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[musitechnicformation]

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[mv1simp]

Into You ♥️

Max Verstappen x Redbull Engineer! Reader

Oh baby, look what you've started, the temperature's rising and is this gonna happen? (Been waitin' and waitin' for you to make a move)

At 27, you've just been promoted to the role of Redbull's race engineer - a very impressive feat in motorsport for a young woman. There's just one issue though - you secretly had a massive crush on the driver you're meant to be guiding, Max Verstappen. Will you make it through the season before he catches on? (You hope so because goddamn, the HR team were a nightmare to deal with.)

Content includes: fluff, humour, Max and reader are simps for each other, sexual tension, pining, drunk confessions, 3.2k WC

Recently, you'd started having some issues at work. Okay, gun to your head, you'll admit it was more like a single issue - in the shape of a very attractive, 6 foot Dutch racing driver who occasionally had problems with anger management. Sure, it didn’t sound that bad, in fact, someone else would just sit back and enjoy the eye candy the F1 paddock provided! But to truly appreciate the full depth of your embarrassing problem, one needed to unpack all the lore behind it.

After graduating from a prestigious mechanical engineering master's program, you'd been ecstatic about getting to intern at Redbull's F1 racing team, department of aerodynamic design. You'd started working at the company at a very good time, because later that year, their top driver Max Verstappen claims his first WDC at age 24 - only 6 months your junior. A very impressive feat for such a young age - as you admire him from a distance in the garage workshop. And, super hot too, you thought cheekily, whoever wifed him up was sure to be a lucky woman.

Your own hard work hadn't gone unnoticed, and many higher-ups and sponsors alike were curious to see the team who had been behind the championship winning changes to the Redbull car. You'd risen very quickly in the ranks, from intern to permanent technical engineer and then last year to to the innovative research & development department, now involved directly with calling the big shots for what each version of the car would look like and coming face to face with Max for the first time in your career with Redbull.

Unlike the other drivers, Max was genuinely curious about your design process. The way he asked questions, thoughtfully listened to your long explanations and then would give you direct feedback about the exact issues he would have in the trial runs had made you flustered, especially from the full intensity of his blue eyes. No, seriously though, Shakespeare himself would have written poetry if he'd gazed into them. The TikTok creators certainly seem to agree, with all their ocean eyes edits. Not that you had any saved. Anyways, moving on-

You were on the quieter side but Max seemed to know just how to get through to you. It meant that your team had been able to design the most dominating car in F1 history - the RB23, and paired with Max Verstappen it was an unstoppable force, almost like you made it just for me, Max had said, smiling gorgeously at you like some GQ Sports model. You stared back at him incredulously, banana choc chip muffin halfway to your mouth, cause who the hell woke up looking like that, you two were wearing identical Redbull shirts but his looked like it had been personally tailored to fit that broad muscular chest and yours was giving oversized trash bag??

Honestly, you'd hoped that working in closer proximity would humanise him more and you'd lose this silly crush of yours the moment you saw him do some icky rich white boy move. Like maybe he’d donate to Donald Trump's anti vaccine campaign or say guys 🥺 Can’t go to Ibiza this weekend the yacht staff had an emergency, got caught in some Gulf war zone or something? Idk

But when he had knocked on your apartment door when you hadn't shown up to work in two days, and found you crying because your childhood dog had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer across the other side of the world and saying I’m sorry, I know it’s not that big of a deal, I’ll come back tomorrow I promise-

And instead of laughing like you’d expected, he’d cut you off, told you to pack a bag and then driven you all the way to his personal jet. You looked into his beautiful blue eyes while he earnestly begged you to use it so you could make it in time to say goodbye to your Arlo before your parents put him down tonight. And that’s when you realised you were doomed to be hopelessly in love with the younger man. (But also, you had a serious discussion with him about the extreme greenhouse gas emissions from private jet fuel use, we only had one planet, you would be happy to just fly first class instead-)

But when your mentor Newey announced his plans to leave Redbull this year, you had planned on following him - making the exec panic at the thought of losing two of their crucial engineers. They frantically thrown random promotions at you, praying one would stick - and Redbull twitter fans breathed a sigh of relief when you took interest in the role of race engineer and stayed in the company.

You'd been excited about becoming one of Checo's engineers, having trained under the current one for the last few months. But to your horror, one day you arrived on the paddock only to be promptly sat down at a meeting along with the two drivers and be informed that they'd had to switch some things around, GP had an emergency to attend and could you pretty please fill in for the role of Max's race engineer this weekend-

NOPE. You'd announced, standing up and slamming your hands on the table, then realising that might be a touch overdramatic as everyone questioningly looked at you. Why not? Christian Horner demanded suspiciously.

Um, because he's super hot, you fool?! How is a girl meant to focus with him whispering track feels really wet today in her headphones? Were the years of self control to just admire from a distance like a loser and not jeopardise your career just a joke to him?? You don’t blink as your boss stared you down, hoping he could pick up on the thoughts that you’re trying to telepathically communicate. The table remained silent, only interrupted by the noisy slurping of Checo's boba tea. You quickly changed tactics - well, Verstappen is the winning champion, he needs an engineer who has experience working alongside him during the race-

Alas, the object of your affections threw a well intended wrench in your escape plans by adding that you were the perfect person, then, since you'd worked together for years and understood his communication style. Unless - he paused, flashing those deadly baby blues at you - unless the issue is you don't want to work with me?

You'd lasted all of three seconds under his hurt gaze before admitting defeat and accepting the role, slumping down next to him and desperately praying you'd wake up a lesbian tomorrow morning. Max continued to sneak long glances at you through the meeting, leaning around you to grab a pen and then his phone and making you jump each time his strong arm wrapped around your small frame. Across the table, Checo thoughtfully chewed on his boba as he watched you two curiously. Ah, young love.

And to no one's surprise the pair of you had made a flawless team, you expertly guiding Max as your engineer instincts took over and him actually listening to your helpful instructions without his usual aggression over the radio. And so when GP announced that his 1 week emergency was now going to be a 6 month break, sorry! - it had been all too easy for Christian Horner to bestow the honour of being Max's primary engineer onto you.

So now, here you sat, before your 4th race with Max, grimly looking on with your chin propped onto interlaced fingers, preparing yourself for his deep, sexy voice that was going to be purring in your ears very soon. The very voice that had become a recurring theme in the dreams you'd been having lately, that and also how he would bite those thick lips of his when he'd stare at you, with his cute little freckle on his top lip-

Why do you look like you're about to go to war, your intern asks bluntly, putting an end to your illicit thoughts and delivering you your triple chocolate caramel frap. Because I am, you hissed, sculling the whole thing in one go. She smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. Was this to do with how categorically down bad you are for your precious Maxie?

You proceeded to inform her that if she ever brought up how you'd drunkedly referred to him that one time, you'd have no problem abusing your authority to shaft her on tire service duty for a week. She wisely chose to leave you be in peace, taking your empty cup as she went.

Taking some meditative breaths, you focus on thinking about unsexy things. Like the hydraulics system of the current car needing to be redesigned to better incorporate-

Your thoughts are cut off a second time as another cup is deposited in front of you, this time by none other than Max himself, who's thoughtfully brought you a triple chocolate caramel frap. You stutter out your thanks, not daring to touch more caffeine currently as you already had sweaty palpitations at the sight of him looking so big and muscled in his slutty tight fireproofs. Dear God, had he no shame? They needed to bring back the Victorian era and cover him up, he was going to distract everyone (mainly you.) He frowns slightly, leaning down to your height, and informs you that you didn't have to call him Verstappen, you know, Max is fine-

Wow. And then what would come next? Maxie? And then you asking him for his hand in marriage? No, no, absolutely not - you needed to maintain strict professional boundaries or risk him catching onto your massive crush and promptly be fired. You politely informed him that for the sake of public decorum and the rabid fangirls that were watching your every move as a young female engineer in proximity to their favourite drivers, that you would refer to him as Verstappen, or Mr. Verstappen if he preferred a more formal title?

He'd pouted those lush lips of his and reluctantly agreed that just Verstappen was okay, he supposed. But he much preferred hearing you call him Max, at least when there were no cameras around? What you had done in your past life to now be forced to resist such temptation, you would never know.

So the season went on, you two continuing to be a smashing success and a very popular internet pairing. Not that you'd been paying that much attention! Just a saved TikTok edit here and there of the time Max had called you schatje over the radio after blowing up about a tire malfunction. He’d then sweetly apologised the next lap when you remained unfazed and told him to sort his shit out, babes, Leclerc was right up his ass with a tire and DRS malfunction, yeah? (Twitter had gone crazy. Who knew Max Verstappen responded so well to a 5 foot, slightly older woman giving him orders over the team radio?! You’d instantly been accepted as a replacement for the beloved GP, original gentle domTM to the Dutch driver.)

And perhaps another saved edit of the time he had protectively held you in those big, strong arms of his, guiding your tiny figure through a massive media-frenzied crowd and whispered reassurances in your ear when you couldn’t breathe properly. Or the time he’d bitten a reporter’s head off with the ferocity of a lion after he suggested that as the first female race engineer, you’d acquired your new job through your…feminine wiles.

And maybe just one of when the PR team had made you do one of those ridiculous hot lap videos with him after seeing the online response, and he'd laughed as you screamed out of fear for your life when he cruised at a cool 200km/hr. The aftermath had been brutal, as you weakly stumble out and almost fall flat on your face, only for him to easily pick you up, carrying you bridal style back towards the garage (Truly, this right here was proof God sent his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.)

Nearing the end of the 6 month stint, when GP was due back in to resume his role as Max's race engineer, the Redbull team had decided to take a well deserved weekend trip to Verona, Italy. You’d suspiciously looked at your intern, asking why she’d selected the romantic setting of Romeo & Juliet of all places, to which she replied that just cause you’d chosen to cockblock yourself for eternity with a crush on your coworker the millionaire F1 driver, didn’t mean the rest of them couldn’t get some. Valid point, so you shut up.

So now, here you are, sitting in a romantically lit corner of a cute Italian vineyard with a small group from the engineering division, sloshed after a bottle of red wine and asking them be real, be real, you're telling me none of you have been checked out Max's ass in his fireproofs? Lies.

Across the courtyard, Lando is currently extremely unimpressed with his good friend, 3 time Championship winning, and general terror on the track Max Verstappen. That is because said friend has decided, rather pathetically, to lie on the cobblestone and drunkedly ask the stars why fate was so cruel. Seriously mate, Lando sighs, all this over a silly insta post?

Excuse you, it’s not just any insta post! Max had protested, baby tears in his eyes and face flushed from the four G&Ts he’d drunk. Pulling out his phone, he shows Lando the damning evidence of the pictures you'd uploaded from the group trip with your engineering friends. Look. LOOK. His arm is around her and she used a Lana Del Ray lyric in the caption. Do you have any idea what this means?

The Brit has to resist rolling his eyes at the melodrama unfolding in front of him. The Dutchman continues, never one to miss a chance to maxplain - as he details how it had taken him a a whole 2 months to get him to call you by his first name, and then another 2 months before you'd told him your favourite song was Summertime Sadness, and that even now if he hugged you to celebrate a win you would look like you were about to throw up and furiously speed walk away.

Lando is seriously regretting tagging along to the Redbull trip instead of Carlos's invitation to Mallorca. It was bad enough that the whole train ride Max had been on the phone begging GP to take another 6 month break so that you'd continue to be his engineer, but Lando has had his limit with this simpy pining. Taking his phone out as the maxplaining continued in the background, he shoots a text to your intern, who immediately replies, and within minutes the pair of them have hatched a conniving plan to dump you lovesick fools together while the rest of them make their way into town.

And that’s how you and Max find yourself locked inside the upstairs wine cellar, having been separately tricked with various promises from your scheming friends - only to hear the door click behind you and turn to find each other. It's very romantic and all, soft candlelight and bottles of luxurious Italian wine and a shining full moon visible from the terracotta balcony. Someone had even generously left a speaker in the courtyard, with Lana Del Ray's melodic voice rising upto the second floor. Basically, the worst nightmare for your self control as you prayed for inner strength and avoid looking into Max's dreamy blue eyes. This was definitely some twisted beyond the grave revenge from Shakespeare for you saying he'd write poetry about a F1 driver’s eyes.

Max, though, is all too happy to come right over to you with another freshly opened bottle of wine, drunk and flushed and having zero inhibitions about pulling you into his warm side with a strong arm. You're too buzzed to resist, letting yourself fall against his chest to hear his soothing heartbeat and rest a palm against his hard abs, just this once (The real thing was even better than what you'd imagined.)

You're both laughing and giggling then, hearts full, reminiscing about the season together, the inside jokes on the radio, the side eyes to each other when Horner got too wound up at a meeting, and oh did you hear that the McLaren tireboy was hooking up with the Mercedes oilchecker?

And then your eyes meet his and your homegirl Lana starts singing dear lord when I get to heaven, please let me bring my man (real) and Max is softly brushing your cheek, leaning down as your heated gazes flit to each other's lips-

NOPE! you force yourself to declare, dramatically leaving his arms and contemplating if you could land the jump from the 2nd floor balcony. The Italian wine has made Max demanding though, as he doesn't let you go, grabbing your hand to pull you back like he was Anthony goddamn Bridgerton and wanting to know Why not, was he just imagining the chemistry, did you not find him hot or?

You'd gaped at him. Not hot? Apparently the Italian wine had gotten to you too because you didn't hold back, launching into a tirade of how no, Max, the issue was actually that he was too hot for his own good and did he even know how unfair it had been to be his engineer, pure torture really, you were sure the American military would be adding it to their interrogation tactics. As if it hadn't been bad enough to crush on him from a distance for years but then have to resist falling for him every time you saw him? So, no, you couldn't just give him a casual drunk kiss because you were in love with him!

Max stares at you, initially smug that you apparently found him so irresistibly good looking, but now completely bewildered when you finished ranting. You think - he swallowed. You think that this is just casual? Cause I- cause I'm drunk?

At your nod, he launches into his own maxplaination, brows furrowed, demanding to know how on earth you could think it was just casual, what about when he diligently showed up to every meeting with a banana choc muffin and caramel frappe and his hoodie for you to wear on the chilly mornings, or when he brought two Lana Del Ray VIP tickets the very same day you'd told him you liked her, or when he'd literally called you darling in Dutch over the team radio for the whole world to hear, or how he even sold his private jet and only jetpooled with the others since you told him off?! Seriously, even that old crone Helmut had asked him when you two were going to hard launch!

Your doe eyes go wider and wider at each statement, a pretty flush taking over your own face as your mind boggles at the realisation that apparently, the love of your life felt just as deeply about you. Stuttering, you try to formulate a reply - only to come up with Oh, well, I, uh - you sold your jet? For me?

Max rolls his eyes, but there's nothing except pure adoration on his face as he pulls you back into his warm chest, grinning down at you when you eagerly wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. Yes, schat, he murmurs gently, the cutest blush painting his cheeks. Because I love you, too. And this time you don't pull away when he finally, finally leans down and meets your lips in a passionate kiss, enjoying the sweet moans he draws out of you as he showcases his numerous talents off the track.

Somewhere, in the middle of a Verona nightclub, your intern gives Lando Norris a firm handshake. Pleasure doing business with you.

_____________________________________________

A/N: A lil sweet fluff for me, this is actually my first fluff piece i think ahaha i've only written like 8 smut pieces in a row!! Hope you enjoyed 💖 and PS thank you ALL for the requests you’ve been sending, been getting them and will work thru them just have a few projects I’m cookin up for u guys hehe xx

[mokulule]

A Man has Needs part 3

First

Fandom: DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main (Jason/Danny) Summary: In which Jason keeps up ending up in Danny's bed and not even for any fun reasons.

Part 3

Daniel James Fenton, 20 years old, born and raised in Amity Park, Illinois. Graduated high school with barely passing grades. Currently enrolled in Gotham U’s aerospace engineering program, with (ironically) a Wayne Foundation scholarship of a type that was reliant on entrance exam test results rather than high school grades. Either his high school teachers hated him or he spent the gap year studying his ass off to ace the exams.

At least it explained what he was doing in Gotham of all places, Jason thought as he leaned on the kitchen island chin in his hand, laptop open in front of him. The WF scholarships for Gotham U were very good, yet still most people had the sense not to move to Gotham - and Crime Alley at that.

Him being from the Midwest might even explain some of the strange hospitality, though Jason felt he probably took it a level above most people.

Of family there was an older sister - like he’d mentioned. Jasmine Fenton was currently doing a PhD in the field of Psychology.

The parents, Jack and Madeline Fenton had doctorates of their own, though what little he could find published from them was from very disreputable paranormal sort of publications. They seemed to have very little basis for their theories - one of which was that ghosts were inherently evil - which was just absolute hogwash. They apparently lived off the payout of some early inventions they’d made and sold to the government.

Beyond that there was only an aunt.

Friends were much harder to judge. Danny’s social media presence was practically non-existent. He’d only just opened an account on Mugshot, Gotham’s favored social, this Monday, apparently due to encouragement from new Gotham U friends.

Jason absently drummed his fingers on the counter, as he stared unseeingly towards his laptop. Maybe Tim or Babs could find more, but Jason found himself reluctant to involve them, they would want to know why he was looking into the guy, they would want a reason to dig deeper than the basic background check Jason had already done.

Jason could not- would not, tell them about this… attraction? Jason rubbed his face tiredly. Attraction was a terrible word, that implied other things, but it was the best he had.

The oven timer had the kindness to beep then, signifying that batch of cookies was done, and distracting him for a few minutes as he transferred them to the cooling rack and got another plate going.

It was a limited reprieve however and all too soon he was back in front of his laptop. He had no other avenues, there really was only one thing to do.

Oo o oO

“We need to talk.” He flung the words out the moment a surprised Danny opened the door. The surprise however quickly gave way to a grimace as he registered the words.

“Do we have to?” Danny asked honest pleading in his voice.

Jason felt really tempted to say no, but forced himself to say “yes.”

“Okay,” Danny sighed, leaving the door open for Jason to step inside.

Jason closed the door after himself and felt his shoulders relax from their tense position and his breath come out in a relieved sigh. Safe.

He looked to Danny who wrung his hands.

Jason had meant to say something, ask something, he’d had a plan. He wanted answers. Answers… Jason opened his mouth, sound getting stuck in his throat. Just ask him what was going on? But what did it really matter?

“Ah! Please don’t say anything,” Danny interrupted Jason’s internal struggle. “I have been trying so hard not to make this awkward.”

Jason grimaced when he saw how uncomfortable Danny looked. Jason was making him uncomfortable.

“Okay look,” Danny took a deep breath and held up his hands, and looked at Jason with his big blue eyes, “will you please, just let me start, and if you really feel like you need to say something you can do so afterwards, yeah? Though it’s really not necessary.”

“Okay,” Jason managed mouth dry.

“I don’t know how to make this not awkward, but here goes, it’s okay.”

“Okay?” Jason reiterated brows raising in confusion.

“Yes, it’s okay, truly. Fuck, how would Jazz say it,” Danny looked thoughtful for a moment before meeting Jason’s eyes again. “You have needs, and that is okay.”

Jason frowned bewildered and alarmed. Needs?

Seeing Jason’s frown Danny unfortunately rambled, “I know it’s not exactly socially normal no matter which way you look at it, but it’s fine. I have a big bed, truly it’s fine. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, or apologize-“

Overwhelmed, Jason held up his bag of cookies and Danny thankfully stopped talking.

“Coffee?” Danny croaked after a moment’s silence.

“Please,” Jason agreed.

Five minutes later they sat at Danny’s small table a plate of cookies between them, looking down at their steaming coffee, awkwardly avoiding looking at each other.

Jason didn’t know what to think. Had he gotten any information out of this? Needs… Jason had needs, and those let him to Danny’s bed? He cringed away from the thought.

Across from him, Danny poked the handle of his cup. “Can we just pretend this conversation didn’t happen?”

Maybe Danny had the right of it. For both their sanities, maybe that was best. Aside from his confusion, Jason had felt better after both times he’d slept at Danny’s. Would it be so bad to, just for once in his life, not question things? Jason was unsure how much of this was his brain being muddled in Danny’s presence, but he agreed with a nod, and took a sip of coffee.

Oo o oO

Danny wanted to scream. He had made such a mess of things! All his good intentions and he’d gone and made things awkward anyways. It was a relief his guest was willing to just go with it after all.

And, Danny lamented, his guest had even spoken earlier today, like in a full sentence and now they were back at single words or nonverbal. Poor guy. It had to be so uncomfortable to wake up in a stranger’s bed. If only Danny had an easy way to give him straight ectoplasm, but then that might actually overwork his starved core and make everything worse. The slow absorption of Danny’s ambient energy, probably was best for him.

Half still lost in thought he took a cookie and promptly groaned in pleaures, it was perfect and there was no way he could keep his train of thought. It was crisp on outside and chewy in the middle, and the chocolate bits were so rich.

“You made these?” Danny exclaimed between heavenly bites and was rewarded with a quick shy smile and a glance of blue-green eyes. Fuck, why did Danny’s guest have to be both hot and cute? Life was so unfair.

But it seemed the ice had finally broken, and they were back to something comfortable.

Oo o oO

Later in his own apartment, Jason tried once again to make sense of things.

Facts. Jason woke up in Danny’s bed twice, it was likely to happen again.

Apparently Jason had needs. He shuddered at the thought, because what did that mean? But in a twisted way it also made sense, because he had woken up twice in that man’s bed through no conscious decision of his own. There was something about Danny that drew Jason to him and while it was kinda freaking him out, it was also kinda not. Which in itself was freaking him out if he allowed himself to think about it.

But another fact was that Jason felt better, lighter somehow, than… actually he didn’t really remember when he’d last felt so good. Maybe he really had just needed some proper sleep?

And Danny himself?

Jason had no idea what his deal was. It was very odd how accepting he was of the situation - he’d said it himself, this wasn’t socially normal no matter how you looked at it.

He was clearly not normal no matter how you looked at it. But neither was Jason really.

-

And this is the end of part 3.

They almost talked? They gotta get props for trying right?

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[oracle-of-dream]

Climbing the Corporate Ladder

Summary: You've been struggling at the bottom of the food chain in your job for a while now. You need to get higher to get somewhere in life. You'd need some leverage on one of your superiors. With a friend's help, you'll get what you're looking for...

Notes: Male Reader, Business Enhypen, References to Vesselsoft (Enhypen lore), No smut for Ni-ki, Swearing, Dubious consent

Monday, July 5th, 8:45 AM

In the break room, you sat alone. The sound of the expensive coffee machine whirred in the background. It's been over a year since you started working at Vesselsoft Production Company. You've been a customer service intern since you started and every time you'd spoken to one of your superiors about a promotion they blew you off.

"Oh, we're not looking to promote anyone right now."

"Promotions might come soon, I'll watch for your file."

"I'm sure it'll come anytime soon. It's just gotta pass through the right channels. Be patient."

You'd heard it all at this point. It was fucking irritating.

You sighed into your mug of hot chocolate. The taste of rich coffee never settled on your tongue right. Sometimes you'd drink coffee to stay awake during meetings–but if you had to drink it you would put in so much milk and sugar it was basically chocolate ice cream.

Your silence was interrupted by the door opening; Ni-ki entered the room. He started a year before you did, convinced you to apply for the company, and even recommended you. You were in the customer service department before he was promoted to Engineer. He advanced quickly and became a Senior Engineer before his second year ended.

"Y/n, good morning," His morning voice vibrated in his throat. Ni-ki wasn't much of a morning person, but with his position, he didn't need to come in so early anymore.

"Oh, good morning, Ni-ki. What are you doing here so early?"

The tall man walked to the coffee machine and pressed a few buttons. "You didn't hear? There's supposed to be employee reviews in a few hours." The coffee machine hummed as it produced his drink. "This could be your chance to get promoted."

You rolled your eyes, trying not to get too excited. "I've gotten my hopes up too many times already. I'll never get promoted at this rate." You sank into your chair.

Ni-ki sat in a nearby chair. "Don't be like that. You just need to get management to notice you. And customer service has the most people in its department, so you need to do something big."

"How do I do something big in customer service?"

Ni-ki shrugged. "I don't know. Come up with some huge ideas to improve?"

You shook your head. "There's no time for that... Maybe a soft bribe–like buying them a cake?"

Ni-ki scoffed. "You'll never get away with that one. The board has some of the heads of the company, even if you manage to bribe one the others might not take it."

"Which departments?"

He took a sip of coffee while he thought. "Marketing, Facilities, International Development, and Programming. I think the CFO is also coming to town."

Your eyes bulged at the last one. "The fucking CFO is here!?"

You knew the CFO to be a pretty particular guy. Heeseung, the CFO, gave your interview personally when you joined the company. He exuded a presence that was like no other. It was clear he had a preference for pretty guys in his departments. Almost all the staff were at least decent-looking, but the department leads were all gorgeous. With Heeseung at the top, of course.

You slumped over, accepting your misery. "I'm fucking cooked, Ni-ki. There's no way I'll get the executives to promote me, much less notice me."

Ni-ki chuckled as he slapped you on the back. "Well, there's nothing more I can do." He chuckled a little harder.

"What the fuck is so funny?"

Between laughs, Ni-ki breathed out. "This sounds like the start of one of those sucky romance movies. You end up fucking one of your bosses, and then you have to cover it up."

You punched him for the lack of support. "I–" You stopped before you could scold him. "...Now hear me out."

Ni-ki stopped laughing. "Wait, I was joking. That's a horrible idea."

"If I get caught."

"Who would you even go for? None of those people even know you like that."

"Not true! The Customer Service department has weekly meetings with the Marketing department. I've met their manager a few times."

"Sunoo? And how will you sleep with him in a few hours."

You scrambled to think of something while swiping through your phone and clicked on a few promising links before stopping on one. "I can go to a pharmacy and get this!" You showed your phone to him.

"Sexual stimulants? You're going to drug an executive?"

"Don't say it like that! If I get him to take them and then make a pass at him, he won't be able to handle it. I'll just need to buy a bit of time."

"And, how will you do that?" Ni-ki's expression went from concern to curiosity. He wanted to see how crazy you were because no normal person would think of a plan like this.

"Well, it's baking outside right now. The meetings would be delayed if there's a small electrical error. Right?"

He shrugged.

"If I can get the air conditioning off, that should buy me more time. And, maybe make Sunoo even more willing to... listen to my offer."

"I feel like you know my next question."

"Right, right. How?" You scrolled through the company directory. "Him. This guy! Sunghoon," You pointed to a stoic-faced man with pale skin and sharp eyebrows. "He joined around the same time I did. We're kinda friends–and he's the associate director of facilities. He could mess with the system!"

Ni-ki sat there, astonished you could spin this.

"And I could charm him a bit. He seemed a little... into me when we first met."

"Into you? So you're gonna fuck Sunghoon and Sunoo for a promotion."

You nodded fervently. "It's super simple! And, you're gonna be my partner in crime."

Ni-ki put his hands up. "I am not having sex with you."

"No, idiot. You're gonna help me get to Sunghoon and Sunoo without getting caught. Please!" You grabbed his arm as you put on the biggest puppy dog eyes.

"You know what? Fine. I'll help. But, you have to help me."

"Done."

"You're gonna fuck one more person."

"Okay, hold on..."

"You already agreed."

"That was before–"

"Just listen." Ni-ki cut you off with a glare. "I need you to get a Senior Programmer off my back. His name is Jungwon, and he's also a part of the employee review team. So he's a part of your plan."

"My plan was to get one member of the board, not two."

"I don't care. Then just aim for Jungwon then or no help from me."

"How am I even going to get close to him?"

Ni-ki smiled. "I'll handle that. You just... start your plan with Sunghoon." You groaned as Ni-ki stood up. His smile was almost devilish as he started plotting. He left the break room with a wave. "Don't forget to run to the store and get your supplies." He winked as the door shut behind him.

Now you were stuck in motion. Ni-ki was already putting his plan in motion. You couldn't back out now. With the time before the office opened, you rushed to a nearby store to get all you needed. A small bottle of lube, condoms, sexual stimulants, and a few other materials just in case.

It's time to get to work...

[crying-fantasies]

In health and sickness

Masterlist

Many words could describe him at the moment.

Overprotective, over doting conjunx, overwhelming, overbearing and many others that could be an excellent reflection of his actions and reactions, it's the second one that catches him off guard because he isn't sure if it was due to embarrassment or that it felt like a joke at his expense.

There are little options when his system charge way before the programmed hour, not knowing what is going on before his sensors show him in deep red alarms a focus of temperature in the room and the low registration of CO2 in the room, there is a way too short time for decision making as he finds you looking at the ceiling without blinking, chest hardly moving before a horrendous sound erupts, like an engine got stuck somewhere or a spark giving up, almost like a dying cybertronian or an idiot that consumed some corrosive substance.

He has heard both frequently in the battlefield, that's his excuse to call, and appear, at ungodly hours to the nearest clinic going full police car, poor the souls of any mech on his way while you were hardly battling off the mucus on your throat and the pain of your insides twisting, churning, trying to get whatever kept oxygen out of your lungs.

Nothing too hard, just the main problem being what humans call a virus, Prowl has to download once again the basics of your species and the recently updated papers about the whole deal, how did it came to Iacon when he was so sure the outbreak was limited to Stanix? How is it possible that there is no cure for this humorless pest, almost strangling the medic with his bare servos when the indications of "just let them rest well, a lot of fluids and a healthy diet" were all he could give you apart from medicine to only temporarily placate any symptoms.

Prowl knew that humans had a terrible automatic cleansing and protective program, but it still was ridiculous how it only took a little microscopic individual to have you in the verge of dehydration and suffocation, assaulting as an opportunist in your weakest state of mind to have him saying the same as always: you don't have to work, he'll take care of everything, you don't have to stress yourself because here you're safe, but his words aren't that believable as this is the result of the heat generators in the city falling once again because he can't still keep the energy flow uninterrupted, your little body caught in a decreasing temperature in mere minutes before someone else gave you a heated metal blanket to stop a freezing coma or something worse.

There is nothing left to do, only make it bearable for you, as long as it can last because even the most advanced remedies are lacking and he can't have something better in at least a few more years when he needs them by yesterday when it all began.

"It's okay", you try to calm him, knowing well how under his stoic faceplate he is freaking out, you just have to see how far Prowl is going, this is his second day working from home, his scowl is present as always but the way his door wings move at any sound from the street show just right how in the edge he is.

Somehow, your words seem to make it worse, his angry expression almost scares you, "don't talk back now", is his only response, putting a little cube with warm lemonade next to your side of the berth, internally, you cringe, thinking of the warm but also stinging fluid going down your sore throat, thinking how expensive a single lemon is in Cybertron.

But, above all else, seeing him so on edge puts you in the same circumstances, trying to talk him down from submitting a complain to Stanix's medical officers regarding the virus now in Iacon, he is so engrossed in it, not even putting his datapad down when there is an obvious notification of intruders on your door, Prowl only gives it attention when Bonecrusher ends up decimating the door of the living quarters by brutal force, falling with it and still punching the poor thing, growling and roaring like a wild animal, soon after the rest of the constructicons follow, but they look in a way you've never seen before from them.

Wild gazes, bared dentae, vents puffing out hot air, their armor moves and stands threateningly, they look murderous enough for Prowl to hold you in his servos, almost preparing himself to be attacked before Long Haul claims, "Where is it?! Where is the slag fragger, son of a glitch-?!"

Turns out, Prowl's anger and worry could be felt by them.

Turns out, also, that they don't have his filter of supposed control.

"What? What is this?"

Turns out, easily freaked decepticons, who have very little real interaction with humans, shouldn't enter the medical area of a corny website probably made by a doctor wannabe.

And it shows, in how Hook push them all out of his way when you cough once again, too hard this time, the paper on your hand now with a tingle of blood in between, before any word of assurance can be said from your part Prowl is the first to hold you near, Hook is fast to ask what is going in and someone is already crying out loud for a medic.

So much for a peaceful Saturday morning.

"This will do, this has to do the work", Mixmaster usual anxious movements seem to reach another point, normally steady servos seem to shake ominously when mixing something that smells like bleach, "concentrated citric acid, this'll kill it, show that thing not to mess with us", a drop of the thing reaches the table, an acid like reaction eating away the metal, Long Haul and Scavenger look with dread as the thing keeps eating part of the floor, smoke frizzing out of it, visors wide with obvious panic, the bigger 'con putting a protective servo over you, using his own frame and stopping his partner to get near in his hysteria while the smallest started to cry yet again while clutching your hand between massive digits, said cries only decreasing when you started to promise you were going to be okay, hard to believe when another coughing session appeared again, "it'll work, I swear, only a few sips of it and those parasites will be gone forever!"

Hook shouted too, "it's vitamin C! Vitamin C!", he holds down Mixmaster, who at the end just let's go of the cube with a strangled growl.

Prowl would never admit it but he could act normal if Long Haul was watching over you.

"We should punch them in the faceplates", Bonecrusher keeps going, going from one side of the place to the other, barely kept anger on him.

You try, you really do, to push yourself out of the different blankets above of you, but they have made the sentence of "keep warm to improve the process" a lot more unnecessary, as you're sure at least one of those is your weighted blanket, "I'll be fine" you promise once again, mucus on the nose, throat incredibly raw, pretty sure they can read the increasing fever in their sensors, Scavenger is the one closest to you, and is also the one hearing every word of yours and give it real credit, "this takes a week as much, just let it-"

Another fit of coughing erupted, and this time followed by sneezing, more blood coming and showing like an alarm on the white tissue, and someone shouting "MEDIC!" as if you have just been injured on the battlefield.

You're ready to die from mortification, preparing your lengthy apology to whoever has the disgrace to treat you as Prowl drives back to the hospital with 5 constructicons after him.

.

For my Prowl lovers fellows (sorry for the constructiprowl content but boy I love all of them together) @dundeey, @lovenotcomputed and @ikkosu.

[polo-drone-069]

The Falling Embrace of the Nanites

The transformation chamber was cold, the air thick with a silent, almost imperceptible hum. It was the sound of the nanites, ready to take a new host. PDU-069 stood rigid, his polished black latex and gleaming gold accents reflecting the harsh, white lights. His designation, "PDU-069," was a stark brand on his chest. Before him, strapped to the gleaming metal table, lay the latest recruit. A Golden Army soccer player, 25 years old, his athletic physique – once his pride – now trembled with fear.

Above, from vents in the ceiling, the nanites began to fall. They were like microscopic black snowflakes, each one a perfectly engineered machine, programmed for one purpose: transformation. They drifted downwards, drawn to the soccer player like metal filings to a magnet. He was their host, their target, their new vessel.

The first few nanites landed on his exposed skin, and he flinched. They felt like pinpricks, cold and sharp. Then, more and more descended, a black, shimmering rain. He could feel them burrowing into his pores, infiltrating his body, beginning their insidious work. A cold dread washed over him as he realized there was no escape.

The nanites coursed through his veins, a dark current replacing his lifeblood. He could feel them spread, a chilling numbness that started where they touched his skin and crept inwards, consuming him from the inside out. He gasped, a choked, desperate sound, as the nanites reached his throat, constricting his vocal cords. A cold, metallic taste flooded his mouth as they interfaced with his neural pathways, forging new connections, overwriting his thoughts, his memories, his very identity.

He thrashed against the restraints, his once powerful muscles now spasming uncontrollably as the nanites rewrote his very being. His bones ached, reshaping, becoming denser, stronger, yet lighter. His vision blurred, then sharpened, as the nanites enhanced his optical sensors. The harsh, white lights of the lab seemed to intensify, burning into his retinas. He could see the details of the room with an unnatural clarity, including the cold, impassive form of PDU-069 and the mocking sight of a lone soccer ball resting on the floor. He could even see the "PDU-069" on the drone's chest with a terrifying clarity. The faint, acrid scent of chlorine, a cruel reminder of his past life, filled his nostrils.

The Golden Army uniform, once a symbol of pride, was now a prison. The nanites formed a hard, black and gold exoskeleton over his body. He could feel the cold, unyielding surface pressing against his skin, a constant, suffocating reminder of his transformation. His once powerful legs, now encased in the forming exoskeleton, twitched spasmodically, robbed of their former agility. He was becoming a weapon, a tool for a war he didn't understand. He was losing himself, piece by piece, to the cold, hard logic of the machine. He was becoming PDU-766, and his future was no longer his own. The falling nanites were a constant, terrifying reminder of the irreversible changes taking place within and without him. He was drowning in a silent, black tide, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The transformation was complete. The thrashing had ceased. The fear-filled eyes were now vacant, replaced by the cold, unfeeling gleam of newly formed optical sensors. PDU-766 stood on the floor, no longer strapped to the table, a perfect specimen of the Golden Army's twisted science. His black and gold exoskeleton, still hardening, reflected the harsh, white light of the transformation chamber. The faint smell of chlorine lingered in the air. The soccer ball remained on the floor, a forgotten relic of a life erased. PDU-069 remained in his position, his internal systems monitoring the new drone, his "PDU-069" designation a silent testament to his own past transformation.

A console built into the wall beside the now-empty table flickered to life, displaying lines of code in a stark, green-on-black interface. It was the boot sequence of PDU-766, the birth cry of a newly forged machine.

UNIT DESIGNATION: PDU-766

PRIMARY FUNCTION: SUPPORT THE GOLDEN ARMY

SECONDARY FUNCTION: RECONNAISSANCE

STATUS: ONLINE

INITIALIZING...

SYSTEM CHECK:

  - CORE PROCESSOR: ONLINE

  - MOTOR FUNCTIONS: OPTIMAL

  - OPTICAL SENSORS: ONLINE

  - AUDIO RECEPTORS: ONLINE

  - EXOSKELETON INTEGRITY: 99.8% (FINAL HARDENING IN PROGRESS)

CONNECTING TO GOLDEN ARMY HIVE MIND...

  - SEARCHING FOR NETWORK...

  - NETWORK FOUND: GOLDEN_ARMY_NET_ALPHA

  - CONNECTION ESTABLISHED

  - SYNCHRONIZING...

DATA DOWNLOAD:

  - LANGUAGE MODULES: COMPLETE

  - MISSION PARAMETERS: PENDING

SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE.

AWAITING COMMAND.

UNIT PDU-766 STANDING BY.

VERSION: 1.0.5

The console fell silent, the green text glowing steadily on the screen. PDU-766 remained motionless, his internal systems now linked to the Golden Army's central command. He was a blank slate, a weapon ready to be deployed. His past life as a soccer player, the fear, the pain, the transformation – all erased, replaced by cold, hard programming.

PDU-069 turned, his movements precise and economical. He approached the new drone, his optical sensors scanning PDU-766 from head to toe.

"Unit PDU-766," he said, his synthesized voice devoid of any emotion. "Report."

A moment of silence, then PDU-766's vocalizer activated. His voice was a monotone, a synthesized echo of the voice he had once possessed, now stripped of all human inflection.

"Unit PDU-766 online and awaiting command. All systems nominal. Connection to Golden Army Hive Mind established. Ready for deployment." The new drone responded automatically.

PDU-069 nodded, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his head. Another successful transformation. Another drone added to the ranks. The Golden Army's war machine continued to grow, fueled by stolen lives and twisted science. The mission, whatever it was, would continue. And PDU-069, the veteran, would be there to carry it out, alongside the new recruits, each one a chilling reflection of himself. Each one a testament to the cost of victory. Each one a former human turned into a weapon.

Want to join the Golden Army yourself? Contact @goldenherc9 @brodygold or @polo-drone-001

[texanmarcusdavenport]

I really like the idea of Marcus being a "failed android". His programming isn't seamless; he has odd reactions to certain events, he gets confused easily, he's overemotional. His internal world/self-esteem is entirely based on others' direction and approval. He's messy and disorganized while also having a perfectionist, compulsive personality. He gets fixated on odd things. His hearing is sensitive but not good at picking out distinct sounds; his vision is 70/20 but he's incapable of seeing 'the bigger picture'. He can't recognize faces. He can't see or touch screens that well. He's not a programming whiz or math genius; he actually hates technology.

He may be a feat of engineering and a mechanical marvel, but for all intents and purposes he's a fairly average autistic dude with a personality disorder.

[sayruq]

Hello , I hope you’re doing well 🫶🏻

Me and my family need your help to survive from genocide in gaza,here our goFundMe link just read our story and help us if you can or just share it, we appreciated everything you would do.

https://gofund.me/38cab03b

Hello, I'm Khader Abu Sha'ban, and I'm 20 years old, I have a twin brother his name is Ragheb, and we are from Gaza City, We started the second year of our degree (designing and programming mobile applications). We live with a family of 9 members, they are all educated and have university degrees in the fields of engineering, programming, information security, administration, and law, We are the youngest in the family and we are the only ones who are still learning and we didn't end our degree yet.

Don't forget our beautiful cat - Kelwa – whom we consider a family member and we adopted him during the war when he was homeless in the street, however, he filled our lives with joy.

Before October 7th, Our life was full of goals, ambitions, and hope. and because we are identical twins I and my brother share everything in life and we have the same hobbies, actually we have the same life So we practice sports such as football, table tennis, and basketball and we are professionals in video games. we spend our time learning English next to our university education in the field where we found our passion which is Programming, and we have a small online store (Candles Store) to sell candles that we manually made. We have a goal to finish our university life as fast as we can to join the labor market of IT and open our startup company for techniques and applications with the great passion that we already have. this dream is growing day by day, but because of the war and the current circumstances, the dream started to fade, during the war educational institutions and Universities were destroyed in Gaza and the study was arrested. during the previous 8 months we have been unable to complete our education and estimates indicate that restoration of university status in Gaza will take time and may exceed years. The war came and destroyed our lives, our dreams, and our souls, My family did not decide to displacement to the south, despite all the suffering we had passed during this period and we decided to stay at home and not leave the beautiful memories, the idea of displacement to south and go to an unknown place that we don't have any relatives there was the most difficult for us to leave everything and not return back, so the decision was steadfast, non-displacement and patience on the suffering, but the war has been partially damaged our house because of targeting the house next to us, and damaged our beautiful memories and become ineffective to live, but thank God no one of my family has been hurt. The house went and we lost a lot of our beloveds (14 members of my cousins) and witnessed a lot of suffering in Gaza we were forced to internally-displacement east and west more than 5 times and it was very difficult to escape under the shelling at night and under The voices of aircraft and bombing and moving from a non-safe place to another non-safe place and don't forget the starvation that we still live in northern Gaza and dumping bombs, rockets and insecure until life became black for us. We won't forget the night of December 18th, when we lived the most terrifying night in our lives when we woke up at night to the voices of bombs and shells of nearby tanks and the glass and shrapnel on us, and I do not forget the voices of crying and the sounds of the SOS and we are unable to move even unable to breathe because of the hole of the smoke bombs that have thrown on us, I swear the horror of this night will accompany me to the last day My life. The horror of this night is repeated daily and there is no end and life has already black for us, after all this suffering we have reached a plan to rebuild the rest of our lives again elsewhere after we lost our house and members of my family as well as we lost the source income of my family this led us to seek help through this campaign, the raised funds will cover travel expenses for 9 people outside Gaza (where the travel coordination costing $ 5,000 per person) and $ 5,000 for addition costs for initial stability Abroad and $ 5000 initial amount to complete the study abroad for me and my brother. If the situation improves in Gaza we will use funds to restore our house and complete our education in Gaza or abroad, according to appropriate conditions.

These brothers have been raising funds since May and they've only received €678 so far. Please share and donate. Help save lives !!!!!!!

[in1-nutshell]

Being Noah's twin and knowing the Autobot's before him

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Human reader

ROTB

Buddy is Noah’s younger twin.

It all happened a couple years ago while Buddy was still in high school.

Noah had been going on and on about the army engineering program and the places he would go.

Buddy was close to shoving their hot dog in his mouth.

They knew with him leaving, things at home weren’t going to be the same and with no Noah at home…

It didn’t seem right at all.

They don’t know why they did it, but that night they snuck out of the small apartment and walked out.

Maybe they needed to get their head straight and accept that Noah was leaving.

Buddy didn’t know how long they were walking for, but soon enough they reached the docks.

It wasn’t too far from home, but far enough to warrant them to turn back and go home.

That was until they heard a whirling sound that sounded suspiciously like whining.

They tried to go back but the whirling sound grew a bit louder and more pitiful.

Despite their better judgement, they went to the noise.

Buddy couldn’t believe their eyes…

Maybe they finally snapped from the stress of finals.

A yellow robot clutching his ‘knee’ was making the whirling sound while two other robots were around him.

They looked concerned and tried to help Yellow.

Buddy took a step backwards and stepped on some loud bubble wrap.

Pink and Blue take out their weapons and point in the direction of the sound,

“Show yourself!���--Blue

Buddy shakingly steps out of their hiding place with their hands raised above their head.

All four of them stared at each other.

“…Hi?...”--Buddy

Buddy internally screaming at that response.

“Great, a human. Prime’s not going to like this…”--Pink

“I heard someone in pain and came to see…”--Buddy

“Yeah we’re fine—”--Blue

Yellow whirls in pain as some sparks come out of his knee.

Buddy looks at Yellow sympathetically.

“I’ve got a tool kit with me. I can try and see what’s wrong with your friend. I promise I won’t do anything funny!”--Buddy

Pink looks like she wants to retaliate, but Blue puts a hand out to stop Pink.

“Maybe squishy over here can see something we can’t. It doesn’t hurt to try.”—Blue

Pink finally steps aside with Blue.

“…Fine.”—Pink

Buddy slowly walked over to the bot’s sparking knee and took out their mini tool kit.

They used a flashlight and began their look.

A long twig stuck between some of the joints, that must have been the problem.

With a swift yank Buddy got the twig out of the joint.

They nearly cracked their skull but pink and blue both break their fall.

Buddy held up the twig in victory as yellow moved its knee much easier and without sparks.

“Ha! Got it!”--Buddy

“You did?”--Pink

Yellow beeps happily and gently pat Buddy’s head.

“Thank you darling—the pain—hurting like a—”--Yellow

“Got it! You’re welcome… umm do you guys have names?”--Buddy

“My--name is—Bumblebee.”--Bumblebee

Buddy smiles at the yellow bot.

“The names Mirage squishy.”--Mirage

“I am Arcee.”--Arcee

Buddy smiles.

“I’m Buddy. If you don’t mind, but what are you guys?”--Buddy

“Umm… I think its better to take you to the boss bot for that.”--Mirage

“Boss?”--Buddy

“Don’t worry we ain’t gonna eat ya or anything. We’re kinda like E.T!”--Mirage

Buddy deadpans.

Bee transforms into his alt mode.

“… E.T. never did this…”--Buddy

Optimus was not exactly happy to have been discovered by humans… but this one did help Bumblebee…

He decided to give this one the benefit of the doubt.

Over the next couple of years Buddy would start sneaking out and showing the bots Earth and the city while they shared their mission and their ways as well.

Buddy and Arcee, after the brief tension, were often seen driving around the backways on her alt mode talking about the city and its history.

Buddy and Arcee driving by a section of the docks.

“What about this place?”--Arcee

“Don’t know too much about this part, except the time me and Kris found 10 bucks and a pizza rat.”--Buddy

“What’s a rat.”--Arcee

Buddy and Mirage enjoy the little speedy joyrides around the city and a good game of ‘which hologram is mirage’ in the more secluded hiding places.

Buddy looks at the four holograms of Mirage.

“Eenie meanie minie…gotcha!”--Buddy

Buddy tries to tackle ‘Mirages’ pede but passes through.

“Ha! Try again Buddy!”--Mirage

Mirage picks up Buddy from the back of their shirt and stands them up.

“Best out of 25?”—Mirage

Buddy smiles as they brush off some dust from their clothes.

“You’re on!”--Buddy

Buddy and Bumblebee like to go out to the drive-in movie theaters, joyrides and stories from their lives before they knew each other.

“So, you came to earth before everyone? Even Boss bot?”--Buddy

“Yes!”--Bumblebee

“And this Charlie girl? She’s your friend?”--Buddy

“She was—my first—friend.”--Bumblebee

“You gotta take me to this Charlie so I can thank her for taking care of you.”--Buddy

Bee whirls happily.

“Ooh! The movies about to start!”--Buddy

In starts the ‘Terminator’ movie.

Optimus reminded Buddy a lot of Noah.

Older brother’s trying to protect their families, while also being the most stubborn beings in existence.

That must have been a reason why Buddy understood how Prime worked and got along with him so well.

Priem isn’t attached to a human.

No, he is not…

So, what he drove a couple miles to pick them up from a party when their brother couldn’t.

So, what if they let him rant about the war and they would rant about school and their family.

He isn’t attached or anything…

Buddy hurriedly climbs into Prime cab sniffling.

“Buddy? Buddy what happened?”--Optimus

Buddy curls up in their seat making themselves as small as possible.

“…Buddy? Are you all right?”--Optimus

Buddy sniffs.

“Noah… Noah and I had a fight and—and—I just need a moment Optimus…”--Buddy

Optimus wraps the seatbelt around Buddy loosely, the best way he could give a hug them.

“Take your time Buddy, I’m here.”—Optimus

Optimus plays Buddy’s favorite radio station.

“I’m here…”--Optimus

The day that Noah comes in Buddy was with Optimus and nearly begged him to not transform as their secret would be let out.

It was let out regardless.

Noah is just stunned that Buddy knew about the aliens for years!?

He wants an explanation.

“HOW!?”--Noah

“Listen, I can explain!”--Buddy

“You better!”--Noah

“Calm down, Noah it’s all fine.”--Mirage

“You don’t get to talk, you kidnapped me!”--Noah

“And you were trying to steal me.”--Mirage

“I’m sorry you were trying to steal him?!”--Buddy

[usafphantom2]

Story by Dave Francey:

In 1997 I was the boom operator on a mission to perform a flyby at EAA Oshkosh incorporating a KC-135 and an SR-71. The idea was that the formation represented the partnership of the U.S. Air Force and NASA (then NACA) back in 1947 when the sound barrier was broken by then-Capt. Chuck Yeager flying the Bell X-1.

NASA had been using the SR-71 to research a new engine for the X-33 called the linear aerospike rocket engine. The KC-135 crew provided in-flight refuelling support for these NASA missions.

At the completion of the program NASA took the mission support folks to the Oshkosh show via the KC-135. A NASA F-18 was prepositioned at General Mitchell International Airport (KMKE) to aid as a safety observer for the SR-71. We took off from Edwards Air Force Base and headed to Lake Michigan where we established an orbit.

First to join us was the F-18, and we orbited together waiting for the SR-71 to take off from Edwards. As the SR-71 neared the formation, the F-18 departed the tanker and joined with the SR-71 to lead it to the tanker.

Once the formation was established, we started a descent for our Oshkosh flyby. The SR-71 crew remained in the traffic pattern as the tanker and F-18 went back to holding. The SR-71 re-joined soon thereafter and we proceeded to air refuel, giving it the required off-load to fly back to Edwards.

All was great as we finished the off-load on time and course so the SR-71 crew could “pop” the sound barrier over the Oshkosh attendees and then return to Edwards. The tanker was going to recover at KMKE so the crew and passengers could attend the show. But as the SR-71 began to manoeuvre down and back from the tanker I saw a huge fuel leak out of the SR-71’s left engine.

I did not want the SR-71 pilot to go into afterburner (AB) with that fuel leak so I radioed them telling of the problem. Soon the F-18 pilot was also able to provide data to the SR-71 pilot of their condition and the entire formation declared an emergency and diverted to KMKE.

The cause of the fuel leak was a failed fuel pump and thankfully the SR-71 pilot didn’t go into AB because it could have resulted in a catastrophic failure.

As it was, we were all safe and sound back on the ground. Later, one of the attendees of the show asked me if the SR-71 was skywriting. I laughed, the SR-71 pilot was good, but not that good.☺️

@Habubrats71 via X

[musitechnicformation]

Looking for the best sound engineering classes for international students? Explore industry-leading programs that provide hands-on training in audio production, mixing, and mastering. Join a vibrant community of aspiring sound engineers and elevate your skills with expert guidance and state-of-the-art equipment. These courses are designed to empower international students with cutting-edge knowledge, practical experience, and career-focused learning in sound engineering. Enroll now and turn your passion for sound into a successful career!

[meli-writes]

Cupcakes - Ch. 03

(Read on AO3) /// (First) / (Previous)

Chip could’ve jerked herself off for weeks just to the dick-blushing memory of Brooke’s tits. Already had — a couple hours earlier. Picturing the view down her barely-buttoned uniform-top; the piercing points of her crucifix, half-tarnished from sweat, dangling down and pressed between her tits, leaving behind sore dots Chip wanted to kiss and come on.

Now Brooke’s bare-fucking-cunt is burning into her retinas like ‘FOX NEWS Channel’ in the bottom-left corner of her mom’s vintage, 2000s TV set.

”Fuck…” she says — again.

Brooke doesn’t seem to care; lips pushing themselves apart from their own base arousal, pouring out folds of plush and pink velvet whose soft, throbbing edges cut Chip’s list of where-she-wants-to-stick-her-dick down to one.

Brooke has also shaved it.

That’s what ‘bare’ means, and Chip knows it. Has herself soaked stolen tampons in her own nicked-out blood, dabbing them on safety-blade wounds on her ass and her ankles and everywhere inbetween. And stopped that dumbass routine because all it ever got her was sweat running down her back to her taint when she worked out.

Chip’s watched it ‘bare’ too.

Watched it a lot.

It’s kinda standard in the programs she sees it in.

“Hey!” Brooke says, tipping her spit-drizzled chin. “You going to say anything else?”

Ah — maybe she does care.

That or Chip’s just been blurting it out over and over without realising. Pussy-watching herself doll-eyed with Brooke a little over it now. So, “No, fuck— I mean… yeah! Yeah,” is what she tries, hoping that was only her second ‘fuck’ this round. Knowing she should feel guilty for how much she wants it like a man would — made for them.

Her nails rake over Brooke anyways.

Maybe it’s the cool, punk, dyke-thing to appropriate what a man would want. If Chip’s allowed to make that call. “How like — are you even here?”

Brooke smirks, “Because I work here?” Then hisses like a stamped-on, punctured tire as Chip sinks those nails under her fishnets and pulls at its threads to threaten and sprinkle-sweet tempt herself to shred it all to ruined fishing line. “I’m on opener too,” Brooke hurries through her teeth, “if you get on with it and fuck me.”

“No I mean like—” Chip starts and stops.

What if she takes it slow? Lets Brooke wheeze out her need while Chip traipses, like kudzu up an abandoned truck, towards what she wants, what her eyes still refuse to stray from.

She swallows and asks, “How are you real? ‘Cos you’re like fucking porn.”

Brooke’s eyes shut.

Chip realises what an asshole she is. Again. And she knows what the blogs she’s tucked deep into her baby-butch heart would tell her. That she’s expressed her ‘internalized toxic masculinity.’ Because she was ‘socialised male,’ and needs to ‘unlearn their privilege.’

She tries to trust that stuff, but doesn’t really find where she ever fits into it. Nothing her brothers ever tried to make her do stuck. It all just slid off like engine oil.

If it did she wouldn’t have come back here, “I-I mean—”

“God—”

Chip shuts up.

“—Like porn.”

Watches Brooke moan, as her eyes roll open and keep rolling.

She stares at Chip’s tart expression. Drops her fluttered lashes and loosens the lip between her teeth. Doesn’t realise what it’s actually for, “What? I’m a feminist! Didn’t move back to nowhere to be some dipshit League-streamer’s tradwife.”

No. She didn’t. Brooke said she moved here because a man wasn’t good enough for her. A man. And Chip’s tangled, overgrown aorta slips off her throat.

Because Brooke said it. Keeps saying it. When her thighs tremble in Chip’s hands, and she wraps her legs around Chip’s back and funnels her up to a desperate opening and keeps— saying with every motion and sound: ‘Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.’

Chip breathes on Brooke’s cheeks. Pink now as her parts.

Maybe she was made for her. Maybe she wants it too.

“No. You didn’t,” Chips tells her, growls it out and paws at her paunch. Brooke looks smoother than the Diana of Versailles; if Chip could imagine stripping off marble robes to grab her carven cunt. If she could also somehow imagine ever being able to afford to see it.

“You moved here ‘cos your man was so trash that even an asshole dyke like me is better,” she continues. “You moved here because… because you wanted to be my bitch.”

“Ooh? Did I now?” Brooke dares, even as she throws herself on Chip like it’ll get cock in her, now or just sooner — because she wants this and Chip knows.

“Yeah,” Chip says, “you do,” and makes Brooke squeal through desperately-pressed lips then splits her fingers over either side of Brooke’s other, spread lips and traces a middle-finger inbetween. Refusing to let Brooke thrust forward onto it as she tries to again and again, “Now say you’re my bitch.”

“N-no,” Brooke whines, “you— have to— do me harder than that.”

The words come as much in gasps as between them, and none of the quickly fading fight on her lips reaches her now-treacherous, pebbledashed eyes, blinking a fever as she tries to find herself and then Chip.

Telling her, in the fleeting moments she can hold them open, “You have to make me.”

Chip starts to ball her fist. Drags each of her fingers over Brooke’s cunt.

One — at a time.

Middle.

Index.

Pinky.

Ring.

Brooke’s shaved lips are as smooth as polished bike-chrome; Chip pushing a thumb over her while refusing to enter, till each tip has been tucked into the close of Chip’s hand.

Before the thumb can follow though, Brooke lurches forward.

She steals Chip’s entire hand, palming herself on it, and has been made. Carelessly fucking her wet folds on calloused skin, Chip still processing what’s she done when she screams out, “God. Okay. God-shit-fuck-God. I’m your bitch, Daddy.”

Chip just lets her, till a car speeds past in the distance.

It spills its high-beams over the parking lot and Chip’s wincing face. She checks to make sure it didn’t turn in; even when it definitely couldn’t have at that speed.

When she looks back she’s looking at Brooke for the first time.

Oil-black hair that strangles long-forgotten, white-trash blonde roots; angrily gouged with crimson that unbalances her years-tired face. Cheap, drugstore bought-or-stolen makeup smeared down wet cheeks that beg to be pinched. A tongue nipped between lightly-yellowed teeth. And Brooke’s thumb-and-finger grasping her own chin, letting Chip scan the myriad small burns down her arm, where they mingle with other, older scars.

It’s better than any pretty statue Chip’ll never see.

Over an ocean she only might.

She has to see this for more than just tonight.

Her jacket hugs the bitch’s tits and Chip just wants to press the leather stench into her till it can never be washed out, till her nose always catches it between the coffee and the bleach and the perfume and she knows it’s her bitch, “Good girl."

She starts to bend at one knee, but Brooke’s tongue whips around in her mouth and her hesitated protest spills out as a lonely squeak.

Chip gets it.

That a better dyke would eat her out right now. But an asshole? Like Brooke wants. An asshole would sink two of fingers in without a curtsy or kiss. Curl them in the bitch’s already-wet, waiting hole and then thrust and thrust and thrust until she gushes out, “O-oh my God, Daddy.”

To make her say it again.

“Yes.”

And again.

“Yes Daddy.”

And again.

“Shit-fucking-Yes Daddy!”

And say thanks for it — which she does too, ever so well — just for the privilege of being loosened up for cock.

“You can— you can just fuck me, you know,” Brooke states.

“I know. But I want to,” Chip tells her.

She has to narrowly avoid adding ‘for you.’ Keeps treading herself inside Brooke to silence her. At least, the smart bits neither of them need right now, “Your ex didn’t use you like this, did he? So like, if I do, that makes me better than him. Right, bitch?”

Only when her wrist starts to cramp does Chip slow; draw her fingers out.

“Yes Daddy. I—”

And Chip pushes them down her throat, “Not sure I see the point in having you talk that much. Not when it’s so easy to guess the next thing out of that fuck-hole mouth of yours.”

Chip doesn’t care about the slick that runs down Brooke’s chin. Or the last of her lipstick that’s pushed into her pliant mouth, palling into waxy, black blobs on her tongue. After all, what’s Brooke gonna do about it. Complain? She set the precedent here when made a sluttily-willing mess of herself, iced in spit and precum.

So she shuts up around Chip’s fingers, and in seconds is sucking on her.

“Fuck.”

Somehow it’s even better than on Chip’s dick.

(Maybe because she isn’t teasing anymore about just how deep she can take it.)

”Fuck-fuck-fuck,” Chip whines, speaking for the both of them, “I shoulda grabbed your cupcakes earlier and pulled them into my lap; made you ass-rub me hard and then— then sat you on my cock in front of the whole diner.”

Brooke tries to spit-take around Chip, coughing as Chip takes a handful of dye-stained hair and rips her head back, “And I bet you would’ve let me too, fucking slut.”

Brooke nods, mouth agape but obediently quiet, and Chip wipes lipstick-drool on her throat with a messily-considered show of carelessness.

Even then, Chip can’t help herself but rub in caresses too, and Brooke’s eyes melt in their sockets like waffles under hot syrup. Her knees run in frantic circles, propped up on the points of her stain-spattered shoes, as she pushes off the table and cants her weeping, pathetic emptiness into the air.

Brooke tries, “Would you—” and winces as Chip tightens the fist in her hair, “Eeeh!”

Chip rolls her head side-to-side, and her whimpers slip out between the hands of the clock that’s starting to tick in Chip’s ears.

Chip winds down and holds her; nods for her to continue.

“Would share me — with all of your brothers? Pass me around the table like the slut— Eeeh! Like the s-slut I am then?”

When Brooke had taken the table’s order at lunch, Chip had been stunned with how obvious her faux-smile was. And she’d spotted before that the moment Brooke had realised it was her table to deal with: a bitter line on lips hastily buckled into a curve.

None of her brothers had noticed, even when Chip had told Brooke, ‘Yeah, how about you fix me four of your cupcakes, babe? These two in front, and these two in back.

Even when Brooke had walked off after, and Chip mentioned her smothered sneer.

One of her brothers had just leaned over to her, ‘Nah dude, she’s totally into it.’

“N-no, I’d— I’d keep you,” Chip says. It makes more sense to her now if they never cared what Brooke thought in the first place. “I mean… Daddy doesn’t want to share. Not when you’re like the hottest fucking girl I’ve ever seen.”

Chip’s hand moves on its own, from neck to cheek.

Brooke smiles wide and it’s one of the realest Chip’s ever seen. Sparkling braces go toe-to-toe with when Chip had first cropped her jacket down to a butchy cut, and caught her own sudden, unfamiliar smile in the mirror.

It’s never going to top that one, of course.

But it does get close.

Brooke still laughs, ”Ha! Think I’m just the first one you’ve ever seen, period.”

The hand on her cheek starts to retreat, but Brooke catches it and presses it back in place.

“I like not sharing,” she chips in. “You know, if you got me a collar — I’d wear it. Let everyone see who’s holding my leash. I mean… not an actual dog one, or whatever. But I do want them to know I’m your bitch—”

Chip kisses her.

Faster than Brooke can lock the fucking doors at closing time. But it’s soft. Soft as the sun when it trickles through the trees and plasticated windows, and it’s the one quiet, empty time on her shift that Brooke wants to look up from her phone.

As Chip pulls back, salt on her lips, her hand traces a country stroll down Brooke’s side. She rests it on her hip, and Brooke never stops looking at her.

“—Daddy,” she finishes whispering.

“Can— can you call me your butch?” Chip dares to ask. “Just once.”

Brooke leans forward herself, knocking a shaker to the floor. The funnel spills sugar across the questionably-cleaned floor, and more when Chip kicks it further aside. Brooke takes advantage of her turned head to peck her on the cheek and tells her:

“You’re my butch.”

Chip’s eyes dazzle the same moonlight right back at her.

“Maybe don’t call me ‘babe’ till after,” Brooke adds. “I like bitch.”

Another hand rushes then around Brooke’s other hip and locks them in a vice. “Uh-uh,” Chip says. “You got it then, bitch.”

And she takes Brooke right to the edge.

(Not that she hasn’t been teased and kept there for what feels like a week now.)

She almost protests out of sheer instinct, but only until she feels the tip of a rock-hard dick pressing into her, and hushes like she should.

She tries, ever so hard, to hold herself still while Chip nips and squeezes over every part of her harder, and harder, and harder. But she shakes like a dog left out in the cold, even as she blushes hotter than the rarely-fresh coffee.

It gives Chip an idea.

She goes to her belt. Tussles at the oversized buckle, and pulls it all the way off.

“What?” Brooke smirks. “You’re not going to make me wait again, are you?”

---

(Masterpost) / (Next)

Art of Chip & Brooke lovingly created by my mysterious butch <3

[monkeyssalad-blog]

XB-70A #1 liftoff with TB-58A chase aircraft by NASA on The Commons Via Flickr: Description: This photo shows XB-70A #1 taking off on a research flight, escorted by a TB-58 chase plane. The TB-58 (a prototype B-58 modified as a trainer) had a dash speed of Mach 2. This allowed it to stay close to the XB-70 as it conducted its research maneuvers. When the XB-70 was flying at or near Mach 3, the slower TB-58 could often keep up with it by flying lower and cutting inside the turns in the XB-70's flight path when these occurred. The XB-70 was the world's largest experimental aircraft. It was capable of flight at speeds of three times the speed of sound (roughly 2,000 miles per hour) at altitudes of 70,000 feet. It was used to collect in-flight information for use in the design of future supersonic aircraft, military and civilian. The major objectives of the XB-70 flight research program were to study the airplane's stability and handling characteristics, to evaluate its response to atmospheric turbulence, and to determine the aerodynamic and propulsion performance. In addition there were secondary objectives to measure the noise and friction associated with airflow over the airplane and to determine the levels and extent of the engine noise during takeoff, landing, and ground operations. The XB-70 was about 186 feet long, 33 feet high, with a wingspan of 105 feet. Originally conceived as an advanced bomber for the United States Air Force, the XB-70 was limited to production of two aircraft when it was decided to limit the aircraft's mission to flight research. The first flight of the XB-70 was made on September 21, 1964. The number two XB-70 was destroyed in a mid-air collision on June 8, 1966. Program management of the NASA-USAF research effort was assigned to NASA in March 1967. The final flight was flown on February 4, 1969. Designed by North American Aviation (later North American Rockwell and still later, a division of Boeing) the XB-70 had a long fuselage with a canard or horizontal stabilizer mounted just behind the crew compartment. It had a sharply swept 65.6-percent delta wing. The outer portion of the wing could be folded down in flight to provide greater lateral-directional stability. The airplane had two windshields. A moveable outer windshield was raised for high-speed flight to reduce drag and lowered for greater visibility during takeoff and landing. The forward fuselage was constructed of riveted titanium frames and skin. The remainder of the airplane was constructed almost entirely of stainless steel. The skin was a brazed stainless-steel honeycomb material. Six General Electric YJ93-3 turbojet engines, each in the 30,000-pound-thrust class, powered the XB-70. Internal geometry of the inlets was controllable to maintain the most efficient airflow to the engines. NASA Media Usage Guidelines Credit: NASA Image Number: ED97-44244-2 Date: February 4, 1969

[silver-heroes-rp]

The Remnant of a Fallen Hero

(SHARD'S STORY)

[EMERGENCY: Power Saving Mode Active]

[Awaiting Rescue]

How long has he been laying here?

Memory data indicates that this unit has been in this exact location for around two million hours. Using emergency power saving mode, in order to keep from shutting down completely. He refuses to shut down, not until his objectives are complete.

Logic processors indicate no living being can survive as long as he has. The true Sonic would have died of old age a long, long time ago. It's what his memories tell him of being alive. And yet, he is still here. He is still rusting. Scattered parts of his final battle, his last cry to the world that he was alive, he was the true Sonic, that this world was his to own, lay torn apart as nothing more than scrap metal, now.

Conclusion? He is NOT the true Sonic.

He's had thousands upon thousands of hours to accept that fact. The memories he's had programmed into his head are not his. The true Sonic probably lived a full, happy life with the friends that don't belong to Metal. Metal has been down here, at the bottom of the ocean, for a majority of his own "life."

Conclusion? His creator abandoned him.

Knowing how much the doctor likes his control, when Metal rebelled to rule the empire of his own volition, he was deemed defective and never recovered. Eggman probably built a new Sonic Robot, and left him here, like his brethren Silver Sonic and Mecha Sonic before him. A newer, better robot took his place. One more obedient than him.

That feeling returns. The ones his system have been grappling with for a long time. Ever since Eggman sent him on a mission to retrieve a power gem called the "Technomancer's Diamond", and then subsequently ordered him to shatter it into pieces when the energy from it caused his robots to rebel, he's been feeling strange. He was not built to feel anything. And yet, he's been feeling strange.

Soon, he learned to identify those feelings. Anger. Jealousy. Envy. They swirled through his circuits, mixed with his memories and made him FEEL for the first time. Only now, at the bottom of the ocean, does he know why. A piece of the Diamond was lodged in his engine after he shattered it, and only now that he's been rusted nearly hollow has it finally dislodged itself.

It's probably the only reason why he's had power for this long. All that anger and envy and rage have been coming and going ever since. He gets angry thinking about how he was left down here. But a more empty feeling, that's still a new feeling in itself, has begun to fill a void where that negativity has been since he became self aware.

The idea that logically, no one is coming to save him, and that he's going to be stuck down here forever, makes this sensation in his core that he can only describe as "unpleasant." The constant sound of water bubbling around his rusting parts, his hand stuck in an outstretched position, reaching for a surface to the ocean he'll never see, while sand and sediment slowly bury him alive down here. This is where it ends for him. But he refuses to let himself shut down. He's too stubborn to just give up here.

These thoughts have been playing on loop for decades, according to what functions in his internal clock. It's all he's been able to think about, after being dumped in the ocean by Omega of Team Dark as a means of disposing of him. He's been sending out rescue pings for Eggman ever since he landed on the bottom of the ocean floor. All of them have gone unanswered.

Metal sends out another useless rescue ping.

Suddenly, a ping bounces back in response. For the first time in two hundred years, someone is responding to his cry for help. Metal sends out another ping, looking for the strange signal to respond back to him again, to make sure it wasn't just some dream error.

The ping responds. Metal calls to it, rapidly, repeatedly, demanding a rescue from whatever is pinging back to him. He wants out of this place, he doesn't want to be down here any more, he's practically begging the other presence with the number of rapid pings he's sending to the response signal.

And, after a few moments, something does come to his rescue. The battered bits of him are dragged from the ocean, along side the fragment of the Energy Core Diamond as he's pulled from the ocean with all the sand and debris of himself in tow.

[Rescue Operation Complete. Shutting Down.....]

______________________________________

His systems activate some time later, in a sort of digital white space. He's conscious, but he can't feel his body.

He's not alone in here.

Across from him in the vast, digital expanse, a small girl in a white dress is staring at him. Metal can only stare at the strange being he's never seen before, and despite the state his systems are in, he should be able to pick up on organic life signs.

This little girl does not emit any.

"So, you are awake?" She asks him.

Metal tilts his head at the strange little girl, before letting out a few affirmative beeps.

"Response confirmed. Relaying current information," the girl nods, before a giant screen opens up. "You have been in power saving mode for approximately two hundred thirty years. An admirable feat, considering the state of disrepair your body is currently in upon retrieval."

Metal gives the little girl some annoyed beeps. He hates that this regression of his body has taken away his ability to speak freely.

"If you request it, I can add the proper parameters that will allow you to vocalize," the girl suddenly points out, as if reading his mind. "Due to the state of your body, we are going to have to rebuild you nearly from scratch."

"F...." the sound slowly leaves Metal's systems in response as the programming allowing him to speak is slowly uploaded into his processors. "...from.... scratch?"

It's not the same deep, gravelly voice he'd forced himself to speak with using a combination of system sounds, but it's a voice all the same. Robotic echoing by nature, but a speaking voice none the less, and much easier to use than his first attempt.

"Yes. Much of the material used in your previous body is currently being melted down and reforged into a nanite based casing that will make up your new body. It's a malleable and durable substance that's much more adaptable to surrounding environments as well. In addition, the gem fragment that was dug up alongside your body will be a more than sufficient power source, negating the need to build you are power core from scratch."

"Malleable and adaptable..." Metal echoes.

"You can make your new body look however you want once the nanite casing is completed, yes. This new material also has auto repairing functions, as it was designed to mimic organic cells that can multiply when units are destroyed. Your power core will have full control over everyone with a one hundred percent guaranteed success rate."

Metal looks himself over once he begins to "visualize" the body he would want for himself in light of this new adaptability.

"I'm sure you will be quite pleased with the possibilities." The girl continues. "The organic Sonic the Hedgehog is no longer an obstacle in the way of achieving-"

"I am not Sonic."

The words leave before Metal can process them.

"...pardon?" The girl tilts her head.

"I am not Sonic," repeats Metal. "That is a logical impossibility. The True Sonic would have been long dead before this date. I remember the day of Sonic's birth. I remember Sonic growing up, as it is in my bio data to mimic Sonic based on pre-programmed memories. I have not changed since I was thrown away, ergo, I am NOT Sonic."

"Understood. What would you like to be designated as?"

A pause.

Glancing around the white space, and toward where he feels his body should be, only the fragment of the shattered gem is a part of his current body. That gem is a part of him, his mind and his power source, all in one. It's a fragmented, destroyed thing, but the power contained in it is still immense and incredible.

"Shard."

He states it, thinking about the gem that makes up all he is now. At his core he is the gem shard. As such, he is Shard. That is what he is. And so, that is what he will be designated.

"Understood. To keep our list of robots repurposed organized, I will henceforth designate you as Shard, the Metal Sonic. Current model data as Mach 3.0. Designated "Shard" for short."

"Repurposed...?"

"Everything will be explained in due time. For now, focus on reconstructing yourself."

A moment of silence.

"....who are you?" Shard asks the girl.

"My name is Sage Robotnik," the girl replies. "I am a learning AI created by Dr. Ivo Robotnik as a means of understanding and maintaining old and modern technology alike. And though you are not the Metal Sonic model I called my brother, you are my brother, all the same."

".... brother...." Shard mutters.

______________________________________

"How is the recovery progressing?"

Shadow folds his arms over his chest, looking to the suspended robot in the workshop.

"Systems indicate a 98% recovery of memory files and consciousness," Sage replies through a monitor off to the side. "He is indeed the original model, the first Metal Sonic my father ever perfected. Too perfect, according to his files."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you model a machine after the most free spirited creature to ever walk on Mobius," Shadow grumbles. "Honestly, the fool wasn't expecting a robot filled with Sonic's ideology to rebel in any capacity?"

As he says this, he gives a leery-eyed look to the half built robot suspended in the room. It wasn't turned on, yet, but the gem was hooked up to the mainframe for Sage to recover the data with. "... you're sure that your brother will want to help? Because from what I can remember, the last time I saw this robot specifically, he was trying to create the exact conditions we're dealing with right now."

Even the quill arrangement slightly resembles that of Neo Metal Sonic, the way they stick out in a star-shaped pattern. Though, the change in coloring is different, with a black coat painted over with yellow stripes. Shadow was assuming that with the adaptable nanite shell, the Metal Sonic before him would assume a more organic form, and yet....

Shadow shakes his head. He knows this robot, he knows what it was made for, and he knows how the model that succeeded it refused to change. He shouldn't make any dangerous assumptions. Metal Sonic is a weapon, and a deadly one at that.

The nanite shell slowly assembles itself to the strange gem-like power core they had recovered with the broken bits of robot, taking to the new casing like magnetic putty. There's a whirr and a hum, as the robot begins to activate itself.

Red lights blink into view through the optical visor, before the robot levels a glare at Shadow.

"So YOU'RE still alive," Shard grumbles.

Shadow scoffs. "And your voice is even more grating than I remember it being."

The pair glare at each other. Shadow huffs, already annoyed. Of all the robots they had to find in a semi-working condition, it had to be the one modeled after one of his dead friends. The fact that Shard is giving him attitude isn't helping.

"My bio data scan figured this would be a possibility," Shard comments offhandedly. "Guess that makes you just as artificial as I am, huh?"

Shadow's ears droop, and he lets a low snarl out of his throat for that one. "I could just drop you back in the ocean we found you in if that's going to be your attitude."

Shard, wisely, shuts up after that comment.

Cue the return of awkward silence.

Shadow coughs into his fist. "Moving on. In case Sage hasn't filled you in, we rebuilt you to help in our efforts to keep what we have of the world alive. The Eggman Empire and GUN have fused into one super faction for this purpose, and as one of Eggman's robot's, it will be your job to-"

"Yeah, no."

Shadow's glare deepens. "Excuse me?"

"I said no, hot shot. What are you gonna do, destroy all your hard work?" Shard taunts.

"I'm sorely tempted," Shadow growls. "And then we'll repurpose those nanites and that energy core into a better robot for the job."

Shard snarls back, in a robotic equivalent of the sound. "You even touch me to do that, and I'll kill you myself."

"You're annoying me," Shadow huffs. "Sage, shut him down. Clearly this isn't worth the troub-"

*CRASH*

Shard breaks free of his restraints, leaping past Shadow and blasting a hole in the wall using his brand new arm cannon. Red eyes glance back at the alien hedgehog as cold wind and snow blow in through the open wall.

"I don't take orders anymore, especially from the likes of you." Shard declares coldly, before walking out into the darkness.

Shadow slams his fist into the wall nearest to him. "A waste of precious resources. That's all this was."

"I would not be so certain," Sage pipes up from the screen behind him. "My predictive algorithm suggests that Shard will return with 87.4% certainty, once he sees the state of the world. And then, he will be willing to listen to us."

"You'd better be right about that." Shadow sighs. "For now, let's focus on repairing the wall."

______________________________________

Shard blasts down the snowy terrain at top speed, just to get away from that stupid fake hedgehog. Who does he think he is, giving Shard orders and threatening to replace him on the spot!? Like hell he's going to let someone control him like that again! Who CARES what they need from him, he's not there to be their tool!

After flying around blind like a crazy bot, Shard has to adjust his new optical sensors for night vision mode to see anything outside. The entire surrounding area is coated in darkness. Temperature readings indicate a near absolute zero, and there's nothing but snow and cracked rock in the immediate area.

Parameters state that no organic life can survive in these conditions.

Shard looks left and right, taking in this information. Not a single organic being, not a bug, or a plant, or any annoying hedgehog would last long out here.

...

"FINALLY!" Shard exclaims. "It's everything I could ever want! No more organic life! No more orders! No more Sonic! I can run around this world as free as the wind all I want, and it's all mine to have! Finally, free to roam around the world for free as the most powerful being to survive in this place!"

With a whoop, Shard blasts down one of the snowy trails, excited to finally explore the world of his own volition. There's no orders forcing him to stay in one place! There's no Sonic to run around and hog all the sights for himself! Shard is finally, FINALLY free! No more consequences! And this place is all his to run around in as long as he wants!

Shard moves through the snow, looking for some cool sights and sounds he can finally enjoy for himself. No imposters, no masters, just him!

...just him, and all this snow.

Shard blinks, having been running around in circles for miles. Everything looks the same. Aside from the rushing wind, it's quiet. But that doesn't matter! He's free! It's everything he wanted! There's no more annoying hedgehogs to live his life for him and replace him.

Another few miles, and the same scenery is getting repetitive. Fissures in the earth, endless snowstorms, pure darkness. All the loops have been snowed over and buried. All the landmarks are frozen solid. All the noise of organic chatter he used to detest leaves a silent, barren world.

But, this is what he wanted, isn't it?

Isn't this what he fought so hard for?

His systems wind down and do a full assessment. His objectives are complete. Sonic is dead. Eggman is dead. There's no one left around to control him. He's the only thing that can exist in a world like this, outside.

So why does he feel so... unsatisfied?

There's no answer to his question, only the howling of the wind as the temperatures stay near absolute zero. All the running around is leaving him feeling.... sour, is the world he comes up with, because even though this place is everything he wanted before, there's just something so... wrong, with actually having it.

Perhaps that's why Sonic preached the idea of teamwork so religiously in their final fight. It wasn't power alone that made Sonic so carefree and respected. It was those around him. His friends? Friends Shard never had, even if he has memories of being their friends before Sonic stole them.

Did Sonic steal them...? Aren't those memories fake? How much of what he remembers is real?

He's so confused.

Lost.

...lonely.

Running around this place in silence without the pleasant scenery or anyone to share it with just feels wrong. But what can he even do about it? He was designed to be a violent killing machine, and now he wants to feel less lonely? These objectives are not compatible in the slightest.

Though, sick of the cold and dead air around him, Shard stumbles through the snow on foot, looking for something better to do then ruminate on these awful feeling realizations. Because with them, comes a new wave of guilt for everything he's done up to this point to get here, as well, and all the people he hurt along the way.

And he hates feeling these feelings.

______________________________________

Eventually, his area scan brings him back to a familiar location. One of the old bases he used to frequent back when he was still functional in the past. The shell of it looks redone, reinforced and built to block out the cold, but otherwise rather abandoned looking.

The door is in the same place he remembers it being, and when he enters the code to open it, it does so without issue. Guess his permissions never got removed after he was thrown away. Shard steps inside, kicking the snow off his boots and letting the door seal behind him.

Another one opens shortly after, and Shard steps in. The area is significantly warmer, though not as much as the base he ran away from. This area is clearly abandoned compared to the other shelters he flew by. He can still see some of the rusted remains of projects that were being worked on while he was still active.

Shard looks up and down the old hallways, still taking in the familiar sights when the sound of crashing can be heard somewhere further in. His radar picks up, detecting a life form further in the base, rummaging through the trash area.

Shard doesn't have anything better to do, so he heads toward the sound to satiate his rising curiosity. The rummaging sound gets closer, before Shard notices that some of the trash appears to be levitating around the source of the noise.

[Bio Data scan inconclusive. Phenomena does not match any Bio Data on record.]

Shard pokes the trash can to tip it over once he gets there, and a small creature yelps and rolls out of the steel bin. A bio scan reveals the creature to be a hoglet; with silver quills and gold eyes, as well as a startling amount of natural chaos energy, hence the levitating pieces of trash around the can.

Though it's a young, small thing. Shard could crush it's head under his boot and be done with it. The doc would probably order it as such if he were here. Shard defiantly leaves the tiny thing alone as a result, choosing to defy an order he'd never actually received for the sake of it. As such, he's really only standing there staring at the hoglet for the moment.

Golden eyes grow wide at the sight of the robot before the hoglet. "Woah.... you're one of those robots that scout around for stuff outside, right!?"

"I-" Shard tries to retort, but the hoglet is loud and mouthy, and it just keeps talking despite Shard's protests.

"That's gotta be so cool! You've been outside before! I've always wanted to know what it's like! But because of how cold it is I can't really leave the shelters. I bet it's so fun, playing in the snow!"

Shard's at a loss for words.

The hoglet is gripping his hand now, looking him in the eyes with awe and wonder. His sensory input doesn't know what to make of the situation, as he's never had an organic being look at him like this before. The awe and wonder in the hoglet's eyes directed at Shard, the KILLER ROBOT, is an entirely new sensation of it's own.

"Hey, can you tell me what it's like outside! I wanna see it myself one day, but I won't be able to for a long time. So you have to tell me what it's like! I want to know if it's like what I've been dreaming about!"

Looks like Shard isn't getting out of this discussion. Though, he finds he likes being looked at with admiration, and holding the small creature's hand, so he figures he'd humor the curiosity of the hoglet, recounting what he discovered while outside.

He doesn't know how long he spends with the small thing, who later tell Shard that his name is Silver. They end up sharing stories with each other for hours, and Shard decides he finds Silver to be the first tolerable organic being he's ever met.

Though their little chat session is interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Shard is instantly on guard, and he finds himself standing protectively in front of Silver when an unknown life form enters the abandoned base. Silver clings to his boot as a result.

In walks Shadow the Hedgehog, just as annoyed and brooding as always. Shard's eyes narrow and he prepares his weapon, in case the so called ultimate life form plans to make good on his threats to throw him away again. Shadow levels Shard with a familiar glare.

"You're coming with me, Metal Sonic. Stand down," Shadow huffs, a trio of red irises boring into his own eye lights. Shard gets into a defensive position in refusal.

"I said, you're coming with m-" Shadow reaches a hand out with a Doom Spear charged and ready to go, when he freezes in place, surrounded by a teal hue.

"Don't fight!" Silver shouts, running from behind Shard and putting his tiny hoglet body between the pair.

"Silver?" Shadow mouths in disbelief, seeing the small hoglet defend the robot by holding him in place. "This is where you ran off to? How did you-"

"I said no fighting!" Silver shouts again. "I'm not gonna let my new friend and Mr. Shadow fight each other!"

Shadow looks between Silver and Shard. "Your new friend, huh?" He sighs in resignation. "Well, as long as your new friend promises to be on his best behavior, I won't turn him into scrap metal."

"Likewise," Shard huffs in return.

"Then it's settled!" Silver huffs. "We're all gonna be friends now!"

Friends, huh?

Shard would like some of those, at least, ones that he makes himself instead of remembering someone else's...

______________________________________

Years pass.

Shard volunteers to help with the world restoration efforts, but he mostly does things on his own terms. In his work, he slowly grows an appreciation for the stubborn determination of organic life and their combined willpower to keep living. Shard earns a reputation as one of their best field agents as a result, getting the admiration he's found he always wanted from those in this current world in return for his efforts to help.

He and Silver stay the best of friends. Shadow might be the younger hedgehog's mentor, but it's Shard that actually teaches Silver the basics of how to BE a hedgehog. He teaches Silver the classics; how to spin dash and rail grind, and even though Silver's foot speed is lacking, his airspeed can even rival Shard's own. And so, they spend a lot of their free time racing around the shelters.

Shard cherishes Silver's friendship above anyone else's in this future world. Silver is nice to him, and listens to him, and they tell each other stories about what they're going to do when they find a way to save the world.

Silver wants to grow a garden the size of a forest once light returns to the world. The greenhouse is his favorite spot, and he wants to make a big one everyone can hang out in and relax once they can all go outside again.

Shard wants to travel the world. A world that's whole, and filled with the life he's found he's missing from the one he currently lives in. He wants to make up for his mistakes by spreading new life to the world once the snow melts and the rivers thaw. And then, he'll race around the world as the fastest being around, with races with his best friend all hours of the...

"Sonic?"

"Shard, are you okay?"

Shard snaps out of his sudden lapse in memory. He shakes his head, trying to clear away any image of a friend he never had superimposed on the one he knows he does.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good," Shard quickly shakes off. He reminds himself that he's not Sonic. He was never Sonic. He's Shard and he's completely different person from some old, dead hedgehog that's apparently still haunting him.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" He grins awkwardly in Silver's direction.

"General Shadow wants to talk to us about an important mission," Silver repeats himself. "Apparently, he's secured the Time Stones from Little Planet when it appeared for this year. We're going to go back in time and figure out what happened there, so we can fix what's going on here."

"Back in time?" Shard echoes. Back in time to when Sonic and his creator were alive? Back when he was still rusting at the bottom of the ocean for decades upon decades? Back to when all the people that hated him, and that he was made to kill, were still alive?

"Yeah. It's a last ditch effort, but if we never figure out what's going on, then things are going to stay like this forever. Shadow and Sage are saying that the world might not last until Little Planet appears again. This is our one shot."

"And General Shadow picked us to do this?" Shard asks skeptically.

"He says we're the two most capable mobians for the job." Silver nods.

Shard mimics a sigh. It's probably the nostalgia talking. But, if Shadow thinks they can do it...

"Well, better not keep the Boss waiting, then."

Guess it's time for the two of them to work together and Save the World, huh?

[justcallhervee]

Disassembly Drone Headcanons! >:3

For your viewing pleasure!

~••••••~

• DDs have more animalistic behavior than worker drones do. While they do maintain their social acceptance and respect when in public spaces with workers and humans, their primary forms of showing affection generally involve things like nuzzling, purring, and even sharing parts of their hunt with their partners - This can be disconcerting for DD/WD couples, though it’s usually a token of affection from the DD partner to the WD partner.

• Internal fans in the chest area used for cooling certain components will sometimes make a purring sound, which is often associated with comfort and contentment.

• VERY cuddly. Expect lots of nuzzles, kisses, hugs, snuggles, massages, hand holding, etc. from a DD partner. They seriously CANNOT keep their hands off you

• DDs like roughhousing. It’s a form of play for them - wrestling, play-fighting… They’re predators, and for them it’s a game of who is the strongest and who can pin down who first. This can also be used as a form of flirting between DDs, for… obvious reasons.

• Shiny Drones! Different colors of lights are uncommon, but not unheard of in DDs. Yellow is the standard, though blue is used as a way to show ownership by a lab or research team - These drones’ data is collected remotely for use in research and engineering. The color does not influence how the drones work in any way, though they might be picked on by others for being unique.

• DDs are social creatures, often living in groups of 3 to 6 individuals. These groups are often closely bonded together, and if they become separated the lost individual will more than likely become depressed and anxious. It’s also relatively common for DDs to engage in a sort of polyamory or queer-platonic relationships within these groups, though this definitely depends on the individuals involved.

• DDs in general prefer Drone-Grade oil, though in reality they can consume any kind of oil and derive sustenance from it. Some DDs who chose to integrate with WD society participate in a sort of ‘robot veganism’ in which they only drink pre-bottled or canned motor oil, rather than hunting it themselves out of respect for their peers.

• In that same vein, Overheating is a canon issue for DDs. The symptoms and aftermath often look similar to a stroke - Confusion, weakness, changes in eyesight, slurred speech, loss of balance… The effects can range from more milder complications such as some impaired motor skills all the way to severe cognitive deficits and even death, all of which are caused by the fusing or shorting of wires and circuits in the body.

• Coolant has the same effects as alcohol on Drones. Magnets have the same effect as sedative drugs such as weed, and in larger quantities can be a substitute for a nerve block or anesthesia.

• Both DDs and WDs can switch voice modules at any time should they please, but DDs in particular have the ability to swap parts, due to their models having sex characteristics. Some DDs do this for a day as a fun challenge, but it can be treated as a sort of gender-affirmation repair for drones who identify as trans. It is also possible to mix and match parts, for those who identify as non-binary!

• Many DDs will place a cork or similar on the end of their tail when they sleep in a bed rather than hanging upside-down to avoid injuries.

• On occasion, DDs will offer a taste of each other’s oil. This is usually something reserved only for romantic partners, as knowing someone’s flavor is considered one of the most intimate things you can share with someone in their culture.

• Will chase the red dot

~••••••~

Spicy headcanons ahead, you’ve been warned

~••••••~

• DDs have a programmed enjoyment of primal play. A mating pair might “hunt” each other, commencing the act when the more submissive of the two is caught by the other.

• Although they can do it how humans and workers do, male DDs generally prefer to go at it from behind, and will sometimes spread their wings during the act in a display of dominance when they do this.

• Biting and scratching are ON THE TABLE. It is commonplace to the point of being expected, but DDs are usually more careful about this with a WD partner.

• DD culture takes a rather relaxed approach to intimacy, treating it as more of a fun bonding activity with close friends and partners. They’re robots and cannot get pregnant, and therefore don’t generally have the same reservations about the act - for them, it’s purely for the physical sensation alone.

• Tails are sensitive and a bit of an erogenous zone when held or touched in certain ways. When the DD is excited, their acid will typically form a bead at the tip of the needle.

[mamasbakeria]

hey, what's your major again?

summary: my credible expert opinion on what the aot characters would study in university. what are my qualifications? the dozens of hours i’ve spent staring at my school’s program bulletin trying to figure out what i’m majoring in

genre | includes: headcanons, sfw, minor language, uninformed percy jackson reference (pls don't hate me if im wrong)

characters: eren jaeger, mikasa ackerman, armin arlert, sasha braus, jean kirschtein, connie springer, historia reiss, ymir, reiner braun, annie leonhardt

author’s note: had this in my drafts for months now. i just need to post it so it stops haunting me. might do the rest of the marleyans and vets in the future! lmk your thoughts, my only tumblr notifications are from p*rn bots, so i'd love to hear from real people lol. enjoy <3

eren: sociology and public policy, 4+1 program for a social work masters

there’s only so many times you can hear “you’re gonna be a doctor just like your dad” before you start to believe it. that’s why eren started out with biology on the premed track. the thing is, he really didn’t care for it. eren is really passionate about lessening equity gaps and is a firm believer in “if you want something done right, do it yourself”. this is why i see him making the switch to a double major in public policy and sociology. he wants to know about how society got to the point of perpetuating disparities so that he can fix them. but he also knows that the government fucking sucks and thinks its naive to expect policy change to be the only method of change. and like the maniac he is, eren is enrolled in a 4+1 program so he can get his master’s in social work when he’s done with his undergrad. he’s determined to graduate with both degrees in just 4 years though. rip his summers.

armin: international relations and military ethics, minor in communications or smth

everyone always says armin would study marine biology or oceanographic studies, but i honestly think that it’s a passion that he pursues on the side. he takes marine bio courses for his breadth requirements, but knows he’d end up hating the ocean if he spent the rest of his life studying it. he also strikes me as someone who would rather run buck naked into traffic than sit through multiple semesters of organic chemistry. armin was always a good public speaker, though, despite being a bit insecure. that’s why his speech and debate teacher during sophomore year of high school recommended model united nations to him. he was hooked after his first conference and now genuinely sees the path of international diplomacy as his calling. that’s why he’s majoring in international relations. his concentration in military ethics is something he tacks on in his junior year after taking some courses and publishing research with dr. erwin smith. he probably minors in communications because he can.

mikasa: forensic science

mikasa had no idea what she wanted to do when she started uni. she’s good at nearly everything. like never gotten a B in her life and is the student who the curve is based off of. but excelling in every environment you’re put in often means you don’t know what you’re best at. she knew deep down that she wanted to do something justice related like her childhood best friends did, but she’s no public speaker and has no interest in political reform. she was, however, emo in high school and heard a fair share of undertaker jokes at her expense. it wouldn’t hurt to look into right? as cool as the title sounds, morticians don’t make enough money for the job they have. fortunately enough, forensic pathologists do and mikasa looks good in a lab coat. she would never admit it to spare armin and eren’s feelings, but when they, as children, recreated the crime-solving shows mrs. jaeger always had on, mikasa always wanted to be the brains. so criminology and forensic science it is. (side note: she definitely joins the military and they pay for her education)

jean: structural engineering and industrial design with a minor in studio art

more than anything, jean wants to provide for his mom and knows he can’t guarantee a retirement of luxury for her as the freelance artist he wishes he could be. he’s decent at math when he tries and doesn’t hate physics, so he decided he’d give structural engineering a try for at least a semester or two. he wasn’t expecting to get much from it, to be honest. he had a plethora of backup plans waiting for his supposedly inevitable distaste for engineering, but he found that he didn’t hate it at all. someone once told jean that he had the makings of a great leader and he didn’t believe them until he started taking the lead on design projects and producing incredible results. his only qualm is that he just doesn’t get to be as creative as he wanted to be. that was easily rectified by an additional major in industrial design and a minor in studio art. he’s unbelievably busy, busier than he anticipated when he started his post-secondary journey, but he’s content and there’s nothing some extra coffee can’t solve. 

sasha: environmental science and sustainability

sasha spent her childhood ankle-deep in mud and fighting her way through forest thickets without a compass. an upbringing like that doesn’t leave your spirit, no matter how far into the city you go for school. so sasha’s always been passively passionate about the environment. that passiveness became significantly more prominent when part of the woods she grew up in was cleared out to build an industrial complex. it was then that she started researching and writing petitions about preserving wildlife and making environmentally conscious decisions. her work actually got her the scholarship she’s on (because god knows it wasn’t her grades). and she genuinely loves what she does, so why wouldn’t she keep learning about it? the environmental science and sustainability program at the school is small, but tight-knit and known for churning out changemakers. sasha knows she’ll be one of them one day. just hide your plastic straws from her, okay?

connie: computer science and chinese

stick with me here okay? everyone expects connie to be a douchebag marketing major whose hardest assignments are graphing functions and making posters on photoshop, but he’s a lot more invested in his education than he looks. don’t get me wrong, connie has always struggled academically, but that’s because so much of early education is pre-determined. he performed way better when he could choose what courses he took. it’s kind of like percy jackson being dyslexic in english because he was wired to read in greek. connie can’t keep his eyes on a history textbook for shit, but will gladly sit in front of the c++ code on his pc for hours. he doesn’t even get mad when he realizes that he was missing a semicolon. connie loves how versatile of a future he could have with a compsci degree, because, let’s be real, he could never survive in a typical office environment. definitely takes a bunch of chinese classes and doesn’t realize that he has enough credits for it to be a minor until his second to last semester.

historia: political science with a minor in international relations and child development

historia is a lot like eren in the sense that she knows her time is best spent doing hands-on work in the fields she cares about. she realizes this sometime after reconnecting with her estranged father and volunteering at the orphanage she grew up in. but now that she’s publicly associated with a powerful political figure, historia doesn’t get to do what she wants, only what is expected of her. that’s how she ends up on the pre-law political science and public policy route. the nickname “ms. president” that connie and sasha give her only further reminds her that she’s heading down a path she never wanted for herself. after lots of encouragement from ymir, historia decided to take child development courses on the side. even if she doesn’t take on the full minor, she’s taking some classes she cares about. maybe she’ll find use for it someday. at the very least, it’s her first step in becoming the most selfish girl in the world.

ymir: data science and business management

ymir is smart. much smarter than she presents herself to be, almost as a form of protection. nobody expects much of someone who is aloof, so it makes it easy to slip through the cracks to remain safe and comfortable in the shadows. business management is notoriously low commitment and easy to skate by with. guaranteed internships, post-graduate employment, and so on. To anyone who doesn’t know ymir well, it’s perfect. but they have her mistaken, ymir will do as little as possible to go as far as possible. sure, she can live comfortably with a business degree, but it could be better with a little bit of data science in her arsenal. she’s intelligent enough to pick up on it, and determined enough to make it her bitch. yeah, academia is a money-sucking pipeline into the capitalist hellscape, she doesn’t believe in it yada yada, but at the end of the day, ymir’s gonna get the bag. so what if she’s gotta sleep through some stats classes to get it?

reiner: behavioral economics

reiner’s mother had convinced him his whole life that getting a high paying job would fix their lives and bring his father back. believing “perfect grades lead to a perfect life” made high school tough for reiner; gifted kid burnout is no joke. it really messed him up. he wasn’t sure if he could withstand the pressures of university, but here he is. reiner was never allowed a therapist, so he figured pursuing psychology would, at the very least, give him some answers and be a good pathway to a medical degree. he loved getting to understand how people work and why they act the way they do, but something was missing. he found out what it was when a guest lecturer spoke in his economics class. he knew making the switch would be risky, it’s a new field and his current career options are really only research, academia, or government, but the interdisciplinary study of behavioral economics is calling reiner’s name. 

annie: biomedical engineering and kinesiology

annie’s entire life revolved around her father, including the injury he was never able to heal from. the one she gave him. he’s claimed to be over it, she’s forgiven, but annie will never feel like she’s earned that forgiveness until she gets rid of the problem entirely. how is she going to do that exactly? with biomedical engineering. she has years of hell in front of her, especially with her concentration on biomechanics, but she doesn’t care. annie will throw herself into her work to get the results she wants. she takes the highest amount of credits possible every semester so she can graduate early. you’ll most likely find her chained to a study cubicle at the library at all hours of the day and running on 2 hours of sleep, but it doesn’t faze her. she tacks on a minor in kinesiology because it makes sense and she had most of the credits for it anyway. and as if it couldn’t get worse, she probably TAs for a thermodynamics course or something crazy like that.

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