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a-mint-bear · 3 months ago

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I Think My Cute Co-Worker Got Taken Over By an Alien Hive Mind

On a mission and aboard a ship in space, your only real friend there is the cute and shy janitor. After an accident where he crashed on a nearby planet, he's been acting very... strangely.

(just a teensy bit of nsft implications in the dialogue here, nothin explicit)

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You're a scientist on a long-term space expedition. It's mission is to find possible inhabitable new worlds for humanity to live on in the future. Your job is to monitor and research environmental factors that could pose a threat to your crewmates and the mission and find ways to make planets more livable.

There are security officers, miners, your fellow scientists and researchers, the doctor and her assistant, a couple of maintenance androids for the ship and of course the crew who navigate and serve on the big hunk of metal you're all zipping through space on. On that crew is the ship's custodial worker.

You're not so snobbish to undervalue the importance of a clean living environment, especially in the medical wing and your own lab, but there are some on the ship that treat him like he's invisible or like he's not important just because he's not the brains or muscle on board. He comes and cleans up in your lab every day before dinner, and while sometimes you're too busy to really spend any time chatting, you do enjoy the talks you get to occasionally have.

Sometimes you're so busy that you end up working through dinner, and when you finally pull yourself out of it, you find quick and easy dishes ready for you well past the allotted mealtime. He always leaves a little candy from his personal stash alongside them, so you know it's from him.

He's a bit shy, and very quiet, but he always seems to light up whenever the two of you get to talk. You heard a rumor that he's the son of some business associate of one of the benefactors of the mission, and he just needed a job. Another rumor that he was a bit of a screw-up back on Earth and needed a fresh start somewhere far away. But to you, he was just your friend.

If you were being completely honest, you might've had a bit of a crush on him. He was just so kind and genuine, compared to the self-important scientists you spent every day with. And he was pretty cute, behind the baggy janitorial uniform and the dirt that sometimes smeared his face. He was sweet and he seemed to always be thinking of you, and he was one of the only things in your life that made you smile.

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There was a mishap one day, a near cataclysmic crash where six members of the mission crew were dislodged from the ship and fell into the low orbit of the nearby uninhabited planet.

He was the only survivor. He'd managed to land in a strange body of water where the density levels were so high that he hit the water mostly safely and stayed afloat until rescue. A broken arm and a minor head wound plus a slight concussion, but he was alive.

Other people on the crew seemed almost angry that out of the six people lost, including the ship's first mate and a researcher, the janitor was the one to survive. But you were just so happy he came back to you.

But after that day, your friend had... changed.

He was smooth and cool, almost confident? A little awkward still, but he carried himself differently. Almost like he was an entirely different person.

And he was... a lot more forward with you. Despite being so happy he was alive and even glad that he was making a move on you finally, you couldn't help but feel like something was wrong with him.

One day, he came in to clean your lab like every day and when you asked him how he was feeling, his arm still in the quick-print cast and the stitches on his forehead still healing, he just smiled.

"I'm fine." he smiled at you, standing a bit too close. "I missed you..."

You joked with him that he just saw you that morning, and he smiled that same smile.

"I've been thinking about you..." He held a lock of your hair in his fingers, seeming almost entranced by it. "My thoughts are damn near consumed by you, love."

You couldn't help the warmth that sprung to your cheeks. He was standing so close, and while he was acting odd, he was still that same considerate, sweet man.

"I want to touch you..." His voice was low and hit just right. You wanted it too, but you faltered. You told him that you weren't sure... that something felt wrong.

"Just let yourself go..." he smiled, caressing your cheek, his other hand holding your wrist. "I want you... Let me feel you."

Wrong. It felt wrong. He wasn't that type of guy. This...

You smiled, putting your hands on his chest. You told him that you were in charge here, pushing him back slightly with an authority you weren't used to wielding. But you stayed calm. Your hand lingered on his chest, pressing him against the wall.

He bit his lip, such a confident face... it only confirmed what you feared. Taking a step back, you ordered him to not move, he needed to be good for you. Your gaze still locked onto his, you pulled up a holo-screen, locking down your analyzer containment field. His smile didn't slip, but his eyes darted around with a puzzled look in them.

"What are you doing, love?" His voice didn't seemed alarmed or even mildly concerned. "Locking me up? If you wanted me all to yourself, all you had to do was ask..."

You told him you didn't know what he was up to, but you weren't fooled by him. He wasn't your friend.

"What do you mean?" He pressed his hands to the shielding, like he was testing it while still talking to you, placating you. "It's me... Let me out, love."

You told him your friend, even if he wanted you, would never push past your boundaries like that. He was sweet and considerate, and the kindest man you knew. While whatever this was had been ready to hold you down to get what it wanted.

You started your scans while it just talked to you, but you didn't respond.

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An hour had passed. If anyone found out what you were doing, they would deem it too risky and demand he be ejected from the ship. It wasn't like this was the captain you were scanning, or a fellow scientist. The mission could afford to lose him. But you couldn't.

"Let me out." It still wore your friend's smile, but there was something in it's eyes. Something... old. Something consuming him. "Let me touch you, love. I want to feel your warmth."

Your hands danced across the holographic screen, lining up your scanners. Usually they'd been used for scanning minerals and water sources to make sure they were safe for humans, but they were equipped with biological scanners in the case of the med-bay's destruction or shut-down. You were looking for what ever could be possessing your dear friend.

Something had been in that water, you were sure of it.

"We need to taste you..." It's tongue lolled out from it's mouth, panting and dripping saliva. "One taste, that's all we need. And then you'll be part of us. No more worries, no more searching, no more fighting to survive... you'll finally be free."

When you didn't respond, it laughed.

"We know how much you want him." It almost seemed to be taunting you now. "We can smell it on you... Don't you want to know what it's like? His lips on yours? His touch on your skin? You've been so isolated on this ship... long, cold endless nights with no one beside you. We know his mind, love. It's plagued by thoughts of you. Oh, how he spent night after night... positively enraptured... consumed with the mere possibility of your attentions. Your affection... Your toucccchhhh..."

You tried to shut out his words as your scanners looked for a way to stop this, to get him back, but the thing inside him seemed unbothered. Almost amused.

"He loves you..." It laughed. "It's an intense, burning thing. He wants nothing more than to feel you under him, in the throws of his LOVE... Your nails digging into his back, screaming his name... His obsession is what let us in... So singularly-minded... It was almost too easy..."

"We came into his body, his mind... it was hard not to be consumed by the thoughts of you. His wants became our wants. We are one, love. His love, OUR love... Be ours, and nothing else will matter..."

You paused. The thing inside him, It was speaking in the present tense. Like he was still in there somewhere. Or at least he wasn't dead. This thing wasn't possessing his lifeless body. It was in there with him. You felt more determined than ever.

You told it you would keep it here until you found out how to get it out of him. Even if you had to study him for days, weeks, you wouldn't stop until he was safe.

"You don't know how happy you've made him, love." It smiled, licking his lips. "He always wanted you looking only at him."

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light novel-ass titles are so funny to me

still working on CO3 but i needed to write this. i promise it's coming soon

can y'all guess what movie i went and saw that made me think of this one?

i've been thinking of a yandere that it actually some kind of possessing entity, and the idea latched onto a sci-fi vibe.

i wanted the header to reflect a darker haired, scruffier guy with a bit of chin hair who gives off a real loser vibe, but i usually source from other people's ai images (can't be copyrighted), and damn it all if they aren't all baby-faced little guys lol

something more like this:

but that's just fanart of Eraserhead from MHA lol

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yandereunsolved · 20 days ago

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Imagining a human darling who cannot catch a break―they accidentally adopt a Xenomorph whose hive was destroyed by the Yautja. That said Xenomorph wrecked havoc on the ship and killed their crew mate's, only leaving them alive because they have a similar smell to that of their deceased Queen.

Therefore, the Xenomorph deduces that it must be loyal to you: your stalkerish companion. Unfortunately, it only decided such after your ship was wrecked and was on the course for a crash landing.

Where did you land?

Yautja Prime.

A planet that isn't exactly kind to either Xenomorphs or humans, to put it lightly. So now you have a crashed ship, fitting snugly between the forest and desert biomes, and no way home. At least you have your Xenomorph buddy who has an odd habit of drooling on you! It's okay. They aren't going to harm you. Them curling up around you and softly hissing (urging) you to sleep is enough of an indicator.

You just have to hope that somehow the both of you won't be ritualistically slaughtered. Or at least―that you'll be spared. You still worry the Xenomorph's bond with you will snap and you'll end up as its next snack.

No worry, you won't be killed. You'll be abducted along with your Xenomorph to a Yautja tribe in which you will be tested! After all, a human and Xenomorph bonding is unheard of. The elders must be consulted. And maybe they can breed more of your kind to make their hunts more exciting. Only one way to find out, right?

#predator #predator x reader #predator series #alien series #alien #alien x reader #xenomorph #yautja #predator franchise #alien franchise #crossover

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bumblehoneybee · 8 months ago

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Easy Smiles

There wasn't an exact moment when Curly exactly noticed you. As much as he felt ashamed to admit it, you were easy to overlook out of all the other crew members. You were pretty quiet, kept to yourself, at least whenever he was around.

But Anya and Daisuke and even Swansea (though him more begrudgingly) all seemed to like you plenty, and told him as such.

"It's easy to smile around them." Anya would admit to him when he asked after the others' psych evals.

"They got a good head on their shoulders." Swansea would admit, when Curly asked after your work. "They've even been teaching Daisuke how not to fuck up everything. A damn miracle worker. If only they didn't encourage him."

"They're awesome!" Daisuke would exclaim, when Curly merely mentioned your name. He didn't even get his question out before Daisuke was going on. "They almost beat my high score yesterday! And they didn't even know about my game until last month!"

Guess you were more popular than he noticed.

So he started to watch you a bit more. He didn't want to be creepy, and he wasn't being creepy, no matter what Jimmy sneered to him. But he wanted to see you, the real you, the one not buried beneath the professional mask you would wear.

And he saw it, one early morning in the lounge.

You were sleepy still, judging by the way you kept rubbing your eyes. You yawned and trotted over to Anya and Daisuke with this little grin. You didn't even notice Curly sat at the table, so he kept quiet, just. . . observing.

"Check how strong I'm getting!" Daisuke boasted to you, flexing his arm. You poked it, laughing when he flinched. "Wha- hey! Mean!"

"Daisuke-" Anya said through her own chuckles, which worsened the boy's embarrassment.

"I'll show you!" He shouted, grabbing at your shoulder. You didn't fight him, giggling as he hauled up one of your legs into his arm. "Okay, jump on three! One-"

You jumped into his arms. Daisuke squawked in surprise, stumbling back from the sudden weight. It wasn't long before you both crashed to the floor, a mess of limbs.

Anya shrieked a bit, and Curly nearly stood up, but then she let out a bark of laughter so loud it stunned him into staying seated. Anya slapped her hands over her mouth, obviously shocked as well, only to smack away your hands grabbing for her.

"Join us!" You cajoled over Daisuke complaints that you ruined his show of strength. "Join us, Anya!"

"Get away from me!" Anya squealed, though she wasn't struggling to much against your grip on her shirt hem.

"Join ussssss." Daisuke continued, forgetting his offense to play your game. You both clawed at Anya, who put her hand to her head as she let out woeful calls for help. "Join the hive! The hive!"

"The hive!"

"Noooo, the hive!"

"What the fuck!?" Curly jolted at the voice. Swansea boggled the three of you, frozen in your game of alien. "Are you three twelve!? Get back to work!"

Daisuke and Anya wilted a bit, making moves to return to their early morning duties now that the fun was over.

"Boo!" You called. Everyone froze again. "Buzzkill!"

"Yeah, boo!" Daisuke quickly joined in. "Stick in the mud!"

"Poop on a hoop!" You added on, as Anya knelt to hide behind you as she giggled.

Curly stifled a laugh at the look of utter offended shock Swansea wore. He wasn't used to heckling from kids, it seemed, despite having his own back home.

"You have three seconds." Was all he eventually said.

You and Daisuke took off into the ship, cackling like hyenas. Curly watched you pass, grin wide and eyes squinted.

Yeah, you were very easy to smile around.

#i love him #mouthwashing curly #mouthwashing x reader #mouthwashing curly x reader #captain curly x reader #curly x reader

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heron-knight · 8 months ago

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decided to crack open my skull and pour the contents of my brain onto the keyboard. thought the denizens of tumblr might enjoy it. bon appetite

Mech Pilot Care guide

You never expect it, do you. Even as you see the flashes of pulse-decay fire in the sky, illuminating a scene of violence on the cosmic scale. Planetary defense satellites forming Monolithic structures in the sky, their purpose now revealed as they scatter constellations of destruction across the night horizon, drowning out the stars and replacing them with ones born of death. The oxygen in a ship catching fire and burning away in an instant, a flash of light that marks the death of its crew of hundreds. Even if you take your telescope to watch this spectacle, this war in a place without screams, you still feel profoundly disconnected from it.

Even as you see a pilot cleave through a drone hive with a fusion blade, the molten metal glistening in the light of the explosions around it, scattering without gravity to the corners of the universe, even as two mechs dance across the sky, their reactors pouring into the engines enough energy to power the house atop which you sit for ten thousand years, flying in a 3.5 dimensional dance with only one word to the song that can reach across the vacuum: “I Will Kill You.” you don’t feel even the slightest glimpse of what goes on inside their minds. You don’t feel the neurological feedback tearing across the brain-computer interface, filling her mind with more simultaneous pain and elation that an unmodified human could ever experience. You don’t feel it as the pneumatic lance punctures through steel and nanocarbon polymer, the mech AI sending floods of a sensation you could never truly know through the skull and into every corner of the body carried on enhanced nerves for every layer of armor punctured, tearing into the enemy chassis with a desire beyond anything the flesh can provide. Let the stars kill each other. After all, I am safe on earth. No, you don’t expect it when the star is hit with a sub-relativistic projectile, piercing through both engines in an instant. You don’t expect it to fall. You never would have expected it to land, the impact nearly vaporizing the soil and setting trees aflame, on the hill beyond your house, and you would never have expected, beneath the layers of cooling slag, for the life-support indicator light to still be visible.

All the fire extinguishers in your house, your old plasma cutter that you haven’t used in years, and whatever medical supplies you think they might still be able to benefit from. All that on a hoverbike, speeding at 120 kilometers per hour through the valley and up onto the hill, still illuminated by the battle above, unsurprisingly unchanged by this new development. 200 meters. 100 meters. You don’t know how much time you’ve got. It wasn’t exactly covered in school, how long a pilot can survive in an overheating frame. You’ve heard rumors, of course, of what these things that used to be human have become. That they don’t eat and barely need air. That they don’t feel any desire beyond what instructions are pumped directly into their brains. Not so much of a person as much as an attack dog. It’s understandably a bit concerning, as if they are alive, then it’s not guaranteed that you will be. Three fire extinguishers later, the surface of the mech is mostly solid, and the cutter slices through the exterior plating. With a satisfying crunch, the cockpit is forced open, revealing the pilot, and confirming a few of the rumors, while refuting others. Pilots, it seems, are not quite emotionless. In fact, there seems to be genuine fear on its face when it sees you, followed by… a sort of grim certainty as it opens its mouth, moves its jaw into a strange position, and you only have half a second to react before it would have bitten down with all its force on the tooth that seemed to be made of a different material then all the rest.

Your thumb is definitely bleeding, and is caught between a metamaterial-based dental implant, and one containing a military-grade neurotoxin. You’re not sure exactly why you did it. The pilot looks at you for a second, before the tubes that attach to its arms like puppet strings run out of stimulants, and it passes out after who knows how long without sleep. This battle has been going on for weeks already. Has it been fighting that long? Its various frame-tethered implants disconnect easily, the unconscious pilot draped over your shoulder twitching slightly with each one you remove. It’s a much longer ride back to the house. Avoiding having the pilot fall off the bike is the top priority, and the injured thumb stings in the fast-moving air.

An internet search doesn’t lead to many helpful sources to the question of “there is a mech pilot on my couch, what do I do?” a few articles about how easy targets retired pilots are for the “doll sellers,” a few military recruitment ads, and a couple near-incomprehensible legal documents full of words like “proprietary technology” or “instant termination.” However, there is one link, a few rows down from the top-- “Mech Pilot Care Guide.” It’s a detailed list, arranged in numbered steps. The website has no other links on it, just the step-by-step instructions: a quick read reveals that this isn’t going to be easy, but looking at the unconscious pilot, unabsorbed chemicals dripping from the ports in its arms and head onto the mildly bloodstained towel, you come to the conclusion that there’s no other option.

Step one: the first 24 hours.

The first thing you should know is that pilots aren’t used to sleeping. They’re used to being put under for transport and storage, but after the neural augmentations and years of week-long battles sustained by stimulants that would fry the brain of anyone that still has an intact one, they’ve more or less forgotten what real sleep is. If they see you asleep, they’ll think you’re dead, so don’t try to let them stay in your room yet. Once you’ve removed the neurotoxin from the tooth (it breaks easily with a bit of applied pressure, but be careful not to let any fall into their mouth or onto your skin.), start by moving them into a chair (preferably a recliner or gaming chair, as the mech seat is about halfway in between), and putting a heavy blanket over them. Don’t worry, they don’t need as much air as normal humans do, and can handle high temperatures up to a point. This is an environment similar to the one they’re used to. It’ll stay like this for about 12 hours-- barely breathing, trembling slightly underneath the blanket. Feel free to check if it’s alive every few hours, not that you could help it if it wasn’t. It won’t freak out when it wakes up. In fact, it doesn’t seem like they can. Turn down the lights and remove the blanket from its face. It’ll stare blankly at you, trying to evaluate the situation with a brain that’s not connected to a computer that’s bigger than they are anymore. Coming to terms, if you could call it that, with the fact that it isn’t dead. Don’t expect it to start reacting to things for a while yet, give it a couple hours.

It’s been a bit, and its eyes are starting to focus on you. The next thing you should know is this: pilots only have two groups into which they can categorize non-pilots: handler and enemy. You need to work on making sure you’re in the right one. Move slowly, standing up and walking toward them, making sure they can see where you’re going to step. Place both hands on their shoulders, then slide one under their arm and carefully pick them up. Don’t be startled by how light they are, or how they still shake slightly as they realize their arms don’t have anything connected to them. Most importantly, don’t break. Don’t reflect on how something can be done to a person so that this is all that’s left. Just focus on rotating them as if you’re inspecting all the brain-computer interface ports, while holding them at half an arm’s length. Set them back down, wrap the blanket around them, then lean in close and say “status report.” they won’t say anything, as they usually upload the data via interface, but what’s important is that now they recognise you as their handler. Their entire mind will be focused on the fact that they exist now to do what you want. Now it’s up to you to prove them wrong.

Step two: the first week.

They’re shaking so hard that you’ve had to move them from the chair back to the couch, sweating heavily as they pant like the dog they’ve been trained to think they are. This was to be expected, really. Pilots are constantly being filled with a mix of stimulants, painkillers, and who knows what else, and you’ve just cut them off completely. You’ve woken up several times in the night and rushed to check if they’re still breathing, debating whether you should try to tell them that they’re going to be okay. The guide says they’re not ready for that yet, whatever that means. They’re still wearing the suit you found them in, made from nanofiber mesh and apparently recycling nutrients and water before re-infusing them intravenously. It’s been three days since you tore them out of the lump of metal atop the hill outside. Long enough that the suit’s battery, apparently, has run out. You lift them gently from the couch and carry them to the bathroom. The shower’s been on for the past hour or so, meaning the temperature should be high enough. You set them on their chair, which you’ve rolled there from the living room and covered with a towel. Removing the suit normally isn’t done except in between missions, and it’s only done to exchange it for a new one. Without the proper tools, you’ve opted for a pair of scissors. Cutting through the suit takes a bit of time, but you manage to cut a sizable line from the neck down to the front to the bottom of the torso. The pilot recoils slightly from the cold metal against their skin, but you manage to peel off the suit without incident, The Temperature of which was roughly the same as the steam filling the room, and you’ve done your best to minimize air currents. They’ve got a bit more shape to them than you expected of someone who’s been so heavily modified. Perhaps what little fat storage it provides helps on longer missions, or perhaps this is for the purposes of marketing. Just another recruitment ad that appeals to baser instincts. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Using a cloth with the least noticeable texture possible, you wash off as much sweat and dead skin as you can, avoiding the various interface and IV ports, as you’re not yet sure that they’re waterproof. Embarrassment is the enemy of efficiency, so you’re slightly glad that their eyes never completely focus on you. They shift their weight slightly, however. Despite the difficulty moving with their current symptoms, they lean in the direction opposite the places you wash once you're done, allowing you to more easily access the places you haven’t got to yet. An act of trust that you have a suspicion they weren't “programmed” to do.�� As they dry out, you prepare for the difficult part. You take the blanket that previously wrapped around their suit, and gently touch a corner of it to their shoulder. Pilots are used to an amount of sensory information that would overload any normal human in an instant, but most rarely experience textures against their skin. After about half an hour, they’re used to it enough that you’re able to replace what’s left of the suit with it, and after another you’re able to wrap them in it again. You carry them back to the couch, and place a few of your old shirts next to their hand. They pick one and touch it with one finger before recoiling slightly. Eventually, they’ll be used to at least one of them enough that they can wear it. It’s slow progress, but it’s progress.

Step 3: food

It goes without saying that it’s usually been at least a year since they’ve eaten anything. The augmentations scooped out much of their knowledge on how to survive as a human, assuming that they would die before ever needing to be one again. Start them off with just flavors. Give them a chance to pick favorites by giving them a wide selection and firmly telling them to try all of them. Avoid anything solid for the first month or so, both because they can’t digest it and because they associate chewing with their self-destruct mechanism. Trying to and surviving might make them think the “mission’s fully compromised” and attempt to improvise. They’ll typically pick out favorites quickly with their enhanced senses, so once they’ve sampled everything, tell them to pick one. Remember it, not in order to use it as a reward or anything, but them still being able to have a “favorite” anything is something you should keep in mind for later.

Use a similar method anytime they become able to handle the next level of solidity. Don’t be alarmed if one of their favorite foods is the meat that’s most similar to humans (such as pork.) they’re not going to eat you, they just will have already formed an association between that flavor and the moment they went from being a weapon to living in your house. Don’t worry about your thumb getting infected, by the way. Pilots barely have a microbiome.

Step 4: entertainment:

Roll them over to your computer and give them access to your game library. No, really. They need enrichment, and there’s only one activity that they’re able to enjoy at the moment. A simulation of it will make the shift from weapon to guest easier. Start them off with an FPS with a story. Don’t go multiplayer, as your account may get banned for being suspected of using aimbots. Watch as they progress the story. The military left pilots with just enough of a personality to allow them to improvise, and that should be enough for them to make decisions on this level. They won’t do much character customization, but keep an eye on which starting character body shape they pick. No pilot would consciously think they have enough of a “Self” to still have a gender, but keep track of the ones they pick in the games. As for the one you’ve found, it appears that she’s got a player-character preference. You even saw her nudge one of the appearance sliders before clicking “start game.” Whether this means that a pilot doesn’t think of themselves as “it” or that it means there’s still enough of their mind left for them to know there’s more to themselves than the body they have, it’s a handy bit of information to know. Some pilots might have had this decision influenced by their handlers having referred to them as “she” in the way it refers to boats, but still, on some level they always know that “it” meant that they’re a weapon.

Step 6: outside:

There’s a profound difference between experiencing the world through information fed directly into your brain and standing up for the first time, wandering around the room and investigating with hands not made of a half-ton of metal. She’s not used to feeling the air on her skin as she stands in front of the window, visual data coming from two eyes instead of seven cameras. It’ll take a while to get used to it again. New old data, reminiscent of a time before she’s been trained not to remember. It’ll take a while until she’s walking like a human and not a mech, as the muscles used are different, and the ones to hold herself upright haven’t been used in a while. She’s going to fall down at least once. Be sure you’re standing next to her when it happens, as pilots that fall aren’t trained to think they can get back up. It’s worth it, though, when she opens the door herself and strides into the yard, still wobbly but standing. Be careful not to let her look into the sun, partially because it looks nearly identical to the barrel of a pulse-decay blaster milliseconds before it fires. She would get hurt trying to dodge it. It will be somewhat confusing for her, standing on a hill as she once did, but not contained within a 12-meter metal chassis. A feeling of being small and alone without the voices of the computer. This means it’s time for step seven.

Step 7:

All this time, and any idea that she’s still a person has, for her, been subconscious. Any thought of humanity is stopped when it slams into the wall of her handlers and mech AIs reminding her for years before now that she is a weapon. She’ll still ask for your permission before doing just about anything, and that’s just the rare times that she’ll do something you don’t tell her to. Even after you’ve moved her into your room, she’ll still try to sleep on the floor. She still thinks that beds are only for humans. Kneel next to her as she curls into a ball on the ground, assuming that’s what she’s supposed to do. Expect her to try to move down to the foot of the bed after you set her down on it. Gently move her back up until her head’s on the pillow. Sit on the edge of the bed, and hold out your hand to her. After a bit, she’ll take it, wrapping both hands around it and tracing her fingers along the scar on your thumb. Lie down next to her, an arm’s length apart. Place your other hand on her forearm, then slide it up her arm to her shoulder. Don’t move too quickly, and don’t surprise her. Whisper softly but audibly every movement you’re going to make in advance. Move in a bit closer, until you’re wrapped in her arms. Mech pilots aren’t used to this. They aren't used to feeling someone next to them. Not above them, but next to them, getting exactly as much out of this as they are. Even after several months, many won’t admit they deserve it. You wouldn’t waste time lying next to a gun. So why do they feel so strongly that they don’t want you to leave? Why do they hold on tighter? They often feel they’re doing something wrong. Overstepping a boundary. There’s a rift between what they want and what they’re told they can want that nearly tears their mind in half, and it hurts. No normal human will ever know how much it hurts them to think they’ve broken some instruction, that they feel things they aren’t allowed to. Nobody said it was easy, learning how to become human again. Tell her it’s okay. That she’s allowed to feel this way. She still won’t know why. It’s time to tell her. The guide can’t tell you what to say, only that you have to say it. It has to come from you. You have to be the one that tells her what she is underneath all the modifications. It’s time, say it.

“Do you feel that? Do you feel your heart start to beat faster as it presses up against mine? Do you feel your own breath against your skin after it reflects off my shoulder? Do you feel your muscles start to tighten as I slide my hand across them, then relax because you know it means that you are safe? It’s because you’re alive. Because despite everything, you’re still alive. Still someone left after all the changes, all the augmentations. And I know you’re someone because you are someone that likes food a bit spicier than most would prefer. Someone that closes her eyes and gets lost in music whenever it’s playing. Someone that added that one piece of customization to her character, even though they would wear a helmet for most of the game and nobody would know it was there but you. Maybe you aren’t the same person you were before. Maybe they did take some things from you that nothing can give back. But you’re still someone. Someone that people can still care about, and I know because I do.”

You can feel her tears drip down onto your neck as she pulls you closer. She tries to say something, but you can’t understand what. You tell her it’s okay. That it’s not easy, and that she doesn’t have to pretend that it is. Not for you, and not for anyone anymore. She doesn’t have to be useful anymore. No need to keep it together. All that matters is that she’s alive.

There’s another battle going on in the night sky outside. The same flashes of light you saw the night you stopped living alone, even if the other person couldn’t admit that they were one yet. She still flinches at the brighter bursts of pulse-decay fire, still stretches out her hand on reflex to prime a pneumatic lance that isn’t there. But she knows it’s not her, it’s just a ghost of the weapon that died when it hit the ground. You can feel her relax as she realizes this, moving her hand back to dry her face before reaching out towards yours. You hadn’t noticed the tears on your own face. You place your hand on hers as she wipes the corner of your eye. Outside and above, the war continues on a cosmic scale, so far apart from where you both are now that you barely notice it. Let the stars kill each other. After all, the one before you has already fallen, and she doesn’t have to return to the sky. Together, you are safe on earth.

#mechposting #creative writing #mech pilot #Heron knight’s writing #short story #writing

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the-hives-silliest-fanblog · 2 months ago

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Best crewmate mentioned! - [CR 1335]

Dead Raptor Walking

NOT CANON STORY BTW‼️‼️‼️

HIVE belongs to @braisedhoney, and @talesaboardthehive

Silly little HIVEsona thing I wrote.

Characters mentioned:

Colony, Captain Ney, and Leander from @braisedhoney

BR0049 from @beartitled

And finally CR1335 from @crimsomcrystal

The first time Ain Orion laid eyes upon the HIVE was on a simple docking bay on the planet Perigree.

Perigree had been a small planet and Ain had only been on it for a few weeks, wrapping up his last merc job and lying down their plans to finally escape this hellish life.

So here they were, at this docking bay, looking for ships that needed security or animal control or something, when they found a poster.

'The Stars Wait For You! Join the HIVE!'

The person on the paper wore an owl-like mask, stars scattered behind them and in smaller text, it claimed the HIVE was not as dsytopian as it seemed.

Ain didn't care about that.

The strap around their muzzle itched and they folded up the poster, slipping it into their pack, looking around the docking bay to see if they could see the captain on the poster among the milling crowd of people fueling and restocking.

An owl-mask was easy to spot and Ain strode towards them, making note of the Captain's companions, an android/robot thing with a black face, a white line that reminds Ain uncomfortably of the lines on heart monitors and a tall, white bearded man, dressed in white.

The group looked up as Ain's claws clicked closer to them, the man in white raising an eyebrow at the the raptor's muzzle, and Ain raised a claw to idly scratch at it.

"Greetings." Ain folded their arms behind their back, dipping their head in a small bow, "Are you the Captain of the HIVE ship?"

The owl-mask straightened.

"You would be correct. I'm Captain Ney. What can I do for you?"

"I am Ain Orion. I'm looking for work and I saw your poster. My expertise is in military and-" Their eyes dart over the large ship behind the three, "Cargo protection."

Captain Ney turned slightly to the robot before speaking.

"Colony, do you need any help?"

The raptor squirmed a bit under the robot's gaze.

"It would not be turned down."

The captain clapped their hands together.

"Then welcome to the ship, Ain!"

Just like that.

Just like that, Ain was welcomed aboard the ship, given a uniform and a number. No questions about their past, nothing.

…

It freaked them out.

Jobs like this were a good sign you were going to get killed or that they were doing something especially shady, but as the months passed, with next to no work for the raptor, nothing happened.

They drifted through space, did occasional deliveries, stopped at random planets for seemingly no reason and picked up random people that wanted to join the crew.

It was peaceful, if a bit odd.

And it drove Ain crazy.

Ain was used to blood under their claws, between their teeth, was used to falling asleep to gunfire or in broken buildings. Was used to being on war ships, the feeling of a gun in-between their hands.

The Raptor was not used to peace.

They spent their first couple of months restlessly pacing the dizzying halls of the HIVE until one day they brought the raptor to Leander, who Ain had learned was the ship's medic.

Leander, whether out of annoyance or pity, tossed Ain an odd job to do.

Then another one.

Then it was Colony handing out odd jobs, or the Captain, or BR0049, or any of the other crew members, word of the fact that Ain was ready to accept any task thrown at them spreading.

Ain never figured out how the halls worked or how to navigate them but that was fine. As long as the ship got them to where they needed to be as soon as possible in an emergency.

The ship itself was interesting, the more Ain explored in it. Everywhere were HIVE motifs, hexagons on every wall and there was always crew members around so you were never truly alone.

The people here were okay. Misfits, a lot of them seemed, and there seemed to be no negative reactions when Ain finally took their muzzle off.

So they left it off, enjoying not having it itch every 20 seconds.

Ain never really got close to anyone though, history telling them that that would only lead to pain.

Well.

Except for Lizard-Thing.

Some software nerd that enjoyed trying to get under Ain's fur and Ain knew it's species too.

They remembered killing some for a job.

Their last job.

It wasn't an issue for Ain, as one had taken their tail, giving Ain some respect for the lizard things.

Except for CR1335.

She was a menace, but Ain could avoid him if they wanted to, so it wasn't an issue.

The two started up a friendly rivalry of sorts and Ain could feel that itch under their fur lessen.

Maybe they could be happy here.

Maybe, finally, they could stop thinking about the sins of their past.

#tales aboard the hive #hive fan writing #hivesona #crew introductions

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luvrgirl-f1 · 1 month ago

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behind the paddock walls

charles leclerc x verstappen!reader

summary: Max’s little sister has been secretly seeing Charles Leclerc behind the scenes. It’s getting harder to hide, and the couple navigates through a race weekend.

———————————————————————————

The paddock was buzzing. Monaco always had that unique energy—a pulse that beat faster than any other race weekend. The harbor shimmered in the sunlight, and the crowd buzzed like bees around a hive. And somewhere between the flashes of cameras and the quiet hum of engine talk, you were trying not to look too obviously in love with Charles Leclerc.

You leaned against the Red Bull hospitality wall, arms folded, pretending to listen as Max explained something about car setup and tire degradation. You loved your brother—really, you did—but he never knew when to stop talking about racing. Especially now that you were trying to keep your face neutral while your heart was doing somersaults just across the paddock.

Because just a few meters away, Charles was laughing with his Ferrari engineers, occasionally flicking his gaze over to you. Brief. Careful. But enough to ignite that familiar flutter in your chest.

He wasn’t supposed to look at you like that. Not here. Not when Max could turn his head at any moment and figure it all out.

You were Max Verstappen’s little sister. A year younger. Grew up in the same garage, around the same pit crews, used to the screech of tires and the scent of rubber. You were supposed to be off-limits. That unspoken code between drivers—don’t mess with each other’s families. And Charles… well, he’d tried to follow it.

Until he couldn’t anymore.

It had started in Singapore.

-FLASHBACK-

Singapore ‘24

You had wandered off from the Red Bull suite one evening, unable to sit through another round of championship strategizing. Charles had been walking back from media duties, tie half-loosened, and you’d crossed paths outside the paddock gates.

“I think we’re both trying to escape,” he said with a crooked grin.

You’d laughed. And then he’d asked if you wanted to walk.

It had been light and easy at first—talking about anything but racing. About books and late-night takeout, about growing up with pressure in your bones. You told him about how Max would always test drive your go-karts before you could, how you hated it but secretly loved knowing he cared.

Charles listened. And somewhere along that walk, something shifted.

It wasn’t a grand moment. Just a quiet pause. A glance that lasted a little too long. And then, with the softest uncertainty, he asked, “Is this okay?”

You kissed him before you could overthink it.

Now, months later, you were balancing this tightrope. Private texts. Hotel rooms booked under fake names. Glances that could burn if someone looked too closely.

You hated lying to Max. But you also knew what he’d say.

“Charles? Really? He’s the competition.”

Not just on track—but in every sense. Max had always been protective, and the idea of his sister falling for the guy he’d traded paint with more times than either of them could count? It wouldn’t end well.

But Charles was worth it. You saw him in ways others didn’t—when he’d call his mum after every race, no matter how late. When he’d panic over a chipped fingernail because it “looked unprofessional.” When he whispered in your ear, “You make all of this feel normal.”

The night before the race, you slipped out of the hotel through the service elevator. You wore a hoodie and sunglasses, even though it was dark.

Charles was waiting in the shadows, cap pulled low, hands buried in his pockets.

He grinned when he saw you. “Very incognito.”

You rolled your eyes and kissed him.

His apartment was quiet, tucked above the noise of Monaco’s nightlife. He poured wine, and you kicked off your shoes, curling into his side on the couch.

“Are we idiots?” you asked, watching the city lights through the window.

“Definitely,” he said. “But I’d be an idiot every day if it meant having this.”

You laughed softly, pressing your forehead to his chest. The silence between you wasn’t empty—it was warm, like a blanket wrapped around everything unsaid.

“I hate hiding,” you murmured. “I hate lying to him.”

Charles’s arms tightened around you. “I know. I do too.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’ve been thinking,” he continued. “After the summer break… maybe we tell him. Give him time to cool off before the end of the season.”

You pulled back to look at him. “You’re serious?”

“I want to stop pretending. I want you with me—not just when no one’s looking.”

Your heart twisted, full and aching all at once. “Okay,” you whispered. “After the break.”

Race day came with its usual frenzy. Max was in pole. Charles right behind.

You watched from the Red Bull garage, nerves splitting you in half. You hated this part—the pretending. The cheering for Max, even while your heart pulled toward someone else.

Charles finished second. Max first. Champagne and celebrations. You saw them bump shoulders on the podium, competitive smiles masking a thousand unsaid things.

Later, in the hallway near the drivers’ room, you caught a quiet moment with Charles. Just a brush of fingers as you passed, your smile barely visible.

“I love you,” he mouthed.

You didn’t reply out loud. Just squeezed his hand once. That was enough.

For now.

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part 2?

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine

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