. He enjoys telling me what I should do in my travels or how I could have done certain things better. I try to get to know Eliza. She is quiet like me and is not one to talk over someone else.

We go to a bar briefly and I do not let Eliza pay for any drinks, seeing as though she paid for the Planetarium. When Dom goes to the bathroom she talks to me quite freely, about her son in Poland, and how she was on MDMA the night before without Dom knowing. She did not remember getting home the night before, which raises an eyebrow from me.

We return to the flat after Dom’s round. Eliza puts on some candles and fairylights and the ambience is nice.

She cooks me a fillet of Quorn – a vegan chicken breast made from mushroom proteins. It is nice. Dom appears to get jealous of her niceties towards me, after she tells him his vodka tonic mix is too strong. He says, “What’s the matter, we were getting along just fine until Bluey here showed up!?” She ignores him, what other response could he have hoped to illicit?

It is not the first time he has called me Bluey that evening, which irritates me. Words won’t harm me, but when he says it there is venom in his tone. Dom has been in control of the music. He asks me if there is anything I would like to put on. I say the music is fine. Eventually he insists. I queue a track. It starts to play. It does not make it halfway through before he changes it.

When Eliza goes to the bathroom Dom talks quite openly to me about how Eliza turns into another person when she drinks, how she was grinding him on the dancefloor last night. I do not know why he tells me this. I smirk in my mind, thinking that alcohol and MDMA will make a person more feely. But outwardly I tell him that she did not remember getting home the night before, so she may not remember that either.

When it hits midnight it marks Dom’s anniversary of being overseas, and he has an emotional spiel. He takes selfies with us and we have tequila shots. The drinking continues into the wee hours and Dom is the first to retire, to the spare bedroom.

I am drunk. Eliza is too. She stacks the dishwasher, and now I am the one to drunkenly ramble. It would seem whoever is youngest in this home has the most to say. I express I would like to get to know her more personally. She expresses she is tired and it’s best to sleep.

I bid her good night and pass out on the couch. I get up at midday and tidy up. Eliza is up and bids me good morning. She does not remember the end of last night, which concerns her. No wonder, with two strange males in the house. My memory is hazy, but I tell her I recollect her putting the dishwasher on, before she went to bed, and I went to couch. She is relieved. She asks what I want to do today. I ask for suggestions. She suggests taking a train to Loch Lomond, a national park nearby. I say it sounds delightful.

Dom is up now. Today he was to go to Edinburgh. I assumed he would leave when he got up. But when he hears our plans he decides to take part. I am not thrilled by this. But like any time, I resolve to make the most of my situation.

My hangover has me anxious. My social batteries have already been worn down. My ability to take the initiative in situations has somewhat disappeared. I think I should organise breakfast, but before I know it Eliza has gone to the shops and comes back. She cooks a feast with Dom. They must think I am vegetarian, as they do not give me haggis. Dom does not like it, so I eat it. It is nice, a peppery liver flavour. For all it is made out to be an acquired taste, I quite like it.

We catch the train to Balloch, which takes a little under an hour. Eliza and I sit exhausted. Dom sits and prattles away. Sometimes he says things that he has said the hour before. When Eliza yawns he says, “You need coffee.” Or “There is only one cure for a hangover, more vodka!” She yawns more than once during the day. He offers for us to put our jackets in his backpack. We both decline, we both have arms to hang them from, from where it is easier to put them on if we’re caught in a shower.

I tire of him, and long for the quiet of the trail. I practice mindfulness, and dismiss some of his comments with what I like to call conversation enders - ‘True,’ being my personal favourite.

We get cheap coffee at Balloch. It is strong and picks me back up. I am more talkative and humour Dom’s talking points. Loch Lomond is beautiful. Lakes and forest stretch as far as the eyes can see. Gentle drizzle rains down. We lap around some trails for a while then catch the train back. Dom insists on gifting me his lighter for my camping. Later he complains that I took it from him. I offer it back, and he murmurs that he can’t take it on the plane anyway.

As we walk back from the train Dom asks if he can stay for another night, as it is now quite late in the afternoon. Eliza politely inclines. He thanks her and says he will cook dinner.

I knew such a thing would happen. He offers me Eliza’s sons bedroom. I decline as I was comfortable on the couch. Back in the flat, I throw myself onto the catch and sigh. Alcohol withdrawal still affects me. I enjoy the quiet for three seconds before Dom follows me and says, “I know how you feel.” If he did he wouldn’t be talking. He asks me if I want the bedroom again. I decline as all my stuff is in this room.

Eliza suggests we watch a movie. The best suggestion. Movies provide noise, so extroverts don’t feel the need to chatter. Dom goes to the shops and cooks dinner while I show Eliza some Andrew Ucles videos. After dinner I put on Hunt for the Wilderpeople, which we all greatly enjoy, then Chef. Eliza goes to bed before Chef is over.

When it is over, Dom asks me for the third time if I want to sleep in the bed instead of the couch. I answer again that really it is fine, I sleep well on the couch. Having asked so many times, he seems to want his way with this. But I will be the first to rise out of us two, and I do not wish to tip toe around the living room in the morning.

Eliza has gone to work cleaning when I arise, and I make a strong coffee. I drink it and wander north along the Clyde. I am anxious still. I have no idea why I feel I have done something wrong, and make up reasons in my head. I practice mindfulness. Listen to the gulls, and see them float in the sky.

I remind myself of my characteristic introversion, and how it is nothing to feel ashamed of. I just needed space, time alone, to recharge my social batteries. Or some alcoholic juice. I always wanted to get really drunk in Glasgow, perhaps inspired by Irvine Welsh characters, and today will be the day. I buy a small bottle of rum and finish it before returning to Eliza’s to grab my bag.

She is on break from work. We eat lunch from our own food supplies together. Dom has left. Again I am now the one to chatter. I talk with her about her life, and what she has coming up. She will study Chemistry at university, which I encourage. She seems solemn, and I almost sense sadness that her house will be quiet again. Or perhaps I am mistaken in my intoxication, and really she is just tired. When it comes time to leave we hug twice and she asks me to send her photos. I know I will stay in Glasgow for at least another night, but I do not wish to impose on her. So I depart.

I am happy, my anxiety vanished in this last interaction.

My Couchsurfing experience complete, I set foot towards the centre of Glasgow. I drink beer on the street. Then in a pub as I charge my phone. I speak to Spanish travellers. I have no plans. I book a hostel near the Necropolis, a large graveyard on a hill. I wander through it. It is a sunny, beautiful day.

After being subject to chit-chat as relentless as the Northumberland drizzle for two days I appreciated being alone. Sitting in the sun alone. Reading a book alone. Watching the river Clyde alone. Drinking in the park alone. Alone but not lonely. Otherwise known as solitude. A valuable thing, as a dear friend once expressed to me. Aye my friend, solitude is bliss.

When I get to the hostel I pass out for a while in my bed. I awake still a bit drunk, and go to get some food. The hostel is called Tartan lodge. The walls are plain, except on some there are canvases coated in tartan cloth on the wall. It is not my idea of art, but better than nothing I suppose. I sleep easy. In the morning I am hungover.

I do not know where my room key is. I do not know if I paid a deposit for it. I am anxious again. I pay for my oblivious blitheness the day before with dehydration this morning. I panic about the key. I do not want to lose a deposit or pay a fee. There is one at reception on the desk. I sneakily take it and hand it in as I checkout. There was no deposit. Just a fee for losing one.

I laugh at the panic I felt before the key, and congratulate myself on my sleight of hand.

“Let’s not get drunk like yesterday on our own any more,” I agree with myself.

The day is grim, and I am aimless. I find a library and try to catch up on journal entries. The librarian gives me an hour PC code. I get through my York entry, and halfway through my Newcastle entry. It takes me a long time to write these. I assure myself that it will get easier, more succinct the more practiced I am. It is a good writing exercise, and if I keep it up I will see improvement. It is the last time I find myself doing a journal entry for three weeks.

I wander through Glasgow again. I go into the museum of Religious Life. It is more interesting than it sounds. The artworks are very inspired, and the beliefs and stories of Gods outside of Christianity are fascinating. Across the road is the oldest house in Glasgow, another museum. I walk through it and tire. After buying tinea foot powder, I look up the nearest hostel and head towards it.

Hot tub hostel, known for it’s hot tub. The receptionist tells me people bang in it. If I want to use it, I will need a staff member to turn it on. It takes an hour to heat up, and the rule is you must shower before using it. Sounds like a breeding ground for micro-organisms that would love the broken skin on my feet. I tell her I’m looking forward to a quiet night in, no hot tubs necessary.

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